Worship with us at 10am every Sunday.

All Things Bright and Beautiful
A Reflection on St. Johns by Lawson Allen

I am not a church go-er. But I am a fan of love and joy and kindness and community. I believe in sunrises and sunsets over the lake, the divinity of this precious moment we live, and, as the lyrics of one of my favorite songs by Carrie Newcomer say, a good strong cup of ginger tea.

However, full disclosure, I should have said, I did not used to be a church go-er. It turns out that I selectively am. It turns out that the little Episcopal church on the corner of Church and Elm Street in Essex New York has everything that I want. It’s St John’s and it looks like a drawing in a children’s story book—white clapboard shingles, a stone patio in front. A single steeple rises unpretentiously from the vestibule, and bright stained-glass windows depict not just the Saints but the memory, stories, and beauty of past parishioners. On the inside, it is open and clean. Single benches flank a single aisle that leads up to a simple alter at the front. Needlepoint kneelers hang down from the back of each bench—each one imbued with the spirit of the parishioner who lovingly stitched it. It’s not a fancy place. It’s a place where old friends live, and new friends gather. It’s safe. It feels like home—a place to belong.

Each Sunday there is a palpable essence of welcome. Birthdays and anniversaries are acknowledged with a special prayer for those who are being celebrated. In unison we name those on our community who are in need, with time for personal remembrance. Together we pray for our world and the specific concerns of individual parishioners. Sometimes someone is not well enough to walk to the communion table so absolution is ministered at their seat. It doesn’t take more than a moment, really. The priest carries the chalice and the wafer down the steps and into the nave. But the meaning is timeless and full of acceptance and grace. Here, we care. Kindness matters in real time. YOU are important. And we will show you by honoring wherever you are in your journey.

Last Sunday, this spirit of inclusion and community was in high relief. It was the once-a-year service where parishioners are welcome to bring their pets for a blessing. People arrived with their dogs and cats, perhaps a hamster or two, whatever animal that they love. It was a gentle nod, subtle really, to those things in our everyday life that give meaning to our life -- an acknowledgement of the divinity in precious moments that often happen whenever and wherever we may be with the animals whom we nurture and are nurtured by—the purest uncomplicated love

Diane Nancekivell, the eloquent wise priest who always ministers to our searching, often faulty, loving humanity, interrupted the friendly greetings and chatter of our gathering before the service began. People quieted and their pets settled down. She announced that we would be singing acapella that day because our usual piano and organ player was unavailable – that is unless, of course, there was someone who might play in her stead. Almost immediately a woman rose, saying she hadn’t played in years, but she could give it a go. Clearly once accomplished, she was also clearly a bit rusty—but on she, and we went, singing with joy – each missed note and each searching pause a reminder that there is exquisite beauty in the effort, and in the failing. It was ever so much more profound than perfection would have been.

As the readings began, a large and beautiful beige cat broke away from its owner and began walking in and out of the pews. Laughter broke out as she jumped up onto the alter and sat in front of a candle. Diane, who had been talking about forgiveness, self love and absolution turned as someone began to retrieve the cat. “No,” she said. “Let her be. She’s just fine where she is.” Life happens. There are interruptions. There are changes in the plan. There are inconveniences. Sometimes we blame others. Sometimes we blame ourselves, but if we let it be whatever it is, we can accept it. We can carry on. We DO carry on. And sometimes it’s just plain fun to watch how life unfolds. There is divinity in the stuff of everyday.

The service ended as we processed outside to the stone patio for the Blessing of the pets. We sang “All Things Bright and Beautiful.”

Indeed.