Dear Readers,
Last week, two young sisters in my congregation showed me books that they had made from cloth and cardboard. One book was about Noah and the ark, and the other was Christ on the cross.
The five-year-old created Christ on the cross, and when she opened her book, the left side showed four wavy lines representing words, while the right side read “Jesus [heart] you as you know.” She pointed to the left-hand side and said, “This is blah blah blah. Then over here it says Jesus loves you. I didn’t trust myself to write ‘love’ so I drew the heart.” Then she sang “Jesus loves me this I know.” When she finished, I winked at her mom and pointed to the “blah blah blah” side and said, “Tell me again what this says?”
Instead of repeating the “blah blah blah,” she responded, “Jesus was crucified under Pontius Pilate.”
My mouth dropped open (which probably wasn’t clear because we were all wearing masks), amazed that multi-syllabic words could drop so casually out of her young mouth and thrilled that the words of our creed had embedded themselves into her heart. “We pray what we believe,” Episcopalians teach.
I have friends who say that they are culturally Jewish or culturally Catholic, meaning they were raised in those traditions but don’t necessarily hold religious beliefs any longer, yet remain marked by Judaism or Catholicism. I had not thought about being culturally Episcopalian until those words flowed so easily out of the five-year-old’s mouth. Our liturgy is steeped in her, I realized. Wherever life takes her, she will remember what she has learned in church, even though it sometimes sounds like blah blah blah.
Unlike about half of my seminary class and more than half of the congregation I serve, I was raised Episcopalian. I remember when the “new” prayer book came out when I was a kid: how we tried Rite 2 for about two Sundays and hated it so switched to Rite I, which was much like the previous version of the prayer book except we didn’t get to be “miserable offenders” anymore or pray that there was “no health in us.” I was confirmed at 12, but in high school tried out my friend’s Methodist church and preferred their music and preaching. Then I attended my brother’s evangelical church, which also had music and preaching that I liked, but the main attraction was a blond guy named Frank who sat in the last row of the balcony and furtively held my hand.
I gave up on organized religion in college after feeling offended by an altar call at a funeral and didn’t start attending again until after I was married. I went to a Methodist church first—a church I loved so much that when we moved some thirty miles away I kept crossing a bridge-tunnel to attend, but eventually found an Episcopal church closer to our new house. The first time I went in, my heart leaped at the kneelers, which the Methodist church didn’t have, and I realized as I knelt that the familiar prayers were in my bones. I still missed being a miserable offender with no health in me, but the words never faded into “blah blah blah.”
At coffee hour I recognized that these were my people even though they weren’t welcoming or particularly interested in me. At the Methodist church I drove so far to attend, people acted excited to see me and said something whenever I missed a Sunday. Here, one woman laughingly told me that they didn’t care whether I came or not. How could I feel so instantly at home? I realized that these were the people I’d grown up among: white wealthy professionals. In retrospect, I realize that I felt like I was coming home because I was culturally Episcopalian. I felt at home and benignly ignored. Something was missing.
Bible study solidified my membership at that church. I switched to the 8 AM service, which had only five people (the priest, a family of three, and me), started attending a weekly four-year program with Episcopalians at other churches, became a chalicer and a “lay eucharistic visitor,” and eventually ended up at seminary. I’m grateful to my parents who, as the baptismal covenant directs, brought me up in the Christian faith and life, so that I made the leap from cultural to religious Episcopalian quickly.
Hearing my five-year-old parishioner say “Jesus was crucified under Pontius Pilate” gives me hope that the liturgy is working its magic on the youngest members of St. David’s, which is definitely not a wealthy white country club church. We aren’t as racially diverse as I would like, but we have a little racial diversity, and we’re wildly diverse in terms of political and theological beliefs. Not being a wealthy church has challenges, but I wouldn’t trade them for the “blessings” of more money. My husband calls us a church of “nurses and teachers and self-made reachers.” I’m grateful to be here instead of at a church where coffee hour happens at the country or yacht club. I love praying what we believe, following the same liturgy, and meeting at the eucharistic table even as we hold wildly different ideas.
What about you? If you are not currently religious, were you raised in a way that continues to shape you? If you are religious, are you practicing the same faith in which you were raised? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.
Blessings,
Elizabeth
What I’m Writing:
We’ve continued to make our way through stories from Samuel and Kings:
Nathan and David and the Ewe Lamb
A prayer for healthcare workers that I wrote and have been using at St. David’s is included in this new collection: Prayers and Blessings for Healthcare Workers
What I’m Reading
Educated by Tara Westover. Yes, I know I’m late reading this one, but as everyone else said, it’s powerful and fabulous.
Blind Man’s Bluff by James Tate Hill. Memoir about a man who hid his blindness for much of his life.
What Happened to Paula: On the Death of an American Girl by Katherine Dykstra. Still reading this one.
Women’s Lectionary I’m excited to be on the launch team for this book. I’ve never met Ashley Wilcox but have been obsessed with lectionaries since long before seminary, especially bemoaning what’s left out. I’m thrilled by one that focuses on women’s contributions and I have the bishop’s permission to use it starting in Lent for our Wednesday Eucharist and Bible study.
Been an Episcopalian since I was baptised in our tradition at one month old. The liturgy is deep in my bones. Other than a couple of select communities of believers, the liturgy is why I still come to church.
If I could have achieved one thing during my time in youth ministry, it would have been to have the children in church for the service, everywhere. (There was one church that trotted them in to receive then immediately trotted them back out. Their next clergy person changed that, thank god) I've watched small children mime the consecration along with the priest, children (4 years old!) passing the plate with the ushers and then carrying it up to the altar. Little jugs have big ears is the saying. Why wouldn't we want them to hear this?
So I an Episcopalian who is a cultural Baptist! There are certain Bible verses that I still think of in KJV (John 3:16) and also love the Baptist hymnal.