A passionate believer in the gospel of Jesus and the Episcopal Church’s particular witness, Bishop Budde is committed to the spiritual and numerical growth of congregations and developing new expressions of Christian community. She believes that Jesus calls all who follow him to strive for justice and peace, and to respect the dignity of every human being.
Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.
Isaiah 40:31
Over the noon hour on Tuesday, April 20, before we knew a verdict in the Chauvin trial would be announced later that day, a group of us met for a Teaching Tuesdays session to discuss one of the Seven Vital Signs of Parish Health.
Missioner Todd Thomas began our session with a question: “What spiritual practice draws you closest to God?” Our responses varied in all the ways you would expect. One person spoke of spending time in nature; others shared their experiences in small groups, reflecting on Scripture, sharing faith stories, and learning to listen deeply to one another. Still others said that it was in corporate worship that they felt closest to God, something they sorely missed.
Pondering the question, I thought of all the times that I find myself at the edge of my capabilities or strength, when I know my need for God. For when God meets me there, in the gap between who I am and what is being asked of me, I feel close to God–not because of what I am doing, but because God is drawing close to me, enabling me to do what I cannot accomplish on my own.
In his book Deep and Wide, pastor Andy Stanley describes the life experience and practices that God uses to reach us and help us grow as “faith catalysts.” Among the five catalysts Stanley describes is one called pivotal experiences–those events, positive or negative, that mark us, change us to such a degree that we speak of our lives as before and after those crucial events. They aren’t spiritual practices in the sense of our adopting them, but through them we experience God’s grace, and as a result, we draw closer to God and grow in our capacity to love.
Later that day, as the world seemed to stop while we awaited the verdict coming from Minneapolis, it struck me that George Floyd’s murder was such a pivotal circumstance for our nation. While tragically not an isolated event of police killings of Black men, women and children, George Floyd’s murder has become the one to symbolize this historic and ongoing injustice and our response to it.
I wonder how might God be moving toward us through this pivotal circumstance.
We stand at a threshold, for we have the opportunity to help bend the long arc of history toward justice. We begin with reckoning and accountability for the harms we have done or tolerated for too long, and then we walk the slow, painstaking path toward restitution and justice. As with all things, we must begin with ourselves, the institutions in which we have influence, and from which some of us benefit at the disproportionate expense of others. In the Diocese of Washington and the communities we serve, we have work to do.
This work is not for the faint of heart, nor is it something we can accomplish on our own. As Bishop Craig Loya of Minnesota wrote this week:
Mr. Floyd’s murder is a symptom of a deep sickness that infects every one of us, and every institution that makes up the fabric of our common life. One verdict, however momentous, will not heal this sickness that lies deep inside us. If we are to be faithful to the call of the gospel, joining the Spirit’s work of healing and liberation must now form a core part of how we spend the rest of our lives.
. . .This is not about our own good intentions, or noble efforts, or performative wokeness. The healing our world so desperately cries out for can only be done by God, and we can only be on board with what God is doing if we are offering our hearts up for healing moment by moment.
This is our pivotal circumstance. Through it, God is drawing closer to us, inviting us to see ourselves and one another with God’s eyes, and respond with God’s compassion and justice.
It is more than we accomplish on our own. In Presiding Bishop Michael Curry’s sermon on the night the verdict was announced, he encouraged us all, quoting Isaiah, to be those who wait for the Lord, in order to walk the long road of justice and not grow faint.
May we dare to believe that God meets us in the gap between who we are and who we are called to become and will show us the way. It is then up to us to follow where God leads.
Postscript:
On Tuesday evening, several of us issued a statement in response to the guilty verdict for Derek Chauvin. Some people were disappointed that we failed to include prayers for Derek Chauvin, and his family. You’re right; many lives have been torn apart by this tragedy, including the Chauvin family. Derek Chauvin is a child of God, and we pray for him and his family.
Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an everflowing stream . . .
Amos 5:24
While the trauma of George Floyd’s murder remains, today we give thanks that justice has been done.
The facts were never in doubt: former police officer Derek Chauvin held his knee on George Floyd’s neck for over 9 minutes until he died. We saw it with our own eyes.
What we did not know until today was whether our criminal justice system would render justice in a case of a White officer taking the life of a Black man.
We pray for God’s mercy to surround George Floyd’s family and friends as they hold their private grief in the spotlight of an international movement demanding acknowledgement that Black lives matter as much as other lives. To them, and to all for whom there is so rarely justice, we pledge our continued commitment to the work of confronting racism in ourselves, our churches and the nation, including the racism present within policing in this country.
We also pray for all police officers, for their discernment when on duty and for their safety. We pray for those in civic leadership during this time of unrest and racial reckoning, that they will use their authority for the good of all.
George Floyd’s tragic death has prompted a national reckoning on racial injustice, and rightfully so. Because of what the world witnessed, the will and awareness needed to bring change — in our institutions, our culture, our politics and yes, our hearts — is on the rise, and we give thanks to God for this glimmer of light in the shadow of suffering.
Together we will find a way forward toward a more just society and God’s dream for us of beloved community. May God have mercy on us all, and order our steps in the ways of justice and peace.
Faithfully,
The Rt. Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde
Bishop, Episcopal Diocese of Washington
The Very Rev. Randolph Marshall Hollerith
Dean, Washington National Cathedral
The Rev. Canon Leonard L. Hamlin, Sr.
Canon Missioner and Minister of Equity and Inclusion, Washington National Cathedral
The Rev. Robert W. Fisher
Rector, St. John’s Church, Lafayette Square
“You are witnesses of these things.”
Luke 24:48
Discerning questions are in the air. Nearly everywhere I go, people are wondering how we can look back on the past year for wisdom and forward to the future with hope.
At a recent virtual gathering of bishops, the Rev. Canon Stephanie Spellers suggested that we were coming to a pandemic turning point. “How we live and lead as we emerge from this pandemic,” she said, “will set new habits and patterns in motion, not only shaping our lives, but that of our churches and the communities we serve in Jesus’ name.”
At Diocesan Council, the Rev. Tim Johnson told us that he is asking the members of St. Andrew’s College Park two questions: What have they missed in the past year? And what haven’t they missed? Answers to those questions will help him and the vestry determine their next steps at the pandemic turning point.
What are you asking now?
Canon Spellers invites us to use the Way of Love as one template for reflection: She poses these questions: What have we learned in the past year? What has drawn us closer to Jesus? How have we followed Jesus and practiced his Way of Love? What do we want to bring with us from the wilderness into our future?
A turning point is coming, and perhaps is already here. Jesus is with us and the Spirit is our guide. Now is the time to ponder what we have witnessed and what we have learned so that we might move toward the future with wisdom and hope.
Below are some resources your diocesan staff has curated for you. We will share more in the coming weeks.
Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.
John 20:30-31
For two years, I lived in Tucson, Arizona, and among my last memories of that time are of sunsets in the desert. I used to ride my bike after work on roads that took me out of the city going west to watch the sun go down. It was breathtakingly beautiful every time. I quickly learned not to ride out too far, however, because as beautiful as the sunsets were, the transition from light to dark was startlingly abrupt. There was no dusk. One moment it was light enough to see and then, in an instant, all light was gone.
The memory of desert sunsets comes to mind whenever I experience for myself or witness another person’s healing process from injury, illness, or grief. After an initial season of suffering, as healing begins, we have moments, even days, when we feel surprisingly strong and whole. We have energy, and a sense that our lives have possibility again, and indeed, they do. The joy we feel is overwhelming. Yet because we have no reserves of energy to draw from, we are quickly depleted to the point of exhaustion. And there’s no warning–one moment we’re fine and the next we simply must lie down, leave the room, or immediately stop whatever it is we’re doing. The good news is that we’re on the path of healing. The challenge is to be patient with the process. If we rush our return, we can set ourselves back.
Spring has at last arrived, and there is increasing hope for life on the other side of pandemic restrictions. I feel in myself and have seen in others moments intense joy–euphoria even–as we step into the light of this new day. Yet because we have no reserves from which to draw, we can find ourselves suddenly exhausted and even despondent again. We’re like sunsets in the desert. It will take time for us to experience longer stretches of strength and a sense of well being. Regarding the pandemic itself, we also need to be careful. If we push ahead too fast, we risk the gains we have made.
In the rhythms of our faith, we are, thank God, in the Easter season, with its promise of resurrection, new life emerging from all that has been lost to us. But remember that resurrection is a process, not an event. Like healing, resurrection comes in stages, sometimes slowly, sometimes in quick bursts of energy that are quickly spent.
This is a good time to read and pray with the stories that describe what it was like for the disciples to encounter Jesus after the resurrection. There aren’t many and they are easily found at the end of each of the four gospels. What’s striking about them is how suddenly Jesus will appear to the disciples and then disappear. One moment he’s with them outside the tomb, in the upper room, on the road to Emmaus, or on the shores of Lake Galilee and then he’s gone. The disciples are overjoyed when they seem and understandably disoriented when he’s gone. Through it all, they nonetheless have the sense that Jesus is moving forward to something new, and so are they.
Like Jesus’ first disciples, we are moving toward new life. At times we catch glimpses of it, and when we do, we are filled with joy and energy. Yet should those feelings wane quickly, remember the desert sunset. Allow yourself to rest and trust that the sun will rise again.
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