Dear People of Christ Church,
Congratulations on your bicentennial. Your ministry to each other and the City of Macon has now ripened and matured over two centuries. I imagine that Dr. C. Ambrose Baber and those who joined him in founding this congregation are looking on you with smiling eyes – as am I. Most of you will not know me now, but I was an assisting priest among you in the early 90s. I hold fond memories of some of you (those whom I knew back in the day) and of your ecclesial forbears.
Our first Sunday at Christ Church – I was there from New York to interview for the job – we sat in the pew of old Louisa McEachern. Not a good move. But Louisa became one of my closest friends as we met weekly. God rest her soul. Eleanor Bishop was a huge help to me, catechizing me in the ways of Macon, Georgia.
In those days, Orie Davis faithfully looked after facilities, which was no small task. The congregation was led by able wardens like Marion Gilbert, Peter Solomon IV, and others. Leadership mattered because vestry meetings could be contentious. The Church isn’t where we all smile, chit chat, and get along. It’s where we work through our differences and grow in the process. Good wardens help that happen.
Kice and Susan Stone and Don and Libby Johnson were some of the leaders calling Christ Church to do more and better ministry to Macon’s indigent population. The front burner issue was whether to fix up Jones Chapel, which had fallen into disrepair, so we could offer Weekend Lunch indoors instead of handing out sacks to people in the alley. It was done. Later my daughters, then teenagers, and I had many good conversations with the Church’s guests as we sat at table with them.
Lawson Kelly was eager to enrich the Sunday morning faith formation programs, so we brought in engaging speakers and ran two tracks most Sundays. But my personal favorite class happened mid-week. Angela Meadors of blessed memory asked me to offer a “Bible Study.” I did, but it wasn’t what they expected. We read and prayed lectio divina with the lectionary texts, then discussed what came to each of us through sacred imagination. The discussions were heartfelt and got more real than usually happens.
On Sunday mornings, I always got there early so I could pray. Then Oscar the sexton, Vic the rector, and our ortho-lectors, orthopedic physicians Kelly and Johnson, would arrive about 7:30. But one morning, they didn’t show up. It was 7:55 and I was solo. I looked in the nave. It was empty. I concluded there must be a national disaster I hadn’t heard about. What should one do in a disaster? The Eucharist insofar as possible. So I began the service, playing all parts. One can do the Eucharist solo up to the point where you stand behind the altar and say “The Lord be with you.” If no one says, “And also with you,” that’s as far as an Episcopal priest can go. (Roman priests can consecrate solo but we don’t do that. “Where two or three are gathered together . . . “) I had just said “The Lord be with you” when Oscar walked in and said, “Ya’ practicing?” Immediately, the truth dawned. It was time-change Sunday. A satori experience.
Confirmation classes were sometimes challenging but ultimately rewarding. I took the youth on a retreat at Camp Mikell one year. Jeff White and I bunked with the boys. Nancy White bunked with the girls. But I knew better than to sleep on duty. I kept one eye open. At 2 a.m., some boys stealthily crept out of the cabin. Some girls slipped out of their cabin as well. I tailed them doing surveillance like a tv detective. The boys and girls (some of you are still there) met in the Georgia moonlight and behaved just as appropriately as if they knew I was watching. Around 4 a.m. they stole back to their cabins for a few hours rest.
These little vignettes are part of your history. I share them because knowing our history helps us make sense of who we are. They are also snapshots of how you shaped me for ministry. I was sometimes cocky, oft-times clueless, but you treated me with forbearance and respect while I was learning priestcraft. For that, I will be forever grateful.
These are not easy times to be the Church. But Christ Church is not a fair weather friend to the wider community. Christ Church has been there through wars, the Depression, and Macon’s ups and downs. I’ve never been sure what your cannon is for, but I think it may represent resilience and the strength to fight the darker ideas and moods of secular society that drag people down, making them less than they were meant to be.
I congratulate you on having come this far and wish you every blessing as you pray and serve your way into the coming century of your life as the Body of Christ.
Blessings always,
+Dan Edwards
Bishop of Nevada (Retired)