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Why do I give to the church? I could instead ask the vestry to lower my salary by the amount that Jennifer and I choose to give and save everyone a lot of time. Or I could give to the church where I grew up, the one that sent me to seminary. I could give to some other charitable organization, like Harbor Connects or The Human Fund. Or I could not give at all. I’ve made a career out of going to church, and there’s hardly a waking hour that goes by without me thinking of the church or the people here.

Jennifer and I give to St. Francis because we are part of the community; we believe in the work that the church is doing. It’s good for me to physically write a check so I can see how much is going out of our account (it’s not a huge amount, but the kids and I could have a LOT more Lego if we didn’t pledge).

St. Francis is doing good work. There is someone on campus every day of the week: AA, Al-Anon, Yoga, The Scouts of America, beaders, quilters, DAR, Town and Country, the SoCal Cotillion (not the real name, but the same idea), Peninsula High Symphony, and multiple other groups.

Then there are all the things that WE do: Sunday services, Taizé, the Healing Service, Grief Group, St. Anne’s, Men’s Group, Choir Practice, Meditation, SAGES, Sunday School, Youth Group, St. Luke’s Breakfast, the Antiques Show and Sale, the Rummage Sale, and lots of others that I’m forgetting.

Every week we have new people in the congregation; I’ve even seen people who could be in their twenties, the rarest of all age groups in church. I give to the church out of a sense of duty and respect, and because in many ways it’s the least of the things Jesus asks us to do (giving money is SO much easier than loving my neighbor). I give to the church because I don’t ever want to ask people to do something I haven’t done or will not do. Finally, I give to the church because I fiercely believe in our mission: to reconcile all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector

The church was full on September 16, 2001. When the bell rang, everyone stood. There was no talking, whispering, or rustling of bulletins. The quiet weighed like a lead apron on the congregation. The crucifer was flanked by two torchbearers, who were followed by someone carrying the American flag, which was followed by the clergy. The flag stopped at the steps to the chancel, and the flag bearer turned around, faced the congregation, and paused. Someone in the front pew stepped into the aisle, put his hand over his heart, and began to sing the Star-Spangled Banner.

He did it unaccompanied—unbidden by the priest but moved by the Spirit. It wasn’t in the bulletin, and it hadn’t been planned. Before he reached “By the dawn’s early light,” the whole church had joined him. Our voices were strong but not strident. We sang as a congregation; as citizens of the United States; as children of God.

For five days we’d been bombarded by images of the planes flying into the twin towers of the World Trade Center; the smoking hole in the Pentagon, and the burning wreckage in a Pennsylvania field. We needed relief, reassurance, and to know that we were loved.

I don’t remember the sermon from that day. I remember Bob Litchenwalter—Coach to nearly everyone he knew–standing up and beginning the National Anthem. Coach was a retired teacher, loving husband, father, and grandfather. He coached baseball, football, and soccer. He was a veteran of the Korean War, a Shriner, Church Youth leader, acolyte, chalice bearer, and crucifer (before his knee went out). He was a leader and instinctively knew what to do that Sunday. I still count it as one of the holiest moments in my church life.

It is a tragedy that it takes a tragedy to bring out the best in us. That Sunday morning at St. Anne’s Episcopal Church in Warsaw, Indiana, we were at our best. We weren’t young or old, male or female, Democrat or Republican. We were all of us in that moment Americans, and in our vulnerability, obedient children of God. We sang as one, mourned as one, and drew solace from God and each other as one. That morning in church served as a respite from all the noise in the world, a chance to catch our breath, and be with God and each other.

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
—Book of Common Prayer, 1979: page 815

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector

How do we reconcile evil in the world? This is a question I’ve received several times, and one I’ve asked myself. The direct answer is that we can’t. While we can account for human evil, natural evil (disease, disaster, famine, and death) throws the ledger completely off balance. We are always in the red, and there is always a deficit of good in the world.

But life isn’t a ledger, and there is no accounting for all the evil in the world. Even if there were, would it make things easier or more palatable? If I’m caught in the rain, knowing how and why it rains doesn’t make me any less wet.

Why does God allow terrible things to happen? Life would be easier and more straightforward if we didn’t believe in God. It would be far less frustrating if we believed that all of life was the result of chance, of billions of mutations over billions of years, and that there is no God nor any design. This would mean then that there is no love, that love is a series of chemical reactions in the brain that have allowed those who experience them to survive and thrive. I could go further with this idea, but I have neither the stomach nor heart for it.

It may be easier to believe in a world without God, but it is completely unfulfilling. For a long time I blamed God for all the evil in the world. I was mad at God, but as mad as I was, I never stopped believing. There were times that I doubted the goodness of God, but my love for Christ erased all of that. Essentially, I came to the realization that if Jesus can love God without reservation, then so can I.

How do we reconcile evil in the world? This is the wrong question. I don’t have the right question, but I have a better question: How do we find peace in an evil world? From where is our help to come? Our help is in the name of the Lord. We are not meant to rid the world of evil; that quest belongs to God. But we are instructed to shine our light in the darkness and to see the face of Christ in everyone we encounter. We are meant to ease one another’s burdens and trust that God will make all things new again.

I need to stop thinking about the world; it’s too big, abstract, and messy. My world: my home, neighborhood, and church offer ample opportunity to share the love and light of Christ. All of us can do this, with God’s help.

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector