"Keeping the Feast"

Keeping the Feast

with The 787 Collective

The illustrations in

Preface

by Melissa Wiginton

In 2016, Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary founded, with funding from the Lilly Endowment Inc., The 787 Collective as an innovation space for ways to connect young adults and congregations. We adopted processes of innovative human-centered design that start with listening to young adults and then creating spaces of trust and relationship. Twenty-seven congregations took the challenge and engaged in innovation, launching projects for healing and wholeness.

While innovation in other sectors leads to new products, innovation in congregations does not resolve so definitively. Rather, the Holy Spirit fluidly unfolds into an openness we may never comprehend but only approach. It is more like art than science, more of mystery than formula. The designation of “Collective” comes from artists’ collectives—spaces of shared resources, synergies, always-evolving creation, support, and understanding for an undertaking that is ever new yet also informed by

tradition. Among this 787 Collective, comprised of people in congregations stretching out in new ways and young adults reaching into congregations with dreams to share, we began to glimpse healing and wholeness.

“Keeping the Feast” is the first actual work of art produced by the Collective. It gives expression to the movement of the Spirit in and among people on the edges of new creation, claiming God’s enduring promise of new life.

The 787 Collective marks its seventh anniversary with this publication. We continue to practice innovation to center young adults as leaders, to provide resources for communities of faith, and increasingly to practice resilience. Through the traumas manifest since 2020, young adults and communities of faith suffered. We are witness to the power of relationships across generations, fed by love, as the sources of resilience and ongoing innovation. We offer “Keeping the Feast” to share our witness in hope that you will find sustenance for partnership in the unfolding mysteries of life with God.

NOTE: Each of the six articles written by members of our Collective has an accompanying guide that can be used individually or as a six-part series—inviting you and a small gathering of people to share a meal and engage in intentional conversation during each meal. You can access the guides by scanning the QR code associated with each article.

Melissa Wiginton serves as vice president for Education Beyond the Walls at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Austin, Texas.

“ Keeping the Feast gives expression to the movement of the Spirit in and among people on the edges of new creation ...

A Blessing For Absence

by John O’Donohue

May you know that absence is alive with hidden presence, that nothing is ever lost or forgotten.

May the absences in your life be full of eternal echo.

May you sense around you the secret Elsewhere where the presences that have left your life.

May you be generous in your embrace of loss.

May the sore well of grief turn into a seamless flow of presence.

May your compassion reach out to the ones we never hear from.

May you have the courage to speak for the excluded ones.

May you become the gracious and passionate subject of your own life.

May you not disrespect your mystery through brittle words or false belonging.

May you be embraced by God in whom dawn and twilight are one.

May your longing inhabit its deepest dreams within the shelter of the Great Belonging.

Reprinted here with permission from the John O’Donohue Literary Estate.

Introduction

by Martha Lynn Coon

Somewhere in the fever dream that was late March 2020, I sent out an email to the members of The 787 Collective. I made a commitment in that email to send resources twice a week and offered to hold space once a week at noon on Tuesdays as a way to connect with each other and share both laments and celebrations as we walked through this time of trial. Like most faith communities around the world, congregations in our Collective were called to pivot on a dime. People found themselves managing their own anxieties around this uncertain reality while also bringing ministries online and working to remain in service to their communities, especially those deeply and directly affected by the onset of COVID-19. We were all finding our way through the dark, hesitant and unsure, but showing up weekly to discern each next faithful step in this new reality. As the months wore on, small in-roads were made as to how to survive these wilderness times. Or so we thought. Retrospectively, March and April of 2020 were only harbingers of months ahead in which many “unprecedented” new realities would change us all.

and the racial reckoning that ensued brought the reality of this small community’s commitment to a new level of intimacy and understanding. Those of us who are privileged to be white-bodied began to unpack and engage the work that was upon us, actively pursuing our own journeys to understand the implications of white supremacy in our lives, communities, and churches. To remain in integrity, and to serve as allies to our siblings of color, it was time for us to change and for the conversations we facilitated around racial justice to grow increasingly honest. Truth edged from being a nicety to a necessity, and our capacity to hold space for each other while engaging the painful reality of both our hurt and culpability at the hands of racism’s destructive nature expanded. One of our elders describes it as a commitment “to tell the whole truth,” and this commitment became a staple of what it meant for us to be together in a time of suffering and upheaval.

Was it then that our community began to shift from a weekly life raft in the early pandemic to a firm place holder and joyful shelter from the storm? A commitment emerged among us to show up across generations, across race, and across faith backgrounds and to search earnestly for Christ’s call to be in communion with God, with ourselves, and with each other. A commitment of curiosity toward this call, and to how it shows up in our daily lives, is something many of us have in common. While we adjusted to the restrictions and risks of the pandemic, we still seemed to be finding our way into something new.

In late May of 2020, the murder of George Floyd

Somehow, along that way, we found our feast. Change began the painful but redemptive work of flooding the world we knew before, and the faithful folks each Tuesday had no choice but to ride that

Martha Lynn Coon, the former Director of Congregational Innovation at Austin Seminary, is a co-founder of The 787 Collective. She is also a writer, blogger, and mother of two. Her work resides at the intersection of faith, creativity, storytelling, and justice.

wave. Our feast was the time we held together each week, the life raft we fashioned to make sense of the world and learn how to love better and more fully in the midst of these changes. Showing up and making space: This was our act of communion. Bearing burdens, sharing celebrations and laments, and listening whole-heartedly were the liturgy. Zoom was our table. The body and blood of Jesus bore out in the desire each week to understand the world and each other in the light of Christ’s life and values. How do we integrate these values at every turn in this new world? How do we repent when we fail?

In many ways, communion never felt so alive to me. During these years, with each Tuesday, it moved from liturgical practice to embodied endeavor. Growing up largely Presbyterian, I’d always heard people refer to “celebrating” the sacraments. It felt odd, because even though I knew communion was special and I held it dear, it never felt anything akin to a celebration as I understood it. The word “celebrate” stems from the Latin celebratus which means “much-frequented; kept solemn.” Celebrate is the past participle of celebrare, which insinuates the act of “assembling to honor,” as well as “to publish; sing praises of; practice often.” Considering celebration in this light, it was true that each weekly gathering was a solemn occasion in their own right, and much frequented: We’ve gathered almost 121 times at last count. We assemble to honor the God that brings us together and support each other in the work of Christian practice through life events both big and small, encouraging and honoring the faithful, yet different, ways these practices emerge in each individual’s life.

mass shootings over the past two weeks. In one, twenty-one people, nineteen of them children, were shot and killed in Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas, 160 miles southeast of where many of us call home. The week before that, ten people were killed in Buffalo because of their skin color while they shopped for groceries, an overt hate crime carried out by a young person misguided by racism and white supremacist ideology. Yet every week we persevere, nourished by the sight of familiar faces asking hard questions in unfamiliar circumstances. We take the time to see each other, to behold each other in the hard and the happy moments of life, to take time out of otherwise busy schedules to prioritize relationships, learning about our commonalities and our differences, and feasting on the common desire we share to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.

Time persists, as do we. Life does not get easier. As I write this, the country is recovering from two

The time we spend together each week feels like communion to me, and in the following pages you’ll see how those of us that gather continue to question, understand, and celebrate communion in our own lives and faith communities. Keeping the feast means dwelling at the Table that we find in the center of our lives and congregations. For some people in our Collective, this means drawing closer to the mystery of God. For some, it means stepping back to re-assess. For others, it is a perpetual call to the work of justice. And yet others find communion at the margins where they choose to serve, or in the liminal spaces we all inhabit from time to time. For each of us, the call to Christian fellowship was our first, and often still our primary, call to communion. How each of us in the church, and every modern faith community, will continue to keep the feast is the pressing question of our generation. That is perhaps the greatest lesson of the last two years,

“

Somehow, along that way, we found our feast. Change began the painful but redemptive work of flooding the world we knew before ...

and the final word of hope. Just as our faith instructs us that death is not the end, living through hardship and isolation affirms for us that keeping God’s feast is an on-going and agile endeavor, movable and transmissible over time. For where two or three are gathered, there is God. We are not exempt from the suffering of this world, but in the best of Christian communities, we are able to hold spaces that help us endure them. What else is communion if not this?

It’s my hope that something you read here might spark a desire to participate in the creation of that experience wherever you find yourself, with an eye toward building intergenerational community and honest spaces where diversity thrives. Participating

in this feast with my Tuesday friends opened a new chapter in my heart, and a renewed hope in me for the church. It brought into fruition a Christian space that I’ve longed for many times, but as an adult, had yet to experience. It’s shown me how to see to believe, a maxim that seems antithetical to faith when we’re often told that belief is the precursor for realization. While at times and in cases this might be the truth, it seems the church has rested on this concept of “believing to be” for too long. Our call now is to faithful action. We must participate in our universal communion actively and without abandon. We must work to become the change we wish to see in our lives, in the church, and in the world. And we can not do it alone.

Communion Liturgy attributed to the Iona Community

This is the table of the Lord. It is made ready for those who love and those who want to love more. So come, you who have much faith and you who have little; you who have been here often and you who have not been here long; you who have tried to follow and you who have fallen short. Come, because it is the risen Christ who invites you. It is the risen Christ who meets you here.

Editor’s Note

In the following pages, you’ll read personal and heartfelt reflections from members of The 787 Collective who carved out a weekly community space with and for one another during the years when the COVID-19 pandemic was at its height. As a guide to conversation, we’ve introduced questions that provided us “food for thought” as we considered how we practice communion, both currently and aspirationally. The questions are meant to accompany the essays as additional reflection points, and the questions were born out of the essays, rather than the other way around. We hope they will provide you space for reflecting on your own thoughts and opinions, or be used to engage in conversation with others in your midst.

Since our weekly community space occurs over Zoom, we’ve also included excerpts from our running chat as a window into our lives over the past two years, both personally and collectively, as well as a sort of anthropological monument to the reality of the COVID years. It was through these new modes of connecting that much of our community was shaped, and it was an example to all of us how necessity is, indeed, the mother of invention. Many of us did not know each other in March of 2020, but some of the heartfelt sentiment expressed in these online records is as real of an exchange as a hug, handshake or high five. We give thanks for these new forms of connectivity and look forward to more conversation with you and your congregation around how they are or are not serving the emergent needs of your and/or your congregation’s life.

Excerpts from a Community Built Through Chat

From Bruce Schrott to Everyone 12:22 PM

Our chat is our community journal :)

From Ron Swain to Everyone 12:28 PM community - a brave space to share laments and joys, a space to learn from one another, to encourage and support one another. Yet, we have our different worlds outside of this gathering. This space frees me from the world for an hour to listen and learn from you all.

You Belong

Even for Me

by Sarai “Sopphey {V}ance” Oviedo

Native to South Texas, Sopphey Vance (MDiv’22) is a recent graduate in the Master of Divinity program at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. As a student, V held multiple positions in student leadership, had the honor of assisting in the academic position of instructional aid, and the pleasure of working for Education Beyond the Walls. Passionate for helping people, and in particular the people of South Texas, V intends to coalesce the folk wisdom of South Texas with the Christian narrative and scientific approaches to herbalism to nurture the region of South Texas.

Technically, it was Easter morning. I made a commitment to my newly found Christian family to be at the sunrise service. I was late. Okay, not only was I late but I was also still exuding the remnants of the evening before. I was most likely still drenched in smells of cigarette smoke and liquor. Perhaps, the outfit of glitter and sweat still masqueraded on my person. I was twenty-five.

I wasn’t sure then, and I’m still not sure, if Christ’s cup and loaf is meant for me. The holy meal, as instituted in the synoptic gospels, felt foreign to me. The rules and expectations of the meal, today as a graduating seminarian, feel foreign to me. My contextual, lived experience, and the way it intersects in the world today keeps me away from joining the feast.

mine. It’s not because I don’t have some knowledge of the liturgical theology behind the meal. I was a seminarian after all.

There’s a little piece of me that is still afraid. Maybe afraid in the way Adam and Eve were afraid and they hid themselves. I’m just different. Just like that first Easter as a Christian I was different and drenched in the world. Now as a Christian of almost ten years I am different and saturated with concerns of my siblings. We live in a world of such uncertainty. We live in a world where virtual connections can separate us from the table. We live in this COVID-19 world where we are trying to force ourselves back to a normal that was not working for the most vulnerable.

And yet, I want to ask, will it be okay for even me to participate in the everlasting meal? In our heritage as Christians we assert that we are baptized in Christ. In Christ we participate in Christ as the body of Christ. We live our purpose for the edification of our community. In death, we are connected to Christ’s resurrection and glory in connection to the triune God. Not every tradition upholds the Apostle’s Creed, but we proclaim Christ will return. In proclaiming Christ’s return we assert the accountability of the church and Christians to be Christ’s agents on earth.

It’s not because I lack community. I’m in my early thirties now. The beloved members of The 787 Collective Connect Call have allowed me a space in their hearts. They also occupy a large space in

If we’re truly followers of Christ, the person who ate with the disenfranchised and most vulnerable, then yes, it is okay for even me. But, in the realities of tight-knit communities, it’s not always easy to belong. It is not easy being different. The promise of the meal is a declaration of belonging. The participation in the meal is an affirmation of being called by name as a child of God. The table is open to all.

Food for Thought:

What is communion and who is it for?

From Jann Kibe to Everyone 12:35 PM

‘the rule of God is love.’ wow, that’s powerful.

From Martha Lynn to Everyone 12:53 PM

sacred community that is inclusive that shares love beloved community over and against institution; kindom reminds us that it’s about relationship, the feeling of being kin and practicing that

From Jann Kibe to Everyone 12:54 PM

It’s true; love *is* the answer.

I think that spending time with folks that don’t look like you, think like you, believe like you, and that are different than you in general helps to build empathy/ humanize people instead of categorizing them in an *other* category;

and I think that’s something our global community really needs.

From Bruce Schrott to Everyone 12:54 PM

John Lennon nailed it. All you need is love

From Jann Kibe to Everyone 01:03 PM

I think if we asked does this work with our call to *love* vs. does this work with our call to the *institution*, things would look/ come together a whole lot different

Home Cooked Fridays

by Mary Ann Corbett

plates were bussed, and tables had cloth napkins and tablecloths and bouquets of fresh flowers. Volunteers ranging from college students to working adults to retired persons prepared the food and served the guests.

As the day was drawing to a close, the Twelve approached [Jesus] and said, “Dismiss the crowd so that they can go to the surrounding villages and farms and find lodging and provisions; for we are in a deserted place here.” He said to them, “Give them some food yourselves.” They replied, “Five loaves and two fish are all we have, unless we ourselves go and buy food for all these people.” Now the men there numbered about five thousand. Then he said to his disciples, “Have them sit down in groups of about fifty.” They did so and made them all sit down. Then taking the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven, he said the blessing over them, broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd. They all ate and were satisfied. And when the leftover fragments were picked up, they filled twelve wicker baskets.

Luke 9:12-17

For a few years, All Saints’ Episcopal Church had a ministry called Home Cooked Fridays (hereinafter, “HCF”) that offered a free multi-course dinner every Friday afternoon. Just like in a nice restaurant, food and drinks were brought to the guests, empty

We typically served between ninety and 110 folks. The guests were mostly men, mostly hard-core homeless, mostly regulars. Some would come in alone, eat alone, and leave alone. Many others came in looking for their buddies, with whom they enjoyed loud discussions about sports or politics. Some would look for a favorite volunteer to whom they could pour out the troubles of their week. In the summer, sweaty, exhausted guests would collapse into their chairs while they reveled in the air conditioning and guzzled down large glasses of iced tea. Some guests wolfed down their meals voraciously, but most took their time and visibly relaxed as the meal progressed. By the end, many guests leaned back in their chairs and held out their coffee mugs for refills. Then they would reluctantly trickle out to face the harsh world after the brief respite.

HCF was not heavy on religion. There was no preaching. Grace was offered at the beginning of the meal, often led by a guest, but the background music during dinner was secular—often tunes requested by guests. Nonetheless, in the center of the dining room was a small table set for Jesus—not in case He came, but because we knew He would be there, so long as there was a guest sitting in the dining room and until the last volunteers closed and locked the kitchen door on their way out. Indeed, the whole meal, from prep to serving to eating to cleaning up, felt like an earthly version of the Heavenly Banquet.

Mary Ann Corbett is a retired public school teacher. She is a happy member of All Saints’ Episcopal Church in Austin, Texas, where she currently serves on the Racial Reconciliation Action Group and the Carolyn T. Smith Loaves and Fishes Ministry.

Grace

Then, in March 2020, COVID shut us down abruptly, leaving a void.

In the months since, I have reflected on what Home Cooked Fridays revealed about love-based community. I’m struck by the realization that the HCF community always danced along a continuum with consistency at one end and flexibility at the other. For our guests, they could rely on a good meal in pleasant surroundings every Friday. The core of regular volunteers was reassuring to our guests and allowed relationships to develop. Consistency also made it possible to plan and execute the logistics of feeding a large crowd and to maintain the contacts in the larger community that provided donations of food and drink. There were also some non-negotiables: no fighting, no drugs, no violating health codes.

On the other hand, we aimed to please our guests and make them feel welcome. We accommodated special dietary requests. Tables for one were available for the unsociable. Guests with dogs could be served at picnic tables outside, along with their pets. And while HCF followed a set routine, once we opened, folks could come and go as they pleased, until the kitchen was shut down and cleaned up. It wasn’t only our guests who needed flexibility. The core of regular volunteers was supplemented by college students earning service hours. During exams and school breaks, the ranks of the student volunteers thinned out, and some of us would then lean on family members to help. Nonetheless, there always seemed to be enough people in the kitchen and out on the floor to make sure every guest was tended to.

participation and ownership. (As Jesus said, “Give them some food yourselves.”) Whenever a volunteer would ask the head of the ministry how something should be handled, she would respond, “What do YOU think we should do?” Whenever guests offered to scrape off plates or stuck around to help us put the tables away, the help was gratefully accepted. One guest frequently took some of the flowers with her to share with friends, her way of extending the blessing of HCF.

But my biggest takeaway from HCF is this: the needs of everyone must be served in some way if the community is to be sustainable. Everyone— guests and volunteers—must get a need met, or they won’t keep coming back. The needs of the HCF guests were obvious: to be fed, to feel welcomed and wanted, to get out of the heat or cold or rain, to connect with friends, to relax. But the ministry couldn’t have functioned for long if it wasn’t also meeting the needs of the volunteers. Besides service hours, the students enjoyed a break from their studies, encouragement from the older volunteers, and the chance to be useful to others. For the older volunteers, it was a chance to be around young people, the pleasure of serving a good meal to appreciative guests, the friendships that developed. For some, there was the need to serve and to experience the Body of Christ in a very concrete way. I often teasingly warned volunteers on their first visit to HCF to watch out: HCF was highly addictive—and it was! In the words of the Gospel passage, “They all ate and were satisfied.” Not only the guests, but the volunteers left satisfied.

HCF also helped me see the importance of

Which leads me to the issues of bandwidth, scarcity, and abundance in community that are raised in Luke’s story. The story starts with a

statement of need; the disciples tell Jesus to break up the community so that people can scour the neighboring area for food and drink. Jesus doesn’t want the community to break up, so he challenges the disciples to feed them themselves. They respond with a claim of limited bandwidth: “Five loaves and two fish are all we have, unless we ourselves go out and buy for them,” the impossibility of the latter proposition being obvious since the men alone number five thousand. What if Jesus had said, “You’re right. We can’t feed all these people. Let’s send them off to fend for themselves and hope they come back tomorrow”? The crowd would have left dissatisfied with the lack of hospitality. Some might have found food in the surrounding towns. Others would have just gone home. How many would have come back to hear what else Jesus had to say?

But Jesus has faith in the power of the community to organize itself so people’s needs can be met. He tells the disciples to organize the crowd of over five thousand into groups of fifty. They do, which strikes me as a bit of a miracle itself in an age before megaphones, microphones, or social media. The people do their part by cooperating with the disciples and participating in the organizational structure. Then Jesus relies on the Spirit to multiply the loaves and fish so that not only is there enough food for everyone present, but there is food leftover. In other words, an apparent lack of bandwidth to meet the needs of the people in the community is overcome by a combination of structure, participation, and grace. And the community holds together.

intellectual disabilities. The group has met with very limited success. In our achievement-oriented society, it is not obvious to most people that they might have needs that could be met by folks who are intellectually disabled. But what has really surprised me is that we have also struggled to attract people with intellectual disabilities and their families. The needs our community might meet are many: friendship with nonpaid and nonfamily individuals, fellowship with people in similar situations, development of personal interests, integration into the larger community, a team to tackle issues like employment or housing. And yet, some individuals and families feel they lack the bandwidth to engage. Others want to jump right to creating housing for their loved ones, thereby skipping participation in the community structures like regular meetings, social interactions, and spiritual practices that create community and allow room for grace to move. As the leader of this group for two years, I have felt very frustrated by our inability to engage members.

By way of contrast, I have been involved for the past five years in a local group trying to create an intentional community of people with and without

Obviously, I still haven’t figured out the recipe for the secret sauce of successful community. I think the basic ingredients are satisfaction, structures, participation, and room for grace. But the amounts, timing, and how to blend them all to create a community still mystify me. Structure seems the least elusive of the four, but thinking of the HCF dance up and down the continuum of consistency and flexibility, even that is something of an art. I am reminded of how my mother and grandmother cooked, and how I cook now after more than forty years in the kitchen: no recipes, just knowledge of ingredients and an intuitive sense of amounts, timing, and how things are supposed to look. Maybe the Spirit is the intuitive sense in the community secret sauce.

Food for Thought:

What is the connection between communion and hospitality? How do we show welcome?

From Bruce Schrott to Everyone 12:46 PM

One of the hardest things about grief is giving ourselves permission to feel what we are feeling. We’re conditioned to behave certain ways which simply are not always healthy

From Jann Kibe (she/her) to Everyone 12:51 PM so true ^^^

From M (they/them) to Everyone 12:55 PM

Yes, Bruce!!!! I think right now I want to hold and create spaces around grief. I am so over not having that and also for those who must go on and don’t have that. I am all about wailing right now

From Bruce Schrott to Everyone 01:04 PM

I was remembering the old Tony Campolo sermon this morning. “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s comin’!”

From Jann Kibe (she/her) to Everyone 01:05 PM also sending care to everyone on the call that’s struggling with pain, grief, or carrying any sort of weight. <3

From Ron Swain to Everyone 01:06 PM God is good!

Holy Communion Reflection

by Bruce Schrott

Bruce Schrott was born in central Kansas and grew up on the Kansas prairies where the Milky Way was awe inspiring on clear nights, the horizons felt infinite, and you could watch thunderstorms roll in from miles away. He and his wife, Peggy, attended high school and Kansas State University together and were married while in college. They moved to Lake Jackson, Texas, after college to start their careers and raised their two children there. They moved to Sanford, Michigan in 2006 then to Georgetown, Texas after Bruce retired from The Dow Chemical Company to be closer to their two “Grandma magnets.” Bruce’s idea of paradise is the tall grass prairies of the Kansas Flint Hills.

My wife and I were in our early twenties having just graduated from college when we moved to a new town to begin our careers. We were cradle United Methodists so we joined the local congregation. It wasn’t long before someone asked us to be the youth group leaders for the senior high students at our church. The youth group traditionally attended a weekend mid-winter retreat each January at Camp Lakeview near Palestine in east Texas. When the time came, we loaded up a van full of students and entered into the adventure with the enthusiasm of youth and absolutely no experience. The weekend was filled with learning and recreational activities for the students along with the obligatory Saturday night dance party. Sunday worship, however, resulted in an experience I could never have imagined.

Worship was filled with the popular praise music and hymns of the time to which the students sang and moved with enthusiasm. I remember the

students appearing much more at ease with worship than my wife and I were. We were new to all of this and were mainly trying to get through the service so we could load the students up and return home. We worried out loud with each other about trying not to look too much like neophytes. There were butterfly decorations on the walls in the worship space, likely illustrating a theme I vaguely remember about butterflies being released from their cocoons. It probably symbolized our release from ourselves into the freedom of soaring with the Spirit ,but the details are dim after so many years. However, I do remember the Holy Communion service in vivid detail. My wife and I had participated in the liturgy and received the elements. I remember the bread being very dry and the grape juice was served at a tepid temperature where it had little flavor. We had returned to our seats and I looked around to watch the students moving through the communion process. Suddenly, I had this warm feeling come over me that I had never felt before. I became aware of the presence of God and God’s love in a way I had never known. To this day I can’t recall what triggered all the emotions and have since simply handed it all over to the workings of the Holy Spirit. The warm feeling started in my stomach and moved up through my chest into my shoulders and neck. My heart started beating faster and my body was shaky. Tears of joy filled my eyes. I embarrassingly glanced over at my wife and her eyes were watery as well! The worship service eventually ended and we turned to the activity of packing the van and gathering the students for the trip home. We quickly came down from the mountain, so to speak, and reimmersed ourselves into the activities of careers and maintaining a household. But I couldn’t escape the warmth that filled my heart and a new curiosity I had for learning more about the faith I had so casually

been proclaiming up to that point.

Someone said we make our plans then God smiles and proceeds to lead us where God wants us to go anyway. My experience from that Holy Communion service with a large room full of high school students began a transformation I could never have planned for myself. Only the grace of God could have led me to be who I am. It motivated me to study the scriptures. I began to learn the history of the church, to explore the ways we experience the Holy Spirit, and to study the theological foundations of our faith. I also studied the spiritual disciplines, which led me to spend time almost every day in silence and prayer. Along the way I read about John Wesley’s “heart strangely warmed” experience and immediately related to the feelings he must have had that night at Aldersgate while listening to someone read from Martin Luther’s introduction to the letter to the Romans. Somewhere on this journey I realized my own mission to have a lot of fun leading, learning, and teaching. I have developed spiritual practices that keep me centered on the love of Christ in my heart, and the love I feel is what moves me to share that love with others. Given the opportunity, I share my stories with people to offer them hope for similar transformation.

The Service of Word and Table, since that Sunday in my early twenties, has continued to be special in a way that is sometimes overwhelming. The kind of bread and juice or wine that are used for the elements, the setting I am in, or who is serving on that particular occasion never seem to stand in the way of what happens deep in my heart each time I receive the elements. Sometimes the prayer of confession has me feeling as though I should crawl toward the altar and beg for the gift being offered.

At other times I feel like running or skipping forward to receive the elements with joy! I listen closely to the Thanksgiving that recalls our history. I anticipate with great hope the taking, blessing, breaking, and offering of the bread of life. The invocation of the Holy Spirit over the elements and the participants always leaves me awestruck. The taste from the cup of forgiveness is always warm and filling. Each and every time I receive the elements, I feel the deep and abiding presence of the living Christ in me.

A long time ago I heard a pastor say that we “remember” Christ into our presence each time we participate in the Holy Communion Liturgy. “Re-membering” for me also gathers a cloud of witnesses around us; my departed brother, parents, and in-laws, and the saints both recent and past. Whenever I can, I kneel at the altar and when I can’t, I return to my seat. Either way, I offer a prayer of thanks to God for my own life and each member of

“Suddenly, I had this warm feeling come over me that I had never felt before. I became aware of the presence of God and God’s love in a way I had never known.

my immediate family. I pray their names and offer them to God thanking God for the honor of loving and being loved by them. These prayers then sustain me until the next time I can participate in the liturgy.

My story continues and I constantly wonder how God could want to love someone like me. I move back and forth between periods of lightness and darkness. Sometimes my prayers feel hollow and empty. I spent days in isolation during the COVID pandemic wondering where God was. Our pastoral

leadership allowed space for us to participate in Holy Communion through video feeds, yet the trust I have in God’s constant presence sustained me even when I wasn’t feeling God’s presence directly. I have never let go of that deep trust that God is always present, always creating, always working in all people since that Sunday at Camp Lakeview so many years ago. The love I feel is very real for me and it comes from somewhere deep inside me where I know that Christ must surely reside. And I know, if it is in me, then it has to be in everyone else as well.

From Carolyn (she/her) to Everyone 12:42 PM

I really sit with that question: how can I see myself as whole and still becoming?

From V to Everyone 12:42 PM

Carolyn <3

From Jann Kibe to Everyone 12:43 PM that’s spot on, Carolyn.

From Carolyn (she/her) to Everyone 12:52 PM

I am done with the word normal. So done.

I don’t want the old one. But I don’t want a new one either.

From M (they/them) to Everyone 01:02 PM

There is work happening now around grief that is actually saying there are no stages, it’s just an experience and they are different, what is normal is the experience just as it is, it is a journey

Food for Thought:

When called to remember the body of Christ, who is in the cloud of witnesses that comes to your mind?

Food for Thought:

When called to remember the body of Christ, who is in the cloud of witnesses that comes to your mind?

Tear the Bread, Pour the Juice

by Jann Kibe

Jann Kibe is a Kenyan-American writer and social impact enthusiast living in the Dallas, Texas, metroplex. Over the course of the past two years, she has cherished taking communion with her mom, and doing church at the home she shares with her mom and two brothers. She is excited about getting the opportunity this year to take communion in-person at her home church while keeping the intimate spirit of communion with her mom alive. Find more of her artwork here: jannkibe.myportfolio.com

Bread and juice, A nibble of sliced bread dipped in grape juice,

Set the table, set our hearts up, set respect up to go before us,

The pastor preaches of Jesus’ body breaking … breaking for us.

While my mom and I sit and watch from behind a television screen, Church at home, comfy and separated from larger physical community,

The congregation that meets in-person will drink from plastic cups, But the bread and juice we drink doesn’t make us any less Christian,

Less a part of the body, less mindful of how Jesus came,

Less aware of the current state … yes, we still have a seat,

We have a seat at the table, our coffee table, Where one chair leg, damaged, still wobbles,

But here, the steadiness of our faith isn’t shaken; it’s strengthened, In this moment of concentrated listening and enabled connection,

As we share a torn off piece of sliced bread and quickly drink the juice in unison, The pastor continues preaching to the people among him and those watching on their screens,

While we sit and listen, gathering warmth from our bodies sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, closely, For the one time each week where common interest collides with relationship producing shared activity,

Like a great occasion, the comfort of regularly attending service together brings:

New light, new life, new tightening of our bond,

Just as community outside home is the mission, for me, community inside is also an intentional decision,

Sermon notes written furiously but all that’s needed is open ears, open hearts, open spirit to be convicted,

Imaging Jesus, the Savior, speaking soft and humble, I want to say the words that come to me, loud and simply

Bread and juice

Right now, this is my community,

Not out there,

But simply a mother and her daughter in their home

Bread and juice, Body and blood,

Joyfully, The pained expression … gone,

Dead, Resurrected

Family, Reconnected

Blood, Liberated

Bread and juice, Body and blood,

Sacrificed, So meaningful to us,

When we pause, To think deeply

Like it’s our first time, And we’ve freshly been saved and called son/ daughter Knowing where we came from, And how much we’re forgiven of Beyond the bread and juice, Let me truly empathize as I visualize the cross, Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Dead, dawn, Risen up … so high, we can dare to have hope for our lives.

Food for Thought:

How does communion strengthen our community bonds? How was this true for you during COVID and how was this truth challenged?

Food for Thought:

From V - live from the corner of my friend’s bedroom to Everyone 12:52 PM

I think it’s a twofold fight. Healing is a priority and a lot of these people aren’t receiving love or attention.

From Jann Kibe (she/her) to Everyone 12:52 PM it’s so much more insidious too and so overlooked

From V - live from the corner of my friend’s bedroom to Everyone 12:55 PM I want to try fighting the algorithm by marketing campaigns that promote healing

From Fatíma to Everyone 12:56 PM

Yesssss V

From Carolyn (she/her) to Everyone 12:56 PM

I love the idea of getting healing into the algorithms…

From Ron Swain to Everyone 01:02 PM

The complexity of the issue suggests multiple approaches. The question: where do we begin? Thanks for letting me join you all. This important conversation must continue and beyond the six-eight of us. This is a collective (community) matter.

From Jann Kibe to Everyone 01:03 PM yes, absolutely Ron!!!

From Ron Swain to Everyone 01:04 PM

Let there be PEACE and let it begin with me!

Nurture Curiosity

Broken Body Kaleidoscope

by H.N. Silva

H.N. Silva (they/them) is a former activist, community builder, and amateur public theologian who is now trying to make sense of the world and universe through a nihilist, spiritual, atheist perspective. They spend their time in creative pursuits while wondering if nature, grief, and radical rest might have the answers to collective liberation.

It’s ironic for me, as a current atheist, to share my journey with the eucharist. The overall image I have is of a kaleidoscope, as are most understandings in my life. This all might seem broken, perhaps it even is, yet somehow it also creates a symphonic masterpiece. It is not lost on me that the root words of kaleidoscope are beautiful, form, and scopetherefore I live it.

I grew up in a Christian tradition where the eucharist was done once a month and was a serious, somber occasion. Internal confessions were to be made during silent prayer beforehand, coming with purity of spirit to be able to reverently participate. I remember one of the first times I partook in the eucharist, as a pre-teen, after I had eaten the bread, I immediately felt guilty, not because my intentions had not been earnest, but because I somehow feared they were not enough. My other early point of reference of this ritual was from a church that only came to the table once a year, folks dressed in white, and you had to be baptized (as an adult). Here there was wine, no grape juice. You can imagine how holy this sacrament was presented to me.

During my time in undergrad at an interdenominational school started by Anabaptists, communion became less daunting, though still special, being offered during occasions to mark meaningful moments. This time additionally included visiting different churches and seeing how each one engaged with this ritual. I observed the various theological interpretations and understandings of the eucharist. There were even churches where I was not able to participate in communion, as I was not an official member of their church.

As I continued to attend different churches afterwards, I witnessed even more manifestations of this sacrament. I saw children partaking; I saw sustenance and liquid being offered; I experienced full meals together; I experienced walking to the front altar to receive the elements. It is in this last particular experience where I encountered the inquiry of whether I drank from the cup or partook by intinction. It was not only a question of hygiene but also of my theological feelings on the matter and their implications. As I attended these various churches, supported by my passion for ecumenical revelation, I believed that communion was not only a moment that connected me to the divine, it connected me to my fellow congregants, no matter if I was in an ongoing relationship with them or this would be the only time we feasted together. It ultimately connected me with anyone I had ever taken communion with! I found this wonderfully beautiful and deeply meaningful and an important part of my understanding of this spiritual experience. I began drinking from the cup directly to symbolize this binding. Communion was therefore not only a reminder of my belonging with the divine, but my belonging with the whole church,

as distant and varied as it was. The eucharist was moreover my reminder of the divine’s love and my commitment to sacrificial love, as well as a covenant of forgiveness and grace for me, and as an imperative result, to be extended to all those I was in connection with.

As I have walked away from Christianity, it’s an experience I miss; however, by not participating I acknowledge the importance and reverence it has for others and for finding my welcome elsewhere. Today my bread and cup and community-making is quite different. I would rather see all folks be fed and housed, where food and drink is shared with no mention of a deity. I would rather there be love on earth that unequivocally depends on the collective liberation of all, where systems and structures are deconstructed and better ones built, where belonging is not just an individual endeavor but a collective and societal one. I no longer find comfort and freedom within the church. This path of embodiment I am on, the mystical union of spirit

and body, is asking for more, more towards this earth that I interestingly live on. This path is asking for my understanding into how to inhabit it, be with it, and with others far outside the institution of the church and Christianity. My communion is with nature; my bread and cup—tangibly displayed and understood—is still being developed, in large part due to the isolation during this ongoing pandemic.

Wikipedia indicates that a kaleidoscope in “rotation ... causes motion of the materials, resulting in an ever-changing view being presented.” Similarly, my concept of what is communion is an ever-shifting collage of images and impressions. It’s a journey I am happy and curious to continue on, wherever its unique and unorthodox meanderings lead me. I am discovering anew the essence of this mystery. I sit and quietly listen in holy wonder to the great unknown-universe. For if nature is a manifestation of the divine, as some say, do I not want to experience its magnificent diversity?

“ I believed that communion was not only a moment that connected me to the divine, it connected me to my fellow congregants.

Food for Thought:

How does communion call us into deeper connection with both the people and the natural world that surrounds us?

Courage for Justice & Peace

by Rev. Dr. Ron Swain

Ron Swain joined the First United Methodist Church Georgetown Discipleship Team in March 2014 as director of Transformative Mission Ministries, which is grounded in the Great Commandment, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart … and Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22:36–40) Previously, he had an extensive career in higher education administration, most recently as senior advisor to the president at Southwestern University. In addition, he was engaged in numerous civic and nonprofit organizations in Georgetown, Texas, including the Georgetown Chamber of Commerce, the City’s Economic Development Commission, The Georgetown Project, Habitat for Humanity, the Rotary Club of Georgetown, and the Williamson County Institute for Performance Excellence in Nonprofits.

Ron’s passion for human development, organizational performance, and community service has been reignited by his reading of Toxic Charity and When Helping Hurts. His thinking about Christian community development has been enhanced by site visits to Mission Waco, Mission Houston, and participating in the Texas Christian Community Development Conference. Ron has also been inspired by the current work of the Texas Methodist Foundation (TMF), and especially the writings of Gil Rendle. As a follower of Jesus Christ, Ron aspires to become a servant-leader. Ron is married to Chrystle, and for fun they enjoy Friday nights at the movies.

The following Baccalaureate address was delivered to the graduating seniors of Southwestern University by Rev. Dr. Ron Swain in the Spring of 2022.

Imagine that in 2072, fifty years from now, you are attending your 50th class reunion at Southwestern University. You are seated at a round lunch table with a group of your fellow alumni. What are the themes of your conversations?

Or, imagine that in 2072, Southwestern University is honoring you as the Distinguished Alumnus of the Year. Talk about the Award and what did you do to receive this recognition?

What are your remembrances of Southwestern? Who do you remember? Faculty, mentors, staff, students?

What was unique about your Southwestern educational experience?

• 2018 – 19 – most of you enrolled as first-year students, excited and anxious, meeting new friends, getting involved in campus activities

• 2019 – 20 – your sophomore year. COVID-19: Spring Break – remote learning

• 2020 – 21 – your junior year. Continued remote learning, limited on-campus activities, no studyabroad, virtual internships

• 2021 – 22 – return in-person to campus in spring. Now you are leaving. What’s next?

Some thought leaders have termed these past two and a half years a proverbial “wilderness” or “desert time.”

How did you use this “wilderness/desert time?”

How were you impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic? The 2020 national election? The murder of George Floyd? The war in Ukraine?

When asked, one campus leader said, “More than anything else. These students developed resilience.”

So I asked, “How do you define resilience?” Her response, “When the world around you is crumbling, they continue to show up.”

So, I ask you. What is your takeaway from these past two and a half years? What did you learn about yourself? What did you learn about the world in which we live? What did you learn about your place in this world? What have you learned at Southwestern that will give meaning and purpose for you in this world?

I invite you to consider these three words: Courage, Justice, and Peace.

The Old Testament Prophet Micah says it this way, “What does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with your God.”

Courage – the strength of heart to rise up, stand up, and speak up for what you believe in, what you value, what you are passionate about. Courage causes one to take risks, to move from places of ease and comfort. Courage is a willingness to be vulnerable and to face uncertainty with confidence. Courage calls one to act on behalf of those who cannot or who lack the confidence to act for themselves. These actions may cause one to get into trouble, but the late Congressman John Lewis, said “I don’t mind getting into trouble, if it is good trouble.”

Justice – Doing justice suggests seeking the truth and following it. Justice is righting the wrongs. Standing against violence, poverty, racism and bigotry. Justice is working to create a safe, clean habitat for everyone. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once wrote, “I believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality, and freedom for their spirits.” In 1964, Ernest Clark was the first African American full-time student to enroll at Southwestern University. Fifty years after Mr.

Clark’s graduation in 1969, the University named a residence hall in his honor in 2019.

Peace – President Ronald Reagan once stated that “Peace is not the absence of conflict, it is the ability to handle conflict by peaceful means.” Our world needs peace makers and peace builders. After witnessing George Floyd’s murder on TV and controversies over wearing masks and getting vaccinations because of COVID-19 and the 2020 national elections, an 86-year-old woman explained that she could not get the word “PEACE” out of her head. During Advent of 2020 she heard a sermon about Peace. At the end of the sermon the musician sang “Let there be Peace on earth and let it begin with me.” In her sleep, she saw the word “PEACE.” So she concluded that perhaps the message was for her to do something about peace. And she did. She gathered a small group of seven people and together, they planned the first annual Walk for Peace in Georgetown, Texas. On March 19, 2022, more than a hundred folks in Georgetown gathered at the San Gabriel Park for this Walk. Laurie Schwenk is eighty-six. She witnessed injustice and she had the courage to walk for peace. Margaret Mead, the American cultural anthropologist, said, ”Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world.”

Fifty years from today, you may be invited back to Southwestern to tell your story or to receive an honor. What will be your story?

Benediction: Take Courage, Work for Justice and Peace. Dietrich Bonhoffer, the German theologian, said it this way, “Silence in the face of evil, is evil. Not to act is to act. Speak up and do justice.”

Food for Thought:

Where have you experienced or witnessed resilience over the past three years? How do the themes of courage, justice and peace resonate with your personal call or the call of your faith community?

From Carolyn (she/her) to Everyone 12:46 PM

I wonder if there’s something in believing someone is redeemable not being the same as believing you have any responsibility for their redemption…?

From Jann to Everyone 12:46 PM whew, that is *so* relevant to me... you have no idea

From M (they/them) to Everyone 12:56 PM what comes up for me is the question, what comprises forgiveness? b/c forgiveness doesn’t take away what happened

From Carolyn (she/her) to Everyone 12:58 PM

That’s another thing I heard this past week in the Joseph story. He forgives but he DOES NOT forget. He names the harm his brothers did when they turn up. Like out loud…

From V (Chaos is not bad) to Everyone 01:01 PM i love you all so much

The 787 Collective gathers and resources congregations seeking to engage with young adults through creative ventures that deepen love for God, self, and others. The 787 Collective centers the voices of young adults and invites congregations to listen, learn, and embrace the talents, gifts, and passions of young people not only for the future of the church, but the church today.

If your congregation is looking to center young adult leadership for today and the future or if you’re looking to broaden your network by the sharing of ideas, creativity, and connection, send an email to: 787@austinseminary.edu

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