But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.
1 Peter 2:9
Dear People of St. David’s,
A couple of years ago, I stopped at a sandwich counter on the way back to my office after a pastoral call. After I placed my order, the woman making my sandwich said, “Do you mind if I ask you a question? What are you?” I was startled until I looked down at my clerical shirt, and I said, “I’m a priest,” and we talked about how different Christian denominations name their clergy. I ended by paying for my sandwich and issuing my usual invitation: “Please join us at church! Every Sunday at 8 or 10!”
Last Sunday and this coming Sunday, we are offering instructed Eucharists at St. David’s (at 8, 9:15, 11:30, and 5). In addition to our usual worship of God with music, scripture, sermon, and sacrament, the priests are offering bits of commentary about why we do what we do when we gather to worship God. As I greeted people at the door following the first week, I realized that our explanations have raised even more questions. A lot of those boil down to the one asked by my sandwich-making friend: what are we?
The ordination vows that I took are life-long; I will be a priest forever. According to the Book of Common Prayer, that means that I will proclaim the Gospel, administer the sacraments, and bless and declare pardon in the name of God (p. 856). I have a newer role that I will also have for the rest of my life; Harry and Gus have made me a grandmother! This week, Bill and I are living in their home in Brooklyn while their mothers are away.
Yesterday, three-year-old Harry and I were at the park. He had a little plastic front-end loader that he was applying vigorously to the damp sand in the sandbox. He asked if I would play with him. “Stay on the bench, Gannie. I will come to you!” He trotted over with a digger full of sand. “Put your hands together,” he said; then he poured the sand into my hands. I asked him what I should do with it, and he told me to pour it into cracks in the pavement under my feet. Then he turned and stood for a moment watching two teenagers playing handball. Every time the ball hit the wall, Harry said, “Good one!” He watched three volleys, then went back to the sandbox with his digger. Harry trotted over to me and said, “Hands together!” When my hands were full, he said, “There, fill the cracks!” Then, turning to the older boys Harry shouted, “Good one!” and returned to the sandbox. The third time, he walked over to me, and lifted his unoccupied hand, so I would put my hands together. Harry gestured to the cracks between the bricks, turned to the handball players, and shouted, “Good one!”
He demonstrated how much we humans love ritual—repeated actions that give meaning and engage others while offering some practical application. We weren’t simply playing together, we were filling the cracks in the pavement and encouraging other players at the same time. With Harry guiding us, we did these tasks in an orderly, beautiful way. Harry was the priest, and I assisted him as he served his neighborhood; both with encouragement and improvement to the infrastructure.
Jesus’ friend Peter wrote to the church that formed to proclaim the resurrection of Jesus, saying that we are all priests called to share the love of God in a broken world; we can do that when we meet in church. Harry showed me that we can do that in the park on a sunny afternoon. Where else will we find to be the priests that we are?
Faithfully,
The Rev. Nancy Webb Stroud
Priest Associate