Fri., 29 Oct, 2021
Abound in Hope
Chuck Silva, Senior Warden
At a planning session late last month on Rob’s back deck, with members of his team and a bunch of Senior Wardens (past and present), we brainstormed ideas about a theme for this year’s annual appeal pledge campaign. We spent a lot of time talking about challenges we have faced during this past year-and-a-half as individuals, as families, and as a community of faith.
We talked about having to cope with the simple inability to do so many things – work, play, travel, worship - in the “normal” or customary fashion. We talked about having to make adjustments, some major, some minor, and then having to deal with the added stress that arises from unanticipated changes. At this point during the COVID era, this was certainly old news. But as we shared further, it became clear that perhaps even more impactful than the stress of having to deal with so much upheaval, was a sense of unacknowledged deprivation and loss. Not just the direct losses from COVID - death or illness, loss of employment, loss of income - but the added deprivation of not being able, until very recently, to acknowledge these losses in the normal fashion. To be present – physically present – as a community to share pain and grief, to be comforted by others and to receive that comfort ourselves. Whether as individuals, as couples, or as families, we have all had to put up with a lot of loneliness, and a lot of suffering alone, mourning alone, and just being alone.
We don’t know about you, but we all deeply missed our St. John’s community during COVID. We missed being able to be physically present together to worship, to celebrate, to mourn, or even to just share mundane complaints or observations. We will never – ever – again take for granted the joy (simple or profound, or anywhere in between) of so many things: sitting in a crowded, overheated church, trimmed for Advent, condensation dripping from the windows, singing Christmas carols while the organ booms; craning our necks to see the children perform the pageant; wandering up and down the aisles to offer signs of peace. The buzzing of our young ones, re-entering the sanctuary after being released from Sunday School, searching for their families. Funerals. Hugging. (Admit it – most Episcopalians actually do seem to enjoy hugging, even while claiming otherwise.)
As painful as these deprivations have been, they forced us to acknowledge the many undeniable and unanticipated blessings to which they have given rise. As we have all been prodded (or shoved, or dragged) into expanding our “virtual” interactions, the online presence of our talented clergy and staff has exploded. This new presence has not only maintained, but also strengthened our engagement and connections as a community, while also expanding that community beyond its traditional, physical borders. This new presence is an absolute, unadulterated positive, and one that is here to stay. Let’s embrace it. We have each spent many grateful moments listening to services or sermons we otherwise would have missed, or to music we never otherwise would have heard. Better still, it is all still there and available on demand. (Washing the morning breakfast dishes, Chuck is just as likely to listen to a sermon from Rob, Nathan or Anne, or music from Jen, Ashley, Olin, or the choir, as he is to Morning Edition, a podcast, or his personally curated playlist of British two-tone 80’s ska music.)
And can we talk for just a minute about the daily reflections? Don’t get us started about the daily reflections. We feel as if we know each other just a little bit better, not in spite of COVID, but because of COVID. If we hadn’t had COVID, how many coffee hours would we have needed to attend in order to be turned on to Luther’s small catechism (thanks John Stromgren), or to imagine Anne Mackin’s grandmother, kneeling next to her bed, teaching her how to talk to talk to God when she was four, or how Clark McCurdy learned to hold on to hope during his war service in Vietnam? We now know that Peter Rice is the guy to call if you need to transplant a crabapple tree; that Ashley began her music career as a singing Cherub in a Congregational Church on Cape Cod; and that there is a parishioner named Mary Oliver (does she go to the 8 o’clock?) who has posted some really, really good poems. (We’d love to tell her that. Maybe one of you can introduce us.)
As much as we acknowledge and appreciate these blessings from COVID, perhaps the one for which we are the most grateful is that this strange and interesting time has made each of us - acutely, undeniably and forever - aware of just how much this community of fellowship and faith means to each of us. When we are present with you, we feel renewed and refreshed. When we are absent from you, we feel diminished.
So the five of us have a favor to ask. When you have a moment, make yourself a cup of coffee (or tea, or chai, or matcha, or whatever helps you focus and relax), sit down at the kitchen table, and think about what your St. John’s community means to you. As a community, we rely on each other not only to lift our spirits when they need lifting, but to provide inspiration, guidance, wisdom and fellowship. Without the support that comes from each of us, we cannot fulfill our broader mission as a community of faith that is committed to welcoming all, uplifting all, and making us all better able to serve others, in our community, and in the world.
With gratitude in advance for your support and generosity,
Peace and love,
Chuck, John, Anna Kay, Chris and Bob
(the senior warden squad)
P.S. – Can’t wait to see you all in church soon...