I am indebted to the Rev’d Lawrence Hart as the inspiration for this “Final Thought For Grace”. After the last General Convention of the Episcopal Church, he was asked, “What are you going to do?” His answer helped to put my thoughts in order because I have been asked the same question several times in the past month.               
  
This was Fr. Hart’s answer:    

“I am, with God’s help, going to preach the word, celebrate the Eucharist, do my best to let all those I meet know I am for them, not against them, practice the peace of Christ rather than anger or anxiety, comfort the afflicted, bless the sick, forgive those who hurt me, trust God, and follow a 
rule of stability no matter what happens; and above all, make my home in Christ in whom all things cohere.”      
  
I pray this for myself as well and I will do my best to do these things with God’s help. They will never be perfectly done; however with God’s love, help and grace, my journey will continue.          

I will leave you in person but never in spirit. I have a meeting planned with the Diocesan Cannon to the Ordinary and we will discuss how and where I can continue my ministry here in San Diego. I expect I will not be too far away.           
             
You have read my agreement with Fr. Hart’s conclusion, “But the really important question (in response) from me is, “What will you do?” How will YOU live YOUR life to the best of your ability with God’s help?    
  
What will you do? 
 
God’s peace be with you,
Hugh+

Last week I stood in chaos: half-packed boxes, moving paper, shrink wrap and blankets everywhere, and nothing—absolutely nothing—where it was supposed to be.  A fierce ice storm hit my area the day my movers were scheduled to arrive, so I paced the house for 3 days waiting for the truck to get through. By the time the truck slid its way up my street, the movers were in a hurry to get back on schedule and I was frantic. What ensued was chaos.  
  
Up to then, I had  thought I was fairly organized and calm about this huge change—leaving my home of 33 years, sorting and organizing things, saying goodbye to precious friends and places, and  looking forward to a new call, a new adventure, a new life in San Diego.  But suddenly, watching all I owned hefted by strangers into boxes, I was swept with a sharp sense of desolation.  I called a friend and said, “Tell me it’s normal to be feeling a little crazy right now.” She said, “It is perfectly normal.” After all, everything I possessed was being entrusted to people I didn’t know, to a process over which I felt little control.
 
The transformation from then to now is remarkable. Since that moment, all my things have been loaded and taken, and I have driven across the beautiful, stark, simple desert to my new home. 
It’s empty for now, awaiting the arrival of the truck, and I have resolved to be careful about what I take into my home going forward. 
  
And I’ve forgiven myself for being a little nuts. I realize now that all those things we packed up weren’t just knick knacks and furniture but all my stories and the stories of my daughters and our life in Fort Worth, Texas. Everything has a meaning –even the “junk” that I don’t really want has a 
story—maybe a dumb one, but a story nonetheless. And all these stories are little “tugs” on my spirit, encumbering me—threads that weave my larger story into a whole picture that may not be a work of art, but is still mine.
 
This is the basis of the spiritual discipline of simplicity, what Quakers call a seeking after a lack of “cumber.” Clarity and freedom and calm come from letting go of all those tiny “tugs” that are polluting our spirits. Learning to live with fewer possessions and a simpler spirit opens up more space for what is precious and beautiful.  We learn to treasure what is truly meaningful and let go of what is not. Suddenly, the incarnation in a stable makes so much more sense, the coming of
God in quiet and simplicity seems fitting and right. There is a stark beauty to it, in contrast to the busyness and chaos of our culture at this time of year. It’s like a quiet drive across a moonlit desert, leading us to a new life.

May God’s simplicity overtake your life this Christmas season; and may you know and enjoy this simplicity of “Emanuel”, God with us.

Mother ClayOla

We have served God together for the last 18 months. Where has the time gone? Can we count the blessings we have shared over this time?          
 
I am somewhat helped by my belief that, in Christ, all is new. As I write this, I realize that I am already feeling the grief that will become deeper as our time together shortens. I will miss you. 
I take comfort in the fact that I will stay through the month of December and complete the transition with Mother ClayOla and you. 

I know that you will be as welcoming, caring and loving to your new Priest-In-Charge as you have been to me. The Grace family will always be a wonderful model of hospitality for me. We have shared our lives, our fears, our concerns. We have worshipped together.  
          
I was in God’s hands when I came here. I got to know you, to counsel you, to pastor you, to serve you, and to serve God. I got to share meals in your homes and at God’s table, and in that we have laughed a lot. As I reflect on all this, I know that I will again be in God’s hands over these next weeks as I leave you.           
 
Wyatt, Marcus, Furball the cat, Rebecca and I, we pray, will continue in God’s service wherever that will be.             
 
A friend once said, in response to my comments about change, “Just keep on doing what you have been doing.” She is right. “Keep on being who you are.” 
    
So I say that to you, “Keep on being Grace.” Welcome and serve with your new Priest-In-Charge. Give her, maybe, the benefit of the doubt, if needed. Give her the chance to be part of the Grace journey, just as you have me. 
 
God bless you all. I love you all.  In Christ’s name,

Hugh+