July 22, 2022

I have often wondered how our Saint Anne's came to be called Saint Anne's. Why Saint Anne and not Saint.... Someone Else? I've asked around and read through our historical documents, but all I can discover is that the name was voted on by members of the congregation. I can't seem to uncover what inspired the decision. (If you are reading this and you know, let's talk!)

It's an uncommon choice. There are other churches called Saint Anne's, yes, but Anne's story, and her role as the mother of Mary and grandmother of Jesus, isn't recorded in the Bible: oral tradition and extra-biblical writings detailing her encounters with the Holy have told Anne's story through the centuries. This makes her story a bit less-known in today's world, and a less-common choice as the patron saint of a church. 

I love that Anne's uniqueness as a patron saint is reflected in the ethos of our Saint Anne's community. That Anne's story appears in wisdom writings outside of traditional Bible stories has inspired our community's interest in non-canonical wisdom writings. Anne's story as a person who carried hope in her heart and grounded herself in prayer seems to be reflected in the outlook found in the Saint Anne's community. Anne's encounters with nature were an important part of her spirituality, as is true for many at Saint Anne's. And let's not forget Anne's flexibility and willingness to follow Spirit wherever She leads with trust and delight. That is definitely the Saint Anne's we all know and love.

I am looking forward to celebrating our patron saint together this Sunday at our annual Saint Anne's Day celebration. Our service will be at 9:30 as is our regular summer schedule, and we'll have a festive celebration to follow. Come one, come all, Spirit calls us in!

July 15, 2022

I spent an afternoon this week with two of my East Metro Episcopal Church colleagues: the Rev. Anna Doherty from Christ Church in Woodbury, and the Rev. Lindsey Biggs, the new priest at Saint Mary's, in St. Paul. It was such a pleasure to invite Anna and Lindsey to Saint Anne's, the midway point between the three churches, and give them a tour of our beautiful grounds, building, and sanctuary. It was wonderful to hear about everything happening in their communities, and it brought each of us a feeling of connection to something bigger than ourselves to hear that some of the same wonderings, some of the same explorations, and some of the same desires to grow into what's next for the Episcopal church in this world are being expressed in each of our communities.

More than anything, it was wonderful to imagine in an outward way again, after so long of being so (necessarily) inward focused. I hadn't realized how much I missed the spark of Spirit that comes from connecting with other communities to share and hope and dream more widely. My afternoon with Anna and Lindsey reminded me of this offering from Bishop Steven Charleston, posted on his Facebook page this week:

What do you need most right now? What would be of the greatest help? Once you have clarity of focus you can create a spiritual strategy for yourself. That will include prayer, of course, but it can also include intentional reading, small group conversations, meditation, contact with the Earth...or any number of other sacred resources designed to support you. Our needs are not always met quickly or easily, but they feel less overwhelming when we have a plan to cope with them. Your primary need is a good place to start on the way to establishing wholeness.

My first prayer for you this week is time to discern the question What do you need right now? My next prayer for you is one of gratitude. Thank you for being part of this community and the support we offer one another in answering questions like this - first for ourselves, then for our church community, and then for the wider world. Little by little, we are laying the foundation for the wholeness that comes from living into the answers. Dreams and visions become God's beautiful reality when we make it so, together.

July 1, 2022

I've mentioned before that Rumi, the13th-century Persian poet, theologian, and mystic, is often a source of wonder and inspiration for me. The way he shares his understanding of God feels to me like a door to an enchanted garden. This week, this long, winding, and wearing week, when I found myself very much in need of some enchanted garden time, I opened a book of Rumi poems and came across this simple, single, line:

“Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.”

Where there is ruin, there is hope for treasure. My prayer for you this week is that amidst all of what feels like ruin in the world right now, your hope for treasure is not diminished. My prayer is that you are able to hold fast to the goodness of the world: the care and compassion of others, the care and compassion in your own heart, the beauty of a summer day, the joy of a child on a playground, the presence of the Divine all around us. My prayer for you this week is some time in a Divinely enchanted garden. Breathe deeply, and take your time.

June 17, 2022

Unless it is too cold or too wet outside, my husband and I generally go for a walk each evening. We don't have a set time, or a set distance, we go whenever and for whatever length of time we can fit in between dinner and evening meetings and the general busy-ness of family life. As the days get longer this time of year it always feels like we have more space in our days. Our walks get longer and we often choose to walk "a new way", randomly turning down this street or that, trying to find something new-to-us.

It is surprising that after living in the same neighborhood for 20 years there are still "new ways" to go - a new corner to turn, or some "Have we noticed this before?" moment. The way there is always something new to see, even after walking the same streets for 20 years, makes me think about the idea that our God continually "makes all things new". Perhaps this kind of understanding of God is what comes of a faith rooted in not one but two stories of Creation. And it might have a whole lot to do with our resurrection stories as well. But what I've been pondering lately is myrole in seeing as new the things I desire to be made new. How does God ask for my partnership in this work?

When the world feels stuck, when we feel stuck, what old things can we try to view in a new light? What can we discover about ourselves, about the world, about God, if we look for opportunities to shift our lens and our thinking? In a world that does feel very stuck sometimes lately, I invite you into this practice. What old thing can you look at in a new way this week? What does it reveal to you about God? And about your place in God's world?

My prayer for you this week is that the place you feel the most stuck, or have the least hope, will shift when you invite God to give you a new perspective. If not, keep asking. Keep turning those corners. Something new will come with time. And when it does, please share your "all things made new" stories with me and with one another: sometimes it's through the eyes of each other that we can see most clearly.

Happy PRIDE

HAPPY PRIDE, one and all! 

I moved to Minnesota from Eugene, Oregon, 25 years ago this month. My husband and I moved into an apartment on Loring Park, just up the block from St. Mark's Cathedral, just before PRIDE weekend. We had no idea what to expect when our new neighbors told us Pride in the Park was coming, but we woke up on one of our first mornings there to music, rainbow balloons, glitter, and glowing, happy, faces right outside our doorstep - and as far as the eye could see. It was a beautiful way to start our lives in Minnesota.

There are a few passages in the Bible, known sometimes as "clobber passages", that have been inaccurately used by some to condemn LGBTQ+ people and relationships. In truth, the cultural, historic, and linguistic data around sexuality and gender in ancient cultures tells us that the practices these passages condemn have nothing to do with the mutually beneficial, consensual, same-sex relationships (otherwise known as just "relationships"!) we know today. Nor do these passages speak to personal gender identity. And Jesus never mentions same-sex relationships or gender identity at all. 

What Scripture does tell us is that God created the full breadth and depth of humanity in God's own image. And our Creation story uses a very particular literary device, called a merism, to emphasize that point. A merism is a set of two words that serve as endpoints to convey a full spectrum. An example of a merism in the Creation story is "morning and evening on the first day". This does not mean only morning and only evening, but also everything between. Later, Scripture tells us to care for "the widow and the orphan". This does not mean we care for only elder women and young children, but all vulnerable people. Jesus said he was "the alpha and the omega", but was not only the beginning and the end, he also encompasses everything between.

There are many theologians who believe, as I do, that the pairing of "man and woman" in the Creation story is also a merism. "Man and woman, God created them" is mean to convey "man" and "woman" as points on a continuum rather than two discrete categories. There is a full spectrum of humanity between those two far-end points, and many understandings of the connections and love people share. Every bit of it is a beautiful reflection of God.

This month, as we celebrate the reflection of God found in each and every person, and every loving bond between people, my prayer for you is that you are able to live in the world proudly as your authentic, true, glowing-with-a-spark-of-the-Divine, self, whomever that might be, and however you might express that. Today and always. 

June 3, 2022

My sweet grandma died just before Memorial Day weekend at the beautiful age of 102. As many of you know, she was one of the loves of my life, and one of the guiding lights of my life. Her own life wasn't always easy, but at least a few times each day she would find something for which to "thank the good Lord above!". She loved a good shoe sale, babies, the Episcopal Church, animals, and Aldi's, possibly in that order (but don't tell the good Lord above!).

My grandma's funeral was held at her small Episcopal church in Northern Wisconsin. The service was beautiful, as the Episcopal funeral liturgy always is, but the most beautiful part was the group of church members who did what church members do: they took care of us. They greeted us at the door. They offered us tissues. They baked bread for Eucharist. They set out tablecloths and flowers. They served food. They washed dishes. They shared with us how much they loved my grandma. They sent her out in the way she lived her entire life: by serving as Christ's hands and feet.

There were very few Sundays, in her entire 102 years, that my grandmother missed church. Oh, she loved God alright. She also talked to God constantly, she didn't need church for that. But she knew that a church community is unlike any other. A place to learn and grow, to laugh and cry, to serve and be served. It is not a small thing, to be part of a community like that. A community like Saint Anne's. One reason I am so looking forward to beginning outdoor worship again is the chance for our two services to be blended again, into the one congregation we are at heart. And, at our service this Sunday we will officially be welcoming "new" (and not-so-new) members into this beautiful community of people doing our best, the same way my grandma's church does, to follow Jesus. A community which laughs together and cries together - and does plenty of dishes together. A place to serve and be served, and then take that love and care beyond ourselves. We are blessed. Thank the good Lord above!

May 27, 2022

My heart has been heavy this week, as I know yours have been, too, with the news of the school shooting in Uvalde, Texas. It is unimaginable, and yet all too common.

Whenever these atrocities occur, a public battle ensues between legislators who offer "thoughts and prayers", and rightfully furious citizens who demand action. As people of faith, it sometimes helps to remember that we are called to both. Prayer is what offers us strength and resolve to then go out and do the work that needs to be done. I read a poem this week on the connection between prayer and action that spoke to me:

We pray for the hungry,
And then we feed them.
That's how prayer works.

We pray for the lonely,
And then we enter into their lives.
That's how prayer works.

We pray for the naked,
And then we clothe them.
That's how prayer works.

We pray for the stranger,
And then we welcome them.
That's how prayer works.

A few stanzas later, the poem offers this:

We pray for an end to gun violence,
And then we repent of our colossal failure.
We stop making excuses,
We demand that we change our hearts and minds,
And we act.
That's how prayer works.

(The Rev. Charlene Rachuy Cox)

I do urge you to pray, this week, and always, for those experiencing the deepest pain and grief imaginable. I urge you to pray for students, who go to school fearful. For teachers and other leaders. I urge you to pray for change in the way we idolize guns in our country, making them a god. Pray for yourselves, and the built-up grief and trauma you carry. And then I urge to you to feel empowered to take action. The Peace & Justice Team has some suggestions as to what you might do, if you are looking, - see below, within this Announcer, for that.

In the middle of the deep grief of this week, as you pray and as you act, my prayer for you is that you are able to hold on to hope. As I shared in a letter to Saint Anne's families with children this week, one of the most powerful moments I've ever experienced was at the March for Our Lives rally in Washington, D.C., after the Parkland shooting. The organizers had been expecting 100,000 people. 800,000 showed up. The crowd was largely students and the speakers were largely students and though I am as worried about our kids as all of you, I also see hope for the future in their passion, their voices, and their demands that their world not look like this. I believe in them. We will get there. Thoughts and prayers alone won't do it, but we will get there. A world where all things are made new is God's great promise and it's a promise I trust.

Lord, have mercy,
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy,

No Mow May

My family is participating in No Mow May for the second or third year in a row. And for the second or third year in a row, we are the only family on our block participating. Though we are glad we have an opportunity to help our pollinators thrive, there is a part of me that cringes a bit every time I pull in and out of our driveway and compare our neighbors' neatly trimmed yards to our own shaggy one.

I never took myself to be a person concerned about what my neighbors think of me, but apparently all it takes is a few weeks of letting the grass grow and I find myself wanting to either duck and hide my face or shout out to every person who walks by, "It's No Mow May!" To be clear, our neighbors are all wonderful people who likely aren't thinking anything at all about our lawn, let alone making judgements. No, the source of my cringing is all internal.

I don't know why we do this to ourselves. Why we ever doubt our belovedness, fail to see the brightness of our own light, convince ourselves, against all evidence to the contrary, that our neighbors disapprove of our lawns? We humans are a funny bunch.

Now, my kids, the lawnmowers in the family, are campaigning for No Mow June, July, and August as well, and if that should happen (it won't!), I may need to reconsider. But for now I am going to practice shifting my focus. I know my neighbors are not passing judgement on our lawn, but you know who might be? The bees and the butterflies and and other essential pollinators. So for the rest of May, every time I invent in my mind a scenario where a neighbor is annoyed at my lawn, I will stop myself right there, and instead picture bees and butterflies celebrating among that tall and shaggy grass. I'll picture them dining, dancing, and raising their families, safe and sound among the lush green of our lawn. Maybe I'll even throw in some images of them sliding down dandelion stems and collecting water in the "cup" of a creeping charlie flower, just for fun.

My prayer for you this week is that you do the same. Every time self-doubt or the smallest amount of shame about this or that - any of the things that make us human - enters your mind, replace it with this: the image of God dancing and celebrating the wonder that is you in the world. Maybe God will even pick some dandelions for you and invite you to play.

May 13, 2022

Dear Ones,

I came across a new-to-me Mary Oliver poem this week, and it is too stunning not to share. It's called Don't Hesitate:

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,

don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty

of lives and whole towns destroyed or about

to be. We are not wise, and not very often

kind. And much can never be redeemed.

Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this

is its way of fighting back, that sometimes

something happens better than all the riches

or power in the world. It could be anything,

but very likely you notice it in the instant

when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the

case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid

of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

In Bible Study this week, we spoke about how difficult the world can be. And maybe it's not that "this is an especially hard time", but simply that living a life with a heart open to the cares and concerns of the world (not to mention our own) means that our hearts will break, sometimes. Yet, over and over again it happens just the way Mary Oliver says it does: joy surprises us. The first green buds on the trees. Spring peepers. The laughter of a child. A favorite song on the radio. A sense of the Divine: a glimpse of the goodness of the world or an answered prayer.

This world will always break our hearts a bit. But if you unexpectedly and suddenly feel joy, don't hesitate! My prayer for you this week is that you find yourself, at least once each day, at the place where love begins again.

Blessings,
Jennifer

April 22, 2022

Can you guess what the following have in common?

• a crock pot

• lyric sheets from Encanto

• a now-crisp palm leaf

• a large, smooth, river rock

• green vines

• a Last Supper coloring page

• a stuffed ostrich

• a glow-in-the-dark-beach ball

• a flying dove kite

• half a plastic egg

If you guessed the remnants from a beautiful, rich, full Lent and Holy Week, you would be correct. I smiled to myself as I walked around church this week, picking up bits and pieces of our Lenten Wednesdays and our Holy Week services, scattered throughout the church. With We don't talk about Bruno-no-no running through my head (again!) I came across a stray palm from Palm Sunday, a river rock and coloring page from Mandy Thursday, vines from our first-ever immersive Garden of Gethsemane, pieces of the visual reminders of our ancient stories as told at the Easter Vigil, and a bright pink plastic reminder of a glorious Easter Morning.

Our Great Story doesn't end here - we are just beginning! again! - but this post-Easter week was a chance to reflect on all of it, and on what a sacred thing it is to be in community with you. Thank you to everyone who helped make Holy Week unfold smoothly, and helped make it so vibrant. There are far too many to name, but I am grateful. And thanks be to God for each of you out there, and all of the ways you all show up as the Body of Christ for me, for one another, for your other communities, and for the world. What a gift it is to walk with you, share with you, learn from you, grow with you.

My prayer for you this week is that you are able to see the way the light of the risen Christ shines so brightly in you. The way you are an integral part of the living, thriving, here-and-now Body of Christ. Yes, you.

Palm Sunday

Greetings on the cusp of Holy Week; the heart and soul of our sacred story.

One of my favorite aspects of Holy Week is the deep connection our great story has to the natural world in all aspects. On Palm Sunday we celebrate Jesus by waving plants: the source of oxygen that allows us breath itself. On Good Friday, we grieve the wounds inflicted on Jesus' very human body and mind. On Holy Saturday, after our stories tell us Jesus descends into the depths, battles death, and defeats it once and for all, our Easter Vigil service begins in the dark, symbolizing the darkness of the world just before the dawning of Creation. We then recreate that dawning by lighting a sacred fire. The date of Easter itself is set according to the moon cycle: the first Sunday after the first full moon that occurs on or after the spring equinox. Yes, the moon, a sign of constant change and yet complete consistency, a symbol of enlightenment and illumination - and a little bit of mysticism and mystery - sets the stage.

The mysticism and mystery is what pulls and tugs at my heart. I invite you to let it pull and tug at yours, too. Let the moon illuminate new aspects of this story for you this year. Let your breath rise and fall with Jesus' breath this coming week. Let yourself feel the earthy darkness of Good Friday, the rawness of Holy Saturday, and the sacred fire of Easter Vigil. And let the spark of the Divine rise in your heart on Easter Morning like the very first sunrise, over a world that is always being made new.

Your Worship Team and Altar Guild, along with some pretty amazing support from this pretty amazing community have many ways for you to engage with Holy Week this year. I invite you to attend as many as you're able. Whether you participate in community or at home, I am sending Holy Week blessings to each of you.

April 1, 2022

Saint Anne's Creation Care Team has some exciting plans to share!

In support of the highly endangered Whippledee bird, Saint Anne's roof will be painted pink this summer. As most know, the Whippledee was discovered by Bishop Whipple and is a special bird to Minnesota Episcopalians. The Whippledee migrates through Minnesota only once every-other decade, and its natural nesting habitat, fields of pink flowers, once abundant, are now as rare as the bird herself. But the Whippledee Society of Minnesota has discovered that roofs painted pink also serve the Whippledee and has asked that all who are able provide habitat for this rarest of all of God's creatures. Saint Anne's Creation Care Team is honored to comply. The attached photo is a mock-up of what we can expect the church to look like this summer. We will be holding a dance-a-thon fundraiser to support this effort. Stay tuned for details.

For more information, click here

March 25, 2022

With tremendous thanks to Jon Rexeisen, we have a completely revamped Saint Anne's website! The address hasn't changed - you can enjoy marveling at the clean and easy-to-navigate new look, right here: https://www.saintannesmn.org/

Jon spent a good deal of time going over the analytics of our site to determine who is using it and what information users seem to find helpful. As we live into our new site there may be additions to it, but this cleaner, less-is-more, approach is intentional. It's easier for people to find what they are looking for when we've cleared some space for it.

I find myself returning to the new site again and again now, just to delight in its simplicity. When Jon and I discussed these changes, he suggested that starting with a blank slate and adding back only what we needed is easier than starting with the old site and attempting to remove items. "It's too easy to hang on to things just out of habit", Jon said.

This practice invited me to think about the things in my own life I hang onto that may have served a purpose at one time, but don't actually serve me well any more. Some are actual, tangible, things and some are old habits or patterns of thinking. If it were all wiped clean, what would I bring back and what would I let go? It isn't always easy to let go of stuff - and it's definitely not easy to shift my patterns of thinking. But it iswhat Lent is all about, so I'm trying. Jesus had the desert. I have Goodwill, head-clearing walks in my neighborhood, and deep breaths.

How about you? How does it feel to imagine starting with a blank slate: just you and God on the morning of Creation, only adding in what you need in your life. Only the things that will serve you well, bring you delight, and bring you closer to the Divine? When you think about what you might not bring back, what surprises you? How does it feel to imagine letting go of some life-clutter? What stands in your way?

Our sleek new website invites you to continue your Lenten journey. I do, too.

March 18, 2022

Dear Ones,

I don't know if a mucky, muddy, brown patch of wet mud has ever looked so beautiful. On one of our warm sunny days this week I arrived at church in the morning to the front-lawn-full-of-snow we've had for months, and almost watched it steadily disappear throughout the day. When I walked out to my car in the late afternoon, I was greeted by the sights, sounds, and smells of early spring.

"Mud Season" is what my friends who live on farms or in rural areas call this time of year. Not needing to drive heavy equipment over the ground or attempt to get fields ready for planting, I call it "glorious". And when I stopped at the store on my way home, everyone in the check out line was talking about the weather - it was too exciting not to share!

This year, especially. It feels as if we are maybe, possibly, could-it-be, finally moving out of what has felt in some ways like a two-year long winter, and into the most welcomed spring ever. Even so, the mud reminds us that even the most holy of transitions are rarely pristine and rarely without some messiness to deal with. Our upcoming Holy Week reminds of us of the same. It all feels especially sacred this year.

My prayer for you this week is sturdy boots to get you through the mud and muck, hope in your hearts as you watch what was transition into what will be, and the joy of sharing it all with one another as companions on the journey.

Blessings,
Jennifer