Today your Braid Blogger will make a departure from the usual reposted copy of the newsletter and write about how things went at today’s Ecumenical Healing service at Asbury Court Retirement Home in Des Plaines, IL.

This was the third time we had assembled at Asbury to put on a short program with hymn singing, annointing, and visiting with the people who live there. It’s definitely a group effort; Mary Anne sets up the service bulletins in large type and brings them, Mary plays the cranky electronic organ (and has to remember how to turn it on), Father Paul conducts the service and keeps things rolling, and Pat and Bob can always be counted on to be there, as well as David our master carpenter and Valerie, who loves visiting with people. I brought along some copies of the newsletter that I had edited down in large type, to give to the residents now that we’ve been there enough to be familiar. It’s nice to feel part of their community, and to make them feel part of ours. Once everyone has arrived, we work out who will do the readings – there’s a New Testament and Gospel to read, and a litany of prayers for healing and for others, and a couple of other things to work out. This time, Fr. Paul omitted an actual sermon on the reading (it was from Mark) because previously we’ve run a little long. We ran long anyway, as everyone seemed to want to have the blessing – that’s all right, that’s why we came.

As always, the set-up happens like this: We drift in around half an hour before start time, re-arrange the chairs in the chapel a little and discuss traffic patterns, set up the microphone stand, and cheer when Mary gets the organ turned on… it’s got tubes that take time to warm up, and the trick is to press the rocker switch under the right hand end of the keyboard and hold it for 10 seconds before toggling the power switch.

It also helps to make sure the thing is plugged in, and the despair was setting in before this was rectified. After about a minute or more, a key that had been silent suddenly gave voice, and we were ready to roll.

We made some new friends today – I have to mention Richard, because Valerie and I really got a kick out of him and I didn’t want to forget. He rides in a big powered wheelchair with two American flags mounted on it, at the front and back. He kept to the back of the space where there was room for him during the service. Way, way back. Almost in the other part of the room, but obviously keeping an eye on the proceedings.

We follow a simple format: welcome, hymn, New Testament reading, hymn, Gospel, hymn, prayers, passing the peace, and then the annointing. At first, nobody moved, and Paul had to motion for people to come forward. Then suddenly, there were two lines formed up, and we were in business.

While Fr. Paul is actually doing the annointing, I’m in the habit of standing by and holding the little metal container that contains the sweet oil. Mary Ann also does annointing, and Valerie helped her. People approach, they’re blessed, words are said, and they’re touched with the holy oil. I don’t know if they actually expect cures, but they seem to really enjoy the contact.

Toward the end, there was no one else in line, and Paul and I have made a habit of processing slowly toward the back, making eye contact and seeing if someone who wasn’t able to walk or roll forward is trying to get our attention. It’s informal, but respectful, and there’s a nice sense of occasion. So we made our way to the back, where it opens out into a great room that includes the common area and the TV room. Meanwhile, Mary noodled on the organ, playing bits of other hymns that I recognized – I heard a bit of Thomas Tallis in there, and started humming the alto part. Shared a hug with another Mary, the Asbury Court activity director. She seemed really jazzed about how it was going, and impulsively stepped forward for a blessing, too. It seemed like we were almost done, except for one person so far back that he could hardly be said to be in the same room with us.

We approached the gentleman in the big electric wheelchair with the snappy American flags, and made sure that he wanted to receive the blessing. He seemed pretty reserved at first.

Boy, was that a mistaken impression. Paul asked his name. “Richard,” was the answer.

I patted him on the shoulder afterward, and we moved on, checking to make sure we hadn’t missed anyone, and then we went to the front of the chapel to close up the little oil vessels and get ready for the dismissal and the final hymn. We finished with “Amazing Grace,” which always gets ’em going, and that’s my other role in the proceedings; I sing backup to Mary, who was a voice teacher for many years. I have an untrained but serviceable alto, secure on the notes, so I sing loud and clear to encourage shy persons to have the strength to sing out too.

In the corner of my eye, I saw that Richard had now moved up as close as possible to the back of the rows of chairs.

The service concluded, I moved around to the “door” (it’s all open at the back) to hand out a few more of the large-type newsletters I made up, and chat with people. They’re always so appreciative, it’s humbling.

Richard rolled around to the front of the chapel, where he chatting with Paul and me some more and told us about his Army service and pointed proudly at his flags. “The most beautiful flag in the world,” he said. That’s when we got his story – why he was in the chair, why he has the flags, what he used to do when he was working.

I went back in the chapel to gather my stuff, and there Richard was again, chatting animatedly with Valerie about his volunteer work with some local schoolkids, helping them with creative writing. And then he pulled out the most amazing things – little kids’ stories he’s written out in clear capital letters, about a cute little astronaut mouse named Matthew, who goes on a mission to Mars. Valerie and I were really taken with the illustrations, done by Richard’s daughter I think. They were just simple pencil sketches in sheet protectors, but they were so cute. That’s when Richard told us he’d been a technical writer and draftsman, and some of the manuals he wrote… went to the Moon! Well, I’d like to check that, but he certainly seemed like he knew his stuff. The Write Stuff, as he called his book. He stayed afterwards for almost 20 minutes, chatting with all of us, and seemed sorry that it was over when we packed up to leave.

And to think I was shy about approaching him, because he was so far back at the back.

The last thing he told us was about being a cop in a small nearby town 30 years ago, and how he used to chase speeders that would go more than 90 miles an hour through his turf. He caught them and ticketed them, too. And as he prepared to turn his scooter and head out the door, he looked at us, and said “Now remember: Keep it under a hundred!” and he was on his way. What a character!

We had at more than 40 in attendance today, and every month, Mary Ann brings more and more bulletins to hand out. Every month, she says she’ll have to bring an extra 10 or 15 copies. Many of the people are probably Catholic, likely Lutheran, but a number of them are Episcopalians who seem to enjoy re-connecting, and nobody seems to bother about distinctions between faiths or disagreements over style. Healing is healing, and so is being present with people.

Mary the activity director said something really interesting, after it was all over. We were discussing the possibilities of bringing some of the residents over for the big event on Feb. 3rd, and she seemed to be pondering how that might be done, as they have to rent something like a van for trips. And then she laughed and said again how much she enjoyed the service, and said,

“You know, it’s like you’re Carmen’s gift to us,” and I said, “well, we think you’re Carmen’s gift to us, too. ”

Thanks, Carmen, we do this to honor your memory and for the glory of God.

Episcopal Life Online – NEWS
Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori has declared February 10, 2008 — the First Sunday in Lent — as Episcopal Relief and Development Sunday. The full text of the Presiding Bishop’s declaration follows.

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

As we begin a new church year and congregations plan events and celebrations for the coming months, I write to urge all parishes to observe the First Sunday in Lent — February 10, 2008 — as Episcopal Relief and Development Sunday. I am very pleased to announce that 2008 will mark the first year of what will be an annual celebration of Episcopal Relief and Development’s role in our mission to seek and serve Christ in all persons.

The Episcopal Church’s ongoing commitment to fight poverty and disease around the world is lived out in a variety of ways. Advocacy with our government for the achievement of the Millennium Development Goals is one vital way. Another is through the ministry of Episcopal Relief and Development, which works with the worldwide Church to alleviate hunger, fight disease, and strengthen communities.

Episcopal Relief and Development Sunday provides an opportunity for congregations to support ERD’s life-saving work through prayer and a special offering that will help people around the world.

Episcopal Relief and Development plays a significant role in achieving the Millennium Development Goals. Why? Simply put, churches and other faith-based institutions in the developing world are equipped to fight poverty and disease in ways that few other organizations can, because of their deep reach into local communities and their relationships of trust with millions of people. By partnering with the worldwide Church and with ecumenical organizations, Episcopal Relief and Development empowers communities to maximize their resources and develop lasting solutions to poverty, hunger, and disease. To learn more, visit http://www.er-d.org/.

Episcopal Relief and Development gives Episcopalians the special opportunity to partner with the worldwide Church and people around the world who are addressing challenging issues in their communities. This work is worthy of the support of all Episcopalians, and the beginning of Lent is an ideal time for us to renew our collective commitment to it. Almsgiving is one of the traditional disciplines of the season and one of the ways in which we participate with Christ in walking to the foot of the Cross and into the light of Resurrection. “If you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,” Isaiah writes in a passage traditionally read at the beginning of Lent, “your light will rise in the darkness and your gloom will be like the noonday; you will be called repairer of the breach and restorer of streets to live in.”

On February 10 — Episcopal Relief and Development Sunday — please dedicate a special Lenten offering and prayer for the work of Episcopal Relief and Development. All gifts received will be designated for the Millennium Development Goals Inspiration Fund, which focuses on fighting deadly diseases like malaria and HIV/AIDS and providing basic health care that saves lives every day. For more information on the MDG Inspiration Fund, please see http://www.er-d.org/mdgif.

I urge you also to deepen your advocacy efforts for robust financial commitments from the U.S. government toward achievement of the Millennium Development Goals. Faith-based institutions like Episcopal Relief and Development are proving that poverty can be eradicated if the proper resources and strategies are brought to bear. However, private action alone will not be enough — collective action as a nation is necessary, and our voices are what will inspire our government to act. To get involved, visit http://www.episcopalchurch.org/ONE.

“Faith is not a refuge from reality,” wrote the great Anglican mystic and teacher Evelyn Underhill. “Faith is a demand that we face reality, with all its difficulties, opportunities, and implications.” This Lent, I pray that all Episcopalians will embrace Episcopal Relief and Development Sunday as one way to challenge the reality of a world that sees 30,000 of God’s precious people die each day, simply because they were too poor to continue living.

With prayers for a holy Lent, I remain
Your servant in Christ,
Katharine Jefferts Schori

The good folks at AO often travel, and often find themselves worshiping in an Anglican or Episcopalian church away from home. They’ve recently visited 3 parishes they’ll call “St Almond, St Boniface, and St Cantilupe, and were made welcome (or not) in 3 completely different ways.

How do these ways relate to how we “do welcome” at St Nicholas? Well, it’s certain we’re not like “St Almond.” Let’s hope we’re not erring on the side of “St Boniface,” but achieving something more like “St Cantilupe.”

Anglicans Online | The online centre of the Anglican / Episcopal world

Last week at St Cantilupe, we walked from our hotel past opulent shops, 5-star hotels, and busy bookstores to find the church tucked away near a world-famous tourist trap. Our expectations were low. But immediately inside the narthex, a pleasant and quiet man handed us a service leaflet and said “Good morning. Please sit anywhere you like.”This revealed that he knew we were visiting and that he would not make a fuss over it.

The cantor, a petite young woman with a crystalline, voice stood up to teach the congregation the response to be used in the psalm. This simple act included us because we were learning alongside everyone else. After the greeting, the rubric in the prayer book notes “Words of welcome or introduction may be said.” W’ed never before experienced anyone actually saying such words, but this priest did. What caught our attention was that in those words and all others, he addressed his welcome not to the newcomers, not to the visitors, not to the strangers, but to everyone.

The service continued; it was more than an hour and a half long, but we were enthralled by it all. The endless stream of inaudible or incomprehensible announcements by members of the congregation, just before the dismissal, was a good transition between the extraordinariness of this worship experience and the return to the city streets and the walk back to our own dimension.

It’s been a week since we were at St Cantilupe, 8 time zones from home, and we now understand what they did so well: they were behaviourally inclusive. We visitors were treated neither as interlopers nor as freaks, but as ordinary people, indistinguishable from those standing next to us who might have been there for decades. Simply by being there, by standing in the nave and singing the hymns and eating the bread and drinking the wine, we became at least for that one day one of them. Neither the clergy nor the congregation projected any sense of ownership, any sense of possessiveness, any need to guard their faith or their church or their sacraments against interlopers.

What is “behaviourially inclusive?” It means you are treated as one of us, without question, and without making you stand up and introduce yourself. You don’t have to make yourself over to conform with us, either. We may point you toward the basket of stick-on nametags at the welcome table, but only so you know where they are if you choose to write your name and stick one on. Many of us wear them every week as a courtesy to each other, and also to you; so that you’re not alone in wearing a bland little “Hello My Name Is” label like a lost child or lonely person at a mixer.

Many of us decorate our name-tags with little cartoon figures or silly writing – you can too, if you like.

We hope we’re more like St Cantilupe than either of the other two parishes in the linked article. Be sure to read about how they did in welcoming the Anglican Online staffers on their journeys.