June 6, 2018
 
 
 
 
 RECTOR'S PEN
 
 
 
 
 
 
Quick Links:
 
 
 
 
 
 
Led by the Holy Spirit,
St. John's mission is to inspire people to grow into the heart and mind of Christ by engaging together in worshiping, serving, and spiritual formation.

 
 
 
 
 

The body of Christ

 
 
 
 

In this week’s column, I reflect on the experience of worship at congregations in Maine.


I returned home Monday night from spending time at my cottage in Maine. While there, I worshiped at two different Episcopal churches: one in a small farming community not far from the cottage, and one just outside Augusta. Many if not most of the congregations in Maine are small ones, quite different from ours in size, but in spirit and devotion very much the same.


The first congregation, in a clearing in the woods on a country road not far from an Amish community (complete with horses and buggies traveling the paved roads), drew perhaps thirty people to worship. An elderly gent sat down next to me. He introduced himself as a life-long Episcopalian raised on the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. “We have that in common,” I smiled and said. He took a prayer book from the pew rack in front of us and showed me the dedication plate to his late wife. He shared that he fully intended to live at least two more years so that he would make it to the age of one hundred. When the processional music began, he sprang to his feet and sang out in a strong, clear baritone. I added my alto and we harmonized together throughout the service. When worship ended he bounded off. “Got to go help count the collection!” he explained and was gone. Given his energy, I do believe he’ll see one hundred.


This parish offered healing prayer and placed it right in the middle of worship (after the Prayers of the People and before the Peace). Anyone wishing prayer and anyone wishing to help in the laying on of hands went forward, and one-by-one the priest quietly prayed for those desiring it. It wouldn’t work so well to do this in a large congregation like ours, but in a smaller setting, it was a beautiful reminder that each one of us carries into the church both personal need and the call to minister to others in need. Said another way, we come as both receivers and givers of blessing.


The following Sunday I worshiped at a Lutheran-Episcopal church on the edge of Augusta, the state capitol. Across the country, in small towns and rural settings where the economy and demographics present challenges, people of faith have been obliged to get creative. Some churches yoke together and share a single priest who “circuit rides” on Sundays. (In this we join our Methodist brothers and sisters for whom the circuit riding model is common.) In other locales, Lutherans and Episcopalians worship together, led by a priest of either denomination.


At this Lutheran-Episcopal church, parts of the service seemed familiar to an Episcopalian, and parts felt distinctly Lutheran, and yet it all blended together. My down-the-road-from-the-cottage neighbor is a pianist and composer, and he plays for this congregation on Sundays. The service opened with what Tom Morgan once told me was one of Father Rol’s favorite hymns: Earth and All-stars! When I sang the line, “Loud boiling test tubes!”, I felt connected to St John’s, even though I was on the other side of the country.


This service drew about seventy people, and everyone—and I mean, everyone—sang with enthusiasm. In this over-scheduled world of watch-checking, it gave one the impression that for this congregation on this morning there was nowhere more important for them to be. That feeling intensified during a surprising moment at the distribution of Communion. The rail around the altar accommodated twenty people or so, and after receiving the bread and the wine, everyone kneeling there stayed put. The fellow to my left grabbed my hand. Instinctively, I extended my right hand to the woman on my right. She took it. We all knelt in silence for a few moments, holding hands together. I swallowed the lump that arose in my throat. The priest offered a short sending prayer, saying something like, “May the body and blood of Christ you receive strengthen you to be the body of Christ in the world.” And then we released one another’s hands and returned to our seats. That same practice was repeated with the next group receiving, and likewise the group after that.


I may never see these people again, but the sense I received that we are all in this (“this” being the business of life) together, all pilgrims traveling a common path, was powerful and deeply moving. When we speak of the body of Christ, we often talk about a single congregation, whose members together comprise the body. My time in Maine reminded me that there is another layer of meaning: that all our congregations together—Episcopal, Lutheran/Episcopal—small and large, also comprise the body of Christ. And, extending one circle outward from that, all communities of faith together likewise comprise Christ’s body. Paul, writing to the Corinthians about this (1 Cor. 12), says that in the body there is both unity and diversity, and God has put the body together so that every part of it is equal, and that every part of it should have concern and respect for all the other parts. If one part suffers, said Paul, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it. (12:26)


Perhaps in your summer travels, you’ve worshiped with a congregation that particularly moved you. I invite you to call them to mind and to pray for them as a fellow member of the body of Christ with us. Perhaps one Sunday this summer we might devote our Prayers of the People to praying for congregations around the country and around the world who join us in striving to live lives of purpose, meaning, awareness, kindness, justice, and generosity. In the meantime, blessings on you who travel these next few months. Whatever your destination, I pray you find a hospitable community with whom to worship our one Lord, Jesus Christ.