When Love Shows Up: Weekly Reflections about God’s Presence

Rector’s Blog, Nourished by Training - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

I was talking to a friend recently who is a pilot, and he told me that 30% of his flight training focused on emergency landing and crashing. For all the complexity of plane mechanics, navigation, the physics of flight, and the proper technique for taking off and landing, a full third of the lessons are devoted to catastrophic events.
And that makes sense. If you're sending someone up in the air, you don't just want them to know how things work when everything is going well, you want them to have a clear picture of what it looks like when things go wrong, so they can handle the stress of the situation. I had heard about this emergency preparedness for pilots before, funny enough, in a book about churches navigating tumultuous and changing times. The author had been having a similar conversation with a flight instructor and had asked why so much time was dedicated to emergency situations. The instructor responded, we tend to believe that in high pressure situations people have a tendency to rise to the occasion - but in reality, in moments of crisis, people revert to their training.
That really knocked me over. When the chips are down, people don't tend to become superhuman. We tend to be ourselves. This is not a negative judgment of people, just an observation. I myself like to imagine how I would respond in an emergency. I have very little interest, however, in training for an emergency.

Rector’s Blog, Nourished by Giving - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

I could drop a loaf of bread off on your doorstep and ring your doorbell, and see you smile through a window, or from a bit of a distance and we could have little awkward conversations that meant I love you even when we didn't say it.
My job is to facilitate a community that is founded on love. And most of the ways we knew how to share that love were just gone for a devastating amount of time. We are nourished by love and for a time there, many of us felt like we were starving.
I began to pray while mixing the dough together. I would say a prayer for the specific people for whom I delivered the bread. I would think of them as I removed the lid from the piping hot Dutch oven and saw how the bread had risen. I did not wait around to watch them eat it; I did not sit by my phone waiting for thank you texts. I'm not saying I didn't care if they liked it or not. I always hoped they did of course. But I was not fed by gratitude. I was nourished by the giving.
The feeling of being able to do something for someone else is deeply fulfilling, and that is no accident. It is built into us.

Rector’s Blog, Nourished by Community - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

A few weeks ago, a woman from out of state was visiting her daughter here in Cincinnati and they both came to church. It was very obviously the mom's idea, but the daughter was game. I was talking with them after the service and the local daughter just asked me point blank, "So why should I come to your church?" I just laughed. Why can't everyone be this direct? "Oh, wow," I said, "I don't know if you should. I can't pretend it's for everyone." She appreciated that, and I asked her if she knew about The Episcopal Church and she said yes, and that she'd even checked out our website before showing up and that she liked what she saw. But she had still asked the question.
Well, I said, because we humans are built for community. We are literally made for one another. We are not meant to be alone. And we're lonely. And we need community. And this place, I said, this place is a community that is founded on unconditional love. You can find a community that is founded on all sorts of things, on your wealth or status, on the color of your skin or your last name. You can find communities based on shared interests or neighborhoods, and all these things can combat loneliness in one way or another. But what your community is based on matters. And this place, this community is founded on the premise that you are completely and fully loved and that you belong in community just as you are.

Nourished by Love - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

That's the trick with nourishment: It is not permanent. It is not one-time only. Our need is ongoing. We must be fed again and again. This is not because we are broken or faulty - this is how we were made. Our bodies are built in such a way that they use the nourishment we are given and then need more. It's perpetual, and in fact is a sign that we are alive and thriving.
I tell my kids I love them every day. I have one child who, when I call him over to tell him something, says, "You're gonna say you love me." And he's right. I am. Every time. Because I do. And also because I do not believe once is enough. I've heard people say, "Well so-and-so never says it, but I know they love me." That is not going to be the case for the people around me. I try to tell people that I love them regularly, because I do, and because I believe hearing it repeatedly matters. I don't often think of myself as a disciplined person, but telling people I love them is one of my disciplines.
And I know words aren't everything. I know it. "I love you" can ring hollow if not backed up by action. The words can be misused, abused, twisted. If rule number one is tell them you love them, the second rule is act like it's true. But the act of loving people cannot be a one-time event. It cannot be. Because our Gospel belief is that we are made by the God of Love, that we are made out of the abundance of God's love, and that we are made for loving and being loved. It is the most fundamental truth of our being. And that means we need to be nourished by love. We need it again and again, day in day out.

Rector’s Blog, Older - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

Sometime in my 30's I drove by the school for the first time in what must have been a decade, and I was so excited to feel that feeling again, or some nostalgic version of it. I almost drove right past the building. It was like they had replaced it with a half-sized replica. I kept looking for it even as I was looking right at it. And then I realized that it was right in front of me, with those tiny steps up to some simple looking doors and the quaint edifice that was definitely lovely, but certainly not imposing.
I'm sure you've had this experience at some point: Some thing or place changing so dramatically over time from how you remember it - changing in size, in magnitude, in meaning. It used to tower over you, and now, well, it doesn't. And you have to adjust.
I turned 44 last week, which is a pretty inconsequential age to be, as ages go. Just good ol' mid-forties. Middle-aged. I'm not going to take this opportunity to wax poetic on the aging process, as I know that about half of you who read this are 20, 30, 40 years older than me, and you don't need to hear my version of the thing you've been dealing with for a while. It's strange though, when I am doing Premarital Counseling with a couple and I begin to talk about "our age" and then realize we are, in fact, very different ages. I was listening to the Beatles the other day, and I realized they were in their 20's the entire time they were together. They were kids. Remember the Sgt. Pepper era when the Beatles all had terrible facial hair? Well of course they did: they were in their 20s! That's when you do that! I am 4 years older than John Lennon was when he died. The Beatles, the bride and the groom, the elementary school, they haven't changed, but you change in your relation to them.

Rector’s Blog, Accepting Blessing - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

My dad was not my hero. He was not perfect, invincible, unassailable or saintly to me. I had a list of complaints for this very human guy. None of that mattered in that moment. I believed the story he told me. I believed him. When I say that I chose to accept him what I actually mean is that I chose to listen to him and to believe his experience as valid and true. That he had been gay as long as he could remember. That he had tried not to be. That he had prayed endlessly, tried to be straight, tried to be what he considered faithful, and that none of it had worked. That he was done trying to be anything other than who he was. And that even though he was scared of my rejection, he was going to be himself and invite me to see the truth of that.Looking back on it, I shake my head to think of how often Christians have made telling the truth a difficult and scary prospect. How judgmental we can be, how condemning. How sure we are of what others' lives are supposed to look like, of what their identities should be, of who and how they should love. When I am feeling idealistic, I like to imagine a world in which Christians have earned a reputation for being gracious and loving, open and thoughtful. You know, like Jesus.

Rector’s Blog, The Political Church - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

I don't like that the church has become political. But then, when was the church not political? We see Jesus as one who founded a spiritual movement rather than a political one. And indeed he intentionally eschewed the partisan binaries of his time. And the language of his teachings didn't fit neatly within the political paradigms. But to take his teachings seriously required people to reorder their whole lives, their relationship to one another, their relationship to their communities and cities, their relationship to power, and therefore their relationship to government. We saw this in the first generation of Christians. This is why they were systematically persecuted, arrested, tortured, marginalized and killed. Their beliefs were seen as threatening to the status quo. Under a government that insisted Caesar was Lord, they proclaimed Jesus is Lord. In a culture where patriotism was reserved for Rome, Paul insisted our primary citizenship is Heaven. How can we pretend that wasn't political?I used to take pride in the fact that the Episcopal Church was one of the few American denominations that didn't split over the issue of slavery. I thought it was really beautiful that we found a way to call ourselves united despite differences. It was lost on me that our church accomplished this by not taking a stand against slavery. We prized the appearance of unity and the enforcement of the status quo over the proclamation of God's liberation of all people in Jesus Christ.
This does not mean we weren't political, by the way. It means we chose the politics of status quo even when it was evil.Because there is no such thing as an apolitical church. It does not exist. It has never existed. The decision not to teach and preach and think and talk together about what is actually happening in our community, in our world is itself a political decision.

Rector’s Blog, Growing in Understanding - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

I want to be honest and tell you that I had no real way to process my friend's transition. I was not mad or sad. But, at least at the moment, I was not happy either. I literally did not know how I felt. I did not have the tools to process this.
Well, I suppose that is not entirely true. I did have a few things that helped me when I didn't know what to think. I knew that I cared about my friend. I knew that I respected him. I knew that he was smart and thoughtful. And I knew that such a major medical decision must not have been made lightly. I didn't know what I thought about his decision, but I knew what I thought about him. When you are not sure what you think or how to react to something, choosing love and respect is, in fact, a practical tool you can use.
So, I congratulated him. And, at least for the time being, I kept my questions to myself. It didn't feel right to pepper him with curiosity that might be read as skepticism. In the meantime, he looked and sounded happy. Genuinely happy. And I liked that.
As I look back on all this I am fascinated by how interconnected understanding and language were. I did not have the language to describe my friend's situation, and I did not have understanding either. I had not thought of gender and sexuality as separate.

Rector’s Blog, My Daughter’s Sign - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

I knew that sign would be more polarizing than a candidate endorsement. I also knew I believed Black Lives Matter. Maybe more than anything, I was impressed with my daughter's audacity, and convicted by the simplicity with which she suggested it. Because I must admit I did not have the courage to imagine putting that sign in our yard. I wondered if it would cause problems with any of my parishioners. I wondered if it would bother any of my neighbors. I wondered if they'd think things about me that weren't true. I wondered if they'd find out things about me that were true. I wondered if a sign like that would be defaced. But I was proud of my daughter. So, I said OK. Well, that's not true. I said let me talk to your mom about it, but in my heart, I had already said OK. And my wife agreed. I still wondered all those things, and so did she. But we got the sign and we put it up right in our front yard.
Nobody has defaced it. Nobody has even commented on it, to be honest, except one guy at a nursery my wife went to. She was showing him a picture of the front of our house asking him for advice on what kinds of bushes to buy and he gave her grief about the sign, saying she was getting political by showing him the picture. My wife hates confrontation and hates signs more than I do, and here she was hearing about it from a stranger at the nursery. She was courteously resolute in her response to him, which made him feel embarrassed. She chose boxwoods and he put them in the car for her.
Now it's been nearly 3 years. And the sign isn't looking so good. All the other signs in the neighborhood have gone away - most of them shortly after November 2020. And here we are with our Black Lives Matter sign, a White family in a White house in a White neighborhood. And I have to make a decision. Do we take it down?

Rector’s Blog, Inspired - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

Of course, I'm not an actor. I'm a priest. But Nicholson had a profound influence on my life. I mean, I was a good little fundamentalist Christian, so his fast-living reputation was not really for me growing up. But he had this way about him that just bowled me over. He seemed always to be utterly himself in whatever he did - even while convincingly playing fantastic characters. He was the Joker, or McMurphy, or J.J. Gittes, or Col. Jessup, or Melvin Udall, but at the same time he was Jack! And I loved that. When I was in college, my buddy Wes and I visited Hollywood and made our film lover's pilgrimage to Grauman's Chinese Theater. This is the spot where many famous actors have put their hand and foot prints into the cement. I got down on my knees in front of Jack's signature and placed my hands in his handprints. They fit perfectly. Wes' hands fit in James Stewart's. We floated away.
It's a strange thing to call someone your inspiration when you haven't actually followed in their footsteps. A few years back I was at a concert and I ran into a comedian named Emo Phillips. He is not terribly famous, but when I was younger I had seen a stand-up special of his that was so absurd and outlandish that it had turned my idea of comedy upside down. I walked up to him that night and introduced myself. He was very gracious. I told him that he had been a big inspiration to me growing up. "Is that so?" he asked, "what do you do?" I said I was a priest, and without missing a beat he said, "Well obviously."