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By the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr.,
Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina What does the Feast of Pentecost have to say to us this year, in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic? This fiftieth day of Easter celebrates God the Holy Spirit, the Third Person of the Trinity, and God’s indwelling presence with us. It is the birthday of the church. When we think of the Spirit, many things come to mind: energy, vitality, mystery, power, joy. But it is the word koinonia that stands out for me this year. This Greek word is one of the most important in the New Testament, right up there with love, grace, and faith. Our English Bibles translate it as “communion” or “fellowship.” Our words “common” and “community” are in the same family. In the writings of St. Paul, koinonia is always associated with the Holy Spirit. “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you,” he wrote. The apostle never tired of teaching that the special gift of the Spirit is community, fellowship, deep connectedness. In Acts, the disciples’ experience on Pentecost is the reversal of the tower of Babel story in Genesis. Babel’s power-driven fracturing of humanity into many languages is healed by the Spirit’s gift of communion and the unifying language of love. In his book The Go-Between God, John Taylor describes the Holy Spirit as the invisible “and” between and among us. The Spirit is God’s love power moving through all life. It is the go-between God who connects us, with all our differences, and makes us one. The Star Wars films use “the Force” as almost a metaphor for what we mean by the Spirit. “The force,” Obi-Won says, “surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together.” In stark contrast is the rising polarization in our country about re-opening and wearing face masks. It is hard to imagine politicizing the wearing of masks in a pandemic. This is individualism and partisan politics run amuck—the very opposite of the Spirit’s communion. Babel again. To resist wearing a mask in public interactions says: “It’s all about me… my image, my politics, my needs. It’s not about you.” The purpose of a mask, after all, is primarily to protect our neighbor. Pentecost is not just a feast for the faithful. It is a clarion call to the world. It urges us to care about one another, to connect, to live in the awareness that what you do affects me and what I do affects you. That is the Spirit’s work, the great “and” that binds us together. It matters always, but how much more now? The days ahead will test our resolve. We will learn to live in community, as neighbors responsible for one another. Or else, many more will suffer and die separately and needlessly. I am proud to be an Episcopalian in this moment. Your Standing Committee, and your diocese, along with dioceses and churches across our country, are reminding us that in this moment our primary concern must be public safety and care for our neighbors. We are wearing our masks and sacrificially refraining from large gatherings in obedience to Jesus’ command to love. We will gradually find safe ways to gather physically in the days ahead. But, together or apart, we always are connected by Christ’s love and by our love. This is koinonia, the Spirit’s work. Let us live it, proclaim it, celebrate it. God bless you.
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By the Venerable Calhoun Walpole,
Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina Listen to an audio version of this meditation at this link. As you know, cattle egrets are long-legged birds that live in wetland regions. Their name derives from the fact that they like to ride on the backs of cows—eating insects attracted to these animals. In the absence of large animals, they appear, seemingly out of nowhere, wherever the soil is tossed and tilled. While they are a part of our landscape here in South Carolina, the cattle egret is not indigenous to North or South America; it is actually native to the Iberian Peninsula and Africa. Apparently, the first recorded sighting of these egrets in the New World was in South America in the late nineteenth century. The cattle egret seems to be the only animal known to have made the journey across the Atlantic Ocean without the aid of humans. It is commonly thought that these birds were carried across the ocean by gentle trade winds, or maybe even a hurricane or two. We know hurricanes that reach our shores usually begin as little waves off the coast of West Africa. The wind blows and the heated sea churns, and before we know it, a powerful storm is born. The wind can bring about change and propel God’s creatures to embark upon a journey—or perhaps recognize that a journey is already underway. It was pilgrims to Jerusalem upon whom the wind blew—the Pentecost wind, the very Spirit of God, moving the people of God—as a Body, the Church. The Spirit breathes upon us and through us, moving us forward, into a God-breathed future, and open to new paths cut across freshly-plowed fields—soil-stirred—in preparation for planting and a harvest. Egrets from across the wide ocean now make their home among us. It wasn’t just one lonesome, lost egret that made its way from the Old World to the New; it was a group, a collective gathering—a flock. Storm-tossed, yet finding one another in a new land—a strange land—once the dust settled. So it is with Christ’s Church. Out of many peoples, languages, nations, regions—we become one in Christ—our diversity being our strength. How is the Holy Spirit moving in your own life to bring:
Yours faithfully, Callie By the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee,
President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina Today is Memorial Day. It is a day hallowed in this country, to remember and honor the great sacrifice that has been given by hundreds of thousands of service men and women who have protected and defended and fought for this country in times of war and in times of peace. I am reminded that the very earliest imprints of what Memorial Day is now began in what is today Hampton Park in Charleston, at the end of the Civil War, when freed slaves paraded around the Washington Race Course and Jockey Club honoring the Union soldiers who died fighting for their freedom. Don’t believe me? Check out the New York Times article at this link. I am also reminded of a news article I read this past week that only 1 in 4 Americans actually know what today is about. But those who know what it means or who are directly impacted by it as they remember family members or friends who have died, they know what this day is about. It is about remembering service and sacrifice. It is about honoring service and sacrifice. It is about giving thanks for service and sacrifice. And this day of remembrance, at its best, unites us in solidarity around Jesus’ new commandment: Love one another as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for his friends. The good news of Jesus Christ is that he has laid down his life for you, for me, and for the whole world. He has given of himself fully for you, for me, and for the whole world. In his laying down of his own life and rising to life again he has freed us from the power of sin and death. How might we honor and remember those today who have given the ultimate sacrifice? Happy Memorial Day! By the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr.,
Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina We live on a salt marsh surrounded by a creek and open water. During home isolation (between Zoom meetings), we have had long swathes of time to watch the colorful variety of birds and waterfowl that live around us. The current stars of the show are the ospreys. They arrive in the spring each year, build nests, ride the winds, and fish prodigiously. They offer their distinctive cries when we happen to come close. We miss seeing our friends terribly these days, but the ospreys make good neighbors. The ospreys put me in mind of Jesus’ words in Matthew 6: “consider the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly father feeds them.” In this teaching, Jesus is making a point about the corrosiveness of our human anxiety. “Do not worry about your life,” he says. See how God cares for the birds and the lilies of the field by nature’s grace. How much more will God care for you? Jesus is wisely urging us to learn to find peace in what is given. But I wonder if Jesus’ words, “consider the birds of the air,” might also have another meaning for us in our time. Innumerable studies are showing us the dramatic decline of bird species and other creatures because of the human abuse of creation. Our over-development of habitat, destruction of wild spaces, and our pollution of the air and water are causing animal and bird life to be radically diminished. The dramatic increase of air and water quality during the world’s slowdown has highlighted just how much damage modern life is doing to creation. Our original vocation as human beings is to be stewards of the earth. God made humanity to “tend and care for the garden,” Genesis tells us. That means not just thinking of ourselves and our endless needs, but considering the wellbeing of the wild creatures of the air and the fields and the woods. What we do affects them for good or ill. One theologian goes so far as to say, “what we do to them we do to Christ.” For they too are our neighbors. As the church approaches Pentecost, we remember that it is the Holy Spirit’s invisible, indwelling presence that gives life to all things. The creed calls the Spirit “The Lord and giver of life.” As we honor nature and care for the creatures, we are honoring the Spirit. Jesus’ words, “consider the birds of the air,” invite us both into the beauty of the Spirit’s gifts and into our calling to be God’s good stewards. Wendell Berry’s poem, "Peace of Wild Things," ends: I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of the wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. Amen. By the Venerable Calhoun Walpole,
Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina Every year at this time in the South, the gardenia blooms and brightens the world with its beauty and sweet fragrance wafting through the air, reminding us of the transitory, yet eternal, gift of the flower. The gardenia was named for Dr. Alexander Garden, a Scottish physician and naturalist, the son of a clergyman by the same name and cousin of the Reverend Alexander Garden, who served in South Carolina as Commissary to the Bishop of London during the colonial era. His colorful tales of the growing colony enticed Alexander, the physician and naturalist, to venture to South Carolina. I always find myself doing a delicate dance with the gardenia in an attempt to bring some of its blooms and fragrance inside, yet knowing that if my skin touches the flower, the flower will turn brown and die. I asked a lifelong friend about this. While we were still school-aged children, my friend Peter Madsen began to operate his own nursery called “Pete’s Plants,” which is now “Sea Island Savory Herbs.” Peter explained to me that the gardenia’s flower (like that of the camellia) is so delicate and sensitive that contact with human skin bruises the cell walls of the petals. The oil in the skin closes off the pores of the petals. The gardenia is also an evergreen, meaning it never loses its leaves. It craves water and thrives in swampy settings. In the 20th chapter of the Gospel of John, the Risen Jesus says to Mary, “Stop clinging to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father.” Jesus is saying that after his ascension he will be with us in new ways. The 19th century bishop and biblical scholar, B.F. Westcott, noted, “Then you will be able to enjoy the communion which is as yet impossible.” When the pandemic is past, as in any major life or world event, we hope to be changed—for the better. In your own life, what will deep fellowship and communion with others look like? Perhaps it will be as exquisite and delightful as the gift and grace of the gardenia. Yours faithfully, Callie By the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee,
President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina We are in that portion of Eastertide where the readings have shifted from stories of the resurrected Jesus to Jesus preparing his disciples for the inevitable day of Ascension, where his resurrected physical body will leave them. They will no longer see him in the flesh, but he is preparing them for the new way in which he will be with them always—even to the end of the age. In the gospel story from the Sixth Sunday of Easter, Jesus tells his disciples that when he goes to the Father, he will not leave them as orphans. He will send them an Advocate, the Spirit of Truth, that will be their helper, and live in them always. This Spirit of Truth is God’s deep and abiding love. God’s love is always present with us. Always. Love is intangible. We cannot see it in the way that we see other physical things. But we can feel it. We can receive it. We can give it. We begin to see it and experience it as it encounters the physical world. This is the same as Spirit. We cannot see it. It too is intangible. The Spirit is depicted as a mighty rushing wind in the Acts of the Apostles. We cannot see the wind. However, we know it is there because we have watched it blow through the trees, and we have felt it across our skin during this amazing spring. We begin to see it and experience it as it encounters the physical world. The Spirit of God was present at creation, hovering over the deep. God speaks creation into existence with a breath. God breathed life into the nostrils of humankind, making us more than dust or clay, but animated and spirited beings. It was good. Spirit and breath are analogous in the Old Testament. It is the same concept. The Spirit is the very Breath of God. We cannot see the air we breathe, but we can feel it. That breath is God’s Spirit; always present with us. In fact, the Gospel of John, in its own story of Pentecost, depicts the Risen Christ breathing the Holy Spirit onto the disciples. Breathing is a touchy subject these days. We have to do it to live, but many of us are hesitant about doing so without a mask in public places. I have had to get used to wearing a mask. The first week or so, I found it very cumbersome and difficult to breathe. Those of us with seasonal allergies, asthma, or any lung ailment know all too well how much of a gift a full and deep breath can be to the body and the soul. Breathing centers us. Breathing calms us down. What do they say to do in the midst of a panic attack? Take deep breaths. So my challenge to you is to “just breathe.” Go ahead. I will wait. In and out. In and out. In and out. It is amazing how much good a few deep breaths will do for you. In these times of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear; remember to breathe. For when you breathe, you are receiving the Spirit of Truth. You are receiving God’s abiding love and presence. That is good news. There is more good news though. Even when there is no more breath in us, we are the Lord’s. That is the joy of Easter. But for now, just breathe. By the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr.,
Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina This has not been an easy Easter for alleluias. Overshadowed by the pandemic crisis, our fifty days of celebration have been diminished. We have not been able to worship in person, or sing together the great hymns that animate Christ’s victory, or even receive the sacrament of life. It has felt very strange, a bit like fasting during the feast. So it seems all the more important, as we approach the season’s end, to recall what the message of Easter is in all its breadth and depth. “Christ is risen” is a proclamation, I believe, about both death and life, about both then and now. Our resurrection faith is about “then.” It tells us that physical death is not the end. In Christ it has become the gateway to life beyond life in the mystery of eternity. John Donne once said in a sermon, “I shall rise from the dead, from the prosternation of death…and never miss the sun; for I shall see the Son of God, the sun of glory, and I shall shine myself as that sun shines.” Without such faith, life shrinks from its true dimensions. The Easter message also tells us that resurrection is about “now.” It can easily appear to be something only in the distance, on the horizon. But the great Christian truth is that resurrection is a reality in the present tense of life. Christ’s victory is not just over death but over the powers of evil. In its light we can trust that the world’s tragedy is finally overcome by hope. The corridors of history are dark, but evil does not have the last word. Love does. William Sloan Coffin once said that Easter is a “Yes, but” kind of message: “Yes, fear and self-righteousness and sin kill; but love never dies, not with God and not even with us.” These proclamations give us the courage to live a life beyond fear. Fear and anxiety are endemic, but they can keep us in a spiritual prison and prevent us from being fully alive. The gospel accounts tell us that after the cross the disciples huddled together in fear. When they saw the Risen One their fear was transformed into a radical hope that sent them out to change the world. It is meant to be so for us. Resurrection hope, both then and now, chisels away our fear and sets us free to love, to give, and to live with abandon. H.A. Williams wrote in True Resurrection: “Christ is risen! It is a proclamation about mankind, about the world. All that separates and injures and destroys has been overcome by what unites and heals and creates. Death has been swallowed up by life.” Wherever you are, whatever you are dealing with in these tough days, however you may be feeling, mediate on those words. May they bring forth a resounding "Alleluia!" anyway! God bless and keep you. The Rt. Rev. Henry Nutt Parsley, Jr. By the Venerable Calhoun Walpole,
Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina Those who sowed with tears, Will reap with songs of joy. Psalm 126 gives us great assurance that we will ultimately pass through any and all pain into joy. The poet David Whyte writes the following concerning heartbreak: “Heartbreak is the natural outcome of caring for people and things over which we have no control, of holding in our affections those who move beyond our sight.” He goes on to note that “heartbreak is how we mature; yet we use the word as if it only occurs when things have gone wrong.” The poet invites us to see heartbreak “not as the end of the road or the cessation of hope but “as inescapable and inevitable as breathing, as part and parcel of every path…the close embrace of the essence of what we have wanted or are about to lose. It is the hidden DNA of our relationship with life…an inescapable and often beautiful question, something and someone that has been with us all along.” What does heartbreak look like for you in your own life? Lord Jesus, let our minds rest in your Word, so that when doubt and grief would overwhelm us, faith will open our eyes to see your hand at work in our life and enable us to turn toward the future with hope and toward each other in charity. Amen. (From the prayer at the Third Station of Stations of the Resurrection by Forward Day by Day.) Yours faithfully, Callie A note from the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee, President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina: Today we hear from our seminarian, Christian Basel. Christian is finishing up his middler year at Virginia Theological Seminary. Before attending VTS, Christian worked at Grace Church Cathedral as youth minister and part of the communications team. We are grateful to hear from him today.
"Waiting" By Christian Basel Psalms is more than just a beautiful book of biblical poetry. They are sung. They are full of praise and lament, thanksgiving, and petition. But at their heart, the psalms are all prayers. Being at Seminary in Virginia has been a wild experience during this time of pandemic. While I am away from my community in South Carolina, my community here has been scattered. Everything has moved online, the campus is eerily quiet, and meals are almost always solitary. But within that disorientation there is plenty of hope for the fall and new sense of “virtual” community. I’m sure that many of you have had similar experiences in your own ways. The Psalms have offered a wonderful way to put words to all of those prayers that I, and maybe you, don’t have words ready for just yet. One that has been particularly moving to me has been Psalm 130 because it is all about waiting, and listening, and hope. It is used several times in the lectionary and notably appears as a suggested reading for the Holy Saturday liturgy in that period of waiting before the resurrection. The opening line is profound: “Out of the depths, I cry to you, O Lord.” But what is unique, and unlike other Psalms, is that there is no cry for deliverance. Although God’s ability to save and redeem is recognized, the psalmist makes no petition to change anything. Instead, the psalmist only asks that God hear their voice—“Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!”—and waits in hope for the Lord. And we are reminded that hope is something that goes beyond what we think is the end. Hope looks forward. The psalmist waits in this hope “more than those who watch for the morning.” They wait longer than is required and hope for more than what is known to come next. Just as for the psalmist, this is a long period of waiting. When it comes down to it, no one likes to wait. No one has ever enjoyed long lines, or traffic, or being put on hold on the phone, because we don’t know when it’s going to be over. Waiting is ultimately out of our control, and sometimes it is inevitable. Everything beyond this waiting in quarantine may seem unknown and uncertain, even as we begin to peer over the end of our quarantine and think about what new-normal we come to next. The psalmist reminds us that we are not really waiting for the end of a situation we do not have control over, we’re encouraged not to misplace our hope. Instead, we’re waiting for the Lord, because that is where our real hope lies. As we move over that horizon of quarantine into a future we do not know, our hopes in the Lord are met with a steadfast love. It is a love that hears the voice of our prayers. No depth or period of waiting can prevent our voice from reaching God. And as my prayers change day-to-day with changing news and changing plans, this psalm reminds me that my prayers are heard and centered on a hope that does not change, on a love that is unwavering. There is peace in that. May God be attentive to each of our voices, may we wait with hope, and may our hope in the Lord carry us through today, tomorrow, and always. By the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr.,
Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina In these recent days, we are being shown how interconnected and interdependent we are in this world. The sudden global pandemic has made us aware how what any one of us does can affect many others. We have seen this applies not just to individuals but also to nations, states, and cities. The world is a luminous, yet fragile, web of relationships. As we look toward more “re-opening” of our society and eventually the churches, we need to take this to heart. We must think interdependently, not just individually. There is a vintage Peanuts cartoon strip that shows Snoopy lying contentedly on the top of his doghouse, saying “I am so glad to be independent.” A big bone is then tossed in front of his house. He says, “Well, maybe semi-independent.” One of our besetting human sins is to think mostly of ourselves: my needs, my wants, my rights, my independence. “Natural” though it may be, this is not an adequate way to live. Our faith’s most significant contribution to human moral wellbeing has always been the emphasis on our responsibility to care for each other. St. Paul wrote to the church in Rome, “we are members of one another.” To the Philippians he stressed: “Let each of you look not to your own interests but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” He describes this mind as one of loving concern and self-giving for the other. Learning to live as members of one another is the great revolution of life with which our faith challenges us. John Donne wrote, “No man is an Island, intire of itselfe; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the maine;…any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.” The Christian moral vision has never been better expressed. In these present days, it should be written over each of our doorsteps. When we are advised to keep safe distances between each other and to wear masks in public places—as much as we may prefer not to—let us take this moral vision to heart. When we consider what to purchase, let us remember what others need as well. “Me first” thinking will not see us safely through this pandemic. Looking to the interests of others is the good and right way. In so doing we contribute to the safety of our neighbors and our society, and finally ourselves. There is an old rabbinic story that when God created the universe his divine light was placed into special celestial containers. Things did not go according to plan, as humanity turned in on ourselves. The vessels were broken and the universe became filled with sparks of divine light. The task of creation would not be complete until those sparks were gathered together. Each of us is given some of these sparks. The rabbis called putting them to use “Tikkum Olam,” the repair of the world. This is a time for gathering the sparks. We are all involved in Mankind. The Rt. Rev. Henry Nutt Parsley, Jr. |
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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