by ccvadmin | Jun 12, 2026 | Letters
As of this weekend, we are scheduling the eighth funeral at Christ Church since I arrived at the beginning of the year. That is, from my perspective, a gracious plenty for now, so maybe we could all try to hold off on the dying for a while. Some folks have noticed, though, that I use a different array of colors for funerals than they’re accustomed to, so I thought it might be helpful to share with you my reasoning behind it and some other thoughts about colors and liturgy in general.
First, all liturgical color schemes are in some sense made up. The only color that the early church really paid attention to was the white robe people were dressed in after they were baptized. That vestment still exists in the form of the alb, the long white robe clergy wear for Eucharistic services. All the other outer vestments, along with their colors, developed over the course of centuries, and different meanings were attached to those colors over time. Different places sometimes developed their own patterns and customs, and what we use now is sort of a mix of different traditions. We mostly follow what’s called the Gallican tradition from continental Europe, and that’s as far into the historical liturgical weeds as I want to go right now.
My approach to all things liturgical centers around one key thought – have a good reason for what we do. If someone asks why we do something in the liturgy, I believe we ought to have an explanation for it. If we don’t know why we’re doing a thing, we might want to stop doing it until we have at least thought it through. “Because that’s the way I like it” is probably not the best answer, although truth be told, all clergy use that one sometimes.
Now, when it comes to funeral colors, some of you have noticed that we’ve been using purple hangings on the ambo and altar instead of the white, and several of you have asked about that. Until the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, the color appointed for funeral hangings and vestments had always been purple. In the church, we associate purple with the penitential seasons of Lent and Advent, in which we are called to reflect upon our mortality and our need for God’s grace and mercy. In those earlier editions of the Prayer Book, the Burial Office also emphasized our need for forgiveness, particularly as we faced the end of our mortal life. In the Church’s eyes, purple was the appropriate color.
When our current Prayer Book was developed, we sought to recapture the ancient Church’s annual cycle of worship that centered on The Great Vigil of Easter. The rest of the liturgical year revolved around that feast. Eucharist became the principal act of worship on Sunday, and the whole sense of the Prayer Book moved more towards resurrection and new life than repentance. It’s when we really embraced the idea that “Every Sunday is Easter.” While I appreciate the shift in theology, I think we may have allowed the pendulum to swing too far. The joy of Easter Day draws its meaning from the grief and anguish of Good Friday; Grace only matters if we have need of it. We only know we need it if we are aware of our fallenness; that awareness can only come from self-examination; self-examination leads us to repentance. Funerals rightly focus on the Resurrection, but we still need to keep sight of why Jesus died in the first place.
It is to that end that some time ago I adopted a practice some parts of the Church follow – to use a mix of both purple and white at funerals. The altar is dressed in purple, but the clergy wear white vestments. All of this is summed up beautifully in a part of the The Commendation found on page 499 in The Book of Common Prayer. It’s a hymn traditionally called the Kontakion and comes from the Eastern Orthodox. The last two sentences say this:
For so you did ordain when you created me, saying
“You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
All of us go down to the dust;
yet even at the grave we make our song:
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
Notice that in those words we have the language of both Ash Wednesday and of Easter Day – “you are dust” and the three-fold Alleluia. We don’t get the one without the other. Using both purple and white for funerals allows us to embody in the liturgy what we say we
believe.
The color scheme that we use for liturgy may be somewhat made up, but that doesn’t mean that what we use (and when) has no meaning. It does matter, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to share with you my reasoning about it. This short explanation, like virtually everything I write in this space, is never meant to be the final word. I hope you will treat it as an invitation to a deeper conversation, should you want to have one.
The Peace of Christ,
Fr Kevin
by ccvadmin | May 6, 2026 | Letters
Next Thursday, May 14, we celebrate the Feast of the Ascension. The Book of Common Prayer lists The Ascension in the category of “Principal Feasts,” which puts it on the same level as Easter Day, Christmas Day, and Pentecost, but it’s very nearly a forgotten feast across much of the Church. That’s probably because it always falls on a Thursday, and let’s face it – that’s not a day most people associate with going to church. Timing aside, we also don’t know quite what to make of the Ascension; it seems to be a celebration of Jesus just floating up into the air and disappearing, leaving his disciples bewildered and on their own. Why is that something we would celebrate?
It’s a good question, but here are some others that might offer a better way to contemplate this feast. How does the Ascension fit into God’s plan of salvation? Why is it important for Jesus to return to heaven if he came down from Heaven for our sake? Wouldn’t it have been better (or at least easier) for us if he had stayed? In our Lenten series we looked at the movements of Holy Week and asked similar questions of them. Here is a link to the readings for Ascension Day. I invite you to pray with these readings and these questions, as we did during Lent, and see what God might be saying to us.
On Ascension Day, we’ll gather at 6:00 p.m. for Eucharist and then move into the Parish Hall for a potluck supper. While there’s no official “program” that evening, at the end of the meal, we can take a few moments to reflect on and discuss what we’ve heard God saying. Maybe we’ll have answers, or we might just find more questions. Either way, Jesus will be present with us – at the altar, at our tables, and in our conversations – and that is always reason enough to celebrate.
by ccvadmin | Mar 26, 2026 | Letters
Every year during Holy Week, I choose one phrase or image to hold onto as I walk through the week with Jesus. I find that a helpful way to stay focused on the goal of this week, which is a deeper sense of being present with him. Notice that I didn’t say a deeper sense of Jesus’ presence with me. Holy Week for me is a time when I want to choose to draw closer to Jesus. I’ve done this long enough to know that he is always present with me, whether I am aware of his presence at the time or not. That is his promise – “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” During Holy Week, I want to be with Jesus.
Whatever particular passage or image I hold onto during the week, my first thought at the beginning is always the same – “Less hectic, more holy.” The coming days are the busiest of the year for clergy; there is much to do. The services are different and more complex than the rest of the year; the setting and readings are more emotionally charged; the tone gets heavier and darker as we go through the week. It’s easy to get distracted by everything that I either need or want to do, that I lose sight of why any of it matters.
“Less hectic, more holy” doesn’t apply just to clergy or to Holy Week. It can be a helpful antidote to any of the busy-ness that assaults us. A good friend of mine who was a therapist (and an Episcopalian) could always tell when I was getting too distracted by all the things that wanted more of my time and attention than they deserved. Her advice was always the same – “Stop what you’re doing, go outside, and look up.” If she ever saw my office blinds closed, she would tell me to open them. It’s why I moved the desk in my office to the far wall – so I could look up and out the windows, even if at the moment I couldn’t go outside.
As we enter into the holiest season of the Christian year, I encourage you to find some thought, phrase, or image to hold on to. Hopefully, it’s one that allows you to slow down, ease off, look up, and allow yourself to draw nearer to Jesus, who is always waiting for us to turn our attention towards him.
by ccvadmin | Feb 17, 2026 | Letters
I’m looking forward to our Lenten Series starting next Wednesday, 25 February, at 6pm. We’ll begin with Eucharist and then move to the parish hall for supper and our discussions. I wanted to give you an idea of what we’ll be doing those evenings, but before I get into the “what” I want to give you the “why.”
When I was in seminary, thirty something years ago, I was introduced to the pattern of daily Eucharist every day in Holy Week. Prior to that my experience was Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and then Easter Day. Even then, Maundy Thursday quickly became my favorite service of the year. I began to realize how central the Eucharist was to my relationship with God, and Maundy Thursday is the celebration of Jesus’ gift of the Eucharist to us. It was my experience with Happening during high school that connected all the dots between Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil – what the Church calls the Triduum, The Three Great Days. Together they give us the real picture of Jesus’ profound love for us, and for a time, those three days were a sufficient annual replenishment for my spiritual life.
Then came seminary, and the field work parishes I served kept all of Holy Week, not just the last three days. I’ll never forget what my supervisor told the congregation on Palm Sunday that year – “If we all came to services every day during Holy Week, by Easter we’d have no need of a sermon. We’d have all we needed.” At first I thought he was just trying to drum up attendance, but then I learned better. The full course of services throughout that week, every day from Palm Sunday through Easter Day, offers us a chance to walk with Jesus every step of the way to the cross, the tomb, and beyond. I’m not exaggerating when I say it was life-changing for me. I didn’t realize how much, though, until years later, when I went to serve a parish in West Virginia. They didn’t keep the daily schedule. I tried that first year there to follow the pattern they used, but when Maundy Thursday came, I wasn’t ready. It didn’t help that we did a community Good Friday service, and so that year, I didn’t even get our Good Friday liturgy. Easter morning felt strangely empty and hollow; I’d missed too much of the journey.
The next year, I told them we were doing the whole thing, from Sunday to Sunday. Their response was less than enthusiastic, but we pressed onward. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of Holy Week we saw maybe three or four people at the evening services. While that was discouraging, I knew that it was something I needed for my own spiritual health, so my mantra became, “I’m doing this for Jesus and for me.” If other people came, I considered that a bonus. Over time our attendance grew a bit – not as much as I would have hoped, but faithfulness is not measured in numbers.
I’ve kept to that practice ever since, and I am asking you to join me this Holy Week. To help us prepare for that experience, I want to use our Wednesdays in Lent series to introduce you to the Propers for each day in Holy Week, using an Ignatian method of praying with the Scriptures assigned for each day. While we might call this a Bible Study, it is not a scholarly exercise. The purpose isn’t just to teach you something about those scripture passages; we’re looking for an encounter with a person – with Jesus – as we engage the readings appointed for each day. Each week we’ll start with a brief large group discussion, but most of what we do will happen at the tables where we’re sitting. Then towards the end of our time, we’ll open the conversation back up to the group as a whole. I hope you’ll take part in as many Wednesdays as you can, but this isn’t an “all or nothing” sort of thing. Participate as you are able, and if you’re someone who would almost rather die than speak in front of others, just come and listen. Again, we’re looking for an encounter rather than a lecture or a lesson.
For the propers for the Monday in Holy Week, click here. That’s where we’ll start on the first Wednesday. Each week we’ll publish the upcoming readings in The Grapevine, so you’ll have them in advance. If you have the chance, read over them in the days leading up to our gathering, so they’ll be more familiar to you when Wednesday comes. That said, just come as you are, whether you think you’ve properly prepared or not. Jesus will be waiting to meet us either way.
by ccvadmin | Dec 12, 2025 | Letters
Dear People of Christ Church, In this holy season of Advent – a season about awareness, expectation, and preparation – I’m noticing how what’s happening in my own life mirrors the sense of the season. I am aware of how I am living in both the “what is” and the “what is to come,” as we wind down our time at St. Paul’s and in Savannah while very much looking forward to being with you in Valdosta. As we are getting ready for our own physical move from here to there I see the reflection of that part of Advent, and our anticipation of joining you at Christ Church makesreal that sense of waiting for what God is about to reveal in the celebration of Christmas. While I am grateful for these theological insights, the reality is that it’s really hard for me to be patient and stay present here. My family and I are anxious to start this next chapter with you. I do feel like a kid waiting for Christmas and thinking it’s never going to get here.
As we make our plans, pack the house, and finish up all the details that go along with a move, I want to take a moment and introduce you to our family. You’ll see some of us a lot more than you will others, but they’ll be around from time to time, and we all want you to know who we are. We snapped this photo while everyone was home for Thanksgiving – it was my first time propping my phone up on a tripod and using the timer from my watch to take the picture. I have to say I’m pretty pleased that it worked.
Top right of the photo is my mom, Bonnie. My dad died a few years back, and not long after that, mom moved in with us. Shortly before the move, she retired from her lifelong career as a church organist. She and Dad met when they were students at Valdosta State and even before she graduated, she was the organist at First Presbyterian downtown. Since then she’s played in Baptist, Lutheran, and Episcopal congregations, along with one other Presbyterian church up in West Virginia. Mom loves walking, yoga, Xi gong, and gardening, and she was a vegan before that was even a word.
Next to mom in the photo is our oldest son Jack. Jack is a graduate of Georgia Tech (yes, we are a house divided) who lives in Decatur with his wife Gracie (seated between Christine and me in the pic) and their dog Lottie. Gracie is from Hawkinsville, Ga, and because life is a funny thing, Gracie’s older sister Sarah Kate is the first person I ever baptized after I was ordained 31 years ago.
On the middle step are our son Sam and our daughter Kate. They both are currently living in Athens. Sam is a UGA grad working in Athens, and Kate is a sophomore at UGA. Christine and I are on the bottom step. You already know a bit about me; Christine has been a public school Speech Language Pathologist for her entire career. She’ll be working at a nearby school district once we get moved.
At this point we’re up to our ears in boxes and packing tape. There’s a lot still to do, but we’re making good progress, and we will be with you soon. Until then, we do what we always do in Advent: we wait, we watch, and we prepare, always trusting that the Light of the World shines upon us and upon our path.
Kevin+
