Recently in eNotes Category

    For three years in the late 60s and early 70s I taught in the Virginia State Penitentiary. The electric chair was still "hot" (in use), as they said.  Anyone jailed in that special section also heard the phrase whenever they were going down a corridor, "Dead man walking."  They were "marked" men. They knew it. Everyone knew it.             
    
    Up Route 17 in Gloucester County, VA, sits a perfectly restored Episcopal Church, "Abingdon" (c. 1650), surrounded by the traditional low brick-walled cemetery on both sides. To historians, the Flemish-bond brick work and the true Greek-cross symmetry of the building is exquisite. That's the "church," as some would say. But every day the real "church" moves about that building inside and out with the living saints who come and go for spiritual sustenance and provide response to each other and the world beyond. Then there are the previous "saints" whose names are on weather-worn "tombstones" and not-so-worn brass grave markers. My sixth great-grandfather (Hughes) was the rector there, but I never knew the man and can't find his grave!  Members of Christ Church in this time of transition: you know... rectors!... they come and go just like the parishioners do.

    One area in that cemetery is marked "Hogg" and a section of that, with its own bronze plaque, already has the names of my mother, father, son and will embrace my name and my wife's. Whoever in our family also wants to snuggle in beside us in the future will decide that in the years to come - we've got a plenty  'a "plots!" But...

             ... but my heart's connection to that place is not in my blood lines past, present and future, but rather in the words that my wife and I chose for our (immediate) family bronze plaque for (up to) eight spots. The words are simply:  Marked As Christ's Own Forever.  Those words from the Book of Common Prayer's baptismal service (see note below) say it all.  We'll use them again at the 9:00 and 11:00 this coming Sunday, Jan. 10th, as we baptize another eight infants and one 10 year-old, and then sign their foreheads with the sign of the cross and proclaim them to be Marked As Christ's Own Forever.

    Somehow I've never felt the tug at the actual pouring of the water, be that right or wrong. But when I or another person says on behalf of all the faithful gathered, "You are marked as Christ's own forever," my heart strings just soar.  Why?

    Because it is was at my physical birth that I was certainly born into this world and its crazy, wonderful "ride" of both good and bad surprises.  But it is at my baptism that I was told, "You now are an integral part of the family of God and you will be loved, accepted, cared for... and, well, marked by Christ's embrace and beloved far beyond the date on any bronze cemetery plot.

    The only thing left for me is to feel that cross branded onto my forehead and march boldly into every new day as if I had the "father and mother God" holding me on each arm and the one power, the Christ, who lived and died as I do and will walk before me and beckon me to the new life of new days - for always.

    Yes I am a marked man. In one way I am marked for the "time's up" call just like those at the penitentiary, but I don't know how or when that will be -  for the moment.

    But in the most wonderful of ways I am also marked - marked as Christ's own forever; and you and I are one with each other in the this world and the next ride full of surprises far beyond the walled area of any Abingdon Church.

    My Epiphany - every year, every baptism, everyday, if I can remember it, is:  I am marked - as Christ's own forever.

    Are you?  Of course you are!  You're a marked [wo]man walking! 


                                    Peter Hogg


NOTE:
BCP page 308:  "N., you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ's own forever."

In some pragmatic, quixotic moments I have found myself taking pity on hardcore romantics, so I guess I need a lot of self-pity.  But growing up post World World II, I was reminded in my family after the long trek to visit the real Santa in Richmond that I shouldn't expect all those things I told Santa I wanted, because there were children starving in China (hmmm - I'd heard that at dinnertime as I hid my peas under my mashed potatoes). Not to mind... I only went to Richmond because, (1) I had to, and (2) I had a crush on the Snow Queen who talked to you before you stepped over to Santa. Come to think of it, I still have a crush on the Snow Queen, even if she's 98 by now. I dreamed every year she and I would get married one day and live at the North Pole.  Hopeless romantics; we just refuse to grow up! The point is: I didn't know I was a hopeless romantic as a child, I just was.  Fifty-three years later, I still can be, and that "frightens the stuffings out of me," a phrase my Nana used and I never understood.

From the Interim Rector                                                       eNotes from Eden Nov. 25, 2009

 
                I received last month the Virginia Theological Seminary's journal for fall 2009. In it was an article by James Barney Hawkins IV, Vice President for Institutional Advancement, entitled "The Practice of Gratefulness."  While he also spoke to the unique challenges educational establishments are facing in this recession, I was touched by his words on gratefulness. I share excerpts with you here as a precursor to the Thanksgiving weekend and as a reminder of a lifelong practice that reaps many benefits for the practitioner using gratefulness on a regular, not just seasonal, basis.
 
                This [past] summer I have found myself intentionally practicing gratefulness. On vacation I gave thanks for a different routine; for the beauty of our mountain home; for my quirky but beloved father-in-law who passed away this July; for the opportunity to preach at the August installation of Lonnie Lacy at St. Anne's Church in Tifton, Georgia; and for the generosity of family and friends. A grateful heart seems right for a summer day that is perfect in every way.
                And, although I was frustrated by the entire process of General Convention, it did leave me with one abiding thought; many people love this Church. I was grateful for small moments in Anaheim: seeing an old friend; having a drink and a good laugh at the end of the day; and being inspired by heavenward music at the services of worship.
                George Herbert has written, "Thou hast given so much to us... give us one thing more: a grateful heart." This summer I have offered up Herbert's well-worn words in my own prayers about my life and for this Seminary.
 
                So, thank you, Barney Hawkins, for the gentle reminder, and, Happy Thanks-giving to all in this beloved parish.
 
                Peter Hogg

PeeWee Baseball, Wine, & Churchland Assumptions
by Peter Hogg

PeeWee Baseball The bleacher‐full of parents stood and yelled, "Run, John, r‐u‐u‐n!" Their
clapping and cheering was as confusing to little 6 year‐old John Hogg (my son) as was the fact that he had just hit the ball. It seemed that this was the first year that the powers‐at‐be had taken away the "tee" on which the baseball usually rested, so the batter could hit it with an inexperienced swing. These were 6, 7 and 8 year‐old children on their first quest at pre‐little league baseball. Also, it seemed that the decisionmakers didn't realize the fact that that age child was, for the most part, undeveloped in the hand‐eye coordination necessary to hit a moving softball, thrown gently underhand in a long slow downward arc. Well, duh - that's why they (used to) use a tee!

1. Most recent government reports revealed the primary way all flu types are spread is airborne through unshielded coughs or sneezes. Please remember to have a handkerchief ready or lift your arm instantly and sneeze into your bent arm. (Yes, my mother would have cringed at this advice; ladies and gentlemen are just more proper! Well, this is 2009, not the 1950s when I was raised.) Now we are faced with a swine flu epidemic. Shield your sneeze. If you cough into your hand (a reflex action), cleanse it before shaking hands with dozens of people after worship or whenever.

2. If you have a cold, do not take from the common cup. You can always intinct (dip) if preferred when receiving wine. Eucharistic ministers will lower the cup, tilt it slightly toward you so you can see the wine level, and hold the purificator under the cups' edge, out toward you, to catch a drip should you do more than just barely touch with wine with the wafer. Communion in one kind (bread) is always acceptable; cross your arms across your chest and the cup will pass you by.       Peter Hogg

From the Interim Rector

eNotes From Eden

Being Led is Not for Sissies

 

"Led on their way by this triumphant sign, the hosts of God in conquering ranks combine."

  Lift High the Cross, Hymnal 473

 

I think often of the phrase, "Getting old is not for sissies." Tuesday a week ago, after my sister starting having headaches three days before, she went to have it checked. By Friday the doctors removed a golf-ball sized brain tumor. This past Tuesday, one week after hospitalization, she went to an in-patient rehab center  (intensive therapy 9-3 every day) with drill sergeants for therapists. Her wheelchair sat next to that of "the hulk." He was a big strong man who said that he never shied away from heavy physical labor all his life, but this forced attempt to put a clothespin on a piece of twine  - previously for anyone an almost subconscious task - was the hardest work he'd ever done. She agreed. Couldn't they just have a 10-minute break? They were both exhausted!

Neither had chosen any of this. They were led to where they were. Not by a malevolent, sadistic God but from the other side of the same coin of God's gifting that had given them the keys to the (creative) kingdom. They had and maybe will again participate in the precarious-yet-thrilling, provocative-yet-scary roller coaster ride we call life which leads us with increasing speed through the ever-changing seasons.