A Happily Startling Advent

 

Advent at Grace

I suppose it is appropriate to be happily startled by the Nicene Creed on the first Sunday of Advent. That was my experience at Grace Episcopal Church in Woodlawn last Sunday when we came to that moment in the liturgy. 

Grace Church is an Anglo-Catholic parish in an old neighborhood that was once thriving but now bears that inner-city urban blight seen in the wake of white flight and new suburbs. The church sponsors a soup kitchen, a food pantry, a clothes closet, and a warming station on cold winter nights. Their motto is, “Where street and altar meet,” doing everything they can for neighbors in need.

I like to visit Grace, especially during Advent, for a dose of Anglo-Catholic liturgy. This past Sunday, the service moved along as expected with prayers, chants, and hymns. The service was printed out for congregants to follow. When it came time for the Nicene Creed, my first delightful surprise was in the gender-neutral language. Instead of talking about how Christ “was made man,” with the incarnation, the creed stated he “became truly human.”

Another gender-neutral turn was in reference to the Holy Spirit. I have never understood the Holy Spirit as “he,” anyway (if I were to think of gender, I would think in feminine terms). I usually just shuffle through those gender pronouns in the creed without giving them voice. This translation of the creed we read on Sunday, however, gets around gender altogether by saying, “who proceeds from the Father” and “who has spoken through the prophets.”

But the real zinger for me was that the creed I recited with the congregation had no filioque clause (the part where it says the Spirit proceeds from the father and the son. Instead, it harked back to the very early form which simply states that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father. Church history buffs know that the filioque clause was the final straw that launched a rift between the Eastern Orthodox Church and the Roman Church.

Tracking Down the Source

Maybe I’m a bit of a church nerd in this, but it was quite enlivening for me to hear the creed in this newer form that was also an older form. When I got home, I had to do some research to find out where this version of the Nicene Creed came from. (see the full text of the translation below).

I got help online from Trinity Episcopal Church in Concord, Massachusetts. In a letter to the congregation, their rector explains the “New Words for Old Words” that the parish would be using in their services. He explains that

The translation of the Nicene Creed we are using this summer comes from Enriching our Worship 1 which are supplemental liturgies prepared by the Standing Liturgical Commission of the Episcopal Church in 1997. There are three major changes in this translation: language around the incarnation, the filioque clause, and the removal of a gendered Holy Spirit.

In his letter, The Rev. Christopher Whiteman writes of the incarnation passage:

The difference here is the Son being “made man” or “becoming fully human.” The original Greek contains the word ánthrōpos from which we also derive the word anthropology. This word in its singular form is translated as “man,” but in the most common usage of its plural form means people of all genders. The Greek word anḗr means biologically male in both its singular and plural forms. If it was essential that Jesus was incarnated biologically male, the word anḗr would have been used instead of ánthrōpos. Of course, we can use “man” in the English language similarly to ánthrōpos in the Greek but practice has changed. In academic circles Christians believe that the Son being biologically male in the person of Jesus is significant and use that as the basis for excluding those who are not biologically male from the priesthood. In the fourth century, Gregory of Nazianzus, an early pivotal thinker of Christianity and one of the authors of the creed we use, suggests that to ascribe human relationships and our understanding of gender to any of the persons of the Godhead is like a perverse joke.1 This passage appears to suggest that the best way forward is emphasizing the Son becoming human in the person of Jesus rather than biologically male.and even in common language, we more frequently go to “humanity” or “humankind” to describe the collectivity of people.

In translating this Greek idea into English as “became truly human,” we are emphasizing that the importance of the incarnation is the Son becoming human–one of us. Some Christians believe that the Son being biologically male in the person of Jesus is significant and use that as the basis for excluding those who are not biologically male from the priesthood. In the fourth century, Gregory of Nazianzus, an early pivotal thinker of Christianity and one of the authors of the creed we use, suggests that to ascribe human relationships and our understanding of gender to any of the persons of the Godhead is like a perverse joke.1 This passage appears to suggest that the best way forward is emphasizing the Son becoming human in the person of Jesus rather than biologically male. 

Of the second major difference, the removal of the filioque clause, Whiteman writes,

In the Book of Common Prayer (1979) translation, we say:

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,

who proceeds from the Father and the Son.

In the Enriching our Worship translation, we say:

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,

who proceeds from the Father.

The filioque clause is the “and the Son” which suggests that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the two other persons of the trinity not just one. This clause is not original to the creed and was only officially added in the western churches during the eleventh century as part of the East-West Schism when the church broke in two. In 1976, Anglican and Orthodox theologians issued the “Moscow Agreed Statement” in which Anglicans agreed with Orthodox Christians that the filioque clause should not be included in the Nicene Creed. In 1994, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church resolved that any new liturgies from that point on would not include the filioque clause. The removal of the words “and the Son” corresponds to the original Greek text and aligns us with current Anglican liturgical practice.

 

Of the gender-neutral references to the Holy Spirit, Whiteman writes,

The third major change in this translation of the Nicene Creed is the removal of gender from the Holy Spirit. In the 1979 translation the pronoun “he” is used for the Spirit and in the 1997 translation “who” is used. It has become common practice in some Episcopal churches to replace the 1979’s “he” with “she” when reciting the creed, but this gets us into another sticky situation: one in which we ascribe masculine aspects to parts of the Godhead and feminine aspects to others. This could suggest a play between gendered forces within the nature of God and goes against Gregory of Naziansus warning that we should not ascribe human concepts of gender in our theological expressions even though we are given the language of Father and Son. The Greek word for spirit, pneûma, is neuter and so the authors of Enriching our Worship chose to render the Holy Spirit without gender. This is not a perfect solution, but no words we choose can fully encapsulate God.

I’m not sure how many of you find this sort of discussion interesting, but for me it was an enlivening turn to take on this first Sunday of Advent at Grace Episcopal Church, “Where street and altar meet.”

*   *   *

Nicene Creed 

We believe in one God,

the Father, the Almighty,

maker of heaven and earth,

of all that is, seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,

the only Son of God,

eternally begotten of the Father,

God from God, Light from Light,

true God from true God,

begotten, not made,

of one Being with the Father;

through him all things were made.

For us and for our salvation

he came down from heaven,

was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary

and became truly human.

For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;

he suffered death and was buried.

On the third day he rose again

in accordance with the Scriptures;

he ascended into heaven

and is seated at the right hand of the Father.

He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,

and his kingdom will have no end.

 We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,

who proceeds from the Father,

who with the Father and the Son is worshiped and glorified,

who has spoken through the prophets. 

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.

We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.

We look for the resurrection of the dead,

and the life of the world to come. Amen.

 

-

Remembering Mother Robyn Arnold

Rev. Robyn Arnold (Parish Photo)

Even though I arrived early, the small parking lot was already full and cars were lined up on the street. When I found a place to park, I had to walk a couple of blocks down to the church. The pews were filled as I and a handful of others entered the sanctuary and managed to find a seat. 

I was not surprised by the crowd. The Rev. Robyn Arnold, “Mother Robyn,” as she was known to the parish, had been a beacon of light in an impoverished neighborhood and a source of strength to a diverse and welcoming congregation. On this warm July morning, many came out to remember the remarkable life of a caring soul, gone too soon.

Grace Episcopal Church is an Anglo-Catholic parish, over 100 years old, located in the once-vibrant-now-declining community of Woodlawn. The needs of the community are great and Grace Church works to meet those needs with ministries that include a soup kitchen, a food pantry, a clothes closet, a warming station for the homeless in the winter, and a summer program for the children in the neighborhood. Known for its high liturgy on Sundays, Grace’s slogan is “Where Street and Altar Meet!”

Mother Robyn Arnold was an exemplary pastor to her parishioners and a source of hope to people in a transitional neighborhood. The church’s funeral announcement stated, “A soul filled with light and love, Mother Robyn Arnold changed Woodlawn, changed the world, changed the lives of so, so many. It is with great sadness, we announce her passing. May she forever remain in our hearts.” (Read her obituary here)

The eulogy by Deacon Kay Williams recounted Mother Robyn’s life from her childhood in rural Kentucky to a career as a Ph. D. environmental scientist to her transition to pastor and priest. 

In her memory, I am sharing my accounts from four of my encounters with Grace Church under Mother Robyn's ministry.  The first is from five years ago when during a low point in the world I made my way to Grace Episcopal Church for her pastoral guidance. That day she said, among other things, 

We must respond to hatred and injustice, but that response will differ with different people: some will respond publicly to oppose injustice, hate, and greed; others will respond more quietly to do small things in love right where they are.   ~ Rev. Robyn Arnold

You can read the full account at Grace in a Time of Hate.

In my essay, A Nurturing God, I found myself unusually moved at the close of the worship service with the post-Communion prayer. It was a prayer that called to mind the feminine aspects of God in a beautifully personal way.

Where Grace Abounds recounts my Advent experiences at Grace which included incense, the tolling of the bells, music, prayers, and thoughtful, heartfelt homilies delivered by the Reverend Robyn Arnold. I also share some of the parish’s rich history.

In Why Pray, I tell how a visit with my friends at Grace Episcopal Church, I was reminded once again of why we pray. I also recount how at an earlier time I discovered liturgical prayer at a time when I had been battered by circumstances and unsure of which way to turn.

These are just snapshots of the ministry she offered for ten years as rector of Grace Episcopal Church.

Grace Episcopal Church (website photo)

    

-

A Nurturing God

[As the COVID-19 threat looms, most churches have canceled Sunday services. This is a re-post from two years ago - a happy surprise that I encountered which bears repeating.]

Grace Episcopal Church in Woodlawn (photo from the church's website)

Last Sunday, I made a return visit to Grace Episcopal Church.  It is a parish that is Anglo-Catholic in its liturgy and is committed to its ministry to the needy with a daily soup kitchen, food pantry, and other means of relief for the poor and the marginalized.  On cold winter nights, the church opens its parish hall to provide a warming station, giving the homeless and the needy a safe warm place to sleep.  

We are in the middle of Lent.  Many churches observe the fourth Sunday of Lent as Mothering Sunday.  Mothering Sunday is traditionally a time for people to go back to the parish where they were baptized to honor their mother church.  I wasn’t thinking of Mothering Sunday as I entered that sacred space.  It was simply a time for me to attune myself to Grace in its worship and ministry.

The Sacred Feminine

I found myself unusually moved at the close of the worship service with the post-Communion prayer. It was a prayer that called to mind the feminine aspects of God in a beautifully personal way.

In the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, used in Episcopal Churches across the U.S., there are two basic post-Communion prayers.  In my experience, those two prayers had been used interchangeably at the end of each service, giving thanks to God for feeding us with the sacraments, taking strength for going out into the world.  As in:

“...you have fed us with spiritual food

in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood.

Send us now into the world in peace…”

Or,

“…we thank you for feeding us with the spiritual food

of the most precious Body and Blood

of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ…”

  

They are both beautiful prayers acknowledging God’s love for us and our role of service to humanity as living witnesses to God's eternal kingdom.* Like so many things that we say repeatedly or by rote, we sometimes fail to fully appreciate the beauty or the astounding impact of the prayers we pray in our sacred space during times of worship.

On this day, however, the post-Communion prayer had a definite impact upon me as I heard the words. It wonderfully reflected a maternal image of God.

Loving God,

as a mother feeds her children at the breast­­­­­

you feed us in this sacrament

with the food and drink of eternal life:

help us who have tasted your goodness

to grow in grace within

the household of faith;

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

The shift in that prayer got my attention and opened my heart in a new way. Knowing that there are maternal images of God in scripture that are often overlooked, I was thankful to have that loving and nurturing image brought forth in our time of worship.  In fact, I was so moved that I wanted to know where the prayer came from.

A Gift from the Anglican Communion

I asked the rector of Grace Church, Rev. Robyn Arnold, about the source of the post Communion prayer used that day.  She told me that it was from The Book of Common Worship, which is used by The Church of England.  I wondered if I had been blessed by this prayer because I just happened to show up on Mothering Sunday. Rev. Arnold told me, for my further enlightenment, that while it is especially appropriate for Mothering Sunday it works for any time the Church calendar or the scripture readings call to mind the nurturing qualities of God.

It is amazing what a shift toward the feminine can do for one's heart and psyche. I am reminded of such a shift that occurred for me years ago which I have written about before. That “shift” happened the first time I heard Bobby McFerrin,  also an Episcopalian, sing his version of Psalm 23. It was on a telecast with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. He used  the feminine pronoun in reference to God, and that one change moved me to tears as I listened. 

At this half-way point in the Lenten season, I am thankful for my Anglican friends who can call to mind the feminine, nurturing aspects of a loving God.

_________________________

* Post-Communion prayers from the 1979 Episcopal Book of Common Prayer:

Eternal God, heavenly Father,

you have graciously accepted us as living members

of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ,

and you have fed us with spiritual food

in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood.

Send us now into the world in peace,

and grant us strength and courage

to love and serve you

with gladness and singleness of heart;

through Christ our Lord. Amen.

or the following

Almighty and everliving God,

we thank you for feeding us with the spiritual food

of the most precious Body and Blood

of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ;

and for assuring us in these holy mysteries

that we are living members of the Body of your Son,

and heirs of your eternal kingdom.

And now, Father, send us out

to do the work you have given us to do,

to love and serve you

as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord.

To him, to you, and to the Holy Spirit,

be honor and glory, now and forever. Amen.

-

A Liturgical Reset Button

Last Sunday I visited my friends at Grace Episcopal Church in Woodlawn on Birmingham’s northeastern side. It is an old  part of town that is trying to revitalize, and Grace has long been a help to those in need as well as a witness to the Anglo-Catholic liturgy.

I like to visit there to offer part of my tithe to the work they are doing on the streets, and I also enjoy the liturgy, especially during Advent. On that second Sunday of Advent, the liturgy provided me with an important “reset.” Don’t we all need a reset button from time to time?

My reset came by way of the Prayers of the People. One of the things I like about the Book of Common Prayer is that the prayers offer a collective wisdom of what kinds of things we ought to pray for. In shaping our corporate prayer, we are also provided guidance on what things are important and how we should live our lives to help improve the chances that our prayerful intentions may be met.

I came to worship that day with concern over the state of our nation’s political mood. The selected prayers for that day were from the Prayers of the People, Form IV. The passages that resonated with me and helped me to bring some quiet to my soul were these:

Guide the people of this land, and of all the nations, in the
ways of justice and peace; that we may honor one another
and serve the common good.

Give us all a reverence for the earth as your own creation,
that we may use its resources rightly in the service of others
and to your honor and glory.

I took comfort that I could join with so many others in that prayer to honor the common good and to reverence the environment. I also took comfort that these words from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer perhaps will seep into the nation’s conscience. I found hope that there is this continued witness to how we should order our lives.

The next passage brought our prayers to a more personal level:

Bless all whose lives are closely linked with ours, and grant
that we may serve Christ in them, and love one another as he
loves us.

Lord, in your mercy
Hear our prayer

O Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer and guide my steps.

-

Why Pray?

Prayer can take many forms. There is the urgent plea for help or guidance, there is the quiet prayer of thanks whispered at day’s end or when family is gathered. There are prayers of confession, prayers of praise and adoration. Private prayers and public prayers may take the form of petition, praise or gratitude.

Some will ask, why pray? Is there really a God to pray to, or if there is, why do we imagine that God is listening? Does prayer make a difference in what happens in our lives and in the world?

For me, it is important to gather with others in prayer. I do not imagine that I am bringing my case before God in an attempt to change the mind of the divine or to coerce supernatural intervention. Participating in the public prayers of the church, however, is a way for me to bring myself into a deeper consciousness of what God’s own concerns may be for the human community in which I live. 

Mending Battered Sails

I discovered liturgical prayer at a time when I had been battered by circumstances and unsure of which way to turn. Ironically, it was religious life that had left me battered. I was a graduate of Golden Gate Baptist Seminary and had just completed a two-year missionary assignment teaching English at Hong Kong Baptist College.

During my entire four years of college and three years of seminary, my Southern Baptist denomination had been enduring its own “culture war” which some of my colleagues refer to as “the religious wars.” Those with a conservative fundamentalist orientation within the Southern Baptist Convention were highly displeased with the state of higher education, especially of what they viewed as liberal trends in seminary education.

By the time I returned to the States after two years overseas, the fundamentalists had successfully wrested control of the denomination. I found a church where I no longer had any hopes of making a spiritual home. Leaving meant severing possibilities of serving in the profession in which I had been trained, but staying would have created far too much dissonance. Since I had become acquainted with an Anglican priest in Hong Kong who had once been a Baptist, I decided to explore the Episcopal Church to see if there were any possibilities for me there.

A New Language

I discovered in the small Anglo-Catholic Episcopal parish of St. Andrew’s in Birmingham an ancient liturgy that opened up a new world of faith for me. Having been raised in a non-liturgical tradition, I saw the ancient liturgy of the church as a new language for worship. In order to learn all that I could, I committed myself to the liturgical life of the Church. I made the conscious decision to become a learner. I was committed to learn a new language of worship and to proceed as if I did not even know how to pray.

In the months that followed, I began to find some healing and inner re-structuring as I allowed myself to be shaped and guided by the liturgical prayers of the church. I would say that I found a spiritual formation by way of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer. The beautiful prayers I heard and took part in throughout the liturgical year increased my awareness of God’s own concern for those who struggle, those who suffer, and those who seek justice.

I heard collects invoke the presence of God, as in “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known and from you no secrets are hid.” Ancient prayers such as Phos Hilaron (O Gracious Light) became new and rich for me. When I sang the Gloria and the Sanctus with the congregation during the Sunday liturgy, I was praying ancient prayers that connected me with that “great cloud of witnesses” who have stood to say those words of praise for hundreds of years (and who continue to say them in all of the liturgical congregations today). 

During the prayers of the church, I was brought with the community into awareness of those in trouble or in prison. My heart was drawn to people who suffer in body, mind or spirit. I was reminded in the context of prayer to reverence the earth and to care for it. I became aware of the holy task of those who fight for justice, freedom, and peace. All of this happened within the community at prayer.

Throughout the liturgical cycle of the year, there were seasons of joy and seasons of sadness; times for repentance and times of affirmation. There were days of fasting and days of feasting. Community prayers were there in the midst of worship to guide us in our grieving, in our waiting, and in our moments of celebration.

Why do we pray? I learned that when I allowed the liturgy to pull me away from my limited frame of reference, I came into a larger awareness of what the presence of God means. I gained further insight into what the reign of God entails. My prayer life was expanded. By participating with the praying community, concerns I might not have considered were brought to mind. Even the cosmic presence of Christ as sustainer of the world became a cause for celebration. 

Praying with Grace

Last Sunday when I visited my friends at Grace Episcopal Church, I was reminded once again of why we pray. During the Prayers of the People, the worshiping community there made use of some intercessions from The Church of England’s Common Worship: Times and Seasons. In the Episcopal Church, there are six basic forms in the prayer book to select from for the Prayers of the People during the liturgy. Using a different form was an enriching change, but the beauty and the content of the prayer was a wonderful illustration of how prayer can draw us into an awareness of how we are called to participate in doing the things that God does. 
 
Here are the prayers as prayed at Grace last Sunday:

The Prayers of the People

Upon the rich earth send a blessing, O Lord.

Let the earth be fruitful

and its resources be hallowed.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

Prosper the work of our hands;

may all find dignity and just reward in their work;

free the exploited and oppressed.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

Guide us into a sustainable future,

and give us the will to share the fruits of the world.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

Teach us to cherish the water of the earth,

and to conserve the seas, lakes and rivers.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

Where the earth is parched and the well has run dry;

where war brings want, and children go hungry;

where the poor cry out for bread and for justice,

give hands to care and heal, and compel us to be generous.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

We ask you to hear us, good Lord,

for the sake of your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ.

Amen.

(Adapted from the Church of England’s Common Worship)


When you find yourself wondering why we bother to pray in this muddled world we live in, consider how we can be enriched, encouraged, and formed by the prayers that we engage ourselves in.

                                     

 -

A Nurturing God

Grace Episcopal Church in Woodlawn (photo from the church's website)

Last Sunday, I made a return visit to Grace Episcopal Church.  It is a parish that is Anglo-Catholic in its liturgy and is committed to its ministry to the needy with a daily soup kitchen, food pantry, and other means of relief for the poor and the marginalized.  On cold winter nights, the church opens its parish hall to provide a warming station, giving the homeless and the needy a safe warm place to sleep.  

We are in the middle of Lent.  Many churches observe the fourth Sunday of Lent as Mothering Sunday.  Mothering Sunday is traditionally a time for people to go back to the parish where they were baptized to honor their mother church.  I wasn’t thinking of Mothering Sunday as I entered that sacred space.  It was simply a time for me to attune myself to Grace in its worship and ministry.

The Sacred Feminine

I found myself unusually moved at the close of the worship service with the post-Communion prayer. It was a prayer that called to mind the feminine aspects of God in a beautifully personal way.

In the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, used in Episcopal Churches across the U.S., there are two basic post-Communion prayers.  In my experience, those two prayers had been used interchangeably at the end of each service, giving thanks to God for feeding us with the sacraments, taking strength for going out into the world.  As in:

“...you have fed us with spiritual food

in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood.

Send us now into the world in peace…”

Or,

“…we thank you for feeding us with the spiritual food

of the most precious Body and Blood

of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ…”

  

They are both beautiful prayers acknowledging God’s love for us and our role of service to humanity as living witnesses to God's eternal kingdom.* Like so many things that we say repeatedly or by rote, we sometimes fail to fully appreciate the beauty  or the astounding impact of the prayers we pray in our sacred space during times of worship.

On this day, however, the post-Communion prayer had a definite impact upon me as I heard the words. It wonderfully reflected a maternal image of God.

Loving God,

as a mother feeds her children at the breast­­­­­

you feed us in this sacrament

with the food and drink of eternal life:

help us who have tasted your goodness

to grow in grace within

the household of faith;

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

The shift in that prayer got my attention and opened my heart in a new way. Knowing that there are maternal images of God in scripture that are often overlooked, I was thankful to have that loving and nurturing image brought forth in our time of worship.  In fact, I was so moved that I wanted to know where the prayer came from.

A Gift from the Anglican Communion

I asked the rector of Grace Church, Rev. Robyn Arnold, about the source of the post Communion prayer used that day.  She told me that it was from The Book of Common Worship, which is used by The Church of England.  I wondered if I had been blessed by this prayer because I just happened to show up on Mothering Sunday. Rev. Arnold told me, for my further enlightenment, that while it is especially appropriate for Mothering Sunday it works for any time the Church calendar or the scripture readings call to mind the nurturing qualities of God.

It is amazing what a shift toward the feminine can do for one's heart and psyche. I am reminded of such a shift that occurred for me years ago which I have written about before. That “shift” happened the first time I heard Bobby McFerrin,  also an Episcopalian, sing his version of Psalm 23. It was on a telecast with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. He used  the feminine pronoun in reference to God, and that one change moved me to tears as I listened. 

At this half-way point in the Lenten season, I am thankful for my Anglican friends who can call to mind the feminine, nurturing aspects of a loving God.

_________________________

* Post-Communion prayers from the 1979 Episcopal Book of Common Prayer:

Eternal God, heavenly Father,

you have graciously accepted us as living members

of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ,

and you have fed us with spiritual food

in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood.

Send us now into the world in peace,

and grant us strength and courage

to love and serve you

with gladness and singleness of heart;

through Christ our Lord. Amen.

or the following

Almighty and everliving God,

we thank you for feeding us with the spiritual food

of the most precious Body and Blood

of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ;

and for assuring us in these holy mysteries

that we are living members of the Body of your Son,

and heirs of your eternal kingdom.

And now, Father, send us out

to do the work you have given us to do,

to love and serve you

as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord.

To him, to you, and to the Holy Spirit,

be honor and glory, now and forever. Amen.

-

Remembering a Remarkable Life

The Rev. Canon William Maurice Branscomb, Jr., at his 90th birthday celebration with longtime parishioner Frances Hinckell, also 90, at Grace Church Woodlawn, Birmingham, Alabama, where he was rector for many years. A parishioner writes, “Grace is what it is because of his leadership.” 

(From The Daily Office, Asia-Pacific, New Zealand, photo by Elizabeth Anderson)

My Memories of Maurice Branscomb

The life of the Reverend Canon Maurice Branscomb, or as most of us called him, “Father B,” was celebrated at Grace Episcopal Church where his funeral Mass took place on January 20. “A most remarkable man,” “one who stood with dignity,” “a priest whose concern for the poor arose from his prayer life,” were some of the comments heard during the service. At 92 years of age, his had been a life of joyful service that had touched many. He was an anomaly to some: a strong advocate for high Anglo-Catholic liturgy, he also had an undying motivation to reach out to the poor and the outcast. As I told one of my friends, “Even now, just remembering Father B inspires me to keep trying.”

That First Encounter

I will never forget my first encounter with Maurice Branscomb back in 1984. I was at a pivotal point in my life. At 29 years of age, I was a Baptist seminary graduate having spent two years on the mission field and involved in hospital chaplaincy, yet I found myself inwardly driven to break away from my Baptist moorings. Even in seminary, my church history studies had peaked my interest in the Catholic Church, and while serving overseas one of my friends was an Anglican priest who had converted from the Baptist faith.

I was considering a move toward what I was seeing as a more historic expression of the Christian faith and had spoken with a few people about my search. One Baptist pastor suggested I go find Maurice Branscomb and see what he was doing on Birmingham’s Southside. An Episcopal chaplain on another occasion had suggested the same thing, “Go see what Father Branscomb is doing at St. Andrew’s and see what you think.”

I had called ahead to arrange a visit. Father Branscomb welcomed me into St. Joseph's House, the parish house that is adjacent to St. Andrew’s Church. Dressed simply in a blue work shirt and slacks, his open countenance was warm and inviting. I had told him that I was interested in exploring the Episcopal Church. He was interested in hearing about my own journey. As I sat with him telling him my story, I could not recall a time when I had been listened to so deeply and fully.

A Rich Expression of Faith

Father B then told me a few things about his church. He picked up a 1979 Book of Common Prayer and showed me how to navigate it. He pointed out some of the founding documents included therein. “These documents show you our history and how we got to where we are now. They are not necessarily things that everyone has to believe to be part of our church, but they give you an idea of who we are.” He pointed out that I was coming at an opportune time – it was the beginning of Lent. “You will be able to witness the church’s preparation for Easter, our most defining season!”

During that conversation, he told me about the ministries that were happening there at St. Andrew's. There was the soup kitchen (Community Kitchens) that served lunch Monday-Friday to anyone who walked in. Southside Ministries operated from there to provide food, clothing and other types of emergency relief. St. Andrew's Foundation, founded by Fr. Francis Walter, provided independent living training for adults with developmental disabilities.

He then showed me around the sanctuary at St. Andrew’s, explaining every arrangement of that physical space and invited me to join them on Sunday. My goal was to enter in to the life of the church, to observe it long enough to find out if it was a place for me. He was more than happy to have me sojourn among them for as long as I saw fit.

St. Andrew's Church (photo from Church's website)

A New Paradigm

Thus began what would be for me not just a pivotal moment, but rather a complete paradigm shift and the opening to a new approach to life. I don’t think I had any other formal one-on-one meetings with Father B, but for the next three months I “sat at his feet” at Saturday morning Eucharist, Sunday worship, Stations of the Cross, etc. It was a small congregation, so anyone involved in the life of the parish had close contact with one another. Sometimes I would stop Father B to ask him questions about “why do we do this in the service?” or “what does this or that mean in the liturgy?” I even sat in on the confirmation class he led that spring.

Then he was gone. After 12 years as rector at St. Andrew’s he accepted a call to Holy Communion Parish in Charleston, S.C. I was sad to see him go, but he had ushered me into a happy communion. I would continue to explore the life of faith at St. Andrew’s Church for a few months before officially being confirmed in November of that year. 

I became involved in the life of the church, serving as acolyte at the altar and later singing in the choir. I found gainful and meaningful employment in social services with the St. Andrew’s Foundation, working with adults with developmental disabilities in group homes and supervised apartments. On a daily basis, I witnessed the work of the soup kitchen that Father B had started years before (and which continues to this day). In the meantime, I met the woman who would become my wife right there at St. Andrew’s (at the coffee hour – I remember it like it was yesterday when Vicki and I met). It was a most fulfilling time of life for me.

To my delight, a few years after Maurice Branscomb moved to Charleston, he decided to come back to Birmingham, this time to Grace Church in Woodlawn where he would continue his work of High Anglo-Catholic Liturgy and ministry to the people on the streets. I was deeply involved at St. Andrew’s and felt no urge to go to Grace (though I did visit on occasion to witness Father B in his element). I wrote him upon his return and told him that that it was a joy for me just to know that he was here in town.

Grace Episcopal Church in Woodlawn where Father B continued
his "altar and street" ministries (photo from Church's website)

Final Visits

In 1997, I got word that Father B would be retiring and moving to south Alabama. They had a big celebration for him at Grace. I composed a poem for him on that occasion and presented it to him at the retirement event. It would be another 16 years before I would see him when he returned to St. Andrew’s Church for their 100^th anniversary celebration. Three of their former rectors were present to celebrate the occasion. (I told people it was better than when the five Doctors came together on Doctor Who).

I was no longer at St. Andrew’s Church. I had been working in healthcare for a number of years and my family and I were members at St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church. I would not have missed the occasion to see Father B again – he would have been in his late eighties by then. I was glad to be there for the centennial service. As I walked out of the church where the three former rectors were greeting the people, I took Father B’s hand. The ageing priest smiled, looked into my eyes and reached out to touch my face, as if to say, “Is that really you?” All I could say was, “After all these years!”

I would not see Father B again. He was in fact living in an assisted living center in south Alabama at the time, though he still took part in priestly duties when he could. When word came in January that he had died, I went back to my files to find the poem I had written 20 years before. Re-reading it, I saw that I could change the first lines and it would be a suitable writing in memorium. I shared it on my blog and with friends who knew Father B. I was glad to have the poem to bring his life to mind, but I was so grateful that I had been able to share those words with Father B himself, while he was still a young 72 year old retiree.

In Remembrance

The Rev. Kent Belmore was the celebrant and homilist at Maurice Branscomb’s funeral. Belmore had been a curate under Father Branscomb at the Church of the Holy Communion in Charleston, S.C. In his homily, he mentioned that Maurice did not talk much about Heaven or dwell on it because living faithfully in the here-and-now was what was important to him. Father Belmore told us that instead talking about Heaven, he wanted to look at the biblical term, resurrection. “The word for resurrection in the Koine Greek literally means ‘to stand with dignity’,” he told us. “Maurice Branscomb was definitely one who stood with dignity in all that he did.” He then asked the congregation to stand for a moment to affirm the reality of standing with dignity as we remembered Maurice Branscomb.

Remembering Maurice Branscomb will continue to inspire me to keep trying. Now I have that sure image of the Christian hope and proclamation that we can and will stand with dignity in the presence of God – and that God’s presence is most surely found in the poor and the outcast as well as at the altar.

Here is the poem I wrote for Father Branscomb upon his retirement and then revised as a memorial to his life:

     In Remembrance of Father Branscomb

All good graces

And light eternal

To the one who has shown great compassion

     in all things.

Your boundless energy

With your endless capacity for caring

     has been a blessing from God.

Many have seen how your compassion

     made the liturgy come alive,

     brought sustenance to the needy,

     created a space for those who would rest

         and a ministry for those who would serve.

A true priest,

     a wellspring of joy

        and a midwife to the soul –

To name but a few traits

Of a servant with no regrets,

Whose magnanimity

Welcomed so many

     (and such a variety)

To the Lord’s Table.

Rest in Peace, Father Maurice Branscomb

~ Charles Kinnaird

And you don't have to take my word for it. You can read a wonderful and insightful article from the local newspaper here.     



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