Youth Confirmation Class Visits Plains, GA

This past weekend, the Youth Confirmation class took a road trip to visit the Andersonville National Prisoner of War Museum and hear former President Jimmy Carter teach Sunday School.

Our Vestry was holding their retreat this weekend as well.  Before we loaded up the cars in the church parking lot Saturday morning, the Vestry came out and Bishop Keith Whitmore sent us off with a nice prayer.

After a brief lunch stop, we arrived at the Andersonville National POW Museum.  It's located at the site of Camp Sumter, where 45,000 Union soldiers were held and 16,000 died during the Civil War.  We were all in a solemn mood as we watched a movie and listened to a Park Ranger describe the terrible conditions at the camp.  Before we 
left, we gathered and Liv shared the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi, the one that starts with, "Lord, make me an instrument of your peace."

Later that afternoon, we checked in to the Windsor Hotel in Americus and, after dinner, attended a vaudeville show at the Rylander Theater.  Lucy especially enjoyed the show!  Ask her about it the next time you see her.

Sunday morning, we prepared for the main purpose for the trip, hearing President Carter teach Sunday School.  After a short drive to Plains, we arrived at Maranatha Baptist Church, where we were greeted by a Military Police bomb-sniffing dog.  Luckily, we passed inspection and were able to park.

It was cool Sunday morning, so it was good that we didn't have to stand outside in line too long.  After emptying our pockets and getting wanded (passed that inspection, too, whew!), we entered the church and got seats in the fifth pew in the center section.  While waiting for Sunday School to begin, we were coached by Ms. Jan Williams, church member and retired schoolteacher, on how to act during our time with President Carter.  Her opening remarks were, "I can be your best friend, or I can be your worst enemy."  I am deeply appreciative of the church, which typically has 20-30 members in attendance, but several hundred visitors on a regular basis when Mr. Carter teaches Sunday School.

President Carter begins Sunday School by welcoming the congregation and inquiring from where they were visiting.  (There is a protocol for this, on which we were previously briefed by Ms. Williams.  We also had a practice session to ensure we could do it correctly.)  At 89 years old, Mr. Carter is still an excellent speaker, 
and we heard his thoughts on the formation of the United Nations, which has as one of its primary purposes, the promotion and encouragement of respect for human rights.  He had many other thoughts to share, and we are planning to get a DVD recording of the class, if you're interested in hearing what more he had to say that day.

Following Sunday School, President and Mrs. Carter sat as part of the congregation for the regular Sunday Service,  During the announcements, the head deacon welcomed the visitors, and invited us to come and enjoy a Magic Show for the children this Friday.  Mr. Carter pointed out that it was one of the Secret Service agents who would be performing the magic, and Mrs. Carter also added that pizza would be served.  It was very nice to see them as members of the church and how they were just regular people.

At the conclusion of the church service, we all lined up inside the church for pictures, as it was sprinkling outside.  The Carters were very gracious as they posed with the various families and groups.  There is a protocol for this as well, since there were so many people who wanted to have their pictures taken.  All went well, and we were soon back in the parking lot getting back into our cars.

After a quick lunch at a Mimmie's Diner just down the street from the church, we spent some time visiting the Jimmy Carter Boyhood Farm.  Because of the severe weather we had a few weeks ago, the pipes in the house where he grew up had burst, and the house was closed for repair.

It had been a full weekend, and we made our way back to Atlanta.  I came away with some great memories, and I hope our youth did as well.

Visit our Facebook page to see more pictures of our trip.

The Witnessing and Blessing of a Lifelong Covenant

It was a very special morning this past Sunday at St. Dunstan's.  For the first time at St. Dunstan's, we gathered to witness the vows and ask God's blessing for a long-term same-sex relationship.

Some background may be in order.

In 2012, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church approved a liturgy for the blessing of same-sex relationships.  At St. Dunstan's during our Adult Formation, we studied the liturgy (comparing it to the Celebration and Blessing of a Marriage in the Prayer Book)  and many of us were struck by the beauty of its prayers.

Mary and Ruth, who have been together for almost 30 years, approached our rector, Tricia, and asked her if she would be willing to do this service, and also asked if it could be done during a Sunday morning service.  Well, the answers were yes and yes, and we had a very joyous celebration Sunday morning.

Tricia always has great sermons, and Sunday was no exception.  She made several great points, but one, in particular, struck me.  She mentioned an article she had read recently, which stated that, "the Church's task is to catch up with what God is already doing in the world."

She went on to say, "That really is what we are doing here today. For surely God has already blessed this union, this relationship, this love that Ruth and Mary have shared for almost three decades."

It was so cool to be part of this historical moment at St. Dunstan's, and just another reason it is so great being a part of the St. Dunstan's family.

Steve Mark (looking forward to more exciting events this year at St. Dunstan's as we celebrate our 50th Anniversary)

Mother's Day

When I got home from church this morning, my 23-year-old Wolfie met me in the kitchen. “Did you see your Mother’s Day present?” he asked, with sort of a dry edge in his tone, though smiling. I followed him to his room on the other side of the house where I saw boxes being packed, an upturned mattress and missing drafting table desk in the corner.
 

“I’m giving you your independence for Mother’s Day,” he said. (Normally, he offers to go to church with me and ends up going sailing with my brother.)

This wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. In fact a couple of weeks ago, I left after the early service, not staying for the annual parish meeting. Nancy told me later that when she asked where I was, Patricia noted that Wolfie was moving and I had gone home to make sure he moved.

My son’s first month of rent has been paid since May 1 but until today, this Sunday, Mother’s Day, he will have not spent a single night in the new digs (he’s one of three roommates in a house of young twenty-something boys). 

This morning when I got to church, I walked into the empty sanctuary, catching Patricia at the altar. “Good morning, you’re in town,” she said, looking up from her notes, where she was marking pages, thoughts, for the service. “Has Wolfie moved?”

At that point, the last I’d heard was that Wolfie and his sidekick Johann, this Swedish kid he’s known since Kindergarten, planned to rent a U-haul. “I’m not sure what he will be putting in that U-haul,” I mused to Patricia. “Unless it’s car parts.”

But as I said, I got home and there it was, my Mother’s Day present, the last child leaving the nest, albeit with some reluctance. Sensing he was upset, I suggested we get a cup of coffee and sit on the back porch and talk. His head immediately fell despondent onto his arms, which were folded on his skinny long-legged lap in defeat.

My comforting wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and I could imagine the stubborn toddler 20 years ago who refused to walk into pre-school, because someone had the audacity to smile and say cheerful “good morning.” Still, I pointed out what a wonderful growth experience this would be, freedom, independence. My oldest son, Wolf’s big brother, made a pit stop after college at home for maybe two weeks—he was all about being the master of his own domain.

But Wolfie has never particularly had that streak of adventure to strike out on his own, as many Millinneals do not. In fact, one time, when my big brother was grumbling about going to an office every day, Wolfie suggested he just live with his mother. My brother replied, “I don’t want to live with my mother (strict). I want to live with your mother (pushover).”

In the parish hall this morning, I was thrilled to hold a little baby belonging to one of the families staying with us at the church this week. He was a pudgy little dumpling, seven months old, and he fell asleep in my arms while his three-year-old brother chased giggling after Conner, who liked keeping the little boy occupied with running and other games involving hopping and jumping and climbing but drew a line when it came to reading the child a storybook. 

The baby’s mother was young and pretty--and I thought--quite brave. I watched her watching the swarm of us, smiling kindly as we passed her baby around—I passed him off to Lee and I’m not sure who was in line was after that—at St. Dunstan’s, you can sell tickets to hold a new baby. 

And of course this reminds me of the point has been made so many times—God loves us as a mother loves her child. But it should be pointed out what that means: God’s love, like a mother’s, is for all times—something you get even after no-matter-what. And, like a mother’s love, it’s boundless. Independence has very little to do with the reality.  

Passing Peace

I was downtown early the other morning on Marietta Street walking through the GSU campus. It was early enough that it was still quite nippy, the wind whipping through the buildings, rising up over the expressway against a clear blue sky, made brilliant by the gold on the Capitol dome. Passing me in both directions on the sidewalk, students with backpacks, groups of athletes, business people, cops. 

I was walking quickly to stay warm and because I was late for an appointment, when a small dark body came up close on my right side. As we made eye contact, he said “good morning.” I smiled. “Good morning,” I returned. The little man kept step with me, and continued, “Thank you for speaking. A lot of people don’t.”

Of course, he spoke to me first but it was nice of him to say. I stopped a moment and he told me his story—he had HIV, it was tough on the street. I had no money, not even a cash card. I gave him my hand before hurrying away on my business.

I was thinking of that this morning in church as we passed peace in the early service. How important it is to touch other people, to look them in the eye, to smile and say “peace.” You matter just because you are a human being. We don’t always know everyone at church, or know them well, and it doesn’t matter. We are practicing blessing each other and that’s what we take with us when we go out into the world.

Ok, the stranger who spoke to me that morning did not disappear from my life. Later in the afternoon, when the sun was out and I was walking through Five Points, I chanced to look back and quite unexpectedly, there he was again. I smiled in recognition, in the way that you do with people that you have connected on the level of, “we are all in this crazy life together.” This time, he smiled back.

Hotel St. Dunstan's

Hotel St. Dunstan’s has wrapped up its first week! We began the week with two homeless families staying with us. When they arrived, our guests were shown their room, paneled with shoji-screen treatment on the windows. Thank you Ginny for this brilliant, economical, real-simple solution. Sunday supper was prepared and served by an effort representing three parishes: Holy Innocents, St. Dunstan's, and St. Luke's . We hosts joined our guests at the table for Sunday dinner.

When I was growing up, the Sunday dinner was traditionally held at my grandparents' house and all the cousins, aunts, uncles gathered for a family meal. I felt reminiscent of the family gathering.
One overnight host shared, "It was WONDERFUL to see these families here and hear little children laughing in our parish hall.  A great first night!"

One mom works as an LPN. The other mom started a job this past Tuesday. The dads have an opportunity to go to the Family Promise Day Center at St. Luke's Presbyterian to look for work and update their resume.

As Tricia summed it up, "The week has gone very smoothly, mostly thanks to the incredible work of our coordinators, and to the many of you who have volunteered to organize, set up and take down, cook, serve food, and spend the night. Everyone I’ve talked to who has been involved has said it has been a great experience. We’ll have the opportunity to do it again in May. This is, indeed, holy work. Thank  you to all who have been involved."

Hesitation

What made me hesitate? Three times. How hard is it to ask someone if they’d like to you get them a cup of coffee and donut? I mean he definitely looked like he needed it, his skinny bird fame perched high on one of the bar stools on the food side of the convenience store—a young black kid was behind the counter, wiping down the stainless steel. 

I stepped out of line and began walking toward the man, a wool hat pulled down over his eyes, gray dirty hair and beard, clothes, hands stained with dirt folded in front of him on the narrow table top. But then I became suddenly self-conscious and stopped. What if offended him? Who am I to go offering complete strangers coffee and donuts? What if he made a fuss and my fellow convenience store shoppers became irritated with me stirring him up?

The second time I stepped out of line was to see if I could get a glimpse of his face without appearing obvious. Then I felt like he caught me staring and I jumped back in line, yet again. I noticed he was now clutching a dirty t-shirt like a security blanket. 

I am happy to say the third time I stepped out of line, I actually went over and asked the gentleman as politely as I could if I could get him some coffee and a donut, pastries, whatever. He was not at all offended or embarrassed by my offer: “No, thank you. I’d prefer a dollar if you have it.” 

He followed me outside where I retrieved a dollar from the center console. “Just having to get a start over in his business,” he stuttered and then the “business,” as he explained it to me was a few things muddled together—a hotdog-oil change-tire-cleaning shop. Then he stooped down to demonstrate, wiping out the rim of my tire with the dirty t-shirt.

I was in a hurry and stopped him from demonstrating, wishing him the best of luck in his endeavors.

In parting, he apologized: “I mean I didn’t study any marketing or anything like that.”