Dear Sisters and Brothers,
In June of 2022 Bishop Van Koevering asked me if I might be willing to serve as Interim Rector here at Calvary for the next four months. By the time July came around it was lengthened to eight months with the understanding I might be shortened or lengthened. In my forty years of ministry, I had never served as a rector or interim rector. Except for overseeing Vestry meetings at a parish in Lexington, Calvary is the largest congregation I have served. When I went to seminary, the plan, which I am sure many of you have heard before, was for me to return to South Carolina and be a college chaplain. After forty-three years, I am still in Kentucky. The last Sunday of November 1982 I was assigned as seminarian-in-charge of the preaching station in Ravenna. Once winter was over, we could remove the kerosene heater and seat thirteen. I fell in love with small congregations and their faithfulness, and stubbornness. In my senior sermon the following spring, I made the comment that I looked forward to serving small congregations my whole ministry. After the service, the Dean approached me and asked, “Why do you want to limit yourself?” Forty years later, I still do not see it as limiting. Yes, you are the largest congregation I have served, one of the few who chose me and to which I was not simply “assigned.” I find in you that same faithfulness I first noted in those who sat in that seventy-inch-wide building that first season of Advent in Ravenna. Over the years, I became accustomed to having to do things alone. I did have a deacon ministering with me for a few years while I was in Corbin. Most of the congregations didn’t have altar guilds though a few individuals filled those roles. Sometimes there was the option of an acolyte, which of course might mean we had more people around the altar than in the pews. The idea of a paid staff was unheard of as was endowments with two exceptions. We had no need to count attendance since after the service I could recall everyone who was present, since they always sat in the same place each Sunday and fill in the service book. I still remember the time a church in Alabama was considering calling me and wanted to know how many people they could bring to observe my conducting the service and hear me preach. My response was that if you had more than two who sat together, the congregation would know you were a search committee. You have been challenging to me in many ways, but I have enjoyed the time I have been with you and look forward to what time we have left together this year.
In my newsletter to the mountain faith communities this week, I mentioned Arlin Rothauge who had written a number of pamphlets in the early eighties about characteristics of different size churches and their life cycles. He spoke about how they are born, grow, maintain themselves, decline and in some cases die. He, like the speaker who presented to a gathering of our mountain faith communities earlier this year spoke of one of the signs of churches that were in decline. Simply put, they live in the past. There is nothing wrong with nostalgia. It’s alright to visit it, but we live in the present and hopefully look to the future. While the Episcopal Church is not unique, the joke about how many Episcopalians it takes to change a lightbulb often holds a great deal of truth. The answer of course is five. One to call the electrician and four to order the brass plaque in memory of the old but faithful lightbulb. When I arrive in a congregation, I almost always point out that when I leave, some people will be sad and others joyful. Its that way with all clergy. Some people look back and only see what they did not like about the former cleric while others idolize them, setting up standards the new minister will never be able to live up to. In our remaining time together, I hope we can continue to look back at what went well and what did not, learn from it, but more importantly, look to the future, praying for God’s guidance and seek to love and serve the Lord as God calls us to do
Peace,
Bryant+
