ST. PETER'S CHELSEA

A Prayer of Lament by Lisha Epperson

9/27/2020

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O God, we acknowledge our failure and bow our hearts in sadness. We have not stewarded your love and mercy. We have not reflected your compassion. We have not responded to your spirit. We have turned our back on truth and have strayed from the sacred path. We are divided and this should not be. Forgive us. Lord in your mercy.
Hear our prayer.

We remember the painful history of hate crimes embedded in the fabric of American life. We remember Breonna Taylor, her family and community, along with the many people of color that fall victim to police brutality. We are grieved by the systems that continue to fail people of color ... the chronic disease … of racism. We stand in the place of no words and lament this injustice. We must ... we will do better. Lord in your mercy.
Hear our prayer.

We remember the loss of over 200,000 lives to Covid-19. We lift up the communities that have been hardest hit and lament the realities that leave so many, so vulnerable. This pandemic has lain bare, the painful truth of systemic economic injustice. We lament the ways we’ve allowed this to happen. We lament these gross inequalities. Lord in your mercy.
Hear our prayer.

We trust you, O God. Renew within us, the image of your beloved son Jesus, that we may know your will. Give us courage to do what is right and persistence in challenging unjust structures and institutions. Grace us we pray, with strength and resilience to do this work, ever mindful of your dream of beloved community - your people united. We can’t do it without you. Lord in your mercy.
Hear our prayer.

We believe lament is the work of reconciliation and know this effort as an investment in our freedom. Lord help us in our desire, help us in our desire to truly be free. And with a cry for equal parts justice, hope and healing for all, we seal this prayer with a hearty amen and ask for your grace. Lord, in your mercy.
Hear our prayer.

Most holy God, who rules and reigns above all, who with loving care and divine purpose called this world, and each of us into being. Help us to discern the time in which we live, and hear clearly - your urgent message of life-giving, liberating love. Empower us to share it, in our communities and among nations. Help us to live the truth of your peace - through the love of your Son, our savior Jesus Christ, who with you and the Holy Spirit nudge us in hope, ever forward. Amen.

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Friday's Email: When There are No (English) Words

9/25/2020

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In the Korean language, there is a word - han. I remember years ago my parents trying to explain what it meant. “There is no English translation for han,” my father said. I watched him struggle with the words in trying to describe it. “It is … deepest sorrow, grief, bitterness, anger, longing… all rolled into one.”

I was in Zoom calls all day yesterday, some of which I had to lead, and I could feel myself pushing it down, trying to hold it together, this pervasive feeling of… han. And I fear that if I stop long enough to let myself feel it, let it wash over me, I may not be able to pull myself back together again.

And yet, being people of the Book, we know that han, while not called that in Scripture, is all over the place. “How long, O Lord?” is a refrain that the psalmists and the prophets cried out again and again. We see Jesus turning over tables in anger and sweating drops of blood in the garden saying, “My soul is sorrowful unto death.”
Anger and grief do not separate us from God. They draw us closer and deeper into the very depths of God's being. It is the prayer of lament. We lament because we are made in the image of God. We lament because we love. We lament because we know, this is not the way it's supposed to be.

There is a season for everything, the writer of Ecclesiastes says. Lament is not the only thing we do. There is a time to act. This is where I am this morning and that is the place from which I write. I pray that wherever you are this morning, that you would sense God's invitation to bring whatever you are carrying into the depths of God's being and know, he receives and holds it all.

- Christine

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A Pastoral Letter from Christine: An Abundance of Love (Still)

8/21/2020

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Our very first livestream service on March 15 in my living room. Catherine Kramer is behind my big head as I was trying to figure out how to get all of us onto the screen for the prayers.

Dear St. Peter’s Family,

It’s hard to believe that more than 5 months have passed since I sent out the email on March 14 informing you that we were canceling in-person worship on the 15th out of “an abundance of love” and taking everything online. I remember being so torn about what to do that weekend, what conflicting information to pay attention to, who to listen to when everyone seemed completely taken off guard and uncertain about how to respond.

However, when I thought about it from that frame of love, the decision became clear. By canceling, we were loving each other by protecting each other out of an abundance of love, particularly those most vulnerable among us, and doing our part to help “flatten the curve.”

A few of the hundreds of prayer requests that have come during times of intercession the past 5 months.

Who knew then what was to come in the days ahead? Thousands of deaths, staggering job loss, hospitals like war zones, the socio-economic disparities becoming that much more apparent, boundaries between work, school and home disappearing, navigating life transitions like marriages, births, deaths, graduations, the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and George Floyd and the aftermath, the world waking up in a new way to the realities of racism and white supremacy.

St. Peter's food pantry that kept feeding people and continues to feed people during the pandemic. Food pantries are more important now than ever. Volunteers told me that being able to help others is what has kept them sane during these difficult months.

Grief, loss, fear, anger have not been the only realities. There has also been surprising grace. Solidarity with our black brothers and sisters around the globe. Gratitude for those we took for granted previously, clapping and cheering our thanks every night at 7 pm. Sacrifice and courage, supporting each other, whether through prayer, food, practical support, grieving our losses and celebrating new life together. Connections made online that might never have happened otherwise. Even times of laughter, beauty and joy.

These hobbits brought a smile to so many of our faces!

The crisis is far from over. The realities I’ve named here are still realities. The future is still uncertain. But one thing is clear: no matter what happens, we are better off when we do things out of an abundance of love rather than out of fear and anxiety.

For this reason, we have decided to continue with Morning Prayer online for our Sunday services this fall. While not ideal, we’ve created something special online. Our primary worship gathering is something that we can all participate in together. It is difficult to imagine splitting our beloved little community up right now between those who can meet in person and those who can’t. There is a sense of solidarity when we are all online together.

One of our first coffee hours on Zoom.

Additionally, our new Interim Operations Manager, Brenna Case, is convening a task force that is looking at what it would take to reopen our buildings safely for in-person gathering. The virus is not going away anytime soon. We are in this for the long haul. An abundance of love calls for taking care rather than rushing back before we are ready.

Timelines are arbitrary at this point but we are keeping the beginning of the church calendar, which starts on November 29, the first week of Advent, as a potential marker for holding in person services. We hold all of this loosely depending on what unfolds in the weeks and months ahead. We will experiment with a few in person opportunities which we’ll let you know about soon as we finalize the schedule for the fall.

Experimenting with Lisha streaming “Midsummer Meditation” from the church courtyard.

It has been a challenging season but mostly I am so thankful for how God’s grace has sustained us these past 5 months and for all of you. I have been buoyed by your commitment, your prayers, your generosity, your vulnerability, your encouragement, your humor. When I arrived at St. Peter’s on October 1 last year with Lisha and the crew from All Angels’, I would have never dreamed of something like this happening our first year, and that the number of months we’ve been together online would extend longer than the time we’ve had together in person.

Seeing Norma and hearing that familiar voice sing “There's a Voice Crying in the Wilderness”
during one of our early livestreams lifted our spirits!

That first month, I preached from Matthew 14, the story of Peter stepping out of the boat to be with Jesus on the water. I said back then that this was a guiding narrative for us as a church in this new season together. That is just as true today as it was then. These are unchartered waters that our world is navigating. The wind and the waves are real and it’s frightening.

That is why now more than ever, this is a time collectively to fix our eyes on Jesus, to reach out our hand to him, to each other and to our hurting world, especially when we are afraid and overwhelmed, and know that it is his power and love that will uphold us and sustain us in the storm. God is with us. We are resilient. We have never stopped being the church and we remain prayerful, hopeful, connected.

My love and prayers are with you.

Blessings,

Christine

We never stop being the church: prayerful, hopeful, connected.

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Morning Bike Ride with Michael

8/19/2020

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A Chance to Pause and Listen to 130-year old Voices

8/18/2020

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If you emailed me this week, you would have received an automatic reply with the subject "My Inbox is Paused." It's a great feature on Gmail that allows you to pause all incoming email so even if you're tempted to check, it doesn't even appear in your inbox! Good for email junkies like me.

Jimmy and I took some time for just the two of us last weekend up in Ithaca where he graduated from Cornell 25 years ago. (The photo above is the spot where he asked me to marry him back in 2001.) It's been an intense season and we were grateful for the chance to "pause," walk a little more slowly, be present to each other more fully and reflect on the 25 years since Jimmy was a student here and the past 20 years we've been together.

One evening we sat on this bench and watched the sun go down. It says,

To those who shall sit here rejoicing,
To those who shall sit here mourning,
Sympathy and greeting:
So have we done in our time.
1892

It took a moment for us to absorb the thoughtfulness of this message. Back in 1892, "A.D.W." and "H.M.W." knew that there would be many who would sit on this bench and instead of leaving some empty platitude or ode to themselves, they wanted to extend a message that connected us across time to say, we've been there too. In every age, human beings have struggled, been afraid, have grieved, faced uncertainty, held their joys, hopes and dreams in the midst of it all.

It doesn't make it any easier or solve anything, but there was some comfort in being reminded of this as we sat there. God willing, we have another 25+ years ahead of us. But even in looking back over the short blip of our lives, in times of sorrow and struggle, God has been faithful. In times of rejoicing, God has been present. What has been true is still true today and will be true, for us, for our children, for our world, whatever the future holds.

So whatever you may be going through, my prayer is that you can "pause" if even for the moment you're reading this and on this (metaphorical) bench, allow the witness of those who have gone before us and the God who is present to us now to comfort and carry you today.

Christine

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The First Step: A Message from Our Deacon

7/31/2020

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I have been blessed to be staying in Long Beach, LI, during most of this pandemic, popping back into Manhattan for couple of days here and there. We have a beautiful boardwalk and I walk on it most mornings, usually 3 miles, but occasionally I can do the whole thing back and forth for 4.4 miles. I love my time on the boardwalk but this summer I’ve spent a bit too much time face down on the boardwalk.

As I’ve said often, it’s the safest place to walk. That is, until it isn’t. Couple of weeks ago, I took a bad fall during my walk, when the wind blew something which should not have been there, in my way. I tripped and went down, hard. Okay, stuff happens, right? I was relieved I did not land on the arm where I had surgery back in December (The cast! The brace!). Then just five days later, again enjoying my walk and reveling in my continued healing after the fall, I was hit by a bicycle from behind. Splat. This was a bad one. And I landed hard on the boo boo arm.

So now let me fast forward… EMT called, nothing broken, horrific bruising and contusions, and then the “PTSD”. Waking up with a start thinking I was hit again, overwhelming anxiety about going out, especially on the beloved “safest place to walk” boardwalk. The fear hung over me like a great blob, a beast, immobilizing me. Fear of being mowed down again…Fear that I have now lost the ability to take my walks. Please don’t take this away, I prayed.

What I know from other life lessons over my many years of being knocked down (physically and other ways), is that I can pray all I want but the bottom line is the prayer needs to morph from “please make this okay” to “please give me what I need to fix this”. It’s on me to take a step towards recovery.

I knew I needed to poke the beast that is my fear, and so shakily and grasping the handrail (with the good arm) I made my way up the ramp to the boardwalk. This first venture out was short and not pretty. I still wasn’t walking great and I panicked whenever a bicyclist passed from behind me. But one step leads to another, and another. And none of this would be happening without that first faltering step.

I’d love to say that’s all it took and I “got over it” in that first walk. But no, this is 2020 after all and nothing is easy! I’m now several walks later, and doing just a bit over a mile most mornings, and feeling less scared most of the time, then suddenly more scared. It will get better. But not without that first tentative step, that first poke of the beast, whatever our beast – fear, pain, anger, anxiety - are there others….?

At some point, different for each of us, we will be indoors with many people again, we will be on public transportation again, we will be challenged in new ways. One step, my friends, just one step.

Stay strong, stay safe, stay wrapped in the loving embrace of God’s Most Holy Spirit.

Deacon Denise

Note: No actual living beasts were harmed in the writing of this reflection.

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Morning Walk With Lisha: Remembering the Love of God

7/30/2020

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Morning Run with Christine: A Prophetic Sign in Harlem

7/30/2020

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Thy Kingdom Come 2020: A Joint Message from Nate and Christine

5/18/2020

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(Note from Christine: I swear that I did not pay Nate to say this!)

Beloved in Christ,

I (Nate) have always had one rule: do whatever Christine Lee says, whenever she says it, as soon as she says it. That’s not for no reason. Christine walks closely in step with the Holy Spirit, and has great spiritual intuition. So, when she approached me with the idea for this collaborative project for our two parishes, I was already predisposed to say: “yes.” Once I heard what the project was, it was that much more clear this was something God was calling us to do.

We find ourselves in an extraordinary moment in the history of our world. We are, quite literally, living in history--a moment we will look back on for lifetimes to come. Everything has been turned upside down. The loss has been staggering. Grief, anxiety and despair are high. We walk the streets of our beloved city, mourning what once was. We wonder: What will become of it? What will become of...us?

And yet, by some miracle of grace, this moment has also brought strange gifts: connection, compassion, courage, creativity, sacrifice, service, laughter. So here we stand, holding two impossibilities side by side. Joy, sorrow, gifts, loss, community, isolation, need and gratitude, all converging upon us at the same time.

What are we called to do in a moment like this? When we look back on this moment, how will we hope to have lived through it? Since the beginning of the church, followers of Jesus have gathered at times like this to pray. No matter what was happening in their world--whether persecution, wars, plagues, social and political unrest--prayer has helped the people of God orient themselves to the one who is seated on the throne of the universe.

And so, in these ten days between Ascension and Pentecost, we will come before God and pray. In fact, we will return to the central prayer of the Christian faith, the prayer our Lord taught us to pray. Every week, when we pray “thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” we are acknowledging that God’s kingdom has come in Jesus but not yet in its fullness. And so we wait and pray and love and act in this in-between time of the already not yet of God’s kingdom.

Both All Angels' and St. Peter’s Chelsea are committed to God’s dream for the world--to make all things new in Christ. We pray with that hope for our city, our loved ones, for the church and for the world. May God give us the grace to be the answer to our prayers, that the gospel would go forth in power through our lives and through the Church of Jesus Christ.

Sincerely
Christine & Nate

The Rev. Christine Lee. The Rev. Nathaniel Jung-Chul Lee
Priest-in-Charge, St. Peter's Chelsea Rector, All Angels' Church

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Monday Reflections from Christine

5/11/2020

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That's me in my mother's lap and my big sister Grace on the left (sadly my middle sister Eunice got cut out of this shot... sorry Eunice!), circa 1975. I wish I had a better photo of her from my childhood. My parents were poor immigrants from Korea and my mom barely spoke English when they arrived in the U.S. She studied at one of the top universities in Korea and left everything, her family, her friends, her native language and culture behind to come to the States with my father and build a new life for our family.

My sisters and I had no idea how poor we were growing up because she made our home feel so abundant with her creativity, resourcefulness and sacrifice. I remember her collecting every penny, nickel and dime in a big jar, sewing our clothes with patterns from McCall's or buying them from garage sales, working in a flower shop to help support the family. We had no idea at the time how lonely she must have felt, giving birth to and raising three daughters in a foreign land.

Now she is 80, more frail each time I see her. Many of you had the chance to meet her at the Celebration of a New Journey service back in January. My heart is full of gratitude for the life she has lived, the love she gave, her sincere faith in God that she deposited in me.

Our lives have been shaped by the presence (or absence) of our parents and the lives they have lived, their gifts and their weaknesses. Lisha shared this poem "Bless My Mother's Body" by Marie Howe, read by Padrig O'Tauma here. He writes, "I think the poet here is speaking about all the ways that we carry people who have tried to love us; and maybe the person succeeded, or maybe they didn’t, but nonetheless, we carry their story into our own surviving."

This morning, I'm thinking about the prayers and hopes and fears and sorrow from our intercessions during service on Mother's Day yesterday that revolved around our parents: giving thanks to God for mothers, praying for new and expectant parents as they bring a child into the world in this time, grieving the loss of mothers, fathers and grandparents, praying for parents with cancer and elderly parents who do not have long in this world.

There is a Love that is so wide and long and high and deep that it surpasses knowledge (Ephesians 3:18) and encompasses each and every one of us and those we hold most dear. It is that Love that holds us in this vulnerable and uncertain moment, like my mother is holding me in that photo. I pray that you may feel it holding you and your loved ones, whatever today may hold for you.

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A Prayer of Lament by Lisha Epperson

Friday's Email: When There are No (English) Words

A Pastoral Letter from Christine: An Abundance of Love (Still)

Morning Bike Ride with Michael

A Chance to Pause and Listen to 130-year old Voices

The First Step: A Message from Our Deacon

Morning Walk With Lisha: Remembering the Love of God

Morning Run with Christine: A Prophetic Sign in Harlem

Thy Kingdom Come 2020: A Joint Message from Nate and Christine

Monday Reflections from Christine

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