Thank you

Thank you.

Thank you for breakfast with Anna this morning at Rise Up.

Thank you for laughter and conversation taking Ava to work.

Thank you for the slow driver on Oxford Road who reminded me to slow down.

Thank you for the Oxford Conservation Park.

Thank you for the body and energy to skateboard and for the joy I get from it.

Thank you for the Eastern Bluebirds who cut across my path.

Thank you for the tree I sit under to think and pray and listen.


Thank you for the Great Blue Heron who squawked and landed on the dock across the cove.

Thank you for the hammock on the point across the way, which has been there for years and always reminds me to rest.

Thank you for the Bishop’s words on Wednesday that “Every day is a conversion experience.”

Thank you for giving me new eyes to see familiar places afresh.

Thank you for giving me words when I frequently don’t know where they come from.

Thank you for making my path clearer and clearer for me each day, even though I don’t fully know where it leads.


Thank you for companions on the way.

Thank you for the everyone I have crossed paths with, people walking their own paths, walking together for a time; thank you for those who have encouraged me and for those who I have struggled with.

Thank you for forgiveness for the countless times I have screwed up and the countless times I will screw up in the future.

Thank you for your Creation and for making me feel at home and at peace in it.

Thank you for the wisdom and inspiration that comes from your Word and from the words you’ve given to poets, mystics, artists, musicians, and prophets, known and unknown.

Thank you for the conversation this morning, under the tree, through Mary Oliver:


(Note: I was compelled to pick up Mary Oliver’s book “Devotions” when I left home this morning. I always start reading at the bookmark, where I stopped reading last time. I opened to “When I Am Among the Trees” and it picked up steam from there.)

“Oh, feed me this day, Holy Spirit, with
the fragrance of the fields and the
freshness of the oceans which you have
made, and help me to hear and to hold
in all dearness those exacting and wonderful
words of our Lord Jesus Christ saying:
Follow me.”

Thank you for your Son and for his invitation to “Follow me.”

Thank you for your love, which always comes from you, and your love that comes through others.

Lord, help me use my life and myself to serve you, to glorify you, to be your love and to shine your light in the world.

Here I am, Lord.

Thank you.

Commencing

In 2013 I got the strong feeling I was supposed to go to seminary. It didn’t make sense–I couldn’t put it anywhere, church wasn’t even a part of my daily life. But life was at a crossroads, and the nudge was there. In 2017, when I started working for Christ Church Easton, I was pulled in that direction, but it still didn’t feel like a real possibility; I couldn’t stop working and go off to seminary for three years.

The Iona Eastern Shore seminary program came to the Episcopal Diocese of Easton (the Eastern Shore of Maryland) in 2021. The program was created specifically for those who couldn’t attend a traditional residential seminary, but who discerned a calling to ordination. Seven of us from around the Shore signed on with the intent to become priests, and another would later join to become a vocational deacon.

On June 15, the inaugural class of Iona Eastern Shore graduated in a ceremony at Christ Church Easton. A couple quick takeaways: 1) there was no other way I could have done something like this–I am grateful beyond words; and 2) I am ruined for any potential future graduations.

Background/Context

Iona Eastern Shore is a part of an international partnership between the Iona Collaborative and the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin, Texas. Bishop Santosh Marray brought the program to the Diocese of Easton in 2021 and Fr. Dan Dunlap, Rector of Old Trinity Church in Church Creek, and St. John’s Cornersville, who was a seminary professor at Seminary of the Southwest became the lead instructor/professor/dean for Iona Eastern Shore.

Students in the Iona Eastern Shore program on the priesthood track went through three years of academic study with a combination of weekly Zoom classes to review and discuss the weekly reading assignments, and monthly day retreats, where in addition to academic discussion, homiletics and liturgy were practiced and discussed. Classes were focused on Bible study, history of the church, theology and ethics. We had guest lecturers in the form of clergy from throughout the Eastern Shore, including Dr. Tom Long, renowned author, preacher, and teacher of preachers. We took the General Ordination Exams this past winter and are working through our Clinical Pastoral Education requirements on our way to ordination as priests.

Graduation Day

I’m giving you my lens on the day. We had a full church of family and friends of the seven of us who were at the ceremony, clergy from all over the Shore, and a big turn out from our Christ Church Easton congregation.

Welcoming everyone at the beginning of the service, Bishop San touched on the “why” for the program:

“The church is called to be adaptive and creative in the time it lives in,” the Bishop said. “This is one of those initiatives that speaks to the adaptability and the creativity of the church so that God’s kingdom is proclaimed among God’s people.”

Rev. Greg Harbaugh, a long-time Lutheran minister, who now serves at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Salisbury, was the preacher for the day.

Here are some highlights/takeaways from his sermon, writing out a few of them because they are full of such great concern and advice for us moving forward :

  • “Ministry, like life, is difficult. I suspect you already know this. Nevertheless, as clergy we are adept at thinking it should be otherwise. Truth be told, ministry has always been difficult: remember (what happened to) Jesus… Paul, Peter, and all the rest.”
  • “When you enter your call, do so with repentance and humility. Turn first to the Lord in prayer.  Consult with the Bishop and colleagues. Talk and mostly listen to your lay leadership. Visit your people to get to know them. And let them know you.”
  • “Ministry can be difficult. Humility and patience matter, lead by example of your piety and your own faithfulness. There will be joys along the way; there will be fecundity and peace; there will be shortfalls and successes.”
  • “My final injunction, prayer really, is to continually experience Jesus both more broadly and more deeply. His cruciforming love and grace will continue to open you… experience his breath as spirit of life, his Word as truth, his Gospel as the Way.
  • Through prayer and study of Scripture and holy writings, the deep breath of Holy Spirit will turn you inside out—to recognize yourself in Jesus as a child of the Heavenly Father.”
  • “In your ministry, continue the lifeway that allows you to know and experience Jesus through prayer and service; know him through study and the listening to his Word; receiving his grace; this is your deepest service and will hold you fast during the buffeting winds of ministry. Then, too, he will surprise you in your own preaching, as you will surprise your people with Jesus’s good news—in such moments you and they will know who and whose you are in beloved community.”
Adding my part to the prayers of the people during the service, Concerns for the Local Community: “Lord, you minister to the whole world and you have called us to serve here on the Eastern Shore. Help us to discern the changing needs of our communities, to go where people are hurting, feel lost, and feel far from you. Give us compassion, empathy, and wisdom as we go out into the towns, into the counties, and working together as your hands and feet on the grassroots level, help us to be your love here where we serve you and your people.”

Supported and Seen

In the weeks leading up to graduation, people asked if I was excited for the day. I’d answer, “Of course, looking forward to it,” or something along those lines. But it wasn’t registering. Until the first note of the first song, once we were seated and the service was beginning. That’s when the tears of gratitude began and didn’t stop.

Fr. Dan Dunlap, our professor and dean, gave personal remarks about each of us before he gave us our certificates and the Bishop put our tippets on us. Fr. Dan’s comments were so specific and communicated so much about who we are. This is what he said about me:

“Michael, our contemplative. No matter how hectic life gets, no matter what’s going on out there in the world, we have people like Michael. Michael, who reminds us that there is always time to stop and smell the roses, or sit on the dock and take a picture. Or write a journal entry. And that’s the one thing, the best part about his contemplativeness is that he communicates it to others so that even if we don’t think we have time to be contemplatives, he’s made the time and shares it with us. Thank you, Michael, for that.”

Going to school around the edges of working, of being a Dad, of being a partner, of being a part of a church community, is out of the sight of others. And that’s okay, ministry is about serving, not being seen. But every now and then, through comments like Fr. Dan’s, or the turn out from the congregation, I feel some nods of affirmation in a way that inspires me , motivates me, and pushes me on.

Another of those moments came after our class had each been announced, the Bishop had us turn to face the congregation. Gratitude came out of my eyes and lungs, that’s the only way I can say it.

Commencing

“What’s past is prologue; what to come, in yours and my discharge.”

William Shakespeare, from “The Tempest”

“What’s past is prologue” is the part of that quote that Fr. Bill Ortt, our long-time rector and mentor liked to use. The idea is that what’s happened before is just a lead up to the present moment. It’s a foundation for what’s to come, but it doesn’t determine what’s to come, we do (with God’s help).

Our class of seminarians went back to school and finished our course of study in our 40s, 50s, and 60s. That speaks to our natures as lifelong learners. Our prescribed program for this particular time has come to an end. But it serves as a beginning for what’s next.

Studying to prepare for sermons, developing a deeper understanding of the liturgy, being with people going through difficult times, celebrating milestones, being shaped by grief, difficulties, and empathy for what others are going through, as well as sharing joy and small and large victories with others. Learning never stops.

For a number of us, we will next learn to be deacons. Ordination for classmates Joanne Fisher, Kelsey Spiker, Jessica Stehle, and I will be on Saturday, September 14 at Trinity Cathedral in Easton. Bishop San let Kelsey and I know that with our full-time staff positions at Christ Church Easton that our diaconal placement will also be Christ Church.

Graduation marked a moment in time. It was a coming together of our class for the last time in a culmination of our studies. I don’t take graduation ceremonies lightly: the last time I graduated was from Washington College when I was 26. Now at 52, that was half my life ago. I hope to continue my education, both formally and informally. But I don’t think any graduation ceremony will touch what happened on June 15. With seven of us there (we were missing one classmate), our home traditional choir and contemporary band, a service with and by friends and colleagues, it was personal, Holy Spirit-filled, and a perfect commencement, sending us out to do the work God has given us to do.

I am grateful to a Diocese and Bishop for thinking outside the box, embracing creative approaches to education, ministry, and ordination; to our professors, instructors, and lecturers; to our classmates; and to our congregation and families. It takes a village, and a diocese, to facilitate a calling.

To be a human being among human beings

Life has felt large and open and raw of late, where prayers, feelings, experiences and thoughts are all super charged.

There are plenty of reasons: Ava’s stereotactic neurosurgery is on Monday; Anna turns 21 on Tuesday and Ava turns 18 in mid-February; we’ve past the half-way point in our Romans Bible studies; seminary is stirring good things up and Kelsey Spiker and I just became postulants, the next designation in the path to ordination to the priesthood; even occasional preaching is a full-body experience; gearing up for Lent small groups; and the girls had their first ever snow skiing experiences, which was a trip with Holly and her kids as well as many teen and twenty-something friends.

Life has an open feeling, which is both filling and fulfilling and taxing and shaky sometimes.

Studying for a Saturday seminary day retreat, Rev. Susie Leight has us reading and thinking about the spirituality of the priesthood, which included excerpts from Barbara Brown Taylor’s “The Preaching Life” and Gordon W. Lathrop’s “The Pastor: A Spirituality.” Lathrop recalls an experience in a Swiss airport where he read a quote on a poster from Antoine de Saint-Exupery, written in French. Lathrop translated it literally to say:

“As a profound thirst: the desire to be a human being among human beings.”

A deep and profound desire to be a human being–someone who lives and feels, who is flawed and who needs others–among human beings. To be in community and to be allowed to be fully ourselves. This is what it is to be open, to be honest, to be vulnerable, which is not instantly a comfortable place to be.

Thursday we had a class discussing Tracy K. Smith’s Pulitzer Prize-winning book, “Life on Mars,” which is one of my favorite books. The discussion was about space and time, love, loss, grief, dancing, intimacy, language–it was flung like stars around the minds and hearts of those there. The last poem read was titled, “The Weather in Space”–

Is God being or pure force? The wind

Or what commands it? When our lives slow

And we can hold all that we love, it sprawls

In our laps like a gangly doll. When the storm

Kicks up and nothing is ours, we go chasing

After all we’re certain to lose, so alive–

Faces radiant with panic.

That is part of the challenge of being human, loss and fear are always in the mix with us. It’s a lot and sometimes we want to–I want to–shut the faucet off. But that’s not why we’re here. That’s not why I am here.

On Tuesday morning, I was thinking ahead to this weekend’s Gospel reading, which is Matthew 5:1-12, commonly known as the Beatitudes:

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. And he began to speak and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.


I’ve been in a habit of looking to see if Debie Thomas has anything to say about a particular Bible passage in her book “Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories.” And reading her take on the Beatitudes, it hit me that her book would make an incredible Lent study, looking at and discussing different aspects of Jesus’s life. Here is a bit of her take on the reading:

“What Jesus bears witness to in the Beatitudes is God’s unwavering proximity to pain, suffering, sorrow, and loss. God is nearest to those who are lowly, oppressed, unwanted and broken. God isn’t obsessed with the shiny and the impressive; God is too busy sticking close to what’s messy, chaotic, unruly, and unattractive.”

She goes further:

“I think what Jesus is saying in the Beatitudes is that I have something to learn about discipleship that my privileged life circumstances will not teach me. Something to grasp about the beauty, glory, and freedom of the Christian life that I will never grasp until God becomes my all, my go-to, my starting and ending place. Something to recognize about the radical counter-intuitiveness of God’s priorities and promises. Something to notice about the obfuscating power of plenty to blind me to my own emptiness. Something to gain from the humility that says, ‘The people I think I am superior to have everything to teach me. Maybe it’s time to pay attention.'”

If I want to be a human being among human beings, I have to be open to, to learn from, to love, those whom God loves: everyone. More than that, if as followers of Christ, we look to do God’s work in the world, we have to be, we have to show, we have to act out in faith the love that God makes real here and now, especially to those who feel alienated or shut off from it.

In teaching the Beatitudes, Jesus is turning the world and what we think we know about it, on its head. This is something he does frequently in his teachings and his parables. We should ask why.

Next week we will discuss poet Joy Harjo’s book “Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings.” In “Talking with the Sun,” she writes:

After dancing all night in a circle we realize that we are a
part of a larger sense of stars and planets dancing with us
overhead.
When the sun rises at the apex of the ceremony, we are
renewed.
There is no mistaking this connection, though Walmart
might be just down the road.
Humans are vulnerable and rely on the kindnesses of the
earth and the sun; we exist together in a sacred field of
meaning.

To be a human being among human beings is also to be human in and as a part of God’s Creation. Which He asks us to be stewards of, to take care of.

Humans are vulnerable and rely on kindnesses. When I try to live with my heart open, I have a greater sense of, and gratitude for these kindnesses–kindnesses that can come from anywhere and anyone. Any one of us. Even me.