A Red State Mystic.

“In Christ now meet both East and West,
In Him meet North and South;
All Christly souls are one in Him
Throughout the whole wide earth.”
--William A. Dunkerly

THE SUN IS setting on my Hoosier home. I watched the sun go off to the horizon this evening from a white whicker chair in my parent’s backyard. As the sun began its descent, the sky changed colors from a soft yellow to a brilliant red, with long streams of flat clouds following in train. Yet, my thoughts were not with the journey of the sun, but were back in Atlanta with my new friends. I sat and thought that they must have begun the morning with Morning Prayer -- at the new time. A few minutes later, S would have asked me if it was “Time to eat?” at which point, I’ll give some witty retort and he’d burst into laughter. As some point in the morning, I would have talked with J or R (who are fairly recent newcomers to Holy Comforter) about life and what it was like for J to be raised Roman. I would have gotten plenty of hugs from B, G, K and S (only mentioning a few). C would alternatively tell me jokes and talk about the health problems his family are going through. And the list goes on. And the list goes on while the sun sets over my neighbor‘s house; I watch it set with my Book of Common Prayer in hand. In many ways I have left Atlanta; in many ways, I have not.

IN ALL HONESTY, I have avoided writing this final Atlanta Update, as it signifies the true end of the summer. I had originally decided that my final AU would begin with me looking for my fingernail clippers (that I always seem to loose) in my century-old Grant Park home. And yet, I had no brown-paper bag full of old notes for me to stumble upon; no tangible sign to signify the end of my time in Atlanta. Old bulletins, these nine emails, copious amounts of notes and a plethora of mosquito bites are the only signs of my time spent in Atlanta.

BUT LOOK BEYOND the surface -- beyond my new plantation hat -- and there have been many solidifications and changes. My commitment to the vocational ministry is renewed. My belief in the Gospel that is for all people -- regardless of whatever their circumstances or station of life is -- is unchanged. My belief in the transformative power that Gospel is unchanged. I have seen that same Gospel acted out tangibly this summer in Atlanta and it was awe-inspiring and hearting. And the list goes on.

BUT MANY THINGS were challenged this summer. Its hard for vanity to survive when you were frequently confused by new comers for a congregant of Holy Comforter. Its hard to be vain when you’ve been surrounded by people who have long dirty fingernails, an odd smell and can’t speak clearly. It’s even harder to be vain when one realizes that those who I have just described have a deeper faith than I ever will have in spite of harder challenges than I have ever seen in my life. This whole summer put a lot of things in perspective: from clothes, intelligence, to sundry liturgical matters. And the list goes on.

YES, MY TIME in Atlanta has come to an end. I am now miles away in the great flatlands preparing for the start of school. Yet, I should hasten to look beyond the surface. When I take Eucharist this Sunday at St. John’s in Johnson City, TN, my new friends from Atlanta will be there, although unseen. For wherever God is, there is God’s faithful people gathered around the Table of the Lord to partake in the sacrifice of God’s most holy Son. You’ll be there, too, my friend (even if you won’t be in Johnson City) In Christ, there is no east or west but one true fellowship of love.

IN MY FIRST email I wrote about how I am who I am because of your ministry to me. Now, I can include my new friends into that. I am who I am because I was blessed to have my new friends in my life. I pray that I may be made worthy of the love that they have showered upon me and worthy to walk down that road that they have trod. I pray that my life become a living epistle -- a living testimony -- to their life and their Christian witness. Yes, I am no longer physically with my friends in Atlanta, but I am with them in the Eucharist and they are with me in my ministry.

SO, A DOOR closes and another opens. And so the sun sets but life goes on . . . Where are we going next, Lord?

"Where true charity and love dwell, God himself is there.
As we are all of one body, when we gather let no discord or enmity break our oneness.
May all our petty jealousies and hatred cease that Christ the Lord may be with us through all our days."
--Traditional Latin Prayer, "Ubi Caritas."

"They are devils," Hazel muttered. "The limb of Satan. That hairy one--he could pass for a devil himself! And that other one--I've never seen a face like that in all my born days. That man has looked Satan straight in the eye!"
--Peter Matthiessen, At Play in the Fields of the Lord.

A WORSHIP SERVICE at Holy Comforter is an unforgettable experience. By now, you all know that this is not your typical Episcopal Church and it follows that its worship of God is not stereotypical. Typical Episcopal worship is done with a stiff-upper-lip and with “decency and good order.” Odds are that if you’re a singer (or you sing out in worship), you’re robed up and in the choir. There are extended moments of heavy silence. The loudest response the preacher gets to a good point is a faint smile or a nod of the head. As the old joke goes, you know you’re an Episcopalian when the only reason why you raise your hand is to question the organist’s re-harmonization of a hymn’s last verse. As a Charismatic, this sometimes frustrates me, but this worship of God is beautiful – reflecting the beauty of our Creator. In fact, it is this worship that first attracted me to the Episcopal Church, as it is all about the immersion in the presence of God.

I DON’T WANT to make it sound like when the people of Holy Comforter get together and worship that it has neither decency nor good order. In fact, it has both, but just in a different, delightfully unexpected way. When everyone knows the hymns, they belt them out. For example, on Wednesday we sang “Down By the Riverside” (in celebration of William Wilberforce) and everyone was singing at the top of their lungs – usually in the same tonal neighborhood. Some were swaying or clapping somewhere close to the beat. It was joyful and moving. Afterwards, a visitor remarked, “Oh how they sing! It’s wonderful!”

WE’RE NOT SHY about sharing, either: I was reading from Romans once and whenever good old St. Paul said something that moved them, many would say, “Amen!” in the middle of the reading. Nobody shushes them; I wish everyone would be so moved to say “Amen” to the Word of God! One of my first experiences of reading scripture at HC was when a long-time member suddenly stood at his pew and stared at me intently with the biggest smile on his face. I looked back at him, smiled and continued with the reading. Maybe it was the robe. Maybe it was my hair. I’d like to think it was the Spirit.

WHEN I PREACH, I know that I must be careful with rhetorical questions, as I know that a few members will shout out the answer. At first, this was difficult for me, because rhetorical questions are usually the way that I make transitions to my next point. I still use them, of course, but the real trick is to learn how to make these extemporaneous answers fit into the context of the sermon. Usually, they do. For example, last Wednesday we celebrated the life of St. Mary Magdalene. My point was that when we come into Christ, not only does he change our understanding of God, but also our understanding of each other. At the start of the sermon I asked the question, “What does it mean to hold each other from the perspective of God?” Side-stepping my entire sermon, a member blurted out my conclusion. So much for rhythm and dramatically working up to a point! But, I’d rather have loud listening than quiet ignoring!

NOW, I KNOW some of you are trembling with fear. I hate to admit it, but I remember my first Sunday here being confused by the shufflings, the gettings-up, and the loud singing. Rather rapidly, I could hear that Voice on the inside of me say, “Don’t worry – I am here!” Indeed, God is here and He is moving in delightfully unexpected ways.

MANY CONVENTIONAL ATTITUDES towards my new friends remind me of the missionaries of the nineteenth century who went to Africa “to convert the heathen.” Not only did they convert many to Christianity, but they also converted many to a Western way of life. I’m reminded of the character of Hazel Quarrier in the novel, At Play in the Fields of the Lord. She constantly makes frequent biblical references to the dirtiness and dress of the natives. In her opinion, their dirtiness is not a problem of taking a bath but one of moral rectitude. In her eyes, the simple message of the Gospel came with many cultural norms that the natives were expected to accept. If one become a Christian, one was expected to dress and act like a Westerner! In their journey to Christ, one was expected to jump through cultural hoops, not just spiritual ones.

THE SAD TRUTH is that many of us welcome anyone in the Church as long as they follow certain unspoken cultural norms that we set up around the gospel. Of course, these norms are different for different groups: Would an Evangelical be accepting of someone with a mental disability or would they be shuffled off in a huff of judgement because they were “cursed by the Lord?” Would one of my new friends be accepted at your mainline Protestant Church because they have difficulty in focusing through an entire service and often vocally wander-off? Would you welcome someone who is difficult to get along with? Would you view my new friends as a hindrance to your blessed worship of God or would you consider their presence a blessed gift of God? What sorts of unbiblical, nontraditional, and unspoken cultural norms do you impose on others? How far do we expect one to come to our idea of “normal” before we stop making snide comments about their worship? What hoops must one jump through before they can worship with you? Are those hoops good or bad?

MAY GOD HAVE mercy on us all. May he deliver us from thinking that the Kingdom is as big as we want it to be.

“We thank Thee that Thy church, unsleeping,
While earth rolls onward into light,
Through all the world her watch is keeping,
And rests not now by day or night.”
--John Ellerton.

THE SERVICE OF Evening Prayer and Eucharist begins every Wednesday at 6:30 in the Evening. I affectionately call this service, “Masspers.” It has the Psalms, the two readings from scripture, the two Canticles (Songs of Mary and Simeon – both from Luke) and the prayers from Evening Prayer. Then, after a short sermon, the exchange of Peace, and the offertory, we head straight into the Eucharist. It is a wonderful way to end a day of service to God. After the service, a Church in the diocese provides a meal and everyone goes home well fed. For this service I assist at the table, read the scriptures, and preach.

WHILE SITTING IN my chair to the right of the Altar and roasting in my robes, I watch the western light filter through the solid blocks of color on our “stained glass” windows. Often, this evening light seems to make the Church glow, before the florescents overpower its soft hues. Much like the smell of baking cookies or the hug of an old friend, Evening Prayer is a great comfort to me. There, as light dies in the west and my body begins to feel the day heavy upon its shoulders, I pause and invite Him once again to invade my life.

THE PSALMIST ONCE wrote: “Seven times a day do I praise thee because of thy righteous judgments. (119:164).” Many Christians sought to praise the Lord seven times a day, especially in the monastic communities where they sought to “redeem the time (Ephesians 5:16)” not only for themselves, but also for the Church and for the world. Inspired by their witness to the cross and resurrection, I tried to praise the Lord “seven times a day” too. But life would more than often get in the way and I would end up praising the Lord once or twice a day. In a few words, I let the temptation of quantity to overwhelm the quality of my prayer life.

THE PRAYER BOOK, however, took the very Judeo-Christian concept of seeking after the Lord at intermittent periods and simplified it to be used by those who are “in the world.” Just because one’s vocation prevents one from keeping the seven-times-a-day scheme, does not mean that a Christian’s vocation to prayer is any less important or powerful. The Anglican order of services focuses primarily on Morning and Evening Prayer (with the ’79 Episcopal additions of Noon Prayer and Prayers before Bedtime).

WHEN ALL WAKE and stretch towards the rising sun, we pray for the Church and the world. We pray and look to God to invade our day and to help us keep our focus continually on Him as the sun sends its life-giving life onto the face of the earth. When the sun begins its rapid descent into the horizon and most begin to head home, we pray for the Church and the world. We ask for the forgiveness of our many sins, not seeking to “dissemble or cloak them” but to open our hearts fully before the one who is our advocate. We pray that our work is not futile but that in all we do, our work may be a an “offering, pleasing to the Lord.” And through the prayers of the Church, the world is blessed.

I ENCOURAGE YOU, therefore, in the morning and at evening to bless the Lord. In the morning, turn towards the rising sun, open your Bible and pray a few Psalms, ask the Lord to bless your family, friends and your enemies. In the evening pause after your meal and recall the day. Ask forgiveness of your sins, pray a few Psalms and ask the Lord to be with all that are in need. Whether your prayers are liturgical or extemporaneous, use the Morning and the Evening as an excuse to turn to the Lord and the sun as a marker of his mercies. This is all a part of being a “living sacrifice (Ro. 12:1).”

(Note: I apologize for not sending out my Atlanta Update Six. I appreciate the emails that checked in on my status. My trusty laptop broke and is currently being fixed by the Geek Squad at Best Buy. I pray it won't cost too much! I'm borrowing a friend's laptop until mine returns to me next week. So, yes, I am alive and well, but am dealing with internet withdraws. God bless!)

“Time, like an ever-rolling stream, bears all her sons away;
They fly forgotten like a dream dies at the opening day.
O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come,
Be thou our guide while life shall last, and our eternal home.”
--Isaac Watts (paraphrase of Psalm 90:1-5).

Dear Friends, Mentors, and Benefactors,

DOWN A DEAD-END and graffiti-ed street lies a group home for the mentally ill. A few weeks ago, the entire occupants of this house (including many parishioners of Holy Comforter) moved to this dismal location, amidst boarded-up Churches, broken-down houses, and gnarled sidewalks. They all moved seemingly in the dark of night, with little word to the Church of their new location. After a week of phone calls and wrangling with managers, we finally got an address. Unfortunately, this new location was out-of-reach of our fleet of vans, so many of them have not been able to come to the services of the Eucharist or to the Friendship Center. They lie there, seemingly forgotten by all.

ONCE WE RECEIVED an address, we decided to add the new location to our Friday rotation of visitations. Yesterday morning, a CPE Intern and I made our way to the home, excited about seeing our people who we haven’t seen in a few weeks. As we turned down that wretched street, we saw four people (all parishioners) sitting on the front porch. As soon as they could make out who was in the car, smiles immediately registered on their faces and they pointed at us with joy.

TO SAY THAT they were overjoyed would be an understatement: hugs were given with delightful abandonment; compliments were said freely (I was called “beautiful” several times); and questions quickly came about how everyone is doing at Holy Comforter. It was heartening as they missed us and we missed them; it was like a family reunion. It was also disheartening at the same time, however, as we realized what was the painful loneliness they were experiencing on that dead-end street in that dead-end neighborhood.

+++ +++ +++
IN THE MORNINGS, I walk through Grant Park to get to my bus stop. It is a rather pleasant walk surrounded joggers and those going to work. I have only my thoughts and the silence of birdsong to keep me company before the Georgia heat zaps me in the middle of the day. But when I am especially tired, the voice of doubt follows me on my journey: “Andy,” is speaks irritably, “do you know what you’re doing? Do you think you’re actually doing something? Do you think this work has any significance?” I used to fight that voice and say that the service of God has eternal significance for the souls who will be saved.

NOWADAYS, HOWEVER, I do not argue with the voice, but I quote scripture to it. “Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had spent in doing it, and again, all was vanity and a chasing after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun (Ecclesiastes 2:11).”

“I DON’T KNOW,” I speak to that voice, “If this work has any significance. I’m not here for significance – in whatever form that takes. I’m here because I’m called to be here: nothing more, nothing less. Attachment to significance is vanity, so get thee behind me!”

AND IT LEAVES for awhile, just as quick as the thought came in.

+++ +++ +++
I’VE BEEN READING Alexander Schmeman as of late. He is an Orthodox Liturgical Theologian, who looks at the ways that the Church worships and what our worship tells us about the nature of God and the Kingdom. In his Introduction to Liturgical Theology, Schmeman writes that time does not exist in the service of Eucharist, because it encompasses all of time (the creation, fall, redemption, and second coming). I absolutely love this concept and I’m sure it’s a familiar experience to us all.

GOD HAS GIVEN us Himself in Christ and by Christ we enter bold confidence in the Sanctuary (cf. Heb. 10:19-25). Through Christ, we step into eternity where the manifest presence of God dwells and we step outside of this temporal world. Yes, this does happen in arduous mystical experiences, but it also happens by the simple turning of the heart completely over to God: when we offer ourselves completely to the God-who-gave-Himself-completely-to-us. There is no time in God (for example, His sacrifice is continually effectual) and in the Eucharist we experience a foretaste of that eternal, heavenly banquet.

+++ +++ +++
NOW, OF COURSE, what does this all have to do with loneliness or with doubts about significance?

SINCE TIME DOES not exist in the Eucharist, there is no yesterday or tomorrow, only now (a now so wide that it encompasses both). In the Eucharist we see not only who we used to be (in confession and forgiveness), who we are (“solace and strength” for the day) and who we will be (“and bring us to your heavenly country . . .”). More importantly than all of this, we begin to see ourselves from the eternal perspective, as God sees us. In that we see that Christ is the sole goal of all our lives (“through Him, with Him, and in Him . . .”) and not the trappings of our so-called-sanctified life (appearances and successes among them).

IN THAT TIMELESS celebration we are reminded that we are children of God incapable of being forgotten by Him on whose palm we are inscribed. The fracture of the world by sin and death no longer holds any dominion for us who are new citizens of that new Reality where all things remain as one. Since there is no time, there is “no bearing of its sons away.” There is no parting, no separation, and no forgetfulness, for it is the celebration of one family united across time and space. For those few intense moments, it becomes clear that the Church is one and Jesus is her bridegroom in this foretaste of the heavenly supper.

AND THIS IS why the celebration of the Eucharist (Mass, Communion, the Lord’s Supper, whatever you call it) is so important to the Christian life. It reorients our perspective from the kingdom of the world to the Kingdom of God, where none is forgotten and significance is found in Christ alone. It causes us to remember Christ and in so doing, remember each other in the proper way. Anything else we experience with our encounter with Eucharist (with the risen Christ) is vanity.

“See how, from far, upon the eastern road
The star-led wizards haste, with odors sweet!
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet!
Have thou the honor, first thy Lord to greet,
And join thy voice unto the Angel choir
From out his secret altar, touched with hallowed fire.”
--Milton, On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity IV.

THE INCARNATION IS one of the great mysteries of Christianity that touches upon everything that we do: our ethics, our worship, and the very nature of our reality. Because it incorporates all facets of our lives, it is so lofty that the head cannot understand it completely, but the hands and feet know it to be the truth. Unfortunately, like so many of our beliefs, the incarnation needs a poet of extraordinary skill, not a theologian and definitely not a bumbling fool.

FOR CENTURIES THE Lord dwelled hidden in a temple beyond rows of priests, sacrifices and smoke. Of course, he spoke to his people through their prophets and sages, but those leaders were not his presence. Of course, he gave signs to his people that he was there: a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, but his presence was not in those signs. Of course, he gave provision to his people: manna and quail, but his presence was not in those provisions. His presence -- what Tozer calls the “manifest presence of God” --dwelled between the Cherubim beyond the holy place and beyond a curtain.He had hidden himself on his secret altar, the Ark of the Covenant.

OF COURSE, WITH Christ this all changed, whereupon his death the curtain in the temple was torn from top to bottom. The hidden manifest presence of God was begotten in Jesus Christ. The God, who always dwelled with his people, now dwelled with his people in a different way: the hidden God went out to the people. Of course, this all burgeoned with the advent of Pentecost, the Church – through Christ – is the new dwelling for this hidden God. From within the secret altar of our hearts – the inner tabernacle – the hidden God is made known to us.

IN MUCH THE same way that God could not contain himself completely in the tabernacle, so too does the secret altar of the Christian not contain him completely. But, just as the invisible God was made visible in Christ, so too does the hidden God become revealed in us and among us. This is why Jesus said: “the kingdom of God is among you (Lk. 17:21).” We have come to know this occupant of our secret altars by his actions in us and around us.

I BELIEVE THIS is why the concern of the Christian should be to both the “inner” and “outer” life. Because our hands show forth the work of the hidden God to others and the hands of others show us the work of the hidden God. The hidden God is both known in and out of the soul, just as he resides both inside and outside it.

WHAT DOES ALL this have to do with the start of my fifth week in Atlanta? It has everything to do with why I am in Atlanta. Let me explain:

GOD COMES TO us through Christ. Many people in first century Palestine did not recognize Christ as “the way, the truth and the life.” Indeed, this understanding was rejected because the gift of salvation came in the most unexpected way. Yet, to us who are believers we rejoice in this unexpected gift and claim him as our own.

GOD, HOWEVER, COMES to us through other ways: in scripture, in tradition, in the testimonies of other Christians, in nature, in rituals, in times of great silence and in times of great noise. God comes to us in the form of a friend suffering with schizophrenia. God comes to us through friends, disasters and miracles. God comes to us in a variety of unexpected ways.

THIS IS THE challenge to the Christian, for a true believer looks at all the facets of their life and sees the hand of God at work in each area: both within and without. They do not scorn suffering nor do they look at trials as curses. They see the hand of God at work in scripture and in the life of their friends, learning what it means to be a follower of Christ. They see the hand of God at work in the poor, the destitute, and the notorious sinners.They do not judge by mere outward appearances; they see beyond the visible reality of the kingdom of the world and into the new Reality of Christ in the Kingdom of God.

IN JUST THE same way that those in the first century ignored Christ because he did not come in the expected form, so to do we ignore the hand of God at work outside of our secret altars (our expected form). May God grant unto us the wisdom and discernment to see this new Reality in Christ: that the hidden presence of God is breaking forth all over the world in various ways! That God is both at work inside and outside of us!

HERE, AT THE half point of the summer, this is what I am learning, forgetting and relearning. Please pray that God may teach me to love perfectly -- to love as Christ loves.

(Note: For this week’s update from Atlanta, I have decided to write it in a series of answers to common questions. Feel free to keep asking! BTW, the painting above and the painting in AU3 are done by members of the HC who participate in the Friendship Center. pretty cool, huh?)

What is the Episcopal Church of the Holy Comforter?
The Episcopal Church of the Holy Comforter (HC) was founded more than one hundred years ago and it originally met in a tavern on Sunday Mornings (yup, its Episcopalian). A few years later, it had a building in Grant Park that is somewhere beneath one of the many parking lots that surround Turner Field. In the Fifties, it moved to its current location in Ormewood Park with hopes to build and expand the Parish in a predominately white, middle class neighborhood. The turbulent sixties, however, had different plans for HC. As the neighborhood integrated, many of the members of HC left the neighborhood in search of the suburbs in “white flight.” Banks redlined the neighborhood as crime, drugs and prostitution moved into the neighborhood. A few years later, the Bishop of Atlanta decided that HC needed to close down and the small congregation resisted his plan. It has been said that grown men cried at that meeting with the Bishop of Atlanta.

A priest in the diocese heard of the consternation caused by HC and asked the Bishop’s permission to go to HC. He went to “see what he could do.” Almost immediately, he walked the neighborhood, knocking on doors and going to places that only Jesus would go. The Parish started growing again, but the new members were people who were not traditional Episcopalians: the poor, the suffering and the oppressed. Therefore, the Bishop saw a need for HC in the neighborhood and decided to make it into a fully-funded mission of the diocese.

What is the Friendship Center?
When the Olympics came to Atlanta in 1996, many in the mental health community realized that the Olympics would be stressful for those suffering with mental disorders. In an attempt to ease the stress (and to get the “unsightly” off the streets), Friendship Centers opened throughout the city. Since HC already had a ministry to the mentally and emotionally handicapped, it seemed only natural to host a Friendship Center. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the Church opened its doors to those living in group homes, offering meals, art, and daily services. Originally, HC’s Friendship Center was designed for thirty participants. On a given Tuesday or Thursday, we have around 125-150 people coming to the Friendship Center for art, gardening, music, daily services and two fresh meals – all in an attempt to foster community for those who have been banished by family and society. A large percentage of those 125 are members of the Parish and are regular communicants at our Sunday and Wednesday service of Eucharist.

What is the chief end of man?
“Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” The Westminster Shorter Catechism.

What exactly do you do?
Lead Morning and Noon Prayer on Tuesday/Thursday; preach at the Wednesday Evening Eucharist; help serve breakfast and lunch; work as an acolyte on Sunday mornings; aid in the day-to-day running of the Friendship Center; do visits to group homes; write grants, work on an Energy Audit for the Church; and researching better ways for the Church to do transportation. Among the other interns, I seem to be the resident liturgist (but really, is anyone surprised by that?).

What is up with the Anglican Communion and the Episcopal Church? Are you all still going to hell?
I would not know anything about that. The Lambeth Conference coming up should be interesting, to say the least. I have learned to avoid endless conversations about the Bishop of New Hampshire, certain African Bishops and the Archbishop of Canterbury’s lack of a backbone (to both parties) like the plague. As our Senior Warden said, “If we get kicked out of the Anglican Communion, would someone please e-mail us?” It is just not a topic of conversation or focus around here – thank the Lord.

What possessed you to engage in this work?
The Holy Spirit, I presume. When I visited over Spring Break with the Milligan College Concert Choir, I knew that I had to come to HC to learn. It was refreshing to see a church act like the Church, loving with abandon all who would darken the door of the church. To see incarnated (in the flesh) the Gospel that saved me acted out with such care.

What exactly do the other interns do?
There are three other interns. Two of which are undergrad (myself included) and two of whom are CPE Students. The other undergrad and I are interns for the Church; the CPE interns are for the Friendship Center. We undergrads are responsible for assisting Fr. Mike with the day-to-day running of the Church. We are here every time the doors are open for around 40+ hours a week.

The CPE Interns come on Tuesday and Thursday and aid in the running of the Friendship Center and the services on T/R. They also take the lead when we do visits to Group Homes on Fridays. Overall, they are only here about 10-15 hrs a week. And they are all great to work with!

What do you do for fun?
Go to the Park, various restaurants, the High Museum, the Cyclorama, hanging out with friends and $10 student tickets to the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra! But you all knew that I am, in fact, this boring.

“O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.”
-- George Matheson (1842-1906).

MORNING PRAYER BEGINS promptly at 8:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Taken exclusively from The Book of Common Prayer, I can think of no better way to begin the day. This is a 30-minute service of Psalms, readings, and prayers; it has been in use since the Reformation and in many ways since the pre-Reformation Church in England. Most days it is done in Rite II, although whenever the self-described-parish-curmudgeon attends we do Rite I, replete with its thee’s, thou’s and thy’s. For those who care for such things, attendance is usually in the twenties. I have led this service numerous times and have tried to teach our other non-Episcopal CPE Interns how to do it correctly (they do it very well).

JB IS OUR acolyte and Psalmist for this service. Like most of the other Friendship Center participants, JB deals with a mental disorder. Like most of the other Friendship Center participants, JB is so much more than just a walking mental disorder, although some may be quick to paint my new friends as such. The precision with which he lights the candles on the Altar amazes me at every service; he seems to march lightly with ninety-degree turns. He bows purposefully and cares to light the candles in the “proper” order each day. He treats his service at the Altar very seriously and I can see it when he does something as mundane as lighting candles.

BUT IT IS when JB leads the Psalms that I am most moved. His speech is slurred, but understandable as he accents just the right syllables. If I could describe his voice, it would be something like a one-string Cello that continually drones but whose drone is accented with the quick flicks of the wrist. On Thursday, one of the Psalms appointed for the day was Psalm 71, unfamiliar to me in number but intimate upon recitation:

"In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge;
Let me never be ashamed
In your righteousness, deliver me and set me free;
Incline your ear to me and save me."

WE PRAYED THAT venerable old piece of poetry in call and response with JB. The wind was seemingly sucked out of my lungs as I sat there listening to a Psalm that got me through some of the darkest days of my life; a Psalm that I now recite by piecemeal memory in prayer when the conviction of my grievous sins is brought upon my soul. As I suppose they all are, this Psalm is a mirror to my life and to the lives of many others. In his laborious and slurred voice, I could hear something different in JB’s voice. He was not just reading this Psalm, but he seemed to be praying it with his very being.

ON FRIDAY, WE went visiting some of the Group Homes and JB’s happened to be on the list. As we worked our way through the house that had an odd smell, with unfamiliar faces peering from their dark rooms, we made it to the back patio where JB and some of the other guys that go to Holy Comforter were sitting. Within the first ten minutes of hanging out, JB asks us if we could read some scripture, pray and sing. What followed was an hour of what the CPE Intern called, “something profoundly moving.”

RATHER NON-CHELONTLY, she asked the guys how did they know that God was with us? One answered that whenever he sees the sunshine, he knows that God is with us. Another answered that he knows God is with him while he sleeps. But another answered that he knew that God was with him because God is always with us – how can it be any different? He knows that God is with him, because it is impossible to escape from the presence of God.

AND THIS IS what I have encountered in my two weeks of service at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Comforter: a greater faith than I have ever known. People, who though suffering with mental disorders their entire lives, will be the first to say with great intensity that God has been good to them: that he takes care of their needs and that he will continue to take care of them. But more than a great faith, I have seen a greater love exhibited among them: towards me, towards each other and towards God.

I DON’T KNOW if my presence has been therapeutic to my new friends, but I do know this: that by their presence, witness and testimony, God is transforming my life. May God continue to do His work.

“Give us, O God, the strength to build
the city that hath stood
too long a dream, whose laws are love,
whose ways are brotherhood,
and where the sun that shineth is
God's grace for human good.”
--Walter Russel Bowie

After I landed in Atlanta, had lunch with the Tanners and took a nap, I decided that it would be a good idea to get out and explore my neighborhood. I am living in a house that houses the staff from DOOR Atlanta, a mission co-op between Mennonite and Presbyterian Churches (PCUSA). Among the nine occupants of this house, the majority are Presbyterian, followed by one Mennonite and one Episcopalian (I still have yet to tell them that I thought the “continental reformers” went a wee bit too far in that reforming business; that Simons and Calvin are my least favorite of the reformers). No matter that, as all are fantastic brothers and sisters in Christ.

As I walked out my front door into the Georgia heat, I could see that down the street was a charter school. Heading about a few blocks eastward from my home, I come to Grant Park, which is one of Atlanta’s largest and oldest parks. Grant Park houses not only trails and lush vegetation, but also the Cyclorama and Zoo Atlanta. The first thing that strikes me about this neighborhood is the houses: there are stately, old Victorian homes next to mission style houses. Whatever the style of house, inevitably there are in the small front lawns are manicured gardens that reach from the side of the house to the picket fence that lines the sidewalk -- the sidewalks made of brick.

As I walked for sometime in that heat, exploring small side streets that dip and steady long roads that process off into the horizon, I realized that the Grant Park neighborhood was not exactly downtown Atlanta. As I walked, many neighbors said “hello” or “good afternoon” to me from the shade of their front porches. Every house has the same sunburst sign hanging on the porch that displays their postal numbers. Everywhere I look, people are jogging in the heat or couples are walking together hand-in-hand. Grant Park is one of the most gentrified neighborhoods in Atlanta.

Yet, I do not want you to think I am living in some kind of 1950’s fantasyland. Signs that the neighborhood is still in the city are everywhere. Standing in those picturesque gardens are home security placards, promising that this house is protected. There are people who look like they live on the street who wander intermittently around the park. Iron gates provide extra protection over the wooden doors. Overall, however, it is a very safe neighborhood. In the words of one of the DOOR workers, “What do you think this is -- the ghetto?”

About two miles from my home is The Episcopal Church of the Holy Comforter. Although I have walked that distance, it is only two MARTA buses away. I ride one bus to Confederate Ave. (the irony is not lost on me) and take the second all the way to the Church. The neighborhood of the Church is not as gentrified as Grant Park is, but is on the cusp of revival as more and more condominiums and construction take over the neighborhood.

Sitting back on its property, a fence lines The Episcopal Church of the Holy Comforter. In its spacious front yard are manicured gardens, cared for by those with mental and emotional handicaps. Around the side are more gardens that have herbs, tomatoes, figs, and a whole cornucopia of vegetation that are sold every so often. During a conversation with the garden director, I remarked how the gardens made the Church that much more of a refuge. “Yes,” she remarked “And beauty is therapeutic.”

Although I am in a very large city, the beauty is all around me: in the gardens of my neighborhood and Church, in the sidewalks, in the trees and birds that sing. I find all therapeutic, too, that in a new neighborhood among people I haven’t met at all, the Creator is at work among his creation. This beauty of the creation (that reflects the beauty of the Creator) inspires and consoles me, but always reminds me that the world has been here for much longer than I have.

As I walk to the front door of the Church for my first week of service, I am reminded that my life is to be beautiful. Just like how St. Paul exhorted his readers to be “living epistles” that testified to the living Christ by their very being. So, too, must my life become a living letter of ordered words and phrases that show forth the beauty of the Creator at work in my lives. A letter, a garden, and a life consumed by love is my calling.

I thought about all this as I grasp the handle to the door opening it to get ready for Morning Prayer.