Many a grandparent, granduncles and aunts, parents, uncles and aunts may not only to have had to sing Baby Shark, but also engage themselves in the antics of this popular children song. What is this song about? Why is it so popular? In actual fact, Washington Nationals left fielder Gerardo Parra’s walkup music is Baby Shark and, according to him, his two-year-old daughter loves it and sings it often. The moment the song began, everyone at the ballpark stood up. My host, for whom I remain thankful, also stood up and invited me to stand, and before long everyone was singing and dancing to the unique antics of the song. What fun it was for me! But what real fun it is to be enchanted with a song, the unique dance of a song and the plain simple joy of being a child again. There’s something amazing about being a child; it is fascinating, and you only needed to have been a child once to know what joy it can be to be one. We dote on our children, grandchildren, grandnephews and nieces - and, in fact, on children who bear no familial relationship with us - and we also seek to protect them from harm. We like to offer them all that they need to be comfortable and to thrive. We dote on ourselves as we would a child. Some have said that adults like to play with toys - the only difference is that theirs are a little more expensive. At the ballpark that evening were many adults and children - 37,491 in all. And within each of us sat a child - that wonderful, innocent child for whom being at the ballpark is an opportunity for fellowship, food, and drinks. Behind me sat three middle-aged women who were acquainted with each other. I could hear snippets of their conversation, and their occasional burst of laughter would cause me to look back. You could tell from the excitement on their faces that they were just happy to be with each other - fellowship, the desire of a child. To my left was a gentleman in a Dodgers shirt sitting next to an acquaintance in a Nationals shirt - we don’t have to support the same team to be friends. Every now and then, this Dodgers fan would cuss; he didn’t know he was sitting by a priest, but that is beside the point. His disappointment over a bad play by the Dodgers was all too palpable, and equally exuberant was his excitement when the Dodgers would make a good play. His was a reflection of the indeterminate and unpredictable nature of children - and of you and I. A Korean family sat in the row of seats directly in front of me, and two rows down were a number of Korean young couples, one of whom was holding a Korean flag. My host shared with me the fact that there was a Korean, Hyun-Jin Ryu, on the Dodgers team. Their cheering was one of cheering a ‘tribal’ idol. Like children, we all have idols. We look up to our idols, and we look to be shaped by the values that guide them in their lives. "Make some noiiiise!", came the sound from the speakers, and we all did. When a ball is hit so hard that it travels into the stands, like the competitive child in us, each fan attempts to catch the ball. One ball came very close to me, only three rows in front. It was caught by an older man who, I believe, gave it to a child. When t-shirts are being thrown to the crowd, each person competes with others to catch one. The thrill that exists in all of these experiences tells of our childlike selves - the playful part of each person, whether a child or an adult. In reading the story about Jesus encouraging his friends to allow the children come to him - yes, for theirs is the kingdom of God - it's clear that he wasn’t being condescending about it. He was keenly aware that within each of us sits a child... that pure, innocent child who doesn’t mind singing Baby Shark, dancing to Baby Shark, who thrives on fellowship with others, loves to chatter with friends, cries over his or her feelings being hurt by another, easily forgives, and loves unconditionally. There is a proverb which, when translated literally, means “No one teaches a child about God." . In other words, every single child has a deep sense of awareness of God. The child may not be able to articulate what he or she thinks about God, knows about God, what God means to him or her, or anything else about God. Nonetheless, that awareness is ever-so-present. That is why we continually have to be invited to believe, even in the midst of our unbelief. It is for a good reason that we do not lose that child in us. When Paul talks about putting childhood things behind, he doesn’t mean losing the child within. So, hold on to the child in you. Much as you would need it at the ballpark, you would also need it as you come to faith…not as one who understands the full context thereof, but as one who is eager to learn like a child, walk like a child, talk like a child, and even sing and dance to Baby Shark like a child. ~Manny

Last week, we held the first of our two summer Book Club gatherings. I am thankful to the Spiritual Life Commission for organizing it, to Ellen and Charlie for hosting it, and to the many people who came out on a rainy Wednesday evening to share in the fellowship and discussion. We had a very good discussion, and I enjoyed every bit of it. I was unusually quiet, as I've learned it sometimes pays to have others do the talking while you do the listening. In the early pages of the book, I came upon this story that I'd like to share with you: It once happened that the people of a West African tribe noticed their cows were giving less milk than they used to. They couldn’t understand why. One young man volunteered to stay up all night to see what might be happening. After several hours of waiting in the darkness, hiding in a bush, he saw something extraordinary. A young woman of astonishing beauty rode a moonbeam down from heaven to earth, carrying a large pail. She milked the cows, filled her pail, and climbed back up the moonbeam to the sky. The man could not believe what he had seen. The next night, he set a trap near where the cows were kept, and when the maiden came down to milk the cows, he sprang the trap and caught her. “Who are you?” He demanded. She explained that she was Sky Maiden, a member of a tribe that lived in the sky and had no food of their own. It was her job to come to earth at night and find food. She pleaded with him to let her out of the net, and then she would do anything he asked. The man said he would release her only if she agreed to marry him. “I will marry you” she said, “but first you must let me go home for three days to prepare myself. Then I will return and be your wife." He agreed. Three days later she returned, carrying a large box. “I will be your wife and make you very happy,” she told him, “but you must promise me never to look inside this box.” For several weeks, they were very happy together. Then one day while his wife was out, the man was overcome with curiosity and opened the box. There was nothing in it. When the woman came back, she saw her husband looking strangely at her, and she said, “You looked in the box, didn’t you?” “Why?’ the man asked. “What’s so terrible about my peeking into an empty box?” He asked. The woman responded that she was leaving the man. "I am not leaving you because you opened the box; I thought you probably would. I’m leaving you because you said it was empty. It wasn’t empty; it was full of sky. It contained the light and the air and the smells of my home in the sky. When I went home for the last time, I filled that box with everything that was most precious to me to remind me of where I came from. How can I be your wife if what is most precious to me is emptiness to you?” I have, since reading the story, reflected long and hard about the Empty Box - the idea that the very thing which proffers meaning and value to one person may be regarded as empty and meaningless by another person, especially someone so dear. Indeed, we all see things differently, and we may interpret the same quantity of water in a glass as either being half-empty or half-full. But nothing so diminishes a person than the suggestion that his or her gifts - that which offers true meaning, or the piece that he or she cherishes as defining who they are - may hold little to no value to another, or that their box is empty because that’s only what the other sees. Remember, your eyes can also play tricks on you!! Beyond that, there may also be times when we are tempted to characterize our own boxes as being empty. Those are the moments when self-doubt, pessimism, or 'doom and gloom' take over us and turn the things that we ought to value into things of no benefit. Or, worse still, material possessions may blind us and so prevent us from fullness of our own lives, and that of others. No one has an empty box. No one person’s cherished box is insignificant. Each box is full of something; it may not be visible to us, but it is nonetheless full of something valuable and meaningful. As a community of faith, our question is, "How can we faithfully serve if we consider a box to be empty?" No box is an empty one; each box holds something special, valuable, precious, and significant. However big or small that box may be, it is never empty, and for that reason you can cherish service to others, not as the giving of a half-empty self but as giving more than the self - the fullness of you, the box, if you will. I’d like to conclude with an African proverb: “Not everyone who chased the zebra caught it, but he who caught it, chased it.” In much the same way as to catch a zebra is to chase it, so is your box and another’s box full of amazing gifts, talents, promises and affirmations. You only have to open your eyes wide enough to see it. ~Manny

This past Sunday, I saw two of our 10:30 a.m. regulars at the 8:00 a.m. service. I wondered why, and so I asked each of them why they worshiped at the 8:00 a.m. service. Both of them shared with me that they wanted to get worship out of the way so they could watch the Women’s World Cup soccer game between the United States and the Netherlands. One of the parishioners explained to me that her husband would be at the 10:30 a.m. service. True to her word, the husband was at the 10:30 service, and when I shared what the wife had said to me, he indicated that he prefers to watch the game from the midpoint to the end, as opposed to watching it from the beginning to the end. I, myself, didn’t watch the game but I was nonetheless elated with the win - the fourth United States World Cup championship win. In a very special way, the win was more like a gift to every American as we celebrated our 243rd year of independence. Soccer in America has come a long way and, most certainly, women’s soccer has been extraordinary. There are women who are playing at the highest level of soccer, and that reminds me of a story that I heard about a man who was dropping his son and a friend at soccer practice. In the course of their conversation, he heard the son ask his friend, “Who's better... boys or girls?” Without any hesitation, the friend responded “Can girls play soccer?” The topic was resolved, for in their minds boys are better because girls can’t play soccer. In the minds of these two little boys was an embedded reality fueled by an unhealthy resolution that boys are better than girls because boys can play soccer. If they had seen the women play at the just-ended World Cup, they would have arrived at a different conclusion. If they, and many others like them, had ever seen women play at the highest level of soccer, they may well change their attitude towards gender equality and neutrality in general, and not just in soccer. In the most strident way, Paul argues in the Letter to the Galatians that “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” The idea of being one in Christ is against the backdrop of a society that would have used the same language to lift up boys over girls, simply because boys play soccer and girls did not. This same idea of equality between genders has long existed in Hinduism, probably before Paul wrote his letter to the Galatians. In Hinduism, the Atma - which is the Soul - is separate from the body, and is neither young nor old, neither male nor female. In actual fact, by virtue of the belief reincarnation, the Atma experiences life sometimes in a male body, sometimes in a female body, thus allowing each a chance to develop and imbibe the values of each gender. For this reason, the Gita encourages us to see every human being, and indeed every creature in nature, equally in terms of their spiritual identity as an individual soul. Indeed, there are physiological and psychological differences between the genders, but Hindu spirituality regards these as complementary, and not competitive. And so in Hindu temples, for example, the divine is portrayed as the unity of female and male forms, and such equanimity is the goal and purpose of spirituality. Over the years, our own cultural and theological presuppositions have led us to embrace an attitude which affirms the conclusion of the two boys. Our systemic failure to embrace the principle of equanimity between genders has led to income disparity, gender bias in leadership positions, workplace issues, and sexual harassment - among other ills - against girls and women. So, who's better: boys or girls? I cannot look at my three beautiful daughters or any other girl and, for whatever reason, conclude that my boy - or any other boy, for that matter - is better than any one of them. The Women’s World Cup has addressed the question of whether women can play soccer. In my mind, girls and women are champions, not only because of soccer but because of the idea that girls are not worse or better than boys; each is inherently the same - complementary, and not competitive. I’d like to see spiritual philosophy similarly challenge these negative religious and cultural ideas so as to help us further nurture gender equality and complementarity. Yes, we all ARE champions!! And so may this championship increase this awareness of our complementarity. ~Manny

It was about 5:30 a.m. The sun was rising, breaking through the darkness with commanding sunlight. On some mornings, the African sun can be incredibly piercing. There was already a long queue when I arrived at the American Embassy in Accra, Ghana. I joined the line for the long wait until the embassy offices were to open at 9:00 a.m. You may ask, "Why 5:30 a.m.?" There are all sorts of superstitious theories about getting in early, and so I arrived early for my second appointment, having been declined a visa at my first appointment. As I stood in line outside of the embassy in the early morning blazing sunlight, there was a sudden loud shout: “Praise the Lord.” Many of those in the line responded, “Alleluia.” In my utter amazement, I turned round to see who it was that shouted “Praise the Lord.” But before long, this person had made same proclamation about three or four times. He then proceeded to pray for all who were seeking visas to the United States, preached, and then took an offering. I was stupefied. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It may be that, because I arrived at about 9:00 a.m. for my first appointment, I missed the spectacle; the preacher had already left. During the offering, every single person in the line - including me - gave an offering with the hope and prayer that their application for a visa would be granted them. I was lucky at my second try, but I don’t know about all of the others who had an appointment at the embassy that morning. Over the past several months, we have heard stories upon stories of people walking hundreds of miles to get to the United States. One of the moving stories was the tragedy of a father who attempted to swim the Rio Grande River with his daughter; both drowned. We have also heard stories about immigrants who have been detained at the boarder, some separated from their families, and some who have had to deal with some of the harshest conditions. Some children were asked to choose between mother and father! I am an immigrant, and I identify with every single person who desires to reach this great country to seek a better life for himself, herself and their families. Do I believe people need to come in through the most appropriate and legal way? Yes, I do. Do I believe that the border should be porous? No, I do not. I believe in the rule of law and, to an extent, what immigrants like myself flee from has been the lip service that our political leaders pay towards the rule of law. This lip service has meant that our home countries have become poorly-run, our societies appear broken, devastation surrounds us, limited opportunities rob many a bright and intelligent person of decent jobs and advancement, while corruption denies the incentive to serve. I can hear the cry of a little boy or girl who sits on their father’s shoulder, or being carried by a mother, or walking all these miles towards the United States. I can feel the anguish of a young man or woman who has graduated from school, and harbors the desire to work, yet can't find none. I can see the fear on the faces of people whose basic security has been compromised by unruly gangs roaming their cities and neighborhoods. I can hear the silent groans of a mother or father who can’t afford to protect or feed their children. It is heartbreaking!! In response to all the hopelessness that surrounds them, they flee by walking north. We cannot minimize the desperate nature of their walk to the southern border of the United States. For me, that walk is akin to the desperate journeying of Europeans to the coast of this great land. They, too, were fleeing from wars, diseases, religious intolerance, political conflicts and socioeconomic conditions that had made life a little unbearable. They too, were looking for a place where they could start anew, a place where they can start afresh, building new communities and lives for their children. Thank God they succeeded in building this great country, not be themselves alone, but with the sweat and labor of people from Africa who were forcibly brought to these shores. For me, the important issue is, whether our ancestors journeyed here on Mayflower, Brookes (Slave ship), steamships, planes, or by foot, one of the values we have all learned about America - the shining city on the hill with its light like the morning sun which breaks into our darkness - is one of welcoming the immigrant stranger and offering him or her, the opportunity to contribute to the building of this wonderful human story. Nowhere has this idea been captured more poignantly than by the words chiseled on a plaque, and installed inside the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty: Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” For me, this is a testament to who we are, what our story has been, and the values we hope to offer to the world. As I wrote this piece, I was reminded of a journalist of Somalian descent who immigrated to Canada as a refugee. She returned back to Somalia, and used her camera to capture moments of beauty that tell of creation’s story - the human story. She was, unfortunately, killed by terrorists - the very people the fear of whom turned her and many others into refugees. I am an immigrant, and so I do have a story to share. You may not be an immigrant yourself, and so may not have an immigrant story to share. But it is possible that your ancestors may have been immigrants as well, and that they too may have had their own story, some of which may be familiar to you. Or you may know an immigrant who has shared with you their personal immigrant story. A common thread which runs through an immigrant story is the desire for a better life for one’s self, and for the family they love. I believe there’s nothing more uplifting than a story that tells of the desire to live a better life - an immigrant story. I can only hope that you share similar sentiment. ~Manny

This week, millions of Americans across the length and breadth of this beautiful land, from shining sea to shining sea, if you may, will join together with family, friends, neighbors - some of whom may be strangers or acquaintances - and many others to celebrate a very important day in the life of our country. Countless will be the gatherings, and so will there be lots to eat and drink. Beyond the many parades in communities - big or small - across this great land, some of us will gather at different parks or beaches, and if you happen to find yourself in Washington DC, you can join many others at the National Mall to watch a beautiful fireworks display. You may, alternatively, decide to watch the parade and fireworks on television. Whether you participate, or watch, any of these activities in real time or on TV, there’s one thing that draws all of us together - our belief in the idea of America, to which we each pledge our allegiance. There’s also a part of the American fabric, the American ideal, which is the aspirational creed. This is the one creed that holds out hope for a more perfect union. For me, this aspiration falls within the purview of that sacred American text, the United States Constitution. It is incredibly telling that, within America’s sacred text, is the Three-Fifths Compromise. This idea was mooted by James Wilson in an effort to find a compromise between Northern and Southern states, to determine Congressional representation and the levying of taxes. I have no idea how they determined that metric of three-fifths. Why not two-fifths? Why not four-fifths? Many are the reasons which have been advanced to help us understand the rationale for this compromise. We may agree or disagree with the rationale, but shrouded in it is the question of the value of Blacks - a majority of whom were slaves at the time. So although America’s sacred text holds some to be three-fifths, the remarkable part for me is the hope it carries within it, the aspiration it seeks for a more perfect union, where the truth we all hold to be self-evident will be made manifest. The union wasn’t perfect then, and it isn’t perfect now. If, on the one hand, we understand perfection to be an illusion, and on the other we embrace the noble idea that our lives are works in progress, then we can, at the barest minimum, agree that we have made significant progress towards creating a more equitable society. A society where the rights and dignity of those who were considered to be three-fifths human are as sacred as the rights of those who considered them to be three-fifths human. The most encouraging and transformative part of the American story has been one where generations of Americans have picked up one battle after another to get us ever closer to that perfect union. For me, every inch of progress towards achieving that perfect union can be characterized as a realization of the piece of the ever-present kingdom of God. Indeed, this aspirational creed expresses a desire - the hope of a more perfect union. It doesn’t argue that the union is perfect, but that it aims towards perfection. The Book of Proverbs help us with these words: “Where there’s no vision, the people perish.” Thank heavens that, within the text itself, is a vision - our Aspirational Creed. And, for the life of this vision, we will not perish because our paths are guided by the sober words of Dr. Martin Luther King: “We must learn to live together as brothers (sisters) or perish together as fools.” It is not enough to hold on to a vision, but it is sufficient enough to work towards the realization of that vision. And for two hundred and forty-three years that work hasn’t stopped; it continues to this day. I learned, many years ago, that dreams are the only currency that never depreciate in value. Our aspirational creed is our collective dream, and because it is a dream that has not depreciated in value, it is one dream worth dying for. On this Fourth of July holiday, it is my prayer that you will enjoy the company of friends and family, strangers and acquaintances - immigrant and native-born - and enjoy the company of any American you come across, by sharing a dish, sharing a drink, and sharing stories of liberty. While doing so, join in singing the songs of liberty, for within those songs are the longings of a generation gone before, and a generation yet unborn- the longings which tell of our aspirational creed; our march towards a more perfect union. Happy Fourth of July. ~Manny

This past Monday, the Spiritual Life Commission (SLC) gathered to consider the 2020 theme for our beloved parish. Each year, the SLC gathers at the beginning of the summer and undertakes this unique, but humbling, process of prayerfully deliberating on important aspects of our spiritual life as a community of faith. It feels really good, and most uplifting, to experience such positive vibes and energy from among our parishioners - all of whom are dedicated to providing us with multiple avenues by which we can deep our spiritual life. One of the important ministries that has touched me ever so deeply, and for which I am eternally thankful, is that of the SLC members' writing of prayers for our worship. These prayers have become part of our liturgical character, and they speak to the real needs of our Christ Church community and our common life. For me, hearing those prayers on Sunday mornings lifts my spirits up for, to the extent possible, those prayers are an authentic reflection of the collective thoughts of our community. Beyond Sunday mornings, the SLC organizes many other events throughout the year. One such gathering is the Christ Church Annual Parish Retreat, held in beautiful Rehoboth Beach each October. This year’s retreat is scheduled for October 4-6, 2019. One of our favorite people, the Reverend Kirk Kubicek, is on board to lead the retreat. All of you are invited to join in for a great weekend. In addition to that event, the SLC also organizes Advent Quiet Day, Lenten Reflection Day, the Wednesday Evenings in Lent Supper Series, and the annual Daily Lenten Meditations Booklet. On July 17th and August 28th of this year, the SLC Summer Book Discussion group will meet to reflect on the book Who Needs God by Harold Kushner. "Why are all these important?" one may ask. Well, the point of enumerating all that the SLC does to deepen our spiritual lives is to bring home the point undergirding our theme for the year. The text supporting our theme is from the prophet Ezra. I was lost when the quote came up, because I don’t remember the last time I read the prophet Ezra. He is one of the minor exilic prophets, and introduced the Torah to Jerusalem upon his return from exile. Although the historical context of the text maybe haunting, our main focus is to glorify the potential in each of us to rise up to the task that has been given to us. And that task - our task - is one of bringing people together. Our task is missional. Our task is one of changing lives. Our task is one of exhorting and bringing out the best in each one of us. Our task is one of reconciliation, and of hope. Our task is one of changing the narrative of those who are on the margins of our society. Our task is one of blessing each other with the gifts God has blessed us with. Our task is one of telling the salvation story to the lost. Our task is one of bringing healing and comfort to the brokenhearted, the wounded, the fainthearted, the sick, and the possessed. Our task is one of providing everyone with a reason to sing again - to sing of God’s goodness. Our task is one of holding each other in prayer, supporting each other, and walking hand-in-hand into a blessed future. Our task is one of mending God’s creation. Our task is one of forgiving each other. Our tasks are many, and varied. Nothing fills me with an unimaginable sense of pride than knowing that the task God has given us is so wide, so broad, so herculean and demanding - and yet, so fulfilling. Perhaps one other task is to always remember that the strength to accomplish what God has given us to do doesn’t come from us, but from God Himself. That is why He encourages us with these words: Rise up. Accept the challenge. Take Courage. Go ahead and do it. Let nothing hold you back. Let nothing stop you, because you know what? Anything worth doing at all is worth doing well. That is why we wouldn’t stumble upon the task that God has given to our care, but we will, while counting on His benevolent grace, execute that task to His infinite glory. Hear what Paul says to the Church in Phillipi: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.” To me, our task encapsulates all that is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable. We will not stop at merely thinking about them, we will do them - because that is what God requires of us. Arise to accept the challenge. It may take a lot from us and require us to give our very best. The good news is that we can do it because the courage, strength, and capital to execute God’s task comes from the giver of the task - God. Rise, take courage, and do it. ~Manny

A scar on any part of your body is always a reminder of a particular event in your life. Depending on how gory that event in your life may have been, the scar reminds you of the what if. For me, there was one scary moment, as I lay on my back in a puddle of hot cooking oil that had fallen off of the nearby stove. What if the hot boiling cooking oil in the frying pan sitting on the stove had fallen in my eyes, or had fallen on my face? What if…?!? It was during allergy season, and my allergies had gotten so bad that any one sneeze felt like I was about to pass out. I didn’t know what had happened, but I soon realized that I was on my back on the floor of our kitchen, lying in that hot cooking oil. I suffered second and third-degree burns at my back, and subsequently had to go through skin grafting, a process that has left a permanent scar on my right thigh. Every time I see the scar, I am reminded of such a near tragedy in my life, an experience which causes me to reflect on the what ifs that could have shaped or changed my life in a very significant way. Some of us bear scars of a particular moment in our lives, or see them in the life of a loved one. That scar may have been as a result of a surgery - like mine - or an accident, a horrible relationship, an assault, or an illness on the one hand Or perhaps there is a joyous moment that has left that indelible imprint in your consciousness. Truthfully, in as much as a scar reminds us of the what ifs that surround a particular event, it also reassures us of the grace that has held us up, even when our scars tell of a horrific event. Such grace brings to mind the story of a little boy on whose hands were imprinted scars of a father who wouldn’t let go of him. One hot afternoon, a little boy was swimming in the lake behind his house. As he swam, he didn't notice the alligator that was following him. His father, gardening from a distance, saw the alligator and yelled to his son to turn back. Too late! Just as the boy reached his dad, the alligator reached the boy. In an incredible tug-of-war the father grabbed his son's arms while the alligator snatched his legs. The alligator was determined to pull the boy underwater, but the father was too passionate and zealous to let go of his son. A farmer who was driving by heard the screaming, immediately leaped from his truck, and proceeded to shoot the reptile. Remarkably, the boy survived, but only after spending several weeks in the local hospital. He has, of course, become a local celebrity, and was interviewed by the local newspaper about his encounter with the alligator. He showed the reporter the terrible scars on his legs, and with an obvious pride on his face, the little boy added, "I've got great scars on my arms, too, because my dad held me and wouldn't let go!" A freak accident left a scar on the legs and arms of this little boy. But there’s another kind of scar, which Paul refers to as the ‘marks’ on his body. Listen to what he tells the Galatians: “From now on, let no one cause me trouble, for I bear on my body the marks of Jesus.” Through his persecution, trials, beatings, shipwrecks, imprisonment, and more, Paul finally reached a point in his life where the marks - his scars - bore testimony of a life of sharing the unique message of the story of grace. It is possible that some of the scars on you, or those in your mind - whether metaphorical or real - may symbolize abuse, assault, disappointment, pain or something more unimaginable perpetrated on you by someone you loved or a complete stranger. Remember, our life is one that flows like a river, and as you may already know, rivers don’t flow backwards. It isn’t easy to forget the scars that have been left behind by another or an event, but it is possible to find healing and purpose in those scars. ~Manny

What beautiful weather we had for the annual Springfield Hospital Picnic this past Saturday! Parishioners helped make the afternoon a memorable one for the residents gathered on our Christ Church lawn. Barbecues were manned, burgers and snacks were happily eaten, conversations enthusiastically shared, and Small Delusions even made an appearance and played a few fan favorites! New volunteers are always welcome to join us in helping bring fun and fellowship to those at Springfield Hospital. After the summer season comes to a close, we will be visiting our friends each month through next May, on the third Thursday of each month. We play bingo and games, bring punch and homemade cookies, and share a fun hour or so each time. If you are interested in joining us for this vital ministry, please let us know!

This is the First Sunday after Pentecost, also knows as Trinity Sunday. Readings for today: Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31 Psalm 8 Romans 5:1-5 John 16:12-15 The Collect of the Day: Almighty and everlasting God, you have given to us your servants grace, by the confession of a true faith, to acknowledge the glory of the eternal Trinity, and in the power of your divine Majesty to worship the Unity: Keep us steadfast in this faith and worship, and bring us at last to see you in your one and eternal glory, O Father; who with the Son and the Holy Spirit live and reign, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. Father Manny's Sermon for today can be read here.

To all who worshiped at the church, he was simply Bruce. He was a very detailed, dedicated, committed and exceptional Head Verger. He was usually the first to arrive at the church each Sunday morning to set up and assign roles for both clergy and lay who were to participate in worship. Bruce will often attend staff meetings on Tuesday mornings to get a handle of the life of the church and, more importantly, how he could give off his best. He was an unassuming gentleman who simply loved what he did. We can attest to the depth of his spirituality only by virtue of what he did, and how he did it. He had a servant’s heart. On that, we could all agree. If spirituality is an outward expression of that which burns deep within you - the powerful sense of awareness of God’s presence in you - a God who daily rekindles His love within you just so that giving off your very best isn’t a question of if, but of when. Bruce had loads of them, and his spirituality was genuine and transforming. People often wondered, how and why would this man devote himself in such a manner in service to God? One remarkable story about Bruce was that he only missed church when he travels to New Hampshire to visit his mother. Beyond that, he was present, bright and early each Sunday, visible and serving. So, here was a man for whom the joy of the Lord was his strength, and that joy was very much expressed in his service to God. The question was, did his ministry matter? Did his service count for naught because he was gay, or did his service counted for something irrespective of whether he was gay or straight? Remember, if our spirituality flows from the awareness of God’s presence within us, and from an awareness which manifest itself in an outward expression of that which burns within us, then the question is, what was it that was burning within Bruce, and was it a valid expression of the awareness of God? Was he immune from being daily rekindled in spirit because he was gay? If that wasn’t the case, then did God turn his face away from whatever Bruce had to offer in His service because he was gay? These are difficult questions, and yet easy ones. Difficult because we are prone to presume that God accepts our offering - whatever they may be, and however big or small they may be - based on how we see ourselves in the broader context of God’s plan, or how we tell our narrative. They are also easy questions because we are prone to believe that God doesn’t turn His face away from us, and for His mercies’ sake, He embraces us just the way we are... as His creatures. Listen to the psalmist extol the wonder of you: “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” As one who grew up in a culture that frowned upon the likes of Bruce and, not only that, but as one who actually believed that God didn’t accept the likes of Bruce, I was convinced that I, as a priest, should be able to tell Bruce’s narrative in a way that serves my interpretation of the breadth and depth of God’s creation. There was a part of me which felt terribly inadequate in expressing the nature of God. I didn’t know that God turned His eyes towards the like of Bruce. And if God embraced people like Bruce, what I came to realize was that God was much bigger and broader than I do credit Him. God. The I Am who is beyond our comprehension. I never shared my struggle with Bruce, nor did he ever know that I was breaking under the yoke of my cultural and theological disposition. I am sure he would have helped me in trying to understand if I had reached out to him. But this was a process that I had to pursue with the deep and abiding conviction that I couldn’t hate Bruce for who he is - for hatred has never proven sufficient. However, I can celebrate him for making me a better Christian. With the quiet confidence in who he was and what he did, he opened my eyes to what it means to serve with all that you have, and all that you are. I know I cannot thank him enough for making me a better priest and pastor. Over the past several weeks we have read of horrific attacks on the LGBTQ community. The interesting bit is that you and I may not cast a stone at one, hit another, or even cuss at one, but we can express sentiments which may be as close in similarity as someone hitting, cussing, or killing a member of the LGBTQ family. Always remember, history has an interesting way of alerting us to the brutal reality that hatred has never been sufficient in dealing with any issue. A few months ago, I went out to buy a pair of socks - and I like colorful socks. As I searched, I chanced upon a pair of pride socks. I picked it up and purchased it with the hope that I can wear it on Pride Sunday. And so on Trinity Sunday - which is also Father’s Day, as well as Pride Sunday - I will wear my pride socks in gratitude to Bruce, the verger who taught me to be a better Christian by opening my eyes to the complexity of God’s creation, and with the humility to accept that God is too big for me - or anyone, for that matter - to claim to fully know and understand Him. I know my Bruce, and I am thankful for him. Who is your Bruce? ~Manny

Pentecost is the birthday of the Church, and for us at Christ Episcopal Church, it is an exceptionally marvelous day, and one worthy of celebration. It’s time for our annual celebration of God’s universal love displayed through His diversity of many tongues and cultures, reflected in food and dress. We have only one service this Sunday - June 9th - and it begins at 10:00 a.m. Pentecost is also an International Day for our parish family, so during this service we'll get to hear the Gospel read in several different languages, and all parishioners are encouraged to wear clothing that helps reflect your upbringing and traditions. After Pentecost Day service, we will host a parish-wide potluck gathering, and hope that you'll all bring a favorite, flavorful dish to share with the rest of the Christ Church family. In addition to our traditional pot-luck fare, there’s an exciting new addition... we will host a friendly jollof rice competition as part of our Pentecost & International Day celebration. Jolloff rice is a staple dish in West Africa, centered around white rice cooked in tomato sauce - but each dish can offer its own regional twist. We'll have the opportunity to sample jolloff rice from Liberia, Sierra Leone, Nigeria and Ghana, and as it's a competition, all parishioners will blindly taste each jolloff rice dish, and assign a score to each. We will then tabulate the scores, and declare a winner! If you have any questions, or wish to assist us in the set-up and service of Sunday's festivities, please contact the Church Office. We look forward to seeing you all on June 9th!