Christmas Eve 2012

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 24, 2012

Christmas Eve 2012

As a young child, Christmas was the object of much wonder to me. Relatives magically arrived from far off, bearing gifts to put under the tree. Delicious food seemed to appear on our table out of nowhere. I had no clue that my mother had spent days preparing that food, but I knew the house smelled wonderful. We children tried desperately to get along with each other so that we would not jinx our visit from Santa. I’m sure that, in itself, was a wonder to our parents, especially since all three of us piled into one bedroom to make space for all our relatives. The anticipation was so high that my brother, sister, and I rarely slept on Christmas Eve. Who could sleep the night before Christmas?

The next morning, we were out of bed early, ready-anxious, even- to begin the day. Presents were followed by breakfast, followed by the arrival of more friends and relatives, and more presents, and dinner, and playing with new toys, until at the end of the day we fell in bed, happy, exhausted children, oblivious to the mountain of dishes in the kitchen and with parents no doubt hoping we would not wake up quite so early the next day!

In the morning, the one day wonder was over and life was back to normal. Sure there were leftovers to eat and new toys to play with. But that feeling of escape from our everyday world was gone as was the motivation to be on our very best behavior. Even as children, we understood that Christmas lasted exactly one day. Not being a church going family, and having no understanding that the 12 days of Christmas actually begin on Christmas Day, even the tree came down on December. 26. Christmas was over. Once a year, there was one wonder-filled day when whatever was going on in the real world seemed distant and far away. But on December 26, life returned to normal.

I wonder what Mary and Joseph thought about that first Christmas Day. Was their day steeped in the sweaty reality of childbirth, or drenched in the wonder of a new life, or both? Luke’s gospel sets the birth of Jesus firmly in the midst of reality. The Emperor was Augustus and Quirinius was governor of Syria. Everyone was required to return to their hometown to be registered, no doubt for the purposes of being taxed by the Roman government. Turbo Tax is complicated enough, but at least I can do that from my own home! Joseph and Mary were engaged, expecting a baby that was unplanned to say the least, when they traveled to Bethlehem. Mary went into labor, away from home, and the best place Joseph could find for this delivery was a barn. Jesus’ first cradle was a feeding trough. Their first visitors as new parents were shepherds, who came straight from tending their sheep. Perhaps the smell of the shepherds was masked by the smell of the barn animals. Even in the first century, this hardly sounds like the perfect way to bring a child into the world.

The good news of the birth of Jesus was brought to the shepherds in the dark of the night by an angel. The shepherds were not waiting for anything particularly interesting or exciting to happen. They were just out living in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. That’s every day life for a shepherd. But in the middle of the night, the glory of the Lord shown around them and they were terrified. The angel says to the shepherds "Do not fear....I bring you good news of great joy for all the people," and then a chorus of heavenly hosts sings God’s praises. For a moment, the gritty reality of a shepherd’s life was replaced by the wonder of the angel’s message and the radiant night sky, and that moment sent the shepherds off to find the Christ child.

I am particularly struck this year by the juxtaposition of the earthy, human reality of the birth of Jesus and the divine, wonder-filled message of the angel and the heavenly host. On the one hand, Mary and Joseph find themselves in a less than optimal situation as Mary gives birth to their first born child. Mary must have wondered if this birth in a barn was really what God had in mind. On the other hand, the dark night sky became bright with the radiance of the angel and all the heavenly host as they brought the shepherds the good news of great joy that the Messiah had been born. All of that happens in a quick 15 verses of Scripture. In our own lives, as much as we would like everything to be perfect for Christmas and to welcome the Christ Child into a world fitting for his birth, we know that we welcome the Christ Child into an imperfect world, where things sometimes go wrong beyond anything we could have predicted or even imagined. The earthly, human reality in which we find ourselves does not always seem compatible with what we imagine to be the wonder of the birth of the Christ child.

That is where the angels come in. The glory of the Lord broke into the darkness of night seemingly out of nowhere, delivered the good news that the Messiah is born, and the shepherds left to find Jesus. The light of Christmas breaks into our own lives each year, year after year, whether we are ready or not, in happy times and sad times, in time of prosperity and times of uncertainty, telling us not to fear, announcing that the Messiah is born, and sending us off to find the baby Jesus in our midst. All of our Christmas festivities-the gatherings of friends and relatives, the gifts, the music, the pageantry, our worship-point us to the light that shines in the darkness of our imperfect world. The wonder of Christmas is not a once a year, one day blessing. The wonder of Christmas is the reminder that, on this night and every night, the Christ light shines in the darkness and the angel says "Do not be afraid."

Amen

3 Advent C

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 16, 2012

3 Advent C

On Friday morning, I checked my email and read the news online when I got up, then I went about what was a fairly busy day. Somehow I managed to avoid all contact with the outside world until about 3:30 that afternoon when my husband checked his email and had a news alert. "School massacre: 26 dead including 20 children," Don read out loud. The only appropriate response in the moment seemed silence, a stunned silence for there were simply no words. Don and I did not even talk about the tragedy. There was nothing to say in the face of such loss.

So here we find ourselves, just over a week from Christmas, with tragedy fresh on our minds and breaking our hearts. That is the backdrop against which we hear the stirring words of Zephaniah calling us to rejoice. "Sing aloud, o daughter Zion, shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem." The canticle from Isaiah echoes the call to rejoice "Shout aloud inhabitants of Zion, sing out your joy, for the great one in the midst of you is the Holy One of Israel." And we hear from Paul in the letter to the Philippians "Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I say rejoice." How can we possibly rejoice in the face of unspeakable tragedy.

As we grieve with those who have suffered great loss, John the Baptist does not seem terribly helpful this morning, either. Did any of us really need to hear these words this morning? "You brood of vipers. Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?" Or did we really need to be told about the unquenchable fire?

The response to John the Baptist, however, is not unlike our response to a tragedy. Three times we hear people respond to John the Baptist with the words "What, then, shall we do?" People did not flee from John the Baptist, which might have been the rational response. Instead, they engaged him. "What shall we do?" When tragedy strikes, we also say "What shall we do?" What shall we do to prevent this from happening again, or to comfort those who grieve, or to reach out with material help. "What shall we do?"

John’s response is quite concrete. To the crowds he said "Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none. Whoever has food must do likewise." To the tax collectors, he said "Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you." To the soldiers he said "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusations, and be satisfied with your wages." Quite frankly, John’s demands of the people he has just called a brood of vipers seem a bit lame. Share. Be fair. Do not extort. How hard is that?

What John is actually demanding, however, is that the people live their lives, their regular, every day lives, faithfully and in accordance with the law of God. We think of Jesus when we think of sharing coats, or fair business practices. But these laws are rooted in the Hebrew Scriptures. When John says "Do not begin to say to yourselves ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’ for God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham," John is telling the people (and us, by the way) that they can make all the sacrifices at the Temple they like, and observe the dietary laws, and pray in the synagogue, but if they do not live their every day lives faithfully, then they are like the chaff that will be burned with unquenchable fire.

At the end of the gospel lesson, we hear the words "So with many other exhortations, John proclaimed the good news to the people." Exactly which part of John’s rant was good news? The bit about the brood of vipers? Or the part about burning with unquenchable fire?

Thus far in Luke’s gospel, the good news has been proclaimed three times, twice by angels and once by John the Baptist. The first time, the angel Gabriel appears to John the Baptist’s father, Zechariah, to tell him that his wife, Elizabeth will bear a son. With good reason, Zechariah doubts the angel’s message. So the angel says to Zechariah "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news." The second occasion of good news occurs after Jesus’ birth, when the angel of the Lord appears to the shepherds and says "Do not be afraid; for see~ I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people; to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah the Lord." And now, with many exhortations, John the Baptist proclaims the good news to the people.

Here is an often overlooked fact about Good News in Scripture. The Good News almost always goes hand in hand with judgement, which means that the Good News demands something of us. The words we hear from Zephaniah and Isaiah this morning ring out with joy, but both follow words of harsh judgement that come before our readings this morning. Both Zephaniah and Isaiah warn the people of the consequences of behaving as they do, ignoring the widows and orphans, worshiping false Gods, and otherwise not living according to the covenant they have with God. Those consequence would be grim and the people would suffer greatly. Which they did. Paul’s command to rejoice in the Lord always follows some harsh criticism of the Philippians’ failure to stand fast in the face of false teachings, and their failure to keep the peace among themselves. And John the Baptist warns the people about what will happen to the tree that does not bear good fruit, and he tells the people what repentance looks like, calling them to live according to the Covenant with God. Only then does he proclaims the good news that the Messiah is coming.

In these cases, unlike the tragedy in Connecticut, the darkness the people found themselves in was of their own making. The promise of the prophets is that God’s mercy always follows God’s judgement. In Connecticut, the tragedy had nothing to do with God’s judgement and God’s heart is shattered in the midst of the deep darkness of human brokenness. But whatever the cause of the deep darkness, the promise of Zephaniah, Isaiah, the Apostle Paul, John the Baptist and Christmas is best summed up in the opening words from the Gospel of John: "The light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot put it out." In the midst of darkness, there is cause to rejoice.

Amen.

Advent 2

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 9, 2012

2 Advent C

When my sister and I were little girls, we would spend a couple of weeks each summer with our grandmother in Alabama. Every year, our grandmother would have a party for us so we could see the grandchildren of her friends. The party was not just a play date with quick snacks on paper plates. This was a dress up party with fancy little cookies and punch served out off her good china. The other little girls would come over and we would play grown-up, imitating the way we saw our mothers and grandmothers interact with each other at their social events. We would sit on the nice lawn furniture, in our party dresses, sip our punch and pretend to be much older and more mature than we actually were at 6 or 7 years old. We could sustain this imaginary play as long as the cookies and punch lasted, and then we were all off to hunt bugs or play kick ball or whatever else there was to do in the hot Alabama sun. But even after the party was over, there was the lingering thought that we really could be like grown-ups if we wanted to be. We just chose not to be.

I am reminded of these dress up parties by the reading from Baruch this morning. We hear Baruch say "Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory of God. Put on the robe of righteousness that comes from God, put on your head the diadem of the glory of the everlasting. For God will show your splendor everywhere under heaven." While scholars are quite uncertain about the date of Baruch, no doubt Baruch wrote to encourage the Hebrew people in a time of great trial and persecution. Baruch writes to tell a persecuted people that they should stand tall for God will deliver them. Then we hear the great echo of Isaiah "For God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low, and the valleys filled up to make level ground so that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God." These are words of great hope and the promise that God will sustain the Hebrew people in their time of trial and deliver them in glory.

We hear the same refrains from the prophet Isaiah in John the Baptist’s words this morning. "Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill made low....and all flesh shall see the salvation of God." But while Baruch’s message is a message of encouragement and hope, John the Baptist is out in the wilderness, living off locusts and honey, and preaching repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Baruch’s language is beautiful. John the Baptist is scary.

Both Baruch and John the Baptist, however, look to the time when every mountain will be made low and all flesh shall see the glory of God. To my mind, the mountains themselves bear witness to the glory of God. Why would anyone want to flatten them? In the mid-winter, the mountains are laced with snow, which looks pure and clean, at least from a distance. In the spring, when the leaves return, the mountains are bursting with new life. In the summer, when the rest of the world is hot and humid, the mountains are cool and the nights are so quiet and clear that you can almost reach out your hand and touch the stars above you, or hear the train pass through the valley below. And in the fall, the leaves turn brilliant red and it looks like the mountains are on fire. The season does not matter; the mountains always bear witness to the glory of God. And to my mind, when the earth is flattened, the cause is a natural disaster or human caused catastrophe. No one wants that.

However, Isaiah, Baruch, and John the Baptist were not zipping through the mountains on the Interstate in a reasonably well maintained 4 wheel drive vehicle. For these men and their contemporaries, all a person had were his or her own two feet and maybe an animal or two take themselves and all their belongings through the mountains. Mountains and valleys were huge obstacles that not only made travel difficult, but made it dangerous and time consuming. In the mountains, especially on foot, it is often impossible to see where you are going until you get there. The dream that God would one day bring all people together, that people would one day stream from the east and west to God’s holy mountain, was at best only a dream and at worst a cruel joke unless the obstacles were removed and the land was leveled. And who could do that but God? And so, according to Baruch, the same God who created the mountains would take them down at the end time. Baruch never dreamed that in the 21^st century humans would have the capacity to do that ourselves.

John the Baptist has a different idea about how those mountains will come down. He also quotes Isaiah, but his words sound like a command: "The voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord. Make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God." While Baruch told us that God would create level ground, John is telling us to fill the valleys and level the mountains.

Even with 21^st century technology, that is a ridiculous task when taken literally. Fortunately, however, Baruch gives us a way to fulfill the command of John the Baptist without needing demolition equipment. Baruch’s instructions are these: "Take off the garment of sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory of God. Put on the robe of righteousness; put on your head the diadem of the glory of the Everlasting...for God will give you the name "Righteous Peace, Godly Glory." Baruch is telling the people to live NOW as if the glory of God has already arrived in their midst. God’s promise to redeem the people is so trustworthy, so true, that the people are to behave NOW as if that for which they wait has already arrived. If we live like we believe that, our lives will reflect the glory of God for all the world to see, and the barriers that separate people from each other and from God will come down.

Advent calls us to put on the beauty of the glory of God and wait for Jesus by living as if Christ is among us now. If we do that, we will fulfill the demand of John the Baptist to repent and prepare the way so that there will be no obstacles and all flesh can see the salvation of God.

Amen.

Advent 1

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 2, 2012

1 Advent C

Yesterday, Christ Church was honored to be one of three churches in the Turner Foundation’s "History Hymns and Holly" event. Every year the Foundation selects three or four of Springfield’s architectural jewels to showcase in this holiday walking tour. The idea behind the tour, and much of what the Turner Foundation does, is to help us appreciate the great history and treasures of our community. I know I drive down High Street all the time with barely a glance at Foos Manor, or the old Bushnell home, or the Buchwalter house, all of which actually have historic connections to Christ Church. The challenges our community faces are often much easier to see than the reminders of the community Springfield once was.

As I thought about our participation in the "History Hymns and Holly" tour, I realized that looking at our past is much more than a trip down nostalgia lane. Looking back does show us an era when Springfield was a growing, thriving city on the cutting edge of manufacturing and industry. But if all we do when we look back is long for the past, then our view in the rear view mirror accomplishes nothing. If our view of the past inspires us to imagine our future and how we get there, then we accomplish something. Then we begin to dream about what we would like the future to look like and make plans to make that future a reality. So, while I love talking about the history of this church, for me the real value of things like the "History Hymns and Holly" tour is how our past calls us to imagine our future.

As we begin Advent today, our thoughts naturally go back to the birth of the Christ Child so very long ago, and to all those who foretold his birth. In fact, you might have come to church today expecting to hear Isaiah say "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light." Or to hear Micah say "But you, O Bethlehem...from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel." Or to hear Elizabeth greet Mary in Luke’s gospel and feel her child leap in her own womb. We probably expected to hear something this morning that points back to the birth of the Christ Child.

But here, on the first Sunday of Advent, three of our four readings point forward rather than backwards. Jeremiah says "the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah." The apostle Paul writes to the Thessalonians "And may the Lord so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints." And in Luke’s gospel, we hear Jesus predict the signs of his return, and those signs are ominous. Distress among nations confused by the roaring of sea and waves, and people will faint with fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world. Why, on the first Sunday of Advent, do we look to what sounds like an ominous future rather than the glorious past?

In the case of both Jeremiah and the writer of Luke’s gospel, all of the evidence is that their worlds are coming to an end and God is no where to be found. Jeremiah writes after Judah and Jerusalem have fallen to the Babylonians in the 6^th century BC, the Temple has been destroyed, the land has been ravaged, and the people have been taken from the Promised Land and exiled in Babylon. Life as they knew it had come to an end. What had happened to the God who led them out of bondage in Egypt, through the wilderness and into the Promised Land? Had that all been a hoax? Where is God now? The first century Christians to whom Luke wrote did not have life much easier. The Romans had destroyed Jerusalem and the Temple, both of which had been rebuilt after the Babylonians destroyed them the first time. The people had been exiled again, the Holy Land had been destroyed, again. Jesus had promised to return, but where was he? Life was about as bad as it could get, and Jesus was no where to be found. The first century Christians wondered if Jesus’ promise was a hoax.

While we, as people of faith, are not under direct assault as the Jews of the 6^th century BC or Christians of the first century were, we do live in a world that does not feel very stable sometimes. Between natural disasters, wars, illness, and an uncertain economy, we, too, can wonder if God is asleep on the job. Where is the God who led the Hebrew people out of Egypt, who sent Jesus and promised his return?

On this first Sunday of Advent, we hear Jeremiah say to the Hebrew people "the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promises made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah." We hear Jesus say, after describing the signs in the sun, the moon and the stars that will precede his coming, "Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So, also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near." Both Jeremiah and Jesus point the people to a new beginning. We look to the past so we will see the signs of the new beginning God is creating among us. The Hebrew people in Babylon remembered the way God led them out of exile in Egypt into the promised land, not to glorify the past, but to remind themselves of the signs that God will do likewise again. The disciples were to remember all that Jesus had said about the Kingdom of God, not to glorify the past, but so that his followers would know see signs of the Kingdom of God at work in their midst again. The days are surely coming...the Kingdom of God is near. The promise of the past is that there will be a new beginning when the old has passed away and the new has become. We look to the past to know that the promise that God is about to do something new is true and not a hoax.

Advent is about resting in the promise that God will do new things. The Psalmist prays "Make me to know your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long." That is the prayer of new beginnings as we look to the future and what God is doing among us. We look to the past, in Scripture, in our own lives, in our life together as Christ Church and in our collective life as Springfield, not to glorify the past, but to point to the future. The past is the promise that God will act again. In Advent, we prepare for the birth of the Christ Child, not by looking backwards as if God only acted that one time, but by asking God to lead us in God’s truth and teach us, to that we may look forward and see what God is doing in our midst, where the fig trees are sprouting leaves, where God’s promise to do a new thing is being fulfilled.

Amen.

Christ the King

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 25, 2012

Christ the King

Normally, on Thanksgiving weekend, we celebrate the beginning of Advent. That seems fitting, as we move from Thanksgiving into preparation for the coming of the Christ Child. We have eaten the Thanksgiving feast, participated in whatever Thanksgiving rituals we might have, which in our family means watching the Arkansas Razorbacks get trounced by Louisiana State, and perhaps we have begun some Christmas shopping. While we do not actually celebrate Christmas here until Christmas Eve, after Thanksgiving, our thoughts turn to preparations for Christmas. This year, however, the calendar falls differently and on this Thanksgiving weekend we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King, waiting until next weekend to begin Advent, even if we are going to make Advent Wreaths later this morning.

Not too long ago, one of my colleagues wondered out loud why so many Episcopal Churches are named "Christ Church" and so few, if any, are named "Jesus Church." Here in our own diocese, there are at least 6 churches named Christ Episcopal Church, but there are no churches named "Jesus Episcopal Church." Christ the King Sunday is our patronal feast day, the day we celebrate the person for whom we are named and think about what we are called to do and be as a church that carries that name. Names are important-we put a lot of time and effort into choosing names for our children, and I imagine back many decades ago a lot of thought was put into the name of this church, especially since our name was changed from the Parish of All Souls to Christ Church on Christmas Day in 1841.

The images that come to mind when I think of Christ are images of resurrection, triumph, and exaltation. I see images of the resurrected Christ, the wounds of crucifixion healed, ascended into heaven and with a place of honor at the right hand of God, as the Nicene Creed describes. A church named Christ Church seems destined for success, a place to escape the messiness of day to day life and focus on things spiritual.

On the other hand, images that come to mind when I think of Jesus are a bit more earthy: Jesus making mud out of dirt and spit to heal a blind man. Jesus touching a person with leprosy and making him well. Jesus healing the woman with the flow of blood, or Jesus confronting the establishment or capsizing the tables in the Temple. Jesus is always making trouble and standing with those on the margins of society. This Jesus is certainly not elegant or dignified and for his efforts, he was crucified.

While I think that Jesus would be most unhappy with my distinction between Jesus and Christ, the distinction does force me to think about what it means to have Christ the King Sunday as our patronal feast day. Christ the King sounds quite appropriate. Jesus the King sounds a little....off. The standard image of royalty is, by definition, quite regal....someone with grand clothing and people to serve them, great wealth and considerable power. Certainly that is what the fairy tales would have us believe and that image is also supported through out much of history. At first glance, our readings this morning don’t do a lot to contradict that idea, either. In the reading from 2 Samuel, we hear King David described as "the man whom God exalted, the anointed of the God of Jacob, the favorite of the Strong One of Israel." That sounds fairly exalted to me, especially give some of the very bad decisions David was known to have made. The reading from Revelation describes Jesus as the "faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth." In the gospel, Jesus is asked by Pilate "Are you the King of the Jews?" Jesus does not deny that charge.

Interestingly, the gospel lesson for Christ the King this year is a part of the gospel reading for Good Friday. We mark this glorious feast day with the same reading that we mark the crucifixion of Jesus and here we find Jesus the King. Crucifixion is not a part of the typical image of successful royalty regardless of how many monarchs have met a violent end. In the fairy tales, if not history, monarchs who live with dominion and glory, and people, languages and nations serving them do not die a humiliating, painful, unfair and public death. And, at least in theory, when a monarch dies, there is a peaceful succession of power to the person next in line to inherit the throne. Jesus is obviously a different kind of king and his kingdom is not of this world, even though Jesus lived out that Kingdom here. Later in John’s gospel, when Jesus is crucified, Pilate has an inscription put on the cross that reads "Jesus of Nazareth. The King of the Jews." Jesus’ kingship was found, not in power or wealth, but in his death on the cross. Who is in line to inherit the throne? The writer of Revelation describes that succession of power by saying "To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory forever and ever."

Jesus’ death and resurrection made us to be a kingdom, the Kingdom of God, and to serve that Kingdom as Jesus served. We have only to look at the gospels to see how Jesus the Christ served, and to see what his kingdom looked like. Jesus’ kingdom was messy, not elegant, as he raised up the poor, healed the sick, and fed the hungry, and he worked to bring about a kingdom in which there is no hunger or sickness, and no one lives on the margins. We are the heirs of Jesus’ throne as his death and resurrection empowered us to do and be the very kingdom Jesus proclaimed.

We may be Christ Church, but we understand the exalted Christ to be the very same Jesus who confronts Pilate about the nature of kingship. We are called not only serve, but to remember and to follow the Jesus who confronted power when necessary, who brought healing and wholeness to the broken, who proclaimed a reign of peace and justice. The Kingship of Christ sought no power, wealth, or strength for itself, but spent its life giving power to the powerless, hope to those without hope, strength to the weak, and resources to the poor. Christ the King and the crucified Jesus are one and the same, and in that peculiar kingship we find our joy and our identity as Christ Church.

Amen.