As a 2nd-generation American of Igorot-Filipino and Chinese ancestry, there are a few cultural traditions I grew up practicing that I know are unfamiliar to most American households. One of these cherished practices has to do with pouring tea.

Growing up, my family would visit my maternal grandfather once a month for dim sum in Los Angeles’ Chinatown. At the start of every meal, as soon as the servers set down the customary tea pot and cups, my mother would pour us each a cup of tea, starting with my grandfather. Then, my mother would effortlessly monitor our cups and pour as necessary to keep our cups consistently full for the rest of the meal (it’s poor form to let a cup become empty), even while keeping up the conversation in between bites of siu mai and chicken feet.

In Chinese culture, it’s customary for the youngest in the family to pour tea for their elders as a sign of respect. As I am the younger sibling in my family, that role became mine to perform once I was old enough to responsibly lift a teapot. To my chagrin, the task of keeping everyone’s tea cups full while also trying to eat was not as effortless as my mother made it seem. Everyone sipped at different speeds, or I would be asked a question just as someone else took a big gulp of tea. It turns out, it’s hard to keep an eye on what everyone else at the table needs while also trying to be conversational and feed yourself (while using chopsticks, at that).

Early on, I had to be prompted more than once to attend to a neglected, empty cup. Eventually, though, I developed an acute sense for noticing who had taken how many sips of tea, and an ease of scanning the table through my peripheral vision for half-empty cups. Excluding the many times I’d accidentally spill tea on the table cloth or on a plate of steamed BBQ pork buns, the practice of keeping my family’s cups full became seamless – albeit, still not as graceful as my mother.

Last week, I was reminded of this tea-pouring custom when I traveled to Portland to attend a retreat for Asian American Pacific Islander (AAPI) Leaders in The Episcopal Church. Almost 50 AAPI leaders from diverse ethnic backgrounds, experiences and ministry contexts gathered in community, including three others from our diocese: Phal Chourp from St. David’s, Mae Chao from Holy Cross & St. Brigid’s, and Jen Jow from St. Paul’s Cathedral. We cultivated community and fostered relationships through worship, shared meals, storytelling and facilitated learning, and exploring the sites and delights of downtown Portland. Our time together was woven around a central thread: “What are the gifts we bring, not in spite of, but BECAUSE we are Asian Pacific Islander Americans?”

The chance to reflect on this question with my fellow AAPI siblings-in-Christ was a gift in itself. Although I was lucky enough to grow up in a community full of people from a similar background as myself and my family, as a leader in the Episcopal Church, spaces to reflect on my leadership skills in light of my cultural background are few and far between. Spaces to speak candidly about the tensions between my cultural background and those of our predominant culture with people navigating those same tensions are even fewer still.

Before we began to consider our gifts, we were given the important chance to lament. For me, the lament came from the times I felt I had to assimilate away from some of my cultural gifts, or shave off parts of myself in order to fit into some notion of leadership or giftedness for a culture I was not born into, and for an identity God did not create me to embody.

When it came time to name the gifts of being an Asian American or Pacific Islander, some came to me easily. The gift of strength came from my Igorot ancestors – warriors who resisted Spanish colonization. The gift of adaptability (my top Clifton strength) came from my parents and family members who chose to evolve in order for future generations to survive and thrive.

The last evening of the retreat, we gathered at a Chinese restaurant, Kung Pow, for our final meal together. After my table ordered and were served a pot of jasmine tea, I found myself naturally scanning the table for half-full cups, and taking mental notes of who around me had sipped their tea and might need refilling. I ended up laughing with a friend – also of Chinese heritage and familiar with tea-pouring responsibilities – at our shared inability to not pay attention to how full or empty our table mates’ cups were. I ended dinner wishing that this practice that was now so instinctual and embedded in my body, could be put to use at other times, beyond sitting at a table in a Chinese restaurant.

The next day, as I sat in an airport waiting for my flight back home, I remembered a group conversation that I facilitated within the last year, and a nice note I received afterwards from a participant. She complimented me on my sensitivity to group dynamics and tending to those more reserved voices who seemed to want to speak but needed more invitation, especially in an environment when some shared more quickly and freely. I realized that reading the room as a facilitator is a lot like trying to keep everyone’s tea cups full. Both require paying attention to the various rhythms of who sips (or speaks) more or less frequently. Both require paying attention to the different needs and dynamics of everything going on at the (proverbial) table, beyond just myself, and responding accordingly.

In our society, it’s so easy to hear and absorb both explicit and implicit messaging telling us which gifts we should cultivate in order to be effective leaders. Further, we may hear that only those trainings or experiences that are accredited, or those which we receive a certificate for are the only avenues through which we can nurture those gifts. While accredited, certified trainings and experiences are certainly important and are accredited and certified for good reason, we sell ourselves short – and we sell God short – when we fail to recognize the gifts granted to us through our particular cultures and God-given heritages, ancestries and experiences.

That all being said, I know from experience that realizing one’s gifts can be difficult, particularly when they may be gifts formed outside of or divergent from the dominant culture, and particularly when a person is trying to name those gifts on their own. If this sounds like you, here are some things you might try:

• Talk to your clergy or other pastoral leadership. Most (if not all) clergy love talking about spiritual gifts!
• Connect with others of a similar cultural heritage or context as you for group reflection and conversation. Together, reflect on any traditional practices or customs that feel life-giving and/or that have become a part of you. What values are rooted in these practices or customs that have equipped you to help build up the Body of Christ? i.e., are these practices rooted in joy, generosity, hospitality, healing, or, like in pouring tea, noticing others needs beyond your own? If you might need help connecting with others of your heritage and context, feel free to email me at rambasing@edsd.org.
• During our diocese’s Year of Leadership, we’ll begin co-creating spaces specifically for people of color and those of ethnic backgrounds to gather in community. One of our hopes is that these spaces will serve as a safe space for story-sharing, discernment, and support. If this sounds like something you’d be interested in, just send me a message.

In the meantime, cheers (with my perfectly-poured cup of tea) to realizing your own unique cultural gifts.

When I watched a blank piece of photography paper settle into the “developer solution,” a ghost-like image started to appear, becoming more solid and complete until my friend plucked it from the bin and dropped it in the “fix solution” to secure the image to the paper and stop the reaction–I was hooked. From nothing–something.

Nearly 30 years later, I have taken thousands of church-related photos that tell a story of gentle healing, prayerful presence, and the magnetic joy of the church in action. Photographs are not just pictures; they are profound storytellers and emotional messengers. Nowhere is this more impactful and meaningful than in the sacred spaces of our churches. Through photography, we can capture the spirit of the community, the sanctity of worship, and the vibrant life of faith of our church.

Good photographs can evoke feelings of awe and reverence–they are a bridge, connecting those within the church community and reaching out to those who might be looking for a spiritual home. Offering examples of solace, celebrating joyous occasions, and fostering a sense of belonging is especially important in a world where digital presence enhances or even substitutes physical presence. 

We are excited to announce the Church Photography 101 workshop, scheduled for May 18th, from 9 AM to 3 PM at St. Paul’s Cathedral. Whether you are a photographer keen on using your cellphone more effectively or an experienced photographer looking to refine your skills, this workshop is designed for you.

Led by the talented Diocesan Photographer Susan Forsburg, Director of Communications Chris Tumilty, and Missioner for Community Vitality and Diversity Rachel Ambasing, the workshop aims to explore the art of capturing the beauty and joy of church life. These expert instructors bring a wealth of knowledge and a deep passion for both photography and the church community.

Participants will learn about essential photography principles such as the exposure triangle—understanding how aperture, shutter speed, and ISO work together to create the perfect shot. The rule of thirds, a powerful compositional technique, will be another focus area, helping attendees learn how to create more engaging and balanced photos.

The workshop is designed to be hands-on. It’s not just about listening and learning; it’s about doing. Participants will have the opportunity to take their own photographs during the event, which will then be reviewed in a supportive group setting. 

An important aspect of church photography that will be covered during the workshop is the appropriate use of photos. Understanding what images are suitable for sharing and how they can be used respectfully and effectively to communicate the life and work of Jesus Christ at your church is crucial. Photos are a powerful tool, but they must be used wisely, especially in a context as intimate as a church environment.

The ultimate goal of good church photography is to effectively share the story of your church through images–showcasing the life and work of Jesus Christ as lived out by our communities in vibrant color (…or in black and white). Photographs can highlight worship services, community activities, outreach efforts, and the everyday moments that make up the life of our church. By sharing these images, we invite others into our community, offering them a glimpse of the fellowship and divine love that define our congregations.

Join us at the Church Photography 101 workshop to learn how you can contribute to this essential ministry and help share the powerful story of faith, hope, and love that your church embodies. Register for Church Photography 101 here.

In 2007 I stood by the water towers above the remains of what had been our summer cabins. Looking down through the smoke and ash, I took a deep breath and let out a sigh of exhaustion. It had been 48 hours of no sleep and intense worry.

It took me a moment to realize standing next to me was a firefighter. She was taller than me, broad, and loaded with a Sparta Prague – Aberdeen substantial equipment belt. She was covered head to toe in soot. I didn’t expect to see tears on her face. I reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder- I asked if she was okay.

She shared her story- that she had grown up in foster care and, as a middle schooler, her case worker had partnered with Camp Stevens to send kids to summer camp. Her time at Camp Stevens was her first time in an outdoor environment, and, while she had to get used to spiders and sunscreen, she fell in love with the wild. She recalled cooking over a fire, getting poison oak,  listening to the Lorax before bed, feeling scared of owls, and counting stars with her new friends. At camp, she figured herself out, she could breathe deeply, and she felt like she belonged- even when it was hard.

Upon returning from camp, she shared that her life got complicated, and she lost herself, resulting in prison time as a young adult. The impact of her camp experience never left her, so she chose to train in the inmate wildland firefighting program. She had been out of prison for several years now working full time with Cal Fire. “Thank you,“ she said, “for giving me a  lifeline back to myself.” We hugged and we cried, our spirits strengthened through the sacred connection of camp, of resilience, of life.

In a post-Covid, tech-captivated, socially polarized world, these sacred connections and transformative experiences are more important than ever. Camp Stevens offers a space where people are the priority. We strive to foster a community that encourages participation- not perfection, authenticity- not assimilation, and faith exploration- not religious exclusion. While relationship building remains a constant at camp, living our Episcopal values galvanize our commitment to diversity, equity, and inclusion. Our work shows up in how we compensate and train staff, how we prioritize our resources, and how we take responsibility for improving access and belonging for our campers.

The two current primary equity initiatives include the employee equity grants and our campership program. The employee equity grants address the pay gap between what our employees can make at a minimum wage summer job at home versus a week of summer camp. These grants are available to staff who identify as BIPoC, LGBTQIA2S+, disabled, economically vulnerable, or other groups of marginalized people. Over the past two summers, we have disbursed almost $15,000, supporting over 30 staff. In 2023, over $100,000 was raised for camperships, providing financial support for over 50% of our campers- just like that firefighter. Camperships support individuals and partnerships including our partnerships with Refugee Net and the Hemet School District Foster program.

Recently, I hiked my dogs up to those same water towers. I looked down remembering the conversation with the firefighter; I observed the replacement construction and the 10,000 trees we planted. It was striking to recall the changes we navigated in response to the fire and the pandemic. These challenges taught us that sacred connection is about people and relationships and meeting the moment. We do this by prioritizing our shared Episcopal mission and values. We welcome you! Join us for summer camp,  family camp, or retreats. Support our ongoing, year-round work and DEI initiatives. Strengthen and expand the sacred connections we share as an Episcopal community by staying in touch and adding your own part to the Camp Stevens Story.

I stepped onto my yoga mat and found a little treasure beside my crystals. Max must have given it to me as a gift, and while he can’t articulate his gesture, I know exactly what trains mean to him. The timing couldn’t be better, with April being World Autism Acceptance Month. As a mother and advocate of children on the Autism spectrum, this little train means the world to me.

Max knows when spaces are welcoming and sacred. His trains are magical, like my crystals. Both are fascinating because of their dynamic energy, color patterns or routes, function, and purpose (like Thomas the Tank Engine). They each bring a sense of peace to their collector as they appreciate every nuance with meticulous detail of something they love.

This little train is a reminder of how autism has been the ride of my life. My journey has been anything but peaceful as I’ve fought tirelessly against stereotypes and misconceptions about autism. Finding a friend or a mental health provider who accurately reflects our experiences has been the greatest challenge.

The challenges and risks associated with Autism are magnified when someone lacks support and understanding. Such challenges can lead to higher risks for accidents, self-harm, addiction, physical and sexual abuse, eating disorders, low self-esteem, and misdiagnosis (to name a few).

The barriers that people with Autism face are rarely seen or understood. This can lead them to dissociate, isolate, and become self-critical, anxious, and depressed. While it’s a challenge for all neurodivergent people to adapt to a neurotypical society, it’s demoralizing to wear a masks to fit in. Next to hyper-fixations, nothing brings greater solace to neurodivergent individuals than shedding these masks and being seen and accepted for who they truly are.

Our ABA therapist recently created a character to help Max self-regulate, called “Professor Kitty.” He helps Max focus on something other than his anxiety when he’s feeling disregulated. He takes the pressure off of demands by showing Max how to do hard things. We have laminated pictures of Professor Kitty going potty, taking a bath, going to school, and calmly sitting at the dinner table. I realized this week that Jesus is a lot like Professor Kitty. He empowers me through life’s seasons and helps me build tolerance for change.

This little train on my yoga mat is a token of gratitude from a little boy who is seen, loved, and accepted, just as I am by Jesus through my church community. Like Professor Kitty, this little train reminds me to embrace chance and create safe and sacred spaces for all. It’s a reminder as we learn how to grow together and worship in our communities, to celebrate our differences and advocate for those who are marginalized.

I’m excited to announce St. Brigid’s first neurodivergent church service! It will have a Professor Kitty-meets-Jesus vibe, where all individuals feel accepted, included, supported, respected, and accommodated. We invite you to join us and to search for more inclusive and equitable ways to worship. Happy Autism Acceptance Month! May it encourage us to embrace neurodiversity and promote inclusion, like the exemplary Professor Kitty and Jesus.

For more information about St. Brigid’s or their neurodivergent church service, please email Rev. Brian Peterson at stbrigidsoside@gmail.com.

In our ongoing commitment to embody the principles of justice, reconciliation, and love, the Episcopal Diocese of San Diego has made a conscious decision to incorporate anti-racism training as a foundational requirement for obtaining certain leadership licenses. Among the various programs available, EDSD has named Localized Anti-Racism Knowledge (LARK) workshop as the preferred training for our leaders. Here’s why:

At baptism, we are all invited into a shared ministry of spreading the Good News of Jesus Christ with the world. Some areas of ministry require greater care. Eucharistic Visitors, Lay Preachers, Lay Evangelists, and Lay Catechists, all come into close relationships with others under the authority of the church. In order for all of our work to be respectful, safe, and caring, the Constitution and Canons of the Episcopal Church, and our own Diocesan guidelines require that those lay ministers be licensed. Anti-racism training is an important part of the lay licensing process. 

Bishop Susan Brown Snook said, “LARK is the anti-racism training I would prefer our members complete. Its localized focus gives insight into our region’s historical hurts, revealing current opportunities for healing in our communities.”

Unlike other anti-racism trainings, LARK is meticulously designed to reflect the specific populations, histories, and issues of our diocese, making it highly relevant and effective for our community. Going beyond the surface, LARK encourages participants to engage with stories of our local racial and ethnic groups, explore the legacies of regional leaders of color, and confront systemic injustices within our context. By doing so, LARK fosters a profound understanding and empathy that are crucial for leaders guiding individuals toward Christ.

Mae Chao and Thérèse Carmona, LARK co-creators, said, “LARK is different from other anti-racism programs in that it focuses on local stories about racial and ethnic groups within the EDSD geographical area. Beyond listening to these stories, LARK asks its participants to reflect on their baptismal promise to ‘strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being’ (BCP, 305). It does this by examining instances of local racism and by guiding participants to develop concrete action steps to join marginalized communities in changing unjust societal systems right here within our diocesan region.”

People of color expressed feeling affirmed and seen by the inclusion of stories only told amongst their ethnic circles or local neighborhoods. They were also grateful to hear the stories they had not yet known of other ethnic communities. These people felt challenged by the proximity of the issues and stories, feeling more urgency to take action.

“LARK will impel you to feel deeply about our local circumstances. It will introduce you to people and events that bring tears to your eyes and smiles to your face. It will challenge you to look beyond yourself and step out of your comfort zone. LARK will prompt you to grieve the injustices and inequities of this place we call home, and it will invite you to celebrate stories of hope, justice, and love,” said Carmona.

It’s not just about awareness; it’s about action. Leaders who participate in LARK are better prepared to engage in meaningful dialogue, inspire change, and contribute to the healing and unity of our community.

In the Episcopal Diocese of San Diego, LARK is increasing awareness and cultural sensitivity–transcending the limitations of a monolithic “single story” and embracing the rich narratives of various ethnic and racial groups. This awareness encourages more critical thinking about the systems and structures that perpetuate racial inequity–prompting a shift to a more profound commitment to embodied solidarity. 

Moreover, LARK provides a unique space for individuals from diverse congregations to come together, fostering collaboration and discerning actionable next steps toward dismantling systemic racism. 

The Catechism in The Book of Common Prayer asks, ‘Who are the ministers of the Church?’ The answer is, “The ministers of the Church are lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons.” As lay people, we are all called to “represent Christ and his Church, to bear witness to him wherever we may be, and, according to the gifts given to us, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world and to take our place in the life, worship, and governance of the Church.” (BCP, 855). 

If you recognize your call to serve your community in a greater capacity and expand on your gifts in a constructive way, LARK is a perfect starting place. Join the next LARK offering, hosted by St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church in National City, on May 2-3. Register today to join this season’s LARK training.

Where do you find God?

This is a question we ask on the Faith to Go podcast each week. It is an opportunity to reflect on the week that has passed and consider the places where we felt God’s presence or sometimes felt its absence in our lives—a consolation or a desolation. We ask it when we have guests on the show and encourage listeners to reflect on it at home. Quite often, the responses include a reflection on being out in nature.

God’s creation is a place where it is easier to quiet our churning thoughts and listen to the wind, the birds, a stream that flows nearby – to be present to the presence of God.

This April 27th, you are invited to step away from the business of life and step onto a trail, a Sacred Trail. In partnership with the Creation Care Community, The Episcopal Diocese of San Diego has four hikes heading out that day. They are in different regions, at different times, and with varying degrees of difficulty. There just might be something for everyone. All of them include a prayer practice; several include a Eucharist.

Choosing to tread lightly on these Sacred Trails is a way to recenter yourself, to set time apart to experience God in God’s glory. It is also an opportunity to share that experience with those you hold most dear, including those who aren’t connected to the Episcopal Church. It can feel daunting to accept an invitation to church, a place where you may not know the prayers or the liturgy or understand the Episcopal words that we use to describe our buildings and the location of coffee hour.

It is much easier to access words like dirt and breeze, mountain and valley, wildflower and cactus – words that paint vivid pictures and bring familiar memories. A natural step in deepening your own discipleship and strengthening your evangelism muscle.

Consider this my personal invitation—an opportunity to answer the question, “Where have you seen God this week?” with a renewed spirit.

An opportunity to walk on Sacred Trails.

Click here to register for Sacred Trails!

Join us on April 27th:

• 8:30 A.M. Iron Mountain, Poway – Difficulty Moderate/Hard – Distance 6 miles – Hike Leader: The Reverend Hannah Wilder
• 9:00 A.M. Mission Trails Regional Park, Oak Canyon to Grasslands Trail – Difficulty Moderate – Distance 4 miles – Hike Leader: Charlette Preslar
• 11:00 A.M. Guagome Regional Park, Oceanside – Difficulty Easy – Distance under 3 miles – Hike Leader: The Reverend Brian Peterson
• 2:30 P.M. San Dieguito County Park in Solana Beach/Del Mar – Difficulty Easy – Distance under 3 miles – Walk Leader: The Reverend Brynn Craffey

How do you get ready for Easter? Do you get dressed in beautiful colors, hunt for eggs, send pastel cards with sweet poems to faraway family members? Do you buy chocolate bunnies, plan a nice dinner, set the table with a pastel-colored tablecloth? These are the things we do these days, knowing that Easter is coming. But what is Easter like if you don’t know it’s coming, if you don’t have time to prepare? What if you are one of the women who watched Jesus die, waking in darkness, eyes swollen and red from crying, getting up and slipping through dark streets to go to the tomb of the one you have loved and followed for so long? If you don’t know about Easter, then it is not a festival of pastel colors. Instead, Easter begins in darkness and disappointment.

And we have to admit that we humans have all known darkness and disappointment. We have grieved the loss of someone dear to us; we have watched in anguish as a loved one has made destructive choices; we have agonized over our own mistakes. We look at the world around us and the list of things to worry about and pray for grows longer with every news cycle. We see people on the streets without homes, we watch migrants and refugees search for safety, we experience a world full of violence and division. Disappointment, fear, and danger are a part of human life.

As Jesus’ followers woke that Sunday morning and dressed and went out to slip through dark city streets just coming to life, they knew the life they had built with their Master was gone. The hopes, dreams, vision of a new way to live, a new way to love – all of that was over. The world was back to normal: heartbreaking, infuriating, devastating normal. The kind of normal that knows life is ruled by death, the end of every story.

But Easter is a new story, a new, astounding truth. Death cannot hold the Son of God down; death has given way to life. Not springtime and bunnies and flowers, not life that springs naturally out of earth; not the kind of life you wear pastel colors for as you celebrate a nice spring holiday. Not any kind of life we understand, but life that contradicts the most fundamental thing we know – that life always ends in death. This resurrection life of Jesus says that the Good Fridays of the world are never the end of the story. Evil does not have last word, death does not write the last chapter. God has the last word, and because that Word is Jesus, alive then as he will be for eternity, we know that all Jesus’ promises to us are true: the glorious promise that God will be with us always, to the end of the ages; the joyful promise of abundant life for us and for God’s whole creation; the radiant promise that you and I are forgiven and restored as children of God. God sends us out from the darkness of the tomb to tell God’s story, and to share Christ’s love, bringing new hope to all those who suffer as we serve them in Christ’s name. The hope Jesus brings is hope for the world, that the followers of Jesus may transform all the places of disappointment, fear, and danger with his astounding love. The Lord is Risen, and Jesus Christ is loose, and the world today is new, so we say: Alleluia! Christ is risen!

As we enter Holy Week this year, I find myself overwhelmed with the world around us. Our country is shrouded in intense political animosity. A migrant and refugee problem is upon us, with a scale of need so big it sometimes seems to blot out compassion and the ability to see the human frailty of others. Wars rage across the globe with profound human tragedy and suffering.

In the midst of the chaos, we enter the holiest time of year for Christians: Holy Week.

The collect that starts us out on Palm Sunday reads: “Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.”

Suffering is acknowledged this week; the liturgy acknowledges that everything is not okay.

There is something about suffering that is hard to put faith around. I remember being in seminary and shocked to hear of some Christian traditions for whom suffering is such a taboo topic that they removed the cross at the front of the church and replaced it with a teddy bear. Their point of view, I imagine, was something akin to what we might call ‘toxic positivity,’ an avoidance of facing suffering; and the cross too large a reminder that everything is not always ok.

And to be sure, opposite to the tendency of avoiding suffering, there can be a tendency to focus only on the horrors of the world: do you remember some of the controversial movies about Jesus in the past 20 years—movies that try and depict Jesus’ suffering with graphic detail and in prolonged scenes designed to instill guilt or feelings of worthlessness?

I don’t need anyone’s help to feel guilty or insufficient. I don’t imagine you do either.

One meaningful aspect of Holy Week is that our liturgy takes neither of these dualistic positions on suffering. And let’s face it—suffering is where our faith meets reality in most cases. I was a hospital chaplain for a number of years, a job that exists because suffering can tear the curtains back on beliefs that we build up in happy times, making us ask if the things we believe are true when things get hard.

No, Holy Week has a different view of suffering and our relationship to it, one that refuses to be compartmentalized into easy categories of “something to be avoided” and “a duty to suffer because Jesus did.”

Instead, this is the week that we see humanity at its essence: and that suffering is an unavoidable part of this human experience. We shout hosannas and have great joy. But then a moment later, we cry, “Crucify!” and realize that we really are not able, for whatever reason, to stay in the Hosanna moment forever. We both have joy and participate in pain.

Similarly, on Maundy Thursday, we gather, celebrate a meal together, and then perform one of the most intimate rituals in the church—washing each other’s feet. These are moments of real tenderness–moments when we face and acknowledge the humanity in each other, honoring the commandment to love one another. And yet, we close the service by reading Psalm 22 and facing the fact that even Jesus endured persecution and suffering.

On Good Friday, we sit for a time in the realization that the death of Jesus was no fluke: despite being capable of moments of great humanity, we are faced with the suffering that also exists in this world, and the toll it takes on Jesus, on us, and on all of creation.

It’s so easy to want to believe that Jesus came to take our suffering away. The disciples expected a messiah who would do just that.

But that is not what they got.

The end of the story is not that everything was rosy because Jesus had risen, although that is very good news!

No, the story we have is instead that Jesus came not to eliminate suffering but to transform it. The same cross at the center of suffering this week is also the sign of God’s hopeful and transformative love—a love that draws us not around but through the darkness and towards the light. May this Easter—and Holy Week—be a source of enriched faith for each of us and the world we live in, no matter how dark the night.

In January, San Diego experienced a winter storm that dropped more than three inches of rain across the county in just a few hours. For some parts of the country, this may not seem like much rain, but for a dry region such as ours, the result was devastating in some San Diego communities. Not only was the San Diego River flowing at heights rarely seen, Chollas Creek–the urban creek that flows from Lemon Grove to Barrio Logan–overflowed and flooded several neighborhoods, displacing more than a thousand residents. Approximately .7% of San Diego County property owners have flood insurance, leaving the over 500 households impacted with less support to recover from the damage.

In the tenth chapter of Luke’s Gospel, Jesus is asked what must be done to secure eternal life. He encourages the individual asking this to love God with every fiber of their being and care for their neighbor. Jesus’s response is followed by another question, “Who is my neighbor?” The answer comes to us a parable popularized as the “Good Samaritan.” He tells the story of a Samaritan who sees a man wounded on the side of the road. The Samaritan comes to the wounded man’s aid, takes him to safety, and pays for his rest and recuperation. This, Jesus says, is the definition of one who loves their neighbor.

Love of neighbor does not look away from the pain of the world when others do. This kind of love comes near to the pain to understand what sacrifice is required to heal such pain. This kind of love was demonstrated last January. Through collaborative efforts with neighboring congregations, EDSD was able to extend assistance to six households residing in the South Bay neighborhoods of San Diego. Recent immigrants and long-standing residents alike were impacted by the storm and assisted by the aid you offered. Whether these funds were utilized to reconstruct damaged homes or relocate displaced families, your generosity was a tangible manifestation of God’s love for a few neighbors who genuinely needed it.

We extend our deepest gratitude to the two congregations, 18 donors, and one partner diocese who helped us accomplish this work. As we continue to navigate the aftermath of this disaster and work towards rebuilding and healing, the generosity we witnessed is a testament to the power of collective action within our diocese. When we join together, pooling our resources and talents, the magnitude of what we can achieve expands. While EDSD may not be as large or well-resourced as other institutions involved in the recovery, the swift and compassionate response to the crisis reflects the strength and courage of our diocesan family.

Serving our neighbors is a central component of the Courageous Love campaign. Through the Courageous Love fund, we will continue to strengthen the work conducted by local congregations to meet the needs of their neighborhoods. This is not only how we honor God but how we give witness to God’s goodness in our communities. Together, we will provide affordable housing, care for the unhoused, provide food security, support immigrants, and continue alleviating suffering in our neighborhoods. If you would like to support such efforts, become a Courageous Love donor. If you would like to discuss your gift, contact me at jevans@edsd.org or (619) 481-5451.

The leader of a church is the priest, right? Yes and no. At the heart of the Episcopal Church’s identity is a governance structure that blends hierarchy with democracy, tradition with modernity, and clerical authority with lay participation. At the local church level, this structure is a testament to the empowerment of laypeople and illustrates a profound respect for the authority of all believers. 

Leadership and ministry come in many forms.  

At the forefront of church leadership is the priest-in-charge, who serves as the primary spiritual leader. The priest-in-charge embodies the theological and sacramental heart of the church and is tasked with the pastoral care, worship, and overall spiritual guidance of the congregation. This position, however, is not one of solitary authority but rather the intersection of a broader governance structure that involves significant lay participation.

Central to the governance of the local Episcopal church is the vestry (also called the Bishop’s Committee, in some contexts), a body that represents the laity of the church. Elected by congregants at the annual meeting, the vestry works in close collaboration with the priest-in-charge to steward the church’s resources, oversee its finances, maintain the property, and support the church’s mission and ministry. 

The vestry typically includes a senior warden (sometimes called the Bishop’s warden), junior warden, treasurer, and secretary, ensuring that a diverse array of perspectives and talents contribute to the church’s decision-making processes. The election of vestry members is an expression of the congregation’s trust and an acknowledgment of the critical role lay members play in the church’s mission.

In 2018, as priest-in-charge at Grace Episcopal Church in San Marcos, the Rev. Canon Gwynn Lynch worked with the vestry to outline the responsibilities of the priest-in-charge, the vestry, and the congregation. They established a Mutual Ministry Agreement that laid out expectations– things you’d probably expect – the priest does the preaching, the vestry takes care of the property, and the congregation steps forward for outreach and service. 

But there were some things you might not have thought of: The priest keeps the congregation in touch with the Diocese and the broader church, the vestry is the source of historical knowledge, and the congregation prays for the bishop, the clergy, and the vestry. All have a part to play.

The success of a church relies on a collaborative effort of the clergy, the vestry, and the congregation. This spirit of teamwork and shared commitment is exemplified in the annual meeting, where the whole church community comes together to reflect on achievements, make decisions, and set goals for the future.

Participating in the annual meeting is a vital component of church. It offers a forum for transparency, accountability, and member involvement. Here, congregants receive reports on the state of the church, elect vestry members, and discuss important issues. It is an example of our shared purpose and empowers the congregation to shape the direction and priorities of their church.

Churches do not operate in isolation but are integral parts of the larger diocesan structures of the Episcopal Church. This broader engagement ensures that local churches contribute to and benefit from the collective resources, wisdom, and mission of the church at large. Through financial support, participation in the Diocesan Convention, and adherence to diocesan canons, local churches are connected to the broader, international Episcopal Church, enhancing their ability to serve their congregations and communities.

While the governance structure of the local Episcopal church is designed to be inclusive and democratic, it is not without its challenges. However, these challenges also present opportunities for growth and renewal. Engaged, meaningful lay participation is necessary to maintain a clear and healthy path toward the church’s mission.

The leadership and governance structure of the local Episcopal church is just that–leadership and governance. The church exists to share the love of Christ in the world, and this system of governance is designed to aid in that effort. By empowering lay people to take on significant roles in church governance, the Episcopal Church affirms its commitment to all, ensuring that its mission and ministry are grounded in the collective wisdom and dedication of its entire community.

To learn more about church governance, whose voice is heard in the church, or about how you can develop as a leader in the church, click the article links above or email Rev. Canon Gwynn Lynch at glynch@edsd.org.