A Psalm for the Appreciation for Music

         Thank you for music Lord:

               Handel’s Messiah:

                       He shall feed his flock like a shepherd

                       shall gather the lambs in his arm

                              and carry them in his bosom.

               Students singing:

                       Who is on the Lord’s side

                              who will serve the King?

               Mother holding little boy:

                       rocking,

                              humming

                                      All through the night

                                             my Savior will be watching

                                      and Like a river glorious

                                             is God’s perfect peace.

               Little group of people:

                       before an open grave singing:

                              Jesus I love thee

                              and up from the grave he arose.

                                                            Joseph Bayly

For years, music has been an important part of not only the ministry of St. Andrew’s, but all of the Hilton churches.  Organs were installed, Ministers of Music hired, choirs formed – and music filled the air.  What a glorious Easter celebration we had with organ, flutes, trumpet, handbells, and voices.

Lent was a time for reflection and Easter was a time for celebration.  With the recent passing of my friend Paul Keller (who occasionally sang with our choir on Christmas Eve and subbed for Brad), I have been thinking about other fine musicians we have lost: Don Golden (Trinity Lutheran), John Garrett (First Methodist), Bill Tew (St. Paul’s), and Michael Cooley (St. Andrew’s).  May we remember them as we continue to celebrate with music that is vital to our spiritual lives.

Bill Wilds

Faith is also not the absence of action

The day after the March 27th mass shooting at Covenant Presbyterian School in Nashville I received an early morning text message from one of my close mom friends. She was stuck in a cycle of despair, for the children and teachers lost in Nashville, but also for her own daughters, as she attempted to put on a happy face, helping her girls pack their bags and escorting them to the bus stop. If God is good, how could such a tragedy happen? How do we retrieve our joy and hope when we’re constantly bracing ourselves for the next crisis, and for the possibility that our own loved ones could be the next victims?

I admit I’m still stuck in a similar loop of despair, so my main response to my friend was “you are not alone,” which is probably the most important thing a grieving person needs to hear anyways. But later, as I was driving and continuing to think about my friend, I tried again to see our despair through the lens of faith. I admit I tried this after the Richneck shooting on January 6th and never heard God’s voice, despite, what is it now, 12 weeks? of praying and asking God for answers. But as I type this in the midst of Holy Week I’m reminded of the despair of Jesus, his family and his friends, when he was tortured and killed. How they thought God had abandoned them as well but, at Easter, love had the last word. Faith, hope, love, and joy are not the absence of evil and ugliness, just the assurance that God’s goodness will always win out in the end.
 
Faith is also not the absence of action, and you’re darn skippy that my friend and I will pick each other up and continue contacting our representatives, donating money, and getting involved locally. I added on to my text message to my friend later: what is true joy: an absence of sadness, or happiness that manifests itself despite our ups and downs? What is more beautiful, a perfect Marie-Kondo-tidied home, or a flower popping up in the cracks of the asphalt of an abandoned strip mall? I love me some Marie Kondo but the image of the flower asserting itself in an empty parking lot does a lot more to shore up my hope. On Easter, Jesus burst forth from the empty tomb, not without his scars, but with the physical assurance that God is greater than any of it (even if you don’t hear God’s voice for twelve weeks…or twelve years…). I hope your Easter celebration was full of hope and joy, and your coming days and weeks are full of little resurrections.
 
Ginny Chilton
Minister of Music

Resurrection

Dear friends,

At the Episcopal Parish Network conference I recently attended, one of the presenters was the senior warden of the Church of the Resurrection in Alexandria, Virginia.  She explained that after much prayer and discernment, she and her fellow parishioners decided to tear down the large, aging church facility they had outgrown and replace it with a much smaller worship space—located in the middle of a brand new complex of affordable housing units they would build on the church’s property. 
 
Today the Church of the Resurrection and the apartment complex share outdoor space.  Residents of the complex worship at the church, and parishioners are involved in a wide array of outreach ministries serving their new neighbors.  A tagline on the parish website says:  We are a community, a functional family, a home. 
 
The senior warden explained that the first worship service in the new space was held a few years ago on Easter Sunday.  Remembering that day, she got choked up.  She said simply, “We experienced resurrection.” 
 
In just a few days, we will gather together to celebrate resurrection: God raising Jesus Christ from death to life.  This is the central truth of our faith, the miraculous event that gives meaning to our lives—and to our deaths.  Despite—and in the midst of—all of the suffering in our world and in our lives, we celebrate resurrection.  We gather with joy to proclaim Alleluia, to hear the wondrous story once again, to praise God through word and song, to share the divine and simple meal that unites us to Jesus. 
 
As you prepare for our Easter celebration on April 9, I invite you to ponder the resurrections, large or small, that you have experienced in your own life.  And I look forward to celebrating with you the ultimate resurrection:  Jesus’ new life that gives us new life.
 
Blessings.  - Anne
 
PS.  As is customary here at St. Andrew’s, Easter offering envelopes will be available at both entrances to the church. You can also make your Easter offering online here. Please also bring your Mite Box offering for Episcopal Relief & Development and your flowers to help decorate our outdoor cross. 

Unveil the Shroud

On one of the shelves in my office I have one of those things that gives you different pictures depending on which angle it is viewed from.  In this case, lean a little to one side and it is a picture of the Shroud of Turin.  Lean a little to the other side and the face of Jesus emerges from the image imprinted on the Shroud.  The implication, of course, is that the Shroud of Turin is the shroud that covered Jesus in the tomb.  A neat special effect regardless of what one might think about the historical validity of Turin’s shroud.

The word “shroud” has been used specifically to refer to burial clothing since 1570, but more generally meaning “to hide from view, to conceal” since 1300.  The shroud is important for what it invites us to prayerfully contemplate during Lent, but the more important thing than the shroud itself is what is revealed when the shroud is lifted.  Lean a little to one side and you have one image.  Lean a little to the other and another image emerges.  In one direction is the shroud, in the other…the face of Jesus. 
 
As we come to Lent’s conclusion with Holy Week’s remembrances of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the foot washing of Maundy Thursday, and the agony of the crucifixion on Good Friday - all valuable, nay, essential, for our spiritual formation - the face of Jesus is revealed, not just in some artist’s rendering…but in us - real, alive, and deeply personal.  Now as our own Lenten shroud is about to be lifted to reveal the risen Christ beneath, we have only to decide which direction we want to lean: to keep the ecstatic joy of our Easter alleluias shrouded or in our care for those who so desperately need to receive God’s good news of the risen Christ, to lift the shroud and reveal the face of Jesus.
 
-Marc

Homeward Bound

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed
When the sparrows stop their singing and the sky is clear and red
When the summer’s ceased its gleaming, when the corn is past its prime
When adventure’s lost its meaning I’ll be homeward bound in time
Bind me not to the pasture, chain me not to the plow
Set me free to find my calling and I’ll return to you somehow

If you find it's me you're missing, if you’re hoping I'll return
To your thoughts, I'’ll soon be listening and in the road, I'll stop and turn
Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end
And the path I’ll be retracing when I’m homeward bound again
In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed
When the sparrows stop their singing I’ll be homeward bound again

Homeward Bound was written by Marta Keen Thompson around 1991, and it has become one of most performed contemporary choral works.  Finding one’s true calling in life often involves embarking upon a new phase of life’s journey, wanting to grow and change – but knowing you will return to those you love

This song is a illustration of the emotional pull towards home after leaving to seek one’s calling somewhere else in the world.  I would say that most us have “gone” somewhere during our life time, even if it was just college or possibly military service.  Quite frequently the song is performed when a group of soldiers return home.

Could it be a reflection of one’s life?  Could it be a reminder of the second coming of Christ?  Could it be God walking with us regardless of what is happening in our lives?  Could it be we have strayed and want to return home?  Could it mean that there might be another home for us to look forward to?   May we always be homeward bound somewhere.

Bill Wilds