One month from today, we will celebrate All Saints Sunday. In this highly important liturgical feast, we acknowledge that in God and through our baptism we are proclaimed as members of the eternal body and life of the Church and God’s Kingdom. We remember those who have come before us and proclaim that the fulness of life in which they now participate is at the heart of our hope as well. In the same service we will both baptize a little one and pronounce at the altar all the names of those we have lost in recent times. Since we were unable to gather last year, we will remember those whom we have lost over the last two years. If you have family members or friends you would like remembered, please let us know.

As I stood behind the altar this past Sunday morning, I heard a loud noise from outside. Having heard a similar booming sound in my neighborhood not long ago, I prepared for the power to go out. Instead, weirdly, the various lights in the church, and later I would learn all over the campus, began flickering and flashing in a non-synchronistic fashion. Part of our electrical system had failed. Our service recording system was debilitated (which is a shame because Sarah’s sermon was poignantly insightful). The school had to start late on Monday morning after CenterPoint worked through the night and our electricians fervently hustled to get the A/C back up and running. It was a whole thing.

Happy Fall, y’all! The temperature is finally in the 80’s, the church is feeling fuller every Sunday, the animals will be blessed, Sunday school for all ages is happening, and so much more is in store. I heard recently that some folks that are already planning their trunk for Trunk or Treat! Further, the Endowment Board has been discussing some ways to make it possible to enjoy some new gatherings as a community at this time. Starting at the beginning of November, we will have our 3:00 service on the field every Sunday afternoon and we plan to bring back the processions in morning church services. Early in the pandemic, everything felt like one step forward and two steps back, the ratio has shifted and we are moving ahead.

When I was younger and had fewer evening commitments (read: before becoming a rector and before nightly bedtime with kiddos), I was a fan of the early seasons of the reality television show “Big Brother.” This show was a tamer version of the over-the-top “Survivor” show, and for the college Sociology minor in me, a purer social experiment. Big Brother begins each season with 16 total strangers locked in a house with plethora cameras where they compete, make alliances, and hope to be the last one standing for a cash prize.

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas courtesy of www.Caravaggio.org

Images can say a great deal.  They can inspire or be heartbreaking.  Images can move us to prayer and action.  Images can humble us and bring perspective.  If you’ve looked at any news outlet, you’ve probably seen images of the aftermath of Hurricane Ida.  So many of these images look almost identical to what I witnessed firsthand along the coast of Mississippi where Katrina made landfall.  Since then, there have been improvements such as the levee system of New Orleans that held firm through Ida.  But as with any catastrophe, there was no way to predict what would go wrong under such intense conditions – the failure of the electrical systems being one example.  We in Houston are no strangers to the unexpected outcomes of disasters.  The opening of the levee gates after Harvey had passed that flooded Buffalo Bayou affected our area quite profoundly and many of us very personally.

There were two birthdays on our church staff this week which, in normal times, would have meant cupcakes and singing. It has been a while since we have been able to share in these simple pleasures. Even as we slowly try to get back to doing these things which I took for granted before, we still find ourselves in a place of caution out of a desire to keep others safe. One day, those cupcakes are going to taste so wonderful!

A few years back, I recall dropping our kids off during the first week of school and then taking a walk with Sarah around the neighborhood. Like this year, the start date of public schools and Holy Spirit’s school fell within a couple of days of each other and as we walked past a couple of moms chatting in a front yard, we overheard them rejoicing about their children returning to school. It appears that the relief of the end of summer can mirror the end of the school year.

This year, the start of school has arrived without the lightness celebrated by those moms of years past. If you talk to any parents, the beginning of school this year comes with even more trepidation than last year when we all figured out the limitations of virtual remote learning. Unlike last year, children are now in the “at risk” category for this virus and pediatric ICU’s are filling up.

How does hope overcome?  When things are difficult or confusing, how do we still hold and proclaim hope?  This question has been present for us this year in so many ways.  With both pediatric and adult ICU’s full, I worry about our health care professionals who have already given so much of themselves over the last year and a half.  I pray for them to have strength and know how beloved they are.  I worry what it must be like for one’s child who is not eligible to be vaccinated to have trouble breathing or feel all alone in the hospital and I pray that they know that they are not alone.  If God is to be found anywhere, it is in the midst of the little ones who cannot protect themselves.