Weekly Reflection -- September 25

Invariably, many of the calves that were born on our northern Minnesota farm just had to enter the world at 2AM in the morning.  The cycle that our farm was on placed the calving season in March in Minnesota.  It was still cold, yet you'd have days where the spring melt teased you, and the barnyard looked like a miniature Mississippi delta, with tiny rivulets running everywhere.  The 2AM birthing would generally go unnoticed; the newborn calf greeting my dad when he stopped by to feed the cows in the morning.   

At other times--when you knew that a young heifer was going to struggle to birth its calf--you were on call throughout the early morning hours.  A little tap on the shoulder while you slept, and the command, "Get your clothes on.  We need to pull the calf," were all that you needed to wake up and get to the barnyard.  The cow would be resting in a pile of straw, her breath white and cloudy with each exhalation and her eyes wide open seemingly wondering what is going on!   

A little incandescent bulb shed a soft light onto the birthing scene but not enough to help find the calves hooves that protruded from the back of the cow.  One of us would hold a flashlight for a better view, while the other person--usually my dad--would slip two chains around the hooves of the calf.  We then  engaged in pulling with each contraction, hoping to aid and hasten the birth of the calf before it was too late.

At times the pulling would go on for a long time.  Other times the calf slid quickly out, afterbirth and all, and we quickly cleaned the film off her nose so that she could breathe.  The cow, meanwhile, was attentive to the calf immediately, drying her off and encouraging the young lungs of the calf by licking her vigorously across her body.   

The sight on the farm within a few weeks was one of new life.  Black and brown calves kicked their heels up and chased each other around the barnyard exuding the vibrancy and vigor of life.   

Unfortunately, there were calves who were not so lucky.  Whether they were compromised by a difficult birth or caught a bug, there were always "runts" in the herd.  Some were able to make miraculous turnarounds.  Others  never really had a chance.  It wasn't for lack of trying, however.  

We would bottle feed the calves, place them under heating lamps in the barn, and--when things were really dire--we brought them into our house and fed and cared for them in the hopes that they would be able to turn the corner toward health and strength.  The odds were never good.

It is with memories like these and numerous other experiences that I come to the first Sunday in October--the Feast of St. Francis--with a deep appreciation for the beauty and wonder of creation, the intimate relationship that humans can possess with animals, the power and life of so many types of creatures, and the fragility of the animal kingdom and our own limits within the larger order.  I like to think such reflections connect to the spirit of St. Francis and his perspective of and posture toward the larger created order.

We celebrate the Feast of St. Francis with an annual pet blessing that honors the relationship we possess with God's creatures, gives thanks for the time that we have together to share, and, at a deep level, recognizes the fragility of life and asks for blessings on those creatures for whom we care and love.   

This year, we will do things a little differently than years past.  We will hold the blessing at the Barlett Arboretum at 4:00 PM,  on Sunday, October 2, and we will hold the service with the members of Christ the Healer.  We hope that the neutral location, along with being a wonderfully natural setting, will also encourage those in the neighborhood to attend.  Regardless the location, please mark your calendars for next Sunday, October 2, at 4:00 PM for our annual Feast of St. Francis Pet Blessing.  It is a wonderful event and an opportunity to give thanks for the gift that we experience through the presence of animals in our lives.

   

Blessings, 

  

Mark

Weekly Reflection--September 18

 With fall almost here, the activities of youth returning to school, the light lingering a little less longer with each day, and the packing away of summer gear and pulling out sweaters and fleeces mark the shift from one season to another.

At St. Francis, another marker is the gathering of a small group of individuals from the parish to review grant applications from various social service agencies in Stamford and agencies in the greater U.S. and abroad with whom we have a personal connection. 

On behalf of the parish, this committee will distribute close to $30,000.00 in grants.
In tough economic times, this commitment on the part of the parish is vital and, I believe, central to and an outgrowth of our Christian faith.

On the one hand, recent reports show that poverty is on the rise in the United States.  The most recent report that I heard had the poverty rate inching up one percentage point.  (I always find using percentages important to categorize, and I also cringe with the knowledge of the millions of people who are a part of that one percent.)  The need has always been great, and the need continues to increase.  Stamford, while enjoying certain benefits and buffering because of location, is no different than other communities throughout the country.  Our call as Christians is to look for Christ in those who are in need.  Matthew 25 is our constant reminder of this reality:

Then the King will say to those on his right, "Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

   I was hungry and you fed me,
   I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
   I was homeless and you gave me a room,
   I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
   I was sick and you stopped to visit,
   I was in prison and you came to me."

 "Then those 'sheep' are going to say, "Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?"  Then the King will say, "I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me-you did it to me."

(translation from

Eugene Peterson's "The Message" ) 

On the other hand, as others have said before, budgets are moral documents.  They articulate what we believe and hold to be important in life and our life together.  A church's budget is no different.  Along with the $30,000.00 that we budget for Outreach and the almost $50,000.00 that goes to the diocese as a part of our assessment to aid the ministry of the larger church, St. Francis underscores its commitment to the care and support of others.  

This is no small task, and, particularly when others are cutting back on support, it is a crucial commitment that we make.  As our readings from last week on forgiveness reflected, Christianity is not always easy.  Demands are made upon us to see the hand of God at work in the world and to practice at participating with that hand to bring about a little more of the presence of God wherever we find ourselves. 

I am moved by the commitment that St. Francis has made and continues to make regarding Outreach.  Thank you for your part in supporting this vital ministry.  Thank you also to those who serve on the Outreach committee and are extremely diligent in their review of the grants, follow up with the agencies, and involvement in understanding the issues that agencies and individuals face in our community and elsewhere.  (The committee is ably led by Cathy Ostuw and includes:  
Annie Hartigan,
Betsy Adams,
Bud Prenevost,
Dom Principe,
Freddy Paine,
Julia Wade,
Kim Henderson,
Kimberly Miller,
Patricia Lydon,
Ralph Nazareth,
Stacy Pryce

We always have room to grow, and there are more tangible options throughout the year to participate in "hands on" outreach where we come face to face with the Christ in "the other".  I hope that you may avail yourself of these options throughout the year.  Yet, whether you roll up your sleeves or take out your pen, let us never forget that we are connected to those in need, and Christ calls to us in and through them daily.

Blessings, 

  

Mark

Weekly Reflection--September 11

I am sorry for the delay of this weekly bulletin; I was hoping to have a radio interview regarding 9/11 as a part of the "Going Deeper" section, but that will have to wait for another week.

This weekend is quite busy in the life of the parish, our community, and the nation. 

At St. Francis, we are kicking off the program year with Christian Education starting up, a sung service at 8AM, and the choir returning to support worship at the 10AM service. 

I invite everyone to join in.  Invite a friend.  And enjoy a little ice cream following the 10AM service! 
Alison Quinn and Nancy Geary deserve special recognition for all that they have done in putting together the curriculum for the kids for the coming year and organizing volunteers. 
THANK YOU
Alison and Nancy!!!!!

Of course, we all, the larger community, and the nation formally remember the 10th anniversary of 9/11.  It is amazing that we find ourselves at this point.  Ten years later.  It seems like only yesterday.  And, yet, it also seems surreal and a part of an even more distant past.  Time has frayed the immediacy of the event, however we do not forget, and with each anniversary, there is a reliving of that heinous and calamitous day.

I invite you all to join in an InterFaith Council remembrance of 9/11 this Sunday evening at 7:00 PM at Temple Beth-El on Roxbury Road.  If you can attend, please register as a shuttle will leave from St. Leo's to the Temple Beth-El. (You can get information to attend on the header of this note.)  

I don't know about you, but with the significance of the 10th anniversary, it almost seems like we are being inundated with a barrage of constant reminders, remembrances, and reflections.  Starting almost two weeks ago there is continual reporting of the many sides of this tragic day and the myriad lives that have been forever impacted by the events of 9/11/2001. 

Indeed, it is appropriate and important to remember in this and many other ways.  It also is can be extremely overwhelming.  And the events of that day were, of course, overwhelming.  Efforts to capture the event, the emotions, the fear, the horror, the anger, the outrage, the cost, the implications, the trajectories of lives and a nation in its aftermath all pale and seem so limited before the enormity of the event itself. 

I think that, perhaps, that is why the remembrances and the anniversaries are so important for they allow us to--a little at a time--see a portion of something so large that we can never see and comprehend the entire piece.  Piece by piece we perceive and piece by piece we come to understand, certainly not completely but, as is our lot, in part.  (Thus, I believe that the idea of heaven to know in full as we have been fully known resonates profoundly in moments and times like these.)

Furthermore, as many churches and synagogues were filled with people seeking solace, safety, understanding, and meaning the first weekend after 9/11, it is interesting to notice how, after that initial influx, there has been a steady exodus from religious institutions.  And who can blame those who have--what we casually call in religious circles--"lost" their faith. 

Confronted by the horror of such an event, stripped of the illusion that we control our lives and destiny, faced with the capriciousness of the evil acts of immoral actors, and engaged with the question-that-is-prior-to-all-the-other-questions: 
Where is God?
are we surprised that people would be shaken to the core and, in the case of some, reject what heretofore had been foundational?

In the funeral homily in the "Going Deeper" section there is a segment where Father Duffy despairs over what has happened.  A fellow priest slips him a piece of paper with a quote from the book of Lamentations:

The favors of the Lord are not exhausted. His mercies are not spent. Every morning,
they are renewed. Great is his faithfulness. I will always trust
in him.  

The words were not spoken in a vacuum or the delight of ease or success.  They were spoken in the midst of horror and loss millennia before.  The words are the expression of a profound trust.  Not that everything "works out" and we skate through life free of pain.  Rather the words express the heart of the reality of a relationship of trust with the divine.  We do not have all the answers, we are not given the secrets to the mysteries of life.  We are, however, privy to an insight that we are loved intimately by God and that this God enters fully into the mix of our lives, amidst the joy of it no less than in the pain and sorrow of it. 

Faith, in this context, is not Pollyana or a denial of reality.  It is, rather, an entrance into the fullness of reality supported by the knowledge that we are not alone, and there is no place that we go where God is not . . . even death.  Because absolutes cannot be handed down in this life and because we do not know with absolute certainty the machinations of the Holy One, a nimble faith built on trust (which never fully knows with certainty, right? But continues to what?  Trust!) and engaged with the world is a key to bringing a bit more of the presence of God into the world here and now; this posture of faith also allows us to enter into the pain of life and the remembrances of 9/11 and the other tragedies of life; and it helps us to speak in our own day the affirmation that transcends understanding: 

The favors of the Lord are not exhausted. His mercies are not spent. Every morning,
they are renewed. Great is his faithfulness. I will always trust
in him. 

Blessings, 

  

Mark