They say it was the coldest Thanksgiving morning on record, somewhere between 18* and 23*, this morning, when we ran the Turkey Trot, to feed the hungry.
I was born on a Thanksgiving morning (too many years ago). I claim it as my 'birth day', even though it's date changes every year and I will be at home in Atlanta with Benno by the time the date turns the page.
We don't actually know what the temperature was, for sure. But we ran anyways. After all, it has become our tradition! So, we ran. It makes a better story to say it was 18*, doesn't it? That 's how stories are told: approximates, drama, passion and intrigue, selected details.
Either way, I wasn't cold at all while I ran. The energy, the excitement, the community, the over heard conversations between runners, parents and children, the dogs with their delighted owners, and the scenery of city scapes and the bridges, Andy Warhol the Clemente, over the Allegheny River. . . all distractions from the discomforts.
That's how I feel about our life together and the journey we are making. I am thankful for it. I am distracted from the discomforts by the thrill of the community and conversations, the excitement of what we're doing together as a worshiping community, the fiery imagination that keeps us warm.
From the bottom of my heart, Praise and Thanksgiving to our gracious God, for you.
and Love, always love,
There were several, but naturally I chose this one because it’s the one I remember playing with as a child. The tik-tik-tik, or the tik. . . .tik. . . .tik, depending on where you positioned the weight.
It's broken now, the weight slides but doesn’t hold, it just sinks back down to the bottom, but still the timing, the rhythm is a pleasant one, the sound of it, reminiscent. I enjoy the visual and the connection it holds for me with my dad, and to our music room, to his piano, even to the relentless piano students who came to the house for lessons and set the metronome for keeping time.
It’s funny to me now, to think that as a child I enjoyed playing with “time”, because I’ve said of myself a million times over, that I have no internal clock. It shrinks and expands and stands still at will. I thank God daily for the rising and setting of the sun and the assurance it gives me that I am always in God’s time and that he alone turns the darkness into the morning. He, my time keeper.
But really, we really do play with time. Time is a gift to us, for us, for our life. And like the piano students, we don’t always get it right nor always wrong, because really, it’s about the music, and music making, and playing~ the music.
I guess the point of keeping time is that it helps us stay together in something communal. It’s one thing if you’re a concert pianist and have the stage to yourself, then you get to decide just how you want the timing to play out.
Some of us set the weight high on the slide to slow it down a bit, and some would fix it low because it ticks super fast and makes us move, like the cha-cha.
Presto, allegro, adagio, largo. . .
We all have personal preference, and vantage point, and some kind of internal pace setting . . . but the beauty is the music. We play. Together.
As a community, we are all listening for the heartbeat of God in creation and we are depending on it’s rhythm to keep time for us. We are looking to sun and moon and their movement on the horizon as God’s invitation to expand and reach and live into the love. Both day and night are witness to God’s delight in our life together and where we might go as a faith community, because God has given us ~ more time.
When we use the word ‘remember’, at the liturgy of the table, we mean that the walls of time collapse and all are present at the table with us and we are caught up in the mystery of Christ’s death and resurrection, and find ourselves at his Eucharistic feast. We are caught up in the mystery of God’s love and the Communion of Saints.
I count you among the saints in light and I rejoice in this crazy time keeping, beat skipping, note missing, occasionally harmonious music we are making, but we are playing, and in the family I grew up in, “playing” meant making music.
Cheers to a joyful noise!
“As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever, world without end. Amen.”
November 1st. All Saints Day.
We buried my mother on this day in 1961. In July, we opened the earth again and laid my father to rest at her side. He lived to be 95, she, just 33.
You know all that. But what you might not know is that when we lingered at the grave to see him through with chains and pulleys that lowered him in, we could see the edge of my mother’s crypt, the same kind of concrete chamber with a lid, and we could see it, aged and weathered for 57 years, but there still, with her bones inside.
I continue to ponder the strange mystery, that after 57 years it would give me a profound sense of peace and comfort to see what I once saw but can’t remember, to know that what I long for is there in the ground; to see that earth and matter has kept her body as both cradle and grave; and to realize, that by seeing this physical evidence of her existence, I know now that she was/is real, and then, for some odd reason, know myself to be real. Why would seeing her crypt matter so profoundly?
I’ll be working on that for awhile . . .but I wonder, does it matter, simply because we are matter? It’s how we know.
We are matter and substance, and it is our human life to be formed of clay and God-breathed. It is how we know and love and recognize as individual. It is how we keep community. Human form, material substance. Human being.
Our common life.
We will remember the saints in light by naming them out loud on Sunday, which is part All Saints, part All Souls ritual. Today, November 2nd, is All Souls’, the day we remember the dead. The dead who we know and love in sacred body and whose matter we share and keep as sacred.
The matter we know and love and call by name.
Lucille. “Cille”. Lucille Ruth. My mother’s name.
Our faith community. On Shabbat, they ‘walk in love’. We’ve been talking about that lately, walking in love.
How can we walk in love with our neighbors who suffered horrendous injustice and horrific violence? The News has been filled with images of mourners and processions and caskets being carried in love. Bodies massacred, sacred flesh gathered up in love and carried to cradle and grave.
I delivered white roses and a card to the Synagogue yesterday on behalf of us all. We will name them among the Saints on Sunday. We will say 11 names of people we did not know who were slain in Pittsburgh as they worshipped the Holy One who breathed them into being.
This is just the beginning part of our falling in love with our neighborhood, our spiritual challenge to walk in love.
We name names. And somehow by the naming, we keep them, like earth keeping earth, their bones, their real matter; we remember them and it makes them real and by it, we know ourselves to be real.
Our common, sacred, material life.
Our Hallowed existence.
It came home to me in a profound sense on St. Francis’ Day, that people love, love, love their dogs.
They’re proud, they tell stories about them, they’re devoted and indebted, they’re companioned and by living a life with them, they walk in love.
They love. We love. We simply love.
I had a funny thought about one of the Offertory Sentences the other day. Not ‘funny’, like ‘haha’, but funny as in a joyful little thought that made me chuckle. The Offertory Sentence I’m thinking of is the one I use most often.
Most clergy use it most often. You know it, it goes like this:
“Walk in love as Christ loved us, and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.”
As I sat in my studio visiting with a parishioner, I could see out the window toward the woods in the front of the parish house. In the matter of a little over an hour,
I saw no less than 5 people walk through, at least 3 dogs and 2 strollers.
It tickled me to suddenly think, “Well there ya have it! That’s it! right in front of me: People ~ walking in love.”
. . . out there with dogs and babies, walking.
That’s what it means, that’s what it looks like, that’s how we do it.
We tend. We treat. We set aside our own comfort.
We take care. We delight. We put up with shenanigans.
We companion. We feed. We play.
We walk. . . in love.
And then I thought, with the view outside my studio window, that’s why the pet blessing was so much fun, that’s why everybody left happy and joyous because we had all been immersed in love!
We filled the room with it. We drank a deep draught.
We feasted on it! On love!
Sure, the animals are cute and everything, but it’s the love that’s so compelling.
So life changing.
Love keeps us alive!
The worship and music team and the outreach and community life team have been conspiring together ~ and roped in the building and grounds team, to plan another pet friendly Sunday.
This time, taking it a little bit further and planning a pet and people social after church.
Outside, with biscuits for both.
Dog biscuits and British biscuits, too.
Dog play and Coffee and Scones!
And so we will begin this adventure, this experiment in love, on November 18th!
Just 3 weeks time!
So we’ve got to pick up on the big efforts
Roger Loney has already begun and do some grounds work of our own, right along with him.
One of the “takeaways” from our study group for church growth (which was a word of advice given to Roy Wright by the national church representative for church growth) was about love.
When Roy asked, “Are there some immediate things we need to do right away?”, he answered, “Yes. Fall in love with your neighborhood.”
Talk about walking in love!
He recommended that we fall right in it!
We don’t have much money, but we have resources: beautiful wooded acreage (especially now that God gave it back to us, and we’re not trying to sell it).
Gently rolling hills, a splendid community garden, and spectacular sky-scraping trees.
A peaceful landscape in the middle of a cityscape (even 400 begins to sound like a stream worthy of the pacific northwest if you close your eyes and imagine it).
The Offertory Sentences are on p. 376 in the BCP. There is a list of sentences (all from scripture) with which the priest transitions the congregation from the ministry of the word to the ministry of the table, at which point we all make our ‘offering’; we bring ourselves, our souls and bodies, our God-given gifts.
So I’m thinking, what a beautiful theology of stewardship, to Offer our God given gifts our natural resources, to create a habitat of love.
To make our offering, of all that we have, to God, for the love of the world, an oasis of kindness,
And to walk in love, by the doing of it, to be in it, ourselves, to be in, the love.
We don’t have much money, but we have resources and a lot of love. And we can use our resources to fall in love with our neighborhood, by making this offering. We are already oriented toward neighborhood, always have been! That’s who we are ~ just like we will open our doors this afternoon for the Civic Association’s Fall Festival.
But honestly, I’m craving the big love.
The walking in love.
The falling in love. Maybe it’s a little selfish to think that if we open our space, our parish house and home and backyard too; open our land in a big way, to the people who walk in love, because then we will be continually immersed in it!
Surrounded by love.
Out around the whole circumference of our property, just burning with love.
Out from the nave and onto the wooded hilltop, one fork leading to the community garden, the other to the sidewalk trellis that marks the trail head,
and leads through the wooded trail from west to east, across the grass land over the pipeline, around the dumpster and the pig roast flat lands, up and into the fenced woods,
and through the half hitch gate into the memorial garden.
All of it like a wrap, a mantle of love, us, garmented in love.
All of the neighborhood and people in condominiums and apartments, coming out for a breath of fresh air and green space, and to find love and human community, and
Walking in love all over our property, and surrounding us in love, because that’s what they do:
They walk, in love.
They walk their dogs, for love
They stroll their babies, for love,
They hike around with companions and partners, for love.
They walk. . .
I want the big love.
Love is a good thing, so I’m absolving myself of the selfish want of it.
“God is love, and where true love is, God himself is there.” (I John 4)
Think of it, even the vagabonds with spray paint will be blessed by it. And maybe they too, will fall in love.
18 months ago, I said to you in a playful sermon:
“I see that you have clear glass windows”, and I shared things that I deduced about you because of the clear glass.
Rather than stained glass that removes us from the world and cloisters and protects us,
I was wondering and guessing, because I didn’t know you well.
I surmised that you were free thinking and not cloistered.
Not afraid to look.
Not afraid to look out onto the world
to embrace the world,
to stay connected to the world
because you are brave and full of love.
And that to be connected to the Creation was intrinsic to your spirituality.
During worship you gaze with holy sight and contemplation on bare branches in winter,
Rain, wind, lightening and dark cloud,
Or bird life on the window ledge on the cross beam of the cross.
Your clear glass windows suggested to me, that you are always ready.
Expectant to find God, through all matter, every bit of creation,and in the human form and all of humanity.
18 months ago, I said that you are outward facing and that I would have to think a congregation with clear glass windows is a congregation with vision and courage.
Because as they look out on the beauty of the world, they also see its brokenness.
And know themselves to be called out, into that brokenness with love.
That’s what I said 18 months ago, just as an outside chance, a guess.
I think those things are more true, than ever.
At the essence and heart of who you are:you want to see
The younger you, an earlier generation of yourself, said these things about you by designing this place with clear glass windows, which are actually doors that open the nave in six places!
The younger you wanted to see.
I hear in today’s gospel, Jesus asking you if it is still true for you now, in this day. The gospel today is the healing of a blind man.
Jesus asked him, ‘what do you want me to do for you?’ He said
‘Teacher, Let me see again.’
I think we’re on the brink of something. And that Jesus is saying to us, what he said to him:
“Go. Your faith has made you well.”
Reverend Ruth Pattison
Rev. Pattison serves the people of Highpoint Episcopal Community Church as the Parson, exercising her gifts for collaborative leadership through preaching, liturgy, and the pastoral arts.
Sunday Worship Service 10:30 am - Christian Formation 9:30 am
4945 High Point Road, Sandy Springs, Georgia 30342
Church Office and Gallery 4945 hours:
Wednesday, Friday and Saturday 10 am to 12 pm