Deferred Maintenance, Deferred Ministry

Back in the 1970s a movement formed in the church called, “The Church without Walls.” The animating idea was to separate the mission of the church from the burden of property and its upkeep. On its face this seemed like a powerful concept. Take away maintenance costs and more resources will be available to do the work of Jesus Christ in the world!

Where are these “churches without walls” today? Very few are left and they are neither thriving nor powerful in ministry and mission. It turns out that there is a connection between place and purpose, between body and soul.


Christianity is incarnational; “The word became flesh and lived among us.” (John 1:14) Christianity affirms the goodness of physical existence; “God saw everything that God had made, and indeed it was very good.” (Genesis 1:30) Our physical being is not optional or disposable but a fundamental component of the self that God redeems and restores.

Music may exist in the mind of the composer but to be shared it at least needs lips, ears, a tongue, and lungs. To pass that music down the generations takes hands to write and perhaps pianos or an organ to support and reproduce the music. 


The key notion is “to share.” To share our faith in God and pass it down across the generations it turns out that we need sacred spaces, sacred places and bodies devoting time, energy, presence, and labor to the work. 


Our properties committee is working hard to reverse a tradition of deferred maintenance and inadequate investment in our buildings. At a recent meeting we estimated that to just complete basic repairs of our building envelope would cost between $400,000 and $500,000. You will be hearing more about this exploration but the key point here is this; it is unhealthy for our mission and ministry when we neglect the wellbeing of the physical plant that supports the mission and ministry.

I sometimes hear folks say, “Wouldn’t it be great if we could have one without the other - a church without walls”. History teaches us that this dualistic thinking ends up diminishing everything we stand for in the long run. I am excited to do both and inspired to catch up on the needs of our buildings so we can give future generations the gift of ministry and mission without the drag of deferred maintenance!

Blessings,

The Rev. Jarrett Kerbel
Rector

Another Ramp

Nellie Greene has a front row seat at the dedication.

On Sunday, March 22 we dedicated the new ramp and Hopkins Terrace outside the Willow Grove Avenue entrance to the church. That morning, the following story was read about one of our long-time members, Nellie Greene. We are grateful to this community for its support of our Next Level Accessibility campaign and proud to have completed this next stage in St. Martin's Welcome to All.  

At the General Convention of the Episcopal Church in Denver, Colorado, on July 10, 2000, a deacon of the church, the Rev. Nellie Greene, read the Gospel lesson at the opening daily service of worship. She did this using her electronic voice.

Not surprising, this irregular idea was Nellie’s. Living out her ministry of inclusion, Nellie had become a very strong advocate for those who have gifts, but limited abilities. She understood fully the loss of abilities. Over the years, she has shared her story with others in this way,

“I am a severely disabled, ordained deacon of the church. My disability is brain damage which my body received in a severe car accident on my way to college in 1970. ...My body has been left crippled with rigidity, and I am legally blind, unable to write or speak. I am totally dependent on a wheelchair for mobility. But I communicate with a talking lap-top; a desk top PC and in social settings, I use a “letter board”, made especially for me, with alphabet letters, familiar phrases and responses, to which I can point. I also talk with my face, my smile and my eyes.” 

Early in 1999, Nellie made known to the national church leaders her desire to read the Gospel at General Convention, using her electronic voice. This was received with understandable concern. Doubts were expressed, and issues began to be addressed. Nellie cooperated fully, but did not give ground as an advocate for the disabled. Yes, it was asking to do something not done before. Yes, it would be hearing a reading of the Gospels in a new key.

As the convention neared, two issues remained. First, how would the deacon in a wheelchair reach the altar? The general convention altar is highly elevated for all to see and relate to the liturgy of worship.  Secondly, how would the use of an electronic voice be managed through a complicated sound system?  

For the first issue, possibly two very strong fellow deacons could lift Nellie in her chair and carry her up the many steps of the highly raised dais, where she could take her place as deacon near the altar. As for the electronic voice device, sound engineers could link it into the system.

There was a measure of real anxiety for everyone about these plans as Nellie and her family prepared to leave Philadelphia for Denver.

At the convention center she was met by the chair of the worship committee who began to explain how the electronic voice would function. Nellie’s strength came forth again. “No”, she said. “The device will be on my lap. The batteries are new, and my rector, Bob Tate, is prepared to come forward with a hand mike to pick up the reading. Nothing else need be done. It will work.” 

Next, the question about how, in her wheelchair, she could become part of the group at the altar. It was then shown to her that a very fine ramp of accessibility to the altar had been built especially for this event...the first ever at general convention. That was impressive.

The next morning for the first daily Eucharist of Convention, the altar party gathered with the presiding bishop to begin the procession. As the music soared, and the voices sang, the procession moved gracefully around to the left of the dais, and then together everyone up the ramp of accessibility. Bob Tate carefully maneuvered the chair in which sat the deacon.

When it was time for the Gospel to be read, Nellie was moved forward in her chair. She flipped the switch to her electronic voice, and the Gospel of Matthew filled the hall with clear words.

Much later in the day, as she was moved through the vast exhibit hall of resources for ministry, Nellie was stopped countless times by those wanting to express their thoughts to her. One was unforgetable:  The leader of the Deacons in the Diocese of Denver came and bent low to speak directly to Nellie in the chair. He took off his handsome deacon cap made especially for this convention and placed it on her head. “Nellie,” he said loud enough for all to hear, “thank you for lifting our sights and stretching us. If you can do what you do, there is nothing that the rest of us cannot do!”

Nellie continues to live out her personal mission statement:

“My mission is to encourage, enlighten, and inspire with humor and compassion, all whom I meet, especially children, the elderly, and persons with disabilities. I urge them to be responsible to each other, the earth, and all sentient beings so they will know their value as children of God.”

Please join us again at Easter Vigil on Saturday, April 4 at 8:00 p.m. as we once again gather on Hopkins Terrace and then process up the ramp into the church for worship, as was done at General Convention in the story, at our ramp dedication, Palm Sunday, and will continue to be our new tradition of accessible access in honor of Nellie, Chris, and all those who have and will yet bless us with their presence and teaching.

The NEXT Level

Case Statement

“Next Level” Accessibility Project

Every Sunday some members of our St. Martin’s community cannot attend services and classes because they find accessing the Sanctuary and Parish House simply too difficult.  Although they want to share the beauty of God’s presence in worship, fellowship, and service, they are unable to climb the stairs or fear an unreliable wheelchair lift. These are not just those who use wheelchairs, walkers, or canes; they are also those with small children in strollers. Our community is diminished by their absence.

We cannot say “All Are Welcome!” until we are accessible to everyone who wishes to partake in our dynamic and diverse community.  The “Next Level” Accessibility Project will build on what has already been done and bring our campus one step closer to 100% accessibility. 

The “Next Level” Accessibility Project will create easy and dignified access to worship, fellowship, learning, and service on the St. Martin’s campus.  People who in the past have been unable to navigate independently into our Sanctuary and Parish House will now be able to do so with ease.

An elegant ramp of Wissahickon Schist will curve up to the Willow Grove Avenue door, its profile so integrated into the building as to appear part of the original design.  

Willow Grove ramp rendering by McEwen Architects.

Dangerous steps will be replaced on the Willow Grove Terrace by gentle slopes and curb cuts so all levels are accessible and tripping hazards are removed. Handrails will be rearranged for the ease and safety of all.

Handicapped parking spots will be clearly demarcated on Willow Grove Avenue close to the accessible entrance and protected from traffic by set-backs from the street. 

The Willow Grove Terrace will be expanded and smoothed for safety, for liturgical gatherings on Palm Sunday and Easter Vigil and for hospitality before and after worship.

The Parish House Door will be rearranged to make it more easily operable. A friendly and welcoming glass door will be installed inside the existing wood doors that many find heavy and difficult to maneuver.  The beautiful wood doors will be hinged open during the day like shutters and closed at night. 

New lighting will be installed in the project area to illuminate the church and grounds at night for the comfort and safety of our members, visitors, and guests. 

Construction on the Next Level Project is planned for summer 2014, beginning in June and completed by September.  Fundraising will begin in February of this year after a public presentation of the project on February 9.  We will need to raise approximately $200,000 to fund the project.

When Jesus preached the Kingdom, all people – no matter their status or ability – had room by his side.  The “Next Level” Accessibility Project is about the Gospel, the Good News that reaches out and includes all in God’s unconditional love.  Together we will make the renovations necessary to support our mission to Welcome All People as Christ welcomes us.

Not What I Expected

Wednesday, October 2^nd, began as a typical day for me.  Meeting, desk work, playing for St. James School’s weekly mass, and Treble Choir rehearsal.  In the middle of the afternoon, I checked my email.  The Philadelphia Orchestra had announced a free “Pop Up” concert that evening.  They were supposed to play in Carnegie Hall, NYC, that evening, but were sent away (tail between their legs) due to a stagehands’ union strike.  The orchestra, en route back to Philadelphia, quickly organized a fun concert of lighter classics, and sent the word out via social media.  (see the parable of the marriage feast, Matthew 22)

After Treble Choir rehearsal, I was tired, ready to go home.  I almost did just that – but a feeling of guilt stopped me.  Since the concert was announced barely five hours before it began, surely the hall would be far from full.  Playing for a small audience can be demoralizing.  I decided I would go, because I feared an empty hall, echoing with the empty claps of a couple hundred people, and I could empathize with the musicians who pour themselves into their art when nobody seems to be listening.

I arrived just minutes before it began.  Verizon Hall was completely packed.  It was abuzz with an energy that I had never felt before – and was filled with a broader spectrum of age, race, and class than I had never seen before.  The players were wearing bright colors, the audience in everything from suits to ripped jeans.  I crawled my way into the middle of the orchestra section – a seat I couldn’t afford at a regular concert. 

The concertmaster walked on stage.  The audience went into a roar of applause.  He clearly didn’t know what to make of it – he gave a nervous look, a nod to acknowledge the audience’s fervor.  The clapping continued.  The orchestra could hardly tune.  Maestro Yannick walked onto the stage, and the applause returned to a wild roar.  It was like a rock concert!  Yannick soaked up the applause graciously and the concert began.

Now, I have been to many concerts, heard orchestras of many different abilities, with audiences of many different levels of appreciation (for lack of a better word), in many different settings.  My expectation, after seeing this crowd and hearing their untamed applause, was that this was going to be a concert where people talk audibly during each piece, text on their phones, and walk around at will as if the concert were a sporting event.  I was completely wrong.  This was one of the most sophisticated audiences I had ever sat with.  The silence during the performance was profound, with the exception of the occasional cry of a young child (truly, a child’s occasional noise worries parents far more than it bothers concertgoers).  At the moment the first piece ended, the audience jumped to its feet and screamed their appreciation.  I had never seen anything like it!  I felt the most amazing feeling of community and belonging, knowing that this packed concert hall was the city’s way of giving the orchestra a much-needed hug after being booted from NYC.  This concert became more than audience listening to performers – as much as the audience loved and responded to the music, the orchestra loved and responded to the audience.  It was a jam session and everyone was invited.

Yannick broke a major “rule” and invited the audience to vote on what piece they would play next.  Like a game show, the audience cheered for the selection they wanted most.  I tell you, it could have been “The Price is Right”, with the screaming I heard.  While the orchestra played the winning piece, a young boy passionately conducted along with Yannick, in plain sight of both the maestro and the rest of the audience.  For some reason, this was completely acceptable and everybody seemed to love it.

Next, an unlikely conductor was brought up to conduct the orchestra – a ten-year-old girl.  (Isaiah 11:6)  She was very brave and very smart!  She was an instant hit with the audience and the orchestra – I had never seen such smiles on the players, and the audience helped her keep a steady tempo by clapping – again, not a tacky, drunken Oktoberfest sort of clapping, but instead, a reaction that was completely natural.  By this time I had discerned that my neighbors were both also big fans of the orchestra – and all three of us were happily breaking “the rules” by clapping, conducting in our seats.  We shared stories about performances we had heard, like old friends.  Never was this music amusing (literally, “non-thinking”); it fully engaged the soul.  Throughout the rest of the evening, I saw the players laugh out loud, make jokes at maestro Yannick, and simply be human, along with the rest of us mere mortals.

I am nearly ten years out of college now; back in school, it was so easy to hold onto high ideals and dreams.  Out of school, I have found the professional world much more brutal and rejecting than I had imagined.  But after this concert last Wednesday, my belief in music to cross human-imposed boundaries and bring a city together (especially in light of government shutdowns and the array of soul-crushing news that bombards us every single day) was renewed.

So how does this apply to our life of faith at St. Martin’s?  I sincerely hope that at every service, the music we make is in the same spirit of Wednesday’s Philadelphia Orchestra concert.  As much as the choir sings for those in the pews, I hope the people in the pews sing for the choir.  I hope that anyone who comes into our building feeling rejected, overwhelmed, burdened, hurt, or whatever, is healed by what we do – and not a “come to church, get a dose of religion” kind of healed – a healing that is a wake-up call to the soul, a reminder that indeed there is a force of good working in our world, and that people care and want to improve things.  Every person who walks in our doors should find relief from the world’s rigid expectations and seek who they were called to be.

Like the imaginary (well, mostly imaginary) “rules” of the concert hall, the world has a complete and complex system of rules that govern our lives.  What a horrible thing we humans do to ourselves and each other!  What are the rules that govern our worship services?  How are we perceived by those outside our community?  Which of these is right and good, and which are bad or a hindrance to our mission?  Like the Philadelphia Orchestra, we have a wealth of gifts to share, and to not share these gifts would indeed be a sin.

I also sincerely believe that we did just that this last Sunday – the musical gifts of the choirs, the nourishing gifts of those behind Wellspring, and the many other spiritual gifts of the congregation.  These, like the musical gifts of the orchestra, are something worth passing on – indeed, too good not to share!

- Erik Meyer

Threshold Anxiety

I am obsessed with doorways.  Thresholds consume my imagination.  What does it take to cross through a portal into a new experience, a new community, and new way of living?

Our front doors. Photo: Lucy Baber Photography

Long term church members forget the anxiety which grips newcomers and visitors when they approach the church door.  When that door is approached questions percolate as the pituitary sends a rush of endorphins to our brain.  What is waiting for me?  Will I be warmly greeted?  Will my space be respected?  Will I be gravely disappointed by the worship?  Will someone try to convert me or come on too strong?  Will I be ignored? 

If you are a gay, lesbian, or transgendered person, or a person of color in a predominately white church, the stakes are even more intense.  Is this community homophobic and hateful?  Will the words and the looks sting and hurt and raise my anger when I am looking for solace and connection to God?  Is the community racist and exclusionary in behavior and in culture?  Is my culture and my person respected here?

I call this response, threshold anxiety.  A focus of my ministry is to decrease this anxious experience as much as possible.  I want people to immediately feel welcome, acceptance, curiosity, and kindness when they enter our space.  We need to send clear signals that each person is a delight and an addition to the goodness of our community.  Why?  Because, however imperfectly, we represent a God who delights in all Her children and has room for all at Her table. 

Concretely, our buildings send signals.  Are there signs directing newcomers or is the building indecipherable and poorly lit.  The latter state of affairs sends a message that says, “We are not expecting you and we are not going to make life easy for you here.”  

Our buildings must communicate to all people that we are expecting their arrival and have a space in our web of relationships prepared for them.  For example, when we designed the rehab of the first floor of Hilary House, we chose a front door with a glass window in it.  Solid doors obscure what lies within.  Glass in a door sends a message of welcome and gives the reassurance that whatever is behind that door is accessible, open, and transparent.    Most shops – except those that wish to communicate exclusivity- have glass doors for exactly this reason.

I told you that I am obsessed with doors.

Over the next few years we will continue to work on our thresholds both physically and spiritually.  The vestry is working hard on the design and funding for an access ramp for people in wheelchairs, those who use walkers, and young families with strollers so the church will be more welcoming.   We will also make the door to the Parish House fully accessible and add glass to make it less foreboding and more embracing.  By the time we are done with this phase and the work at Hilary House about 65% of the facility will be fully accessible.  Not enough, but progress.

Spiritually we need to remember that the word “catholic” means “embracing.”  As a Church in the Anglican Catholic tradition we embrace God’s creation in every facet finding sparks of God’s light and grace wherever we go.  Thus, our buildings and our spirits must strive to be equally embracing.  We will continue to build on our Anti-Racism training (all the staff and the vestry attend this training!) so that we have the knowledge and skills to dismantle racism at St. Martin's and to work across significant divides of race without further aggravating the hurts and grievances of historic racism.  

Our mission statement says we exist to “Welcome All Seekers,”  and the good news is that we are receiving much positive feedback from newcomers who call us friendly, warm, and welcoming.  Our website, yet another modern threshold, is also telling, we are told, a welcoming story for families approaching us electronically.  May these words motivate us to be obsessed by thresholds and empathetic to all with the courage to cross.  Each newcomer is God’s delight and God’s gift.  Our spiritual work is to make room and make welcome.

- The Rev. Jarrett Kerbel