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By the Venerable Calhoun Walpole,
Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina On Friday of this week, May 8th, we remember Julian of Norwich, who famously wrote: "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." In these words, Julian continued, “I saw the deep, high mystery of God.” In these days, where and how and through whom are you seeing the deep high mystery of God? Billy Baldwin from McClellanville (prolific writer, member of St James-Santee, and a dear friend) often helps me to see such mysteries, which is why I want to share with you one of his new poems, written several days ago. Thank you, Billy! Yours faithfully, Callie Sheltered in Place (Bluffton) by Wm. Baldwin The doors of Heaven, the windows, too, are of Greek Revival proportions: wide and high to the point where your hands stretched out can’t touch top or sides. All this approximate. “About.” Of course, the rooms are vast, and usually lack a roof. No plywood. Just sky. Previnyl days to boot. The floors are road dust and summer sunlight mixed. Dog paws imbedded there (large or small, easy fixed). Plus, reachably near a thousand black berries. What else can the infinite exist of? You’re young again. The structure a bright, slightly dusty love. Summer sweet. Words plain. Spoke through lips now berried stained.
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By the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee,
President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina On the Fourth Sunday of Easter, the Church celebrated Good Shepherd Sunday. Outside of the Lord’s Prayer, the 23rd Psalm is perhaps the most commonly used piece of scripture. It is one that when the priest at a graveside funeral begins it, people generally recite it without having to read along. The imagery that the psalm portrays is one of comfort and protection. I once spent some intentional time in prayer with the psalm. In that time of prayer, I allowed the images to run through my heart and mind. When the prayer was over, what remained was a simple image of a child walking and holding the finger of a large, gentle, yet strong, hand. In all aspects of my life I would like to think that I am the strong hand. However, the reality of the situation is that I am the child. In my own memories, as a child, I remember falling on the sidewalk and scraping my knee. My parents would run to pick me up and comfort me, wiping my tears and blowing cool breath on the injury. I remember, as a child being flung on my mother’s hip and carried around. I remember, deep in my bones, the feeling of protection and care that she gave. I remember also, the day she told me I was getting a little too big to be carried. And for me, that was the beginning of the end of an age of innocence. No longer could I be carried or feel protected in that particular way. Instead, I would have to depend on other forms of care and protection provided by my parents. It is simply part of growing up. But there is something so sweet, so primal about the experience of being cared for like I previously mentioned—being swept up into the arms of a parent and feeling completely safe and loved. So much so, that you know exactly what I am talking about. Our hearts yearn for that feeling, even in our older age. All of us are, as the Commendation in the BCP says, “sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock.” We yearn to be loved and cared for and flung on the shoulders of a compassionate God. Grace Church Cathedral has been involved in a mission experience called Glory Ridge for the past five years. Glory Ridge is a place for young people and people young at heart to go and experience God the Good Shepherd. This special place has been a part of my own life and ministry for the past 15 years. One of the youth ministers in the large extended family of Glory Ridge passed away last week. He was a shepherd to a host of young people and left a lasting legacy and imprint on their hearts. His life pointed to the Good Shepherd’s life. I am reminded of all the many shepherds in my life who worked for the Good Shepherd. The best ones never forgot that they were lambs. Pause for a moment today and give thanks for the shepherds in your life. Don’t forget that you are a shepherd too. Peace, Caleb+ "Sure Provisions"
By the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr., Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina The Fourth Sunday of Easter is known as Good Shepherd Sunday. Nearly always we hear the words of Psalm 23, one of the most beloved passages in the Bible for many of us. The image of God as shepherd springs from the lived experience of agrarian people who tended flocks and knew shepherding intimately. We do not see many shepherds in our day; yet the 23rd Psalm profoundly resonates with us. Most of us know it by heart. As a bishop I think of it always as I carry my pastoral staff, the symbol of the good shepherd. Meditate on it with me for a moment, using the translation most of us have in our memory bank. There are three movements in the psalm: verses 1-3, 4-5, and 6. I like to think of them, mnemonically, as provision, presence, and promise. The first, “provision,” begins, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” A shepherd’s task is to keep the flock moving to find what they need to flourish. God, the psalm affirms, does the same for us. Green pastures for nourishment, still waters for hydration, safe pathways for movement. These metaphors for God’s loving care “restore the soul,” giving us physical and spiritual vitality. The gifts of the good earth give us bodily nourishment; God’s love sustains us inwardly. “The sure provisions of my God attend me all my days,” as Issac Watts’ great hymn says. The second part, “presence,” acknowledges that we, like sheep, go though dark times. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” The assurance is not that life won’t be difficult. It is for all of us at times. The assurance is that the divine presence is with us. The shepherd’s “rod and staff” protect us from the dark. Indeed in the wilderness times of life, God sets a table for us and our “cup runneth over.” I will always remember asking a young couple who had lost a young child to cancer about their faith struggles. They said that they could not have gotten through it without knowing that God and the church’s love were with them each day. Presence is the gift. The final part, “promise,” is a single verse. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” the poet proclaims. The verb reminds us that a shepherd’s place is in the back of the flock, guiding them forward and, with the staff (or a sheep dog), nudging back those who wander. God’s goodness and mercy are in the midst of our life encouraging us to keep moving in just the same way. The promise is that God is always trying to give us what is good and will mercifully nudge us back when we fail. That promise, the psalm concludes, goes even beyond this life: “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” God’s following goodness and mercy reach into the mystery of eternity. Beyond our final breath the good shepherd will never let us go. Our dwelling place in this miraculous world will one day open on to transcendent glory. As an old prayer says, “Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven; to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling but one equal light…in the habitations of your majesty and of your glory, world without end.” Saying this psalm and remembering the “3 p’s” helps set me right daily. I commend it to you. The Rt. Rev. Henry Nutt Parsley, Jr. By the Venerable Calhoun Walpole,
Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquillity the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (The Book of Common Prayer) This collect is found in both the Good Friday liturgy and the Easter Vigil, as well as in the ordination rites. It is also one of the concluding prayers in the version of the Stations of the Resurrection published by Forward Day by Day. Walking and praying the Stations of the Resurrection every day at noon has occasioned that this prayer has become a part of me this Eastertide. Many of you have remarked how you have found yourselves immersed, or re-immersed lately, in the language of Morning or Evening Prayer, or Compline—and how reassuring and renewing the old familiar prayers have been for you. A rebirth of sorts... Michael Ramsey, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1961-1974, wrote that the Apostles “knew that in the Resurrection of Christ another world had come…The old world continued with its contradictions and sufferings, but by the Cross and Resurrection these very contradictions and sufferings could be transformed into things fruitful and creative wherein, by faith in the Crucified, the power of God might be found.” Because of the Resurrection, the power of God can always be found. Things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new. Yours faithfully, Callie "The Great Pause"
By the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee, President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina I was walking the dog this past weekend and I stopped to say hello to my neighbor. She and her husband are Roman Catholic and huge Notre Dame fans. Every football season their team regalia has been impressive. One year they even pressure washed the letters “ND” into their driveway just to make sure people knew who they were pulling for. It has taken me five years to get to know her. For years we would say hello to each other as we walked our dogs. Then she saw me in my collar. After that we started talking a little more and discovered that we have a lot more in common. I think she is intrigued with how close we Episcopalians are to her version of Christianity. I brought her palms on Palm Sunday. She cried. Anyway, this past weekend I was walking my dog and my neighbor was out in her yard. I stopped to chat for a while. Like every conversation since the pandemic started there were comments like, “it is still so surreal.” “It’s just weird.” “Do you think there will be college football next fall?” “Y’all doin’ alright?” It was then that she said, “yeah, we are just trying to make the best of ‘the great pause.’” I decided that this description might be the best I have heard so far. To a large degree the last six weeks have been a great pause in so many ways. The breakneck pace of life has been reduced to a crawl. The pause of noise and air pollution from cars and airplanes has either cleansed our air or made us appreciate the natural world a bit more. We have actually had a spring. The humidity is not here yet. Was it always this way or do I just now recognize the season? The great pause has opened my eyes to a deeper appreciation for the beauty and gift of God’s creation. This great pause has caused us to pause our Bishop Search. Unfortunately for many this pause has had serious financial repercussions. For some, this time has actually been entry into sickness, death, or intense grief and mourning. And for others, who work on the front lines, there has been no pause but a fast forward. But it is currently a pause for me in many ways. I have some guilt about that for sure. I know I am not the only one. I am reminded of the Gospel account of the Resurrection from yesterday. The Road to Emmaus is a bit of a pause. It is intimate and precious time with the risen Christ. To the two disciples, it seemed like time had stopped as they were listening to Jesus on the road. “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us in the road?” They were able to see the risen Lord in the pause of the evening, in the breaking of bread between strangers who were now friends. I am reminded of my new friendship with my neighbor and how just a few months ago we were more strangers than friends. For some reason though, in this great pause, we have become more friends than strangers. My prayer for each of us in this “great pause” is to find the grace in it and to be able to see the risen Lord when he appears to us. Peace, Caleb+ "Foundations"
By the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr., Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina In this short Life that lasts an hour How much — how little — is within our power - Emily Dickinson During times like this, I often find myself revisiting sources of wisdom that were helpful in previous uncertain days. In my 71 years of life I have lived through many unsettling events, as have most of you. The polio epidemic of my childhood, Vietnam, Katrina, 9/11, the Iraq War, the Haitian earthquake, and the Great Recession come to mind. Now it is the COVID-19 pandemic. Paul Tillich, in a phrase that has long stuck to my mental socks, called such times “the shaking of the foundations.” When life is shaken, this wise theologian wrote, we are reminded that God “is the foundation on which all foundations are laid; and this foundation cannot be shaken. There is something immoveable, unchangeable, unshakeable, eternal, which becomes manifest in our passing and in the crumbling of our world. On the boundaries of the finite, the infinite becomes visible.” Those are words worth keeping close at hand in the living of these days. We are all moving through an emotional process. It is like what we experience in times of grief, involving various stages like denial and bargaining and anger. Denial seeks to minimize a crisis. Bargaining seeks to find a way to stop it or get around it. Anger seeks someone to blame. This process is as natural as rain. We see it being played out publicly in the responses of some of our leaders as well in the secret chambers of our hearts. [When can we get back to normal? Who will fix it?] It is important to listen for this and understand it. Such experiences make us ask: “What are the real foundations of my life?” They put us in touch with life’s uncertainty and of our own human vulnerability, from which we naturally want to be defended. Our recent history of affluence and scientific achievement and national power have made us feel like we have life under control. Suddenly we are facing a situation that we cannot control, at least not quickly, and we are having to live in very unsettling uncertainty. It is thought that Shakespeare wrote his great play, King Lear, during one of the pandemics in Elizabethan England, when London theaters were closed along with the churches. The play tells of a king who had great wealth and absolute power, only to have his life shaken to the core. In the storm, he begins to see himself truly and says, “They told me I was everything. ’Tis a lie. I am not ague proof.” Lear is able to be redeemed as he accepts his vulnerability and discovers his capacity to love. These firm realities bring joy in spite of the breakage around him. The bard knew that it is when familiar foundations shake that we have a chance to break through to the truth. For it is then that the deeper foundations of life are exposed. It is no accident that on the day of the cross the earth was shaken, we are told, as the deepest truth of God’s love was being revealed. “On the boundaries of the finite, the infinite becomes visible.” In our vulnerability God’s sovereignty is revealed. Accepting our fragility opens our eyes to the immoveable, eternal love that is our true dowry and destiny.” John Rippon’s hymn says it well: How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in his excellent word!… When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie, my grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply; the flame shall not hurt thee; I only design thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine. The soul that to Jesus hath fed for repose, I will not, I will not desert to his foes; that soul, though all hell shall endeavor to shake, I’ll never, no, never, no, never forsake. This is the foundation on which all other foundations are laid, which cannot be shaken. The Rt. Rev. Henry Nutt Parsley, Jr. By the Venerable Calhoun Walpole,
Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina “The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” — T.S. Eliot For me, lately, the arrival at the place where I started has meant reconnecting with the soil of the earth. Many others have been doing the same thing during this spring of pandemic. In earlier years it would have been unthinkable for me not to have had a garden of sorts—or at least numerous plants and flowers around, including herbs and vegetables. Somewhere along the way, though, I ceased to garden—an activity which had been as much a part of me as the air I breathed. You only are immortal… and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and to earth shall we return. For so did you ordain when you created me saying, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia. In my early days of ministry, a minister from the sea islands, aware of my farming roots, exclaimed to me, “Child, you come from the dust; and you’re just going back to the dust that formed you.” She of course meant that the soil to which I now would be tending and the fields in which I would be laboring would be the Lord’s; and that the harvest would be the Lord’s. The harvest is always the Lord’s. After Jesus’s resurrection, he moves through the locked doors in order to be present with his disciples; and in his resurrected body, he shows them his wounds. As our Lord heals us through his wounds, we need not be afraid of any wounds in our own life. We allow the Lord to move through our wounds as he moves though any locked doors of our own minds or hearts in order to bring new life—resurrected life. What are the locked doors in your own life that Jesus is desiring to move through—returning you to the dust that formed you, allowing you to know the place for the first time? What is bringing you new life this Eastertide? Faithfully yours, Callie To see this theme from the Archdeacon further developed, please watch and listen to her homily from this past Sunday at this link. "Postponed"
By the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee, President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina This past Saturday I was supposed to preside at the wedding of my younger brother and his fiancé. It was going to be a big wedding out at the farm. I have a big family and an even bigger extended family. Any time we can get together all as one to celebrate is a very special time. My brother had spent many a Saturday out at the farm preparing the space for the big day. But, like everything else this spring, the big day had to be postponed. All that preparation and excitement now lays dormant, as we await the news of when we might be able to travel and gather once more. This is not just the case for my brother’s wedding. There have been other weddings postponed; other important sacraments and rites that have had to be postponed. Since early December I have been prepping my 36 candidates for Confirmation as they were to be confirmed on May 3. Postponed. At the Easter Vigil we were going to baptize three teenagers. Postponed. On the Second Sunday of Easter we were to baptize all those babies whose families have had to wait until after the penitential season of Lent was over. Postponed. Funerals, if administered, are private and limited to only a handful of family. What about the celebration of life that reminds us of the baptismal community gathered ‘round the family and the one who has entered into eternal life? Postponed. Postpone, postpone, postpone is the name of the game these days. God must be in this somewhere. What are we learning from this experience of blanket postponements? I have learned and am learning the following: First and foremost, I think it is good to give thanks for life. It is good to keep perspective that there are many in the world who couldn’t care less whether something is postponed. They are mourning the loss of a loved one. Second, we are in the most “Adventy” Easter ever! My friend, The Reverend Jay Sidebotham, was quoted this past Lent as saying, “This is the Lentiest Lent I’ve ever Lented.” Well this is the most “Adventy” Easter I have ever Easter-ed! That is to say, this Easter season, we are waiting for a lot of things to happen. We have prepared as best as we can. We are still waiting. What does it mean to celebrate the risen life of Jesus in the midst of pandemic and hunkering down? This one is tough and a worthy subject for our prayer life. Third, postponed does not mean cancelled. There is much to look forward to during this season of blanket postponement. I am looking forward to seeing the Avett Brothers in concert in August after their April show was postponed. I am looking forward to getting more time with our young confirmands when we are able to meet again and reschedule a confirmation. It will be glorious. They will always remember the year they were confirmed, that is for sure. I look forward to the celebration that will ensue when my brother is finally married to the love of his life. Finally, the good news is that God does not postpone. God’s grace, love, and mercy is for you. It is for you now. We don’t have to wait for it. There is no barrier to it. There is no separation from it. There is no date on the calendar when we can finally have it again. God’s love is now. God’s life is now. In the resurrection of Christ Jesus from the dead, we no longer have to wait. Alleluia! Christ is risen! Peace, Caleb+ "Surprising Gifts"
By the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr., Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina During the past six weeks, the rhythm of our life has been dramatically altered. Under the restrictions necessary to combat the COVID-19 pandemic we are staying home, distanced from friends and neighbors, while unable to move freely and do many of the things we used to do regularly. Familiar outings and sports events have vanished. Calendars have lots of erase marks. The fever of life has slowed, and many are finding that we have a lot of time on our hands. A memorable Simon & Garfunkel song of my youth advised, “Slow down, you move too fast. You’ve got to make the morning last.” Heaven knows the mornings are lasting these days, for many of us. And it does not always “feel groovy.” Isolation, disruption, and social distancing are hard on the spirit. I do wonder, however, if there might not be a strange gift in all this. Let me hasten to say that I am not diminishing the suffering many are experiencing or the damage to our social and economic well-being. There is no naiveté here; this is a tough and heartbreaking event. As Easter people, however, we are bidden to look for the unexpected. The resurrection narratives frequently tell us that the disciples were huddled up in fear in the days after the cross, only to be radically surprised by the mysterious presence of the risen Christ. These stories urge us always to keep our eyes open for the surprising gifts that can appear in the most difficult times. I believe that being forced to slow down may be one of the most surprising gifts of this pandemic. As I have listened pastorally to people’s struggles over many years, a recurrent theme has been the breathtaking pace of life and its erosion of our spirit and our relationships. I will never forget a military couple who once came to me for marriage counseling. In the midst of one of our honest, hard conversations, the naval captain said, “the real problem is that we have not made time to take care of our souls.” Quiet recognition of this truth sunk in. As they began to set aside time to be quiet and share their feelings, to worship together and enjoy simple things, their relationship began to heal and flourish again. At the heart of the Scriptures is the rhythm of the sabbath. The fourth commandment about keeping sabbath is actually the longest of the ten. Sabbath comes from the Hebrew word shabbāth, which actually means to stop or to cease. One day a week was meant for intentional stopping, ceasing from all work and simplifying in order to reflect, renew intimate relationships with God and family, and savor the pure gift of being alive. It is meant to be soul time. A rabbi once called the sabbath, “a cathedral in time.” Jesus said that the “sabbath was made for humankind,” made, among other things, to slow us down. Without it we can become consumed by our own consuming. We move too fast. We forget that life is a gift, and not something we create ourselves. After keeping sabbath for a time we can return to our work refreshed and re-centered. The whole earth is experiencing something like this at the moment. Musicians are playing instruments on balconies in New York. In the canals of Venice, clear water and fish are visible again. The people of Punjab in India can see the Himalayas after over thirty years of pollution block. The skies over LA are blue. Families are reporting how they are rediscovering simple things. People are leaning out of doors and windows to cheer for health care personnel and frontline workers. Slowing down is making us able to see beauty and goodness that we can easily miss in our customary busyness and rush. The Chinese word for crisis includes both the character for danger and for opportunity. The present stopping in our lives can become a surprising gift if we allow it to slow us down and rekindle the ancient rhythm of the sabbath. As we struggle together through the dangers of this crisis, do not miss the opportunity. Take time to ponder the things that really matter, to befriend the spiritual depths of life, and to deepen your relationship with God and each other. It just might somehow make us better people, better families, and a better world. The Rt. Rev. Henry Nutt Parsley, Jr. "Being Reborn"
Written by the Venerable Calhoun Walpole, Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina Perhaps you have seen the recent music video Rinascerò, Rinascerai by Roby Facchinetti. The title, translated into English, is: “I’ll be reborn, you’ll be reborn.” The evocative YouTube video depicts picturesque scenes from the city of Bergamo, Italy, as well as hospital workers at Pope John XXIII Hospital where Facchinetti’s wife serves as a volunteer—and where hundreds of people have died in recent weeks. I’ll be reborn, you’ll be reborn. When all is said and done, we’ll see the stars again. I’ll be reborn, you’ll be reborn. The storm that overwhelms us bends us, but will not break us… These days will change our days, but this time we’ll learn a little more. I’ll be reborn, you’ll be reborn I’ll be reborn, you’ll be reborn. Embraced by big skies, We will trust God again. And in silence we’ll breathe a new breath… A rebirth is a new birth after death. Rebirth is Resurrection. This Easter week perhaps feels a bit empty this year, especially with the scenes from Easter Day of empty cathedrals and churches throughout the world. Yet it is precisely the empty tomb that signifies our Lord’s resurrection. The stone has been rolled away. Emptiness expands our capacity to breathe a new breath—and receive new life, resurrected life, renaissance. What are the stones being rolled away within your own life this Eastertide? Faithfully yours, Callie |
MeditationsDuring the uncertain times created by the COVID-19 Coronavirus pandemic in March 2020, leadership of the diocese will send out regular meditations on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays for the next while as we all adjust to a new chapter of living and being the Church. Archives
May 2020
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