Imagine what it must have been like here long ago. The Kumeyaay people had lived here for millennia when the Spanish arrived in 1542. Spanish settlement in 1769 produced San Diego, and Mexico ceded Alta California to the US in 1850.
In 1853, San Diego was already a significant port, even with fewer than a thousand people. The Army was still lodged out at the Old Mission, and the chaplain was one of four clergy when the Diocese of California was organized. In July the Herald (1) ran this piece:
“…It gives us the highest gratification to be able to state that, for the first time, we have Protestant Church service in the town of San Diego. Heretofore we have had only the dogma of the Roman Catholic Church expounded to us in Spanish by Padre Juan, and as comparatively few of the American population understand that language, the masses have had no resort on the Sabbath for religious and moral instruction, and have spent the holy day in drinking, card-playing, billiards and other amusements.
“These amusements will now in a measure be dispensed with, as the Rev. Dr. [John] Reynolds, Chaplain U.S. Army, will hereafter conduct Divine Service, at the Court House, in Old San Diego.” (2)
Such ‘amusements’ still thrive in this town, and relations between the indigenous people, Californios, and English-speaking late arrivals continue to produce both challenge and great blessing.
Chaplain Reynolds continued to hold services and raise funds for a more permanent worship site. Attendance wasn’t great – a dozen or so, probably not helped by advertising sermons like, “The Proper Government of the Tongue.” Nor was worship at the court house exactly easy: “the quiet due to Sunday is broken in upon by the rioting of the inebriated, and the very words of holy writ are drowned by the click of billiard balls and the calls for cocktails from the adjacent saloon.” (3) Tonight, we’re right next door to Club150…
Yet there was enough energy here and in three other worshipping communities in California (4) that William Ingraham Kip was elected to be the Missionary Bishop of California in the fall of 1853. He left New York, crossed Panama, and shipped north on the steamer Golden Gate. It ran aground in a storm on Zuñiga Shoals in January 1854. Nearly 1000 passengers were taken off the foundered ship.
Bishop Kip held services at the Court House the next Sunday for a congregation of about 50, and continued on to San Francisco 4 days later. His great-great-grandson, William Ingraham Koch, won the 1992 America’s Cup, sailing off Point Loma, near where his ancestor ran aground. (5)
Bishop Kip was assisted at that January service by Lt. George H. Derby (6) , who led the hymns and responses and later bought the San Diego Herald. He was one of California’s first published humorists: “One of our Fort Yuma men died, and unfortunately went to hell. He wasn’t there one day before he telegraphed for his blankets.” (7) You share that history – the church in Yuma is also St. Paul’s and now part of the Diocese of San Diego…
Chaplain Reynolds continued to hold services until he mustered out the next summer and went back East. There wasn’t another resident cleric until Alonzo Horton platted New Town, when the Diocese of California sent the Rev. Sidney Wilbur as a missionary in Oct 1868. He stayed busy, and in early 1869 Horton gave 2 lots on the corner of 6th and C, where the first church in New Town was erected with financial help from Episcopalians in San Francisco. The Parish of the Holy Trinity incorporated almost exactly 150 years ago, 18 December 1869. Bishop Kip made his first visitation in February 1870, baptizing 4 and confirming 4.
Finances were a challenge to calling and keeping a priest in the early years. When Henry Restarick was called as the third rector in 1882, Holy Trinity had 7 communicants. Four years later there were nearly 100, the vestry voted to change the name to St. Paul’s, bought land, (8) sold the former church and rectory, and contracted for new ones… and the same year, founded its first mission station, St. Matthew’s, National City. In 1887 Holy Trinity started St. Peter’s, Coronado, (later Christ Church), and the following year, St. James in southeast San Diego. Sharing the good news of Jesus Christ has been a central gift of this congregation – and continues today, affirming God’s love for all sorts and conditions of humanity.
Father Restarick trained a number of men as lay readers, licensed to lead worship services in 7 different locations in and around San Diego. His book about lay readers and their ministry(9) deeply influenced many other parts of the church. That push for lay education and formation emerged again in the 1960s, when the San Diego Union reported that Episcopalians were being encouraged to engage in social action, and understand civil rights as basic to church doctrine: “Perhaps one of the most dramatic trends within the church is lay participation in its services, and providing theological training for these laymen.” (10) It was still only lay MEN who were being formally trained! (11)
Restarick’s tenure saw 5 more missions established: in Bostonia (El Cajon), Oceanside, Escondido, All Saints Chapel up the street, and St. James, La Jolla. When All Saints began in 1888, this congregation started using Eucharistic vestments – highly unusual in that era. St. Paul’s is still bearing witness to the sacred place of beauty and transcendence in the liturgy and the need for worship in varied languages and cultural contexts.
Restarick was appointed Archdeacon in 1898 (12) and visited all the local Native American reservations. His work with indigenous people was undoubtedly a factor in being appointed Bishop of Honolulu in 1902.(13)
After Restarick’s departure, Charles Barnes, who’d been a lay reader here, was called as rector. He served longer than any other, 33 years, and his son Rankin succeeded him, for 14 more. Seismic changes and challenges marked those decades, including two world wars and the great Depression. The military presence grew immensely, with Camp Kearny, the Marine Corps base, and Rockwell Field on North Island. When an explosion aboard the USS Bennington killed 47 in 1905, there was no chaplain in town and St. Paul’s treasurer (who was also San Diego’s mayor) (14) mobilized the response; Barnes’ assistant led the funeral service at Fort Rosecrans. The crush of soldiers, sailors, and airmen after Pearl Harbor meant St. Paul’s provided a great deal of pastoral care. More baptisms and marriages were blessed here than in any other parish in the diocese.
The congregation’s growth brought repeated challenges for space, each time met with creative initiative: buying and selling land; constructing buildings; repurposing and moving them. Major construction began in 1868-1869, 1886, and 1907. Just a century ago the vestry bought most of the land on which St. Paul’s sits today. Ground was broken for the Great Hall in January 1928 and the building dedicated at the end of December. The church was completed in 1967 and dedicated as the cathedral in 1974.
Stewardship looked quite different in earlier days. Building projects still involve pledge campaigns, but more routine budgeting included pew rents until 1941. The stock market crash of 1929 immediately prompted a weekly Friday Eucharist, which continues to this day, and the financial exigencies had major effects on the community.
Gratitude is the ultimate source of all offerings. Before the Haitian earthquake of 2010, the cathedral’s offertory procession included people dancing up the aisle with baskets of produce, trussed chickens, and farming implements, as well as money – all laid at the altar in thanksgiving for God’s bounty. What will the offertory look like here in future? A giving app? A facial recognition device, used at your seat?
The life and love and prayers offered in this place, and the compassion that flows from St. Paul’s into the wider world will continue, even as the forms keep evolving. Jesus said we’d always have the poor with us, and as long as feeding, sheltering, and healing evoke that compassion, there will be life in this 150-year old body. Compassion remakes and remolds us into the body of Christ – and therein lies our hope of resurrection. Compassion has been alive here forever, outwardly expressed in intimate and public ways, from ministry with soldiers and sailors and the unhoused, to the work of St. Paul’s Senior Services and Episcopal Community Services.
You have a dream – that the bowels of this cathedral might become a source of healing for those who suffer, particularly the unhoused and underserved. When Jesus meets a leper, the gospel says he is “moved with pity or compassion,” reaches out, and heals the leper. (15) The original language is graphic – he’s moved in his bowels or gut. Being gut-wrenched produces a compassionate response – and it will be lived out in the deep recesses of this church complex. The people who have worshiped in this body for a century and a half have always known that the outer fabric is meant to provide shelter and home for all sorts and conditions of people. This body has continued to repurpose and renew and remodel those externals, as community needs have shifted. The heart of this body continues to grow in compassion, serving the least and the lost and the left out. St. Paul’s has been a body of compassion for 150 years, and bears every sign that it will continue to be a loving, living body with a stout and generous heart for at least another 150 years. May God bless you with compassion, pour love abundant into your hearts, and move you to heal the brokenness and suffering of this world. Keep loving the rainbow people of God!
The Right Rev Katharine Jefferts Schori
St. Paul’s Cathedral Sesquicentennial Gala
Friday, 13 Dec 2019
1 San Diego’s first newspaper, 1851-1860
2 The Parish of Saint Paul, San Diego, California – Its First Hundred Years.” The Rev. Canon C. Rankin Barnes. Published by the Parish, 1969. p 6
3 Ibid. p 6
4 San Francisco and Stockton
5 Gold Rush Bishop. Mary Judith Robinson. SFO, Telegraph Hill Press: 2017 p 80
6 The first California humorist, aka John Phoenix or Squibob
7 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Derby
8 The lots were at 8th and C
9 Lay Readers, Their History, Organization and Work: An Account of What Laymen Have Done, Are Doing and Can Do for the Extension of the Kingdom of God. New York: Thomas Whittaker, 1894
10 First Hundred Years, p 59 – San Diego Union 28Jan67
11 Even though St. Paul’s had had the benefit of the ministry of Miss Lillie M. High (later Poole) as organist and music director from 1918-1962 and of Gertrude True in many roles from 1922-1952, and two women missionaries were sent overseas in 1946. In 1969, the rector’s secretary, bookkeeper, and book shop director were women. The first woman priest was ordained here in 1984, even though a group of bishops opposed to ordaining women had met here in 1979.
12 Something like today’s Canon to the Ordinary, or increasingly, the bishop’s link to deacons of the diocese
13 Following the church’s shift into American jurisdiction after the overthrow of Queen Lili’uokalani, then head of the Hawaiian church, in 1893
14 Capt John L. Sehon, USA, retd. First Hundred Years p 32
15 Mark 1:40
Showing posts with label BIshop Jefferts Schori. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BIshop Jefferts Schori. Show all posts
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
The Sunday Sermon: Unhooked, unbound and the journey of freedom
Proper 18A
St. Paul’s Cathedral, 8a, 10.30a
10 September 2017
Happy New Year! School has started, and families with younger children are learning new rhythms and negotiating new schedules. Our calendars may say the New Year is still months away, but our Jewish colleagues begin their observation 10 days from now. The story of Passover begins the Jewish New Year, and Christians, too, share in the invitation to cross over into a new life of freedom.
The Passover New Year comes with a special menu – an evening barbecue of lamb or goat, eaten in a hurry because everybody’s going on a long hike through the desert. They’re bound for the promised land – a land of milk and honey, where no one is hungry or afraid, and sweet justice abounds. That’s our journey, too. Early Christians often celebrated the Easter Vigil with an additional chalice, filled with milk and honey to be shared with the newly baptized. Taste and see that the Lord is good! It gives church ice cream socials new meaning…
Passover always involves setting down what isn’t life-giving, and going in search of greater freedom. The dreamers who took the risk to come out of the shadows in search of legal status are on a Passover journey. Pharaoh isn’t just the phantom of ancient Egypt. Pharaoh is legion, even the demon Jesus drives out of the sick man into a herd of pigs.[1] Pharaoh is our seemingly eternal desire to stay in bondage rather than choosing the journey toward more abundant life.
The paper I read last Sunday had a front page article about addiction.[2] A young woman told of being prescribed pain killers after a serious fall, and soon discovering that upping the dosage removed her anxieties as well. She had plenty of partners in that prison of Pharaoh’s, including equally addicted and abusive husbands, pushers and drug cartels, and recovery programs that wouldn’t stick. Several years on, she is now in recovery, and able to say, “I may have another relapse in me, but I don’t have another recovery in me.” Each day for her is a renewed decision to choose life.
The 12 step process of AA and similar programs begins with “we are powerless over X (alcohol, drugs, some kind of behavior…) and our lives have become unmanageable.” The Israelites’ troubles weren’t over once they escaped Egypt or reached the desert. They complained that Moses had brought them out into the desert to die, and swore they preferred the predictability of slavery. ‘Grumble, grumble, grumble, it’s all YOUR fault, Moses!’ Their only real decision was to go in the wrong direction and build a golden calf. ‘We can worship that – at least we can see it!’ Freedom is hard work – always! – especially when we prefer to blame someone or deny our own agency. The Israelites were still in bondage, for they brought Pharaoh with them.
The portability of Pharaoh is really what Paul is talking about when he says, don’t owe anyone anything, except to love your neighbor. He doesn’t mean burn your mortgage, though he might mean attend to your credit limits. He’s telling us to look around and see where our obligations are. Sometimes it’s finding our innate worth only in someone else’s eyes. Who or what owns you? Jesus is a bit blunter – what you bind or loose, what you obligate or set free in your life, will stick with you – it’s got eternal consequences. Got a grudge? It’s got you until you let it go. Hate somebody? Some wise soul said that’s like drinking rat poison and expecting the other person to die.
We can be obliged or bound to all sorts of things – substances, behaviors, ideas and false hopes, and people. A painful and profound new novel, My Absolute Darling,[3] unfurls the story of family bondage, patterns of abuse and abandonment that are passed on from generation to generation. The utter mutual possession of child and parent makes helicopter parenting look like child’s play. Most of us are hooked to someone or something, in ways that are often hard to recognize.
We come together here week by week to be set free, to keep choosing the long walk toward freedom. We practice the faith so we can let enticing hooks pass us by, and trust that God really is working on new life – especially in the grave of letting go. There are plenty of golden calves around to draw and bind us – including campaign promises that no longer look quite so wonderful. What kind of damage is done to our society when we punish children for their parents’ actions? It’s a form of child abuse, it’s rejecting the gift of the stranger (welcome strangers and you will meet angels[4]), but more than anything, it’s scapegoating, a chronic human response to anxiety.
The nationalistic responses we’re seeing around the world and the white supremacist underbelly in our own society share that same desire to blame somebody for our own discomfort and fear. The Hunger Games is a current example, but the search for a sacrificial victim to relieve our communal anxiety is as old as humanity and a profound part of the biblical story, from Adam and Eve and the snake each trying to blame the other, Cain and Abel, to Jesus of Nazareth and many of his disciples. Our pain and struggle over this hemisphere’s legacy of slavery and domination continue to be expressed in racism and violence. We are all bound by that history, and we will never be free until we confront it, even in fear and trembling.
Jesus offers his disciples a transformative process for confronting a person who has wronged you. If you don’t get a response, take somebody else. Take a group from the church if you’re still stuck, and if the person still doesn’t listen, treat him or her as a gentile or tax collector. Well, what does that mean? What are we supposed to do with Gentiles and tax collectors? Jesus invited them to dinner, and loved them into a new way of being.
Getting unhooked, or being unbound, takes courage and practice. A friend tells a story about a soldier who was a POW in Japan during the Second World War. Day after day, month after month, he was tortured and beaten by the same man. He survived the war, and when he was asked how he managed to forgive his torturer, he said, “I began to imagine him as a babe in his mother’s arms.” That’s unbinding.
There’s been a whole lot of unbinding in disaster country lately, as folks in Texas and Louisiana searched for neighbors and strangers to help. We saw similar responses after Katrina, but we also learned a good deal about the structural binding that kept people in toxic FEMA trailers for years, or made it impossible for some people to get reconstruction loans. We often do better in times of crisis, when we recognize suffering human beings as brothers and sisters. The threat to end DACA is gathering momentum like what Jesus charges in today’s gospel – take others with you and point out the fault, take a community from the church… Let’s get this unbound!
The journey of unbinding looks toward God’s jubilee year that frees us all. ALL God’s children are set free in that new year, and that still makes some people nervous. But the bonds of slavery that keep some down and some up will yield no freedom for anyone.
We make our hurried meal here for that journey of freedom. We have to open our hands and hearts to receive it. When you come to the table today, remember that vision of milk and honey, and receive the milk of loving-kindness and sweet justice. It is for the unbinding of each of us and the freeing of the whole world, gentiles and tax collectors included. We have a choice: rat poison or milk and honey. Choose life!
The Rt Rev Katharine Jefferts Schori
[1] Mark 5:1-20
[2] Salt Lake City Tribune
[3] Gabriel Tallent. NY, Riverhead: 2017
[4] Hebrews 13:2
St. Paul’s Cathedral, 8a, 10.30a
10 September 2017
Happy New Year! School has started, and families with younger children are learning new rhythms and negotiating new schedules. Our calendars may say the New Year is still months away, but our Jewish colleagues begin their observation 10 days from now. The story of Passover begins the Jewish New Year, and Christians, too, share in the invitation to cross over into a new life of freedom.
The Passover New Year comes with a special menu – an evening barbecue of lamb or goat, eaten in a hurry because everybody’s going on a long hike through the desert. They’re bound for the promised land – a land of milk and honey, where no one is hungry or afraid, and sweet justice abounds. That’s our journey, too. Early Christians often celebrated the Easter Vigil with an additional chalice, filled with milk and honey to be shared with the newly baptized. Taste and see that the Lord is good! It gives church ice cream socials new meaning…
Passover always involves setting down what isn’t life-giving, and going in search of greater freedom. The dreamers who took the risk to come out of the shadows in search of legal status are on a Passover journey. Pharaoh isn’t just the phantom of ancient Egypt. Pharaoh is legion, even the demon Jesus drives out of the sick man into a herd of pigs.[1] Pharaoh is our seemingly eternal desire to stay in bondage rather than choosing the journey toward more abundant life.
The paper I read last Sunday had a front page article about addiction.[2] A young woman told of being prescribed pain killers after a serious fall, and soon discovering that upping the dosage removed her anxieties as well. She had plenty of partners in that prison of Pharaoh’s, including equally addicted and abusive husbands, pushers and drug cartels, and recovery programs that wouldn’t stick. Several years on, she is now in recovery, and able to say, “I may have another relapse in me, but I don’t have another recovery in me.” Each day for her is a renewed decision to choose life.
The 12 step process of AA and similar programs begins with “we are powerless over X (alcohol, drugs, some kind of behavior…) and our lives have become unmanageable.” The Israelites’ troubles weren’t over once they escaped Egypt or reached the desert. They complained that Moses had brought them out into the desert to die, and swore they preferred the predictability of slavery. ‘Grumble, grumble, grumble, it’s all YOUR fault, Moses!’ Their only real decision was to go in the wrong direction and build a golden calf. ‘We can worship that – at least we can see it!’ Freedom is hard work – always! – especially when we prefer to blame someone or deny our own agency. The Israelites were still in bondage, for they brought Pharaoh with them.
The portability of Pharaoh is really what Paul is talking about when he says, don’t owe anyone anything, except to love your neighbor. He doesn’t mean burn your mortgage, though he might mean attend to your credit limits. He’s telling us to look around and see where our obligations are. Sometimes it’s finding our innate worth only in someone else’s eyes. Who or what owns you? Jesus is a bit blunter – what you bind or loose, what you obligate or set free in your life, will stick with you – it’s got eternal consequences. Got a grudge? It’s got you until you let it go. Hate somebody? Some wise soul said that’s like drinking rat poison and expecting the other person to die.
We can be obliged or bound to all sorts of things – substances, behaviors, ideas and false hopes, and people. A painful and profound new novel, My Absolute Darling,[3] unfurls the story of family bondage, patterns of abuse and abandonment that are passed on from generation to generation. The utter mutual possession of child and parent makes helicopter parenting look like child’s play. Most of us are hooked to someone or something, in ways that are often hard to recognize.
We come together here week by week to be set free, to keep choosing the long walk toward freedom. We practice the faith so we can let enticing hooks pass us by, and trust that God really is working on new life – especially in the grave of letting go. There are plenty of golden calves around to draw and bind us – including campaign promises that no longer look quite so wonderful. What kind of damage is done to our society when we punish children for their parents’ actions? It’s a form of child abuse, it’s rejecting the gift of the stranger (welcome strangers and you will meet angels[4]), but more than anything, it’s scapegoating, a chronic human response to anxiety.
The nationalistic responses we’re seeing around the world and the white supremacist underbelly in our own society share that same desire to blame somebody for our own discomfort and fear. The Hunger Games is a current example, but the search for a sacrificial victim to relieve our communal anxiety is as old as humanity and a profound part of the biblical story, from Adam and Eve and the snake each trying to blame the other, Cain and Abel, to Jesus of Nazareth and many of his disciples. Our pain and struggle over this hemisphere’s legacy of slavery and domination continue to be expressed in racism and violence. We are all bound by that history, and we will never be free until we confront it, even in fear and trembling.
Jesus offers his disciples a transformative process for confronting a person who has wronged you. If you don’t get a response, take somebody else. Take a group from the church if you’re still stuck, and if the person still doesn’t listen, treat him or her as a gentile or tax collector. Well, what does that mean? What are we supposed to do with Gentiles and tax collectors? Jesus invited them to dinner, and loved them into a new way of being.
Getting unhooked, or being unbound, takes courage and practice. A friend tells a story about a soldier who was a POW in Japan during the Second World War. Day after day, month after month, he was tortured and beaten by the same man. He survived the war, and when he was asked how he managed to forgive his torturer, he said, “I began to imagine him as a babe in his mother’s arms.” That’s unbinding.
There’s been a whole lot of unbinding in disaster country lately, as folks in Texas and Louisiana searched for neighbors and strangers to help. We saw similar responses after Katrina, but we also learned a good deal about the structural binding that kept people in toxic FEMA trailers for years, or made it impossible for some people to get reconstruction loans. We often do better in times of crisis, when we recognize suffering human beings as brothers and sisters. The threat to end DACA is gathering momentum like what Jesus charges in today’s gospel – take others with you and point out the fault, take a community from the church… Let’s get this unbound!
The journey of unbinding looks toward God’s jubilee year that frees us all. ALL God’s children are set free in that new year, and that still makes some people nervous. But the bonds of slavery that keep some down and some up will yield no freedom for anyone.
We make our hurried meal here for that journey of freedom. We have to open our hands and hearts to receive it. When you come to the table today, remember that vision of milk and honey, and receive the milk of loving-kindness and sweet justice. It is for the unbinding of each of us and the freeing of the whole world, gentiles and tax collectors included. We have a choice: rat poison or milk and honey. Choose life!
The Rt Rev Katharine Jefferts Schori
[1] Mark 5:1-20
[2] Salt Lake City Tribune
[3] Gabriel Tallent. NY, Riverhead: 2017
[4] Hebrews 13:2
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)