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From Broken Clay to Sacred Vessels

The potter began her presentation sitting at her potter’s wheel, demonstrating how to make a bowl. Her hands skillfully shaped a beautiful vessel, turning the wheel as she perfected it. Then she completely destroyed it, pushing the beautiful shape into a mass of wet clay. The crowd gasped.

 

Rachel Norris, the potter, then talked about how God takes us and remolds us into what He desires for our lives. With that, she took the clay of the destroyed bowl and created a large and beautiful pitcher.

 

The captivated audience that day in 2023 included members of the Hildegard of Bingen chapter of the Daughters of the King who worship at St. Christopher’s Episcopal Church Fort Worth. They were at a Province VII meeting of the DOK in Shreveport, Louisiana. Norris was one of the presenters for the gathering.

 

“Suddenly we knew we wanted her to create the foot washing bowls and pitchers for our Holy Week service,” said Donna Clopton. St. Christopher lost its building and almost all other property such as altar goods in the wake of litigation that awarded the buildings and other property to people who left The Episcopal Church. They have nested in with St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church.

 

“We had already been talking because, first of all, when we had Maundy Thursday the first year without our church, we use plastic tubs for our foot washing. We didn't have anything. Then, last year, the second year, the Lutherans at St. Matthew's, said, "Well, you can use ours, that's fine." We did, but we just had it in the back of our minds, ‘Wouldn't it be nice to have our own set?’ Because gradually, we're trying to replace what we've lost, like our crèche and nativity sets, things that we lost.”

 

Why care about foot washing?

 

In John 13, we are told, “It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. . .

12 When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. 13 “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. 14 Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. 15 I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. 16 Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. 

34 “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”

 

Jesus says repeatedly that they must serve one another just as he has done, including when it feels embarrassing. For the sake of Jesus’ love they must lower themselves in service to each other. They - we - must be willing to be uncomfortable, inconvenienced, and, yes, awkward in service to others.

 

So, this past summer Diane Hall, Gay Pogue, Frances Boase, and Donna Clopton made a trip to the studio of Potter Norris, who owns Joy Pottery of Bryan, Texas, four hours’ drive from Fort Worth. Read more at joypotterytx.com.

 

Norris spent four hours with the DOK group, discussing colors, design, and patterns. Clopton said Norris, a deeply spiritual person, understood the importance of Maundy Thursday in Holy Week and how and why the vessels would be used.

 

“I'm telling you, we didn't realize there were that many colors of blue. And she has so many different types of gorgeous pieces. . .and then the design, because she could do any pattern we wanted inside the bowl and the pictures. She was fully engaged with us,” Clopton said.

 

They discussed the weight of the pitchers, since people of all ages might be handling them during a service.

 

“We ordered two large pitchers to bring water from the sacristy and then two smaller pitchers that even a young child could probably handle” to pour water into the bowls, Clopton said.

 

A conference call with the Rev. Paula Jefferson and the Rev. Ron Pogue determined the right scripture to write across the large bowls.

 

“After choosing a blue color, a pattern, an imprint of the DOK cross and the scripture, we had a deal,” Clopton said.

 

The scripture read: Love one another as I have loved you. John15:12.

 

These items were delivered in September. They were presented to St. Christopher’s on All Saint’s Day, November 3rd, also celebrated as DOK day. 

 

Clopton reflected on why the potter’s act of squishing a newly made perfect bowl into a mess of wet clay struck the women from St. Christopher’s so powerfully.

 

“We are a bunch of folks from a bunch of different congregations along with some folks who have never been in a church before. We're just like the potter and the clay,” Clopton said.

 

“It's still the same clay. God’s just created something new. These vessels acknowledge that.”


Summoned from what was once scattered


All through scripture, we are urged to sing. Of the more than 400 references to singing about 50 of them are direct commands. Singing is a powerful form of connection, and worship.


This is the story of how a new hymn of triumph, transformation, and thanksgiving has been born out of a tale of heartbreak and loss at St. Christopher Episcopal Church, Fort Worth.  


Adam Wood, who wrote the words, and Shirley Johnson, who composed the music, are professional musicians. But this was more than just a commission to them. Both lived the experiences out of which the hymn arose.


The two of them brought their own experiences to the work of encapsulating and capturing the commonality of the loss, the grief, and then the joy of coming together to worship, to do ministry, and to reinvent all the things the congregation was doing before, now transformed into whole new things.


Science tells us singing changes our very bodies, and researchers have found that singing relieves stress and makes us feel both less anxious and more connected with each other. When the words we sing touch our own experiences, the impact can be powerful.

Bishop Gregory O. Brewer of Central Florida wrote, “Hymns and spiritual songs take our faith and compact it. . .”


That’s exactly what Summoned from what once was scattered, has done. The recent history of the diocese formerly known as Fort Worth has been compacted into four verses that tell a story of how loss, grief, and anger transformed disparate groups of homeless Episcopalians into a single loving community, committed to spreading news of God’s love to a hurting world.


St. Christopher's Episcopal Church, Fort Worth, was among the congregations that lost its building in 2021 following the decision of the US Supreme Court not to review the decision of the Texas Supreme Court to award more than $500 million worth of Episcopal Church property to people who chose to leave The Episcopal Church in 2008. Five other congregations also lost their buildings, joining the 14 others who lost buildings in the original split in 2008. St. Christopher soon began sharing worship space at St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church in Wedgwood in southwest Fort Worth. Its location near I-20 made it a convenient location for other Episcopalians needing a home. Soon St. Christopher, which had been joined by the congregation of the historically Black St. Simon of Cyrene in 2010, was joined by remnants from St. Elisabeth’s, Christ the King, and Parker County.


Shirley Johnson came to St. Christopher’s from Christ the King, which after losing its original building eventually nested in with St. Elisabeth’s. She was the choir master for both congregations. That joint congregation was disbanded after they lost their building, and several of them found St. Christopher. Shortly after that, St, Christopher’s rector retired, and the Rev. Paula Jefferson was called.


“So there we were, St. Christopher's people and [people from] several other churches,” Johnson said. “At some point she [the Rev. Paula Jefferson] began talking about commissioning a hymn that described and honored the journey that got us there and then the excitement of all of us being together. She knew I composed music because I've composed masses. She said, "Could you write a hymn?" I said, "Well, I've never written a hymn before and I definitely have to have the words before I can compose."


So Jefferson commissioned Adam Wood, a musician now living in California who had been living and worshiping in the diocese formerly known as Fort Worth during the 2008 schism. He worshiped at St. Stephen’s Hurst, which lost its building. He not only knew the history, but he had also lived through much of it.

The commissioning of the hymn marked a flex point for St. Christopher, adjusting to the retirement of their previous rector and the arrival of Jefferson as the new rector.


“It's a situation where, with all of us losing our buildings, a lot of us came together at St. Christopher, but we weren't really a church yet. Then Paula got here, and we began to move through some of the bitterness and anger and all the separateness. Before this, we were just all different congregations that ended up together. Then at some point, we started to thrive and move forward instead of living in the past,” Johnson said.


Johnson said that, even though she’s been a choir director and musician her whole life, she never thought of composing until the Christ the King building was lost. The strong emotions the situation evoked infused her with energy.


“When we got pushed out of that building, it's like all that energy had to go somewhere, and it came out in composing. That's when I ended up composing the masses that I've done. This just seems like a perfect part of the journey, that the bad things that happened are what spurred me to start composing. It's really been interesting,” she said.


As in most churches in the North Region, empowered laypeople at St. Christopher partner with their clergy to carry the message of God’s love to a hurting world.

Johnson, now choir director at St. Christopher, didn't know if she would ever again direct a choir. She feared losing her ministry as well as her building. Working on a hymn that celebrates St. Christopher discovering who it is in a whole new way helped Johnson find that for herself. Joy did come in the morning.

“We were bumping around for a while,” Johnson said. “Like, ‘Here we are. What are we?’ It did take a while to settle into anything that felt right.”


A mutual desire to create a welcoming loving space saved all these hurting people from devolving into bitterness. Just as Johnson created a hymn when she didn’t think she could, so too has this congregation been creating a healthy space in which love can grow.


Johnson laughed and said, “The honest part of that is, I really believed ‘I can't do this. I can't do this.’ Then, all of a sudden, you're just doing it.“It is thrilling when you hear the choir sing it. It's very thrilling. There's a strength about these people that is remarkable,” Johnson said.

“They deserved a hymn.”


Summoned from what once was scattered

1.    Summoned from what once was scattered,

By your faithfulness preserve,

with new life here newly gathered

We proclaim what we have heard.

Guide us onward, guide us onward.

Make us bearers of your Word.

Make us bearers of your Word.

 

2.    Dying to the past and living

into your bright morning dawn,

we are thriving and forgiving,

laying ground to build upon.

Guide us onward, guide us onward.

Walk with us as we go on.

Walk with us as we go on.

 

3.    Here transformed in love and glory,

as on you we all are fed.

Fill our hearts, God, with your story,

as we share your wine and bread.

Guide us onward, guide us onward.

As we follow where you’ve led.

As we follow where you’ve led.

 

4.    God who shares with us the journey,

on these people pour your grace.

We have pilgrimed this far, surely,

in the warmth of your embrace.

Guide us onward, guide us onward.

Seeking you in every place,

seeking you in every place.


New Cross, New Chapter


April 11, 2024


By: Tanya Eiserer


In April 2021, things were just starting to return to normal as the pandemic began to recede.


We’d returned to in-person worship on Easter. It was a joyous worship service tempered by the knowledge that it was to be one of the last times we would worship in that space.


St. Christopher’s, Fort Worth, found itself on the losing end of a contentious 12-year lawsuit in a diocese that broke up over women in the priesthood and gay marriage. Losing meant relinquishing our church building and many precious items contained within, including the brass processional cross that led us into worship for decades.


It’s been said the church is not the building; it’s the people in it.


We’d find out what it’s really like to live that maxim. 


A Lutheran church welcomed us with open arms, exemplifying the true meaning of loving our neighbors as ourselves. As a parish, we had helped so many, now we found ourselves accepting help. Humbling to be sure. But freeing us from our old constraints.


We’ve grieved and agonized over that loss. While time doesn’t heal all wounds, it does help put them into perspective. Some of us even now believe the loss of the building may have been just what we needed. We’d been dying in place; we just hadn’t realized it.


In the last 18 months, we’ve welcomed the Rev. Paula Jefferson, an energetic priest who’s reinvigorated the church from top to bottom. We’ve seen new faces fill the pews. We’ve even got a kids’ section. What a concept. Parents and their kids now organically fill a side section of the sanctuary. Our Sunday adult Christian formation classes often fill to capacity. We’ve got a thriving group of career-age professionals who meet most Sundays to partake in a meal, fellowship, study and worship.


But sometimes, as human nature would have it, you still yearn for some of what you lost.


One of those things was that brass processional cross. 


It meant something, particularly to our older members.



This past summer, we raised funds to celebrate our priest’s one-year anniversary. The family of Doris Gregory, one of our late parishioners, donated the funds to buy the new cross.


Doris led the altar guild for more than a decade. She’d been a stalwart member of St. Christopher’s. It seemed appropriate that it be donated in honor of someone who once brought her little grill to church to burn the prior year’s palm fronds to be used on Ash Wednesday.


Other members of the parish located the company that made the original processional cross. They agreed to forge a replica. It took eight months.


On Easter this year, the new processional cross led us into worship to the strains of “He is Risen.” The joyful words of that song ringing out into the sanctuary. 


The cross made its debut in the hands of Jeanneane Keene. At 90, she could only lift the cross a few inches off the floor.


Jeanneane joined St. Christopher’s two weeks after the church’s founding in 1957. She is the last living member of that original group. She may have been among the first to carry that original cross, and now she’d be the first to carry it in a Sunday worship service.

It seemed fitting.


Walking just behind her in the procession was one of our younger acolytes –a strapping 12-year-old boy who looks 16 and happens to be my son.   

He carried the new processional cross high during the gospel reading and as our priest baptized five children. In the act of baptism, we welcome new members into the body of Christ.


In the last 18 months, we’ve welcomed the Rev. Paula Jefferson, an energetic priest who’s reinvigorated the church from top to bottom. We’ve seen new faces fill the pews. We’ve even got a kids’ section. What a concept. Parents and their kids now organically fill a side section of the sanctuary. Our Sunday adult Christian formation classes often fill to capacity. We’ve got a thriving group of career-age professionals who meet most Sundays to partake in a meal, fellowship, study and worship.


But sometimes, as human nature would have it, you still yearn for some of what you lost.


One of those things was that brass processional cross. It meant something, particularly to our older members.


This past summer, we raised funds to celebrate our priest’s one-year anniversary. The family of Doris Gregory, one of our late parishioners, donated the funds to buy the new cross.


Doris led the altar guild for more than a decade. She’d been a stalwart member of St. Christopher’s. It seemed appropriate that it be donated in honor of someone who once brought her little grill to church to burn the prior year’s palm fronds to be used on Ash Wednesday.

Other members of the parish located the company that made the original processional cross. They agreed to forge a replica. It took eight months.


On Easter this year, the new processional cross led us into worship to the strains of “He is Risen.” The joyful words of that song ringing out into the sanctuary. 

The cross made its debut in the hands of Jeanneane Keene. At 90, she could only lift the cross a few inches off the floor.

Jeanneane joined St. Christopher’s two weeks after the church’s founding in 1957. She is the last living member of that original group. She may have been among the first to carry that original cross, and now she’d be the first to carry it in a Sunday worship service.


It seemed fitting.


Walking just behind her in the procession was one of our younger acolytes –a strapping 12-year-old boy who looks 16 and happens to be my son.   


He carried the new processional cross high during the gospel reading and as our priest baptized five children. In the act of baptism, we welcome new members into the body of Christ.


The story was published on epicenter.org on April 11, 2024.







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