GPC and the Annual Rally for Niger

It is no secret that girls' education is a key to equality and justice for women, and essential for human rights and economic prosperity. Countless books have been written, TED talks have been given, and even our own experience tells us that when girls and boys are educated equally and given equal opportunity, the world is a better place.

Tomorrow, GPC is again joining the annual Rally for Niger. For six years, we have gathered one Saturday in October to raise money for the schools of the Remember Niger Coalition. This year will be special, as we raise money for the Hamsa Center, an educational center opening in Tahoua that will give girls a center of their own to learn, and a chance to come back to education after they have been excluded. Educational and literacy rates are some of the lowest in the world for women in Niger, and the Hamsa Center will help Nigeriens take one more step in bridging the educational divide. Our goal is to raise $5000 —money that will go incredibly far in Niger, one of the poorest countries in the world. Please sign up here to join us tomorrow morning at the Washington Canoe Club at 9 a.m. The weather is predicted to be nice, and I'm looking forward to seeing everyone there! Peace,

Chris

Pastor Camille Reflects on the GPC Member Photo Directory

At our staff meeting this week we thumbed through the very outdated GPC photo directory from 2010.  Lots has changed in eight years— births, deaths, graduations, marriages, moves, and plenty of new haircuts! All of the photos are memorized with that famous blueish gray background that only church photo directories can pull off. I can visualize our family photographs from church photo sessions from the 80's and 90's with varying stages of enthusiasm or resistance to the experience.  You might be asking yourself why GPC is embarking on this rather quaint practice. First of all, many faces and families have joined our church in the last eight years and we need an update.  Second, we are not a small community and so having a place to reference names and faces is extremely helpful. But most importantly, the collection of photographs is a mosaic of the body of Christ here in this place. These are the names and faces of those who find a faith home in our midst, those who are learning about Jesus, those who are committed to this Christian community. Each photograph tells a story of a faith journey and collectively our directory is part of our witness to those who will follow after us. For 238 years, the witness of Georgetown Presbyterian Church has been to God's love for the world and faithfulness to all generations.  We are proud to be part of that legacy!

I am looking forward to seeing your smiling faces.  Click here to sign up! CCM

Born. United. Sent - A Time Travel Through Music

I’ve always loved time lapse videos, especially those depicting occurrences in the natural world that otherwise unfold too slowly to be readily apparent. A flower opening to full bloom in seconds, clouds racing quickly across the skies, stars seeming to rotate in the sky as the earth moves through space. This week, with the beginning of the “Born, United, Sent” series, we’ll commence a kind of musical time-lapse, moving through more than a millennium of musical development in just 18 weeks. We start this Sunday with monody, a single chant melody sung in unison. This was the music that threaded through the worship of the early Christian church for hundreds of years. Gradually, simply at first, other voices were added to these single melodies. As the flower opened, Renaissance polyphony blossomed, followed by the intricate counterpoint of the Baroque, the elegance of the Classical galant style, the drama and individual expression of the Romanticists and the mystical, sonic and harmonic explorations of the 20th and 21st centuries. As it often does, creativity in one area motivated technological developments: music notation, the printing press, increasingly sonorous and refined musical instruments.

If creating and disseminating beautiful sacred music is a worthy goal, and I happen to think it is, it’s a metaphor for what is needed when we want to spread any good idea, and it follows the contours of the “Born, United, Sent” series itself: make something beautiful, develop it in collaboration with others, then work to spread it beyond your own boundaries.

I look forward to experience this musical time-lapse journey together.

Mark

Being "One" - Pastor Chris

In children's worship last week, we talked about the Church being as Jesus prayed, "one." This is an equally confusing idea for children and adults; how can the Church, which has thousands and thousands of denominations and divisions, be one? Needless to say, the Church has failed at this part of it's calling, but we are still called to mend the divisions that we have made, step by step. On Sunday, we're having our third annual Pulpit Swap with Mt. Zion United Methodist Church. Rev. Dr. Johnsie Cogman will be here at GPC, and I'll be preaching just a few blocks away at the oldest African-American church in Washington, D.C. And before worship, at 9:45 a.m., Rev. Cogman and I will share stories of mission and service, and talk about our partnership through the Georgetown Saturday Suppers and Sunday Dinners.

An annual pulpit swap and shared service around weekend meals for those in need may not feel like enough to bridge hundreds and thousands of years of division, but it's a faithful step in the right direction.

Remembering Baptisms with Pastor Rachel

Do you remember your baptism? So many of us were baptized as kids, so we may not remember the day or what gown we wore or who was there. But the wonderful thing about watching a baptism, is that it is an opportunity to reaffirm the vows others took for us before we were old enough to say yes on our own. This sacrament is such a gift. It recognizes that God claims us and loves us freely, when we are infants in the faith. Then we have our whole lives to respond to God's gracious "Yes!" Our whole lives are folded into the life and death and resurrection of Jesus. And our lives are connected to one another. When we come together as a congregation, we pledge to be godparents to the newly-baptized, and we remember those who pledged to care for us when we were welcomed in the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. So whether or not we can recall the day, we can all remember together.

Thanks be to God!

Our Connections According to Mark

This summer, Joy and I took a course on choral warm-ups. During one section of the class, our instructor asked us to sing something together, directing us from the front. We repeated a given phrase a number of times, with him making small, seemingly imperceptible changes to his posture and body awareness. Our sound as a singing group changed, perceptibly, but how and why? If we just needed to know when to start singing, what difference would it make that he felt more awareness of his shoulder muscles? In the 1980s and 90s, a team of Italian neurophysiologists, using electrodes placed in the ventral premotor cortex of macaque monkeys, discovered that certain neurons responded both when the monkey reached for food and when they observed their handlers reaching for food. Many subsequent studies of humans, using functional magnetic resonance imaging (FMRI) have confirmed an involved network of “mirror neurons” firing in our brains both when we do something and when we observe the actions of those around us. These discoveries are the scientific observation of empathy on a physical, electrical level, and, as detailed a picture as we can see in an FMRI scan, the complete workings of the brain remain mysterious. It is likely that our network of mirror neurons is more extensive and that our physical empathetic response more involved with those around us. Although I had heard a little about these mirror neurons, the demonstration given by the class instructor this summer woke me to the significance and subtlety of this mirroring brain activity, both in musical and non-musical contexts. We are making a difference in the lives of those around us, even when we aren’t aware it’s happening. We cannot move about in the world without affecting and being affected by the people around us. Placed into the context of the sacred space at GPC, as we worship, sing, study and fellowship together, we can experience and celebrate our connectedness, to one another and to the world we serve.

Welcome Back Pastor Camille

Growing up, I remember the Tuesday after Labor Day as a day filled with excitement and dread. The night before school was to begin I strangely always had a dull stomach ache. I wanted to go to school but I also wanted to keep the freedom and the joy of the summer for just a little longer. In the morning, with my new shoes on, my backpack packed, my class schedule clutched in my sweaty palm I would board the bus and head off to school. This last Tuesday, as I returned to work for the first time after my sabbatical these same competing feelings returned. A tinge of sadness saying goodbye to the summer and yet a readiness to return to fall routines and to ministry. Yet 'time and tide wait for no man' and so it is back to school and work and church we go!  For those of you with a September stomach ache, I invite you back to church.  Church is your weekly reset - the place where you can stay connected to God in all seasons and hear a piece of Good News for the week ahead.

I hope you will join us at our annual kick off Sunday and I hope you are ask excited as I am about this upcoming year of ministry together.  The town hall meeting at 9:45 a.m., the 11 a.m. worship service, and the ministry fair at 12 p.m. are all perfect ways to begin the new season and get back in the swing of things.

Mark Tells a Story of Wonder

Last Sunday afternoon, as my wife Joy was finishing her final piano lesson of the day in the sanctuary of Christ Lutheran Church, she heard the heavy wooden front door of the church creak open. “Oh no, someone forgot to lock the door” she thought, wondering, with a twinge of guilt, who might have wandered in and how long she would have to talk with them before she could go home for the day. The lesson finished, she walked to the back of the sanctuary where a woman, who looked remarkably like Judy Dench, was seated quietly in the last pew. “My name is Maureen” the woman said. “I’m in town for a conference and I happened to be walking by when it started raining. Seeing this lovely church I thought I’d try the door to see if I could get out of the rain.” Charmed by the woman’s lilting Scottish brogue and relieved that this would not be a difficult or lengthy interaction, Joy relaxed. Maureen, a puzzled look on her face, pointed to a board with member’s name tags at the back of the church. “Can I ask about that board? Are those names of people on the prayer list?” Walking to the board, she pointed to two of the names: Sheila Bell and William Bell. “My maiden name is ‘Bell’” she said, “and those are the first names of my parents who died years ago. I wonder if there’s a relation?” “They’re members here,” Joy replied, “Sheila is William’s mother and I don’t think there’s a relation as they’re African American.”

They stood quietly for a few moments, staring at the names on the board. Maureen broke the silence. “When I walked in here, other than getting out of the rain, I wanted a quiet place to pray. Seeing the full names of both my parents gave me something wonderful to focus on, to remember them.” In awe and seeming a bit dazed at what had happened, Maureen shook her head and turned to Joy. “I’m so glad this church was open. Thank you for helping me to spend some time with the beautiful memory of my parents.” Saying goodbye, she pushed open the large door and left.

On our way home that evening, Joy and I mused over all the many factors that had to fall into place for this to happen. The person assigned to lock the door forgot their job. Maureen, visiting from Scotland, walked by just as the rain started, and two church members with identical first and last names as her parents had their name tags on the board Maureen passed as she entered the church. A miracle, or mere serendipity? No disaster was averted, no disease was cured. It was insignificant, yet deeply moving, all in the same moment. Is it the work of God, delighting in bringing about such a moment through the almost incalculable probabilities involved? What then of the many unlikely accidents that weren’t avoided, the prognoses that fell to the worse? Were they missed while God was aligning the steps for Maureen to happen by?

Inspired by a Maori prayer from her native New Zealand, author Joy Cowley wrote a poem, (a musical setting of which is in the GPC choral library). Of course it doesn’t answer my questions. In fact it doesn’t even try, and that’s why I like it.

“May the mystery of God enfold us, may the wisdom of God uphold us, may the fragrance of God be around us, may the brightness of God surround us, may the wonder of God renew us, may the loving of God flow through us, may the peace of God deeply move us, may the moving of God bring us peace.”

A Wish from Pastor Chris

Most days I'm lucky enough to bike down to the office. It's only about a 30 to 40 minute ride from our apartment, and so most days, for about an hour to an hour and 20 minutes total, I'm forced to "unplug." I can't read, can't check my email, can't listen to music, or even listen to a podcast (some cyclists put in headphones when they ride, but that seems unwise in DC traffic!).

 

I have to confess that for most of the time, I tend not to be good at meditation, contemplation, or whatever word you use for being still and alone with your thoughts. But for that commute, I'm forced into it. Sometimes it's a beautiful respite from a busy world. Sometimes the anxiety that I'm feeling about something bubbles up to the surface. Sometimes I'm full of ideas, and sometimes I just take in the "scenery."

 

But regardless of what the ride is like, I'm grateful for it, and I'm reminded that to pause in contemplation is not a luxury, but a necessity for those of us whose attention is being competed for at every turn. I realize that many of us don't feel like we have the time to step back to pause and reflect on a daily basis, so my hope is that, like me, you're forced into it, and that when you are, you see it for the gift that it is.

 

A Story from Mark

The other night after work, I rode my bike over to Union Market to meet my wife for dinner. After a tasty meal I was putting my bike on the rack to drive home when a young man approached us and asked us for change. He quietly told us he was was not on drugs, holding up his stick-thin arms to show the absence of track marks, but that he was HIV positive. “I’m a good person” he said. We didn’t have any cash but told him we’d be happy to take him where he wanted to get some food. He got in our car, his backpack on his lap, and we set out for McDonalds. At first we drove in silence, none of us seeming to know what to say. He broke the ice first. “It’s a beautiful night.” “Yes it is” we agreed. I asked him where he was from. He grew up on Duke Street in Alexandria. When he came out, his father kicked him out of the house and he’d been homeless ever since. He apologized for not smelling good but said he hadn't been able to wash his clothes for a while. He’d been raped at one of the local shelters and so refused to return there. "The shelters are bad places for gay men", he said. There were some other places he’d heard about that were better for gay men, but he needed an ID, had lost his and, since he collected just a few dollars a day, hadn’t yet saved up the $10 to get it replaced. For now he was staying in a tent under a bridge, “where nobody can find me.”

At McDonalds he ordered two McChicken sandwiches and a Coke for $6.00. It occurred to me that his meal cost a fraction of just one of the items from our dinner at Union Market. I had offered to buy him more, whatever he wanted, but that was all he ordered. It didn’t feel like enough. Wasn’t there something else we could do? He said he could use a clean shirt so we drove to Walmart where he selected a single t-shirt priced at $3.00. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” I asked. He was reluctant but eventually said “maybe some socks.” In that particular Walmart, packages of basic socks are one of the few items locked behind glass. Fresh socks are worth the risk of stealing. Not wanting to disturb the employees to unlock the case, he selected a pair in the unlocked “dress” socks section, grey with embroidered orange tigers on them. “I like these colors” he said, “are these okay?” At $1.89, they were the cheapest on the rack. As we walked to the checkout I asked him several times if there wasn’t anything else he needed. We managed to convince him to pick up a bag of Lay’s potato chips, sour cream and onion. “These are my favorite” he said. “Mine too” I told him. The total came to around $8.

In the elevator back to the car he stood next to a man holding a baby. “She has beautiful eyes” he said, “she gets them from you.” They smiled at each other. We drove him back to where we’d met him, with his turn-by-turn directions and a guided tour of the area with information you’d only get from walking a month in his shoes. “Turn here”, he said, “that hotel over there will let me sit for a while on the benches across the street, as long as I don’t disturb their guests.” We pulled the car up to the curb and I turned off the motor. He told of a job opportunity washing dishes that he was hoping to get. “I’m a good person” he said, repeating a phrase he’d used several times since we started talking. “I know you are” I responded, but I doubted hearing it once from me would undo the constant message to the contrary that he must be getting all the time from the world around him. Timidly, tears in his eyes, he asked if he could give us a hug and said “God bless you.” I hugged him, feeling the frail thinness of his chest, my own eyes wet with tears. “I’m already too blessed” I told him, “God’s blessings need to go to you.”

In case you’re thinking “what a nice thing Mark did” please know that’s not my point in writing this. In total, we gave him about $14 in McDonalds and the cheapest clothing money can buy. I’ve spent that much for a few pastries at Boulangerie Christophe. Perhaps you’re thinking “I wonder if he was telling the truth.” In the hardened parts of my heart I had the same thought. At some point during our drive I picked up the $150 Maui Jim sunglasses from the center console and moved them to the compartment in the door. It was almost a reflex, but I was conscious and ashamed of doing it. There was so much I didn’t do. I briefly considered bringing him back to our apartment so he could have a shower, wash his clothes, sleep on our couch instead of his tent under a bridge, but we didn’t.

A good story will take the reader on a journey, leaving them at a different, even better place than before. I don’t know how to do that here. Right before he got out of the car, I told him about the Georgetown Sunday Dinners. He asked me to write down the address and time, which I did, on the back of the receipt from Walmart, after I tore off the bottom that showed the last four digits of our credit card. Another conscious reflex?

He is a beautiful human being, cast aside by his family, pushed to the margins and beyond by the kind of misfortune most of us can only imagine. The sparse generosity of the people he meets who give him a dollar here, some loose change there, along with some public assistance, is enough to keep him from starving to death and to address his basic medical needs. That is perhaps a lot, compared to many parts of the world, but it is a huge contrast to the life I am privileged to enjoy, living just a few miles from where he sleeps under a bridge. I hope he comes to the GSD so I can meet him again. He’s such a good person. I hope you get to meet him someday too.