I was first exposed to meditation during the first semester of graduate school in 1965. A Professor, also an Episcopal priest who had spent 3 years in a Buddhist monastery, was teaching contemplative religions of South Asia. He exposed us to a non-dualistic way of looking at our world. I could not believe that until then I had missed the obvious… that we are inextricably connected to the rest of what is: from the plants which provide us with oxygen to the energy fields of which we are a part. Everything Jesus taught and, yes,  asked of us, made sense. When he went away into the wilderness challenged by demons, tempted, and when he wandered off alone to pray and told his disciples, “Come and See.” When he asked us to “consider the lilies of the field” he was pointing us to a different way of seeing. St. Paul got it. Neither this nor that, but all are one in Christ. I began to read and meditate at this point. Alan Watts, another Episcopal priest, was helpful at this point as were Ram Das and many others. But…. soon I began teaching, husbanding, and parenting. It was not until I had climbed whatever ladders we climb, vocational and others, and began to reassess my life that I returned to the insights in earnest.

Did the church help? As a community, Grace was tolerant and affirming. And for me, the communions, week by week, help me to remember that in eternity, which is outside time, and, here and now, there are none of the judgements, pay grades, or dualities (gender wise, ideological, or otherwise) that limit our understanding of Jesus’ message.

Around 20 years ago, in our late 50’s, Linda and I began to attend a series of week long silent retreats. The results for us both were to begin to see the world around us in ways that we had not experienced previously. Experiences of Thoreau’s Walden experience begin to explain the sensations I felt.

In the period since, we have been part of meditation groups (both interfaith and Episcopal) in both Holland, and Venice, FL. We both have a daily practice of silence, listening to what is, rather than saying how we think things need to be or are. One thing I have noticed (for myself and others) is that it seems hard for folks to sustain a practice. Old life habits die hard. But as we reconnect portions of our brains to a more unitive view of the way things are, and the old dualistic flight or fight part of the brain diminishes in strength, life as a whole becomes more easily lived and appreciated.

Now just a few words of encouragement and caution. When I first started meditating, ten minutes seemed like a long time. Now, years later, more than an hour is easy. Twenty minutes is a good length because it takes that long for your “monkey mind” to begin to calm down. There is never a good or bad result. You are not trying to accomplish anything. Like the Nike ad says “Just do it.” Stuff may come up. It inevitably it does. Tears are to be expected, fine. You will need a group to sustain your practice. Remember everyone in the group needs you too. “Whenever two or three are gathered…”? There are healing forms of meditation as well as mindfulness or contemplative prayer approaches. Find what suits you. Believe me, a regular practice softens your edges. Be kind to yourself. More kindness to the rest of creation will inevitably follow.

Submitted by: Bob Elder

The Celtic tradition calls it yearning for God or leaving space for listening and being receptive to the voice within, giving attention to each breath with is the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk, wrote “God uses everything that happens as a means to lead me into solitude. Here I will find God in everything and all things will bring me joy.” So, I seek moments of solitude each day as an opportunity to listen, to focus on my breath, to notice the passing thoughts go by, but not hold on to them or let them distract me. I return to the breath or presence of the Holy Spirit with openness and receptivity. The Christian mystic poet Kabir said, “God is the breath inside the breath.”

In contemplative prayer, I will often use a word or phrase to help me stay focused. Thomas Keating suggests “Resting in God.” Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese monk, says, “I am going HOME.” I also say, “Come, Holy Spirit.” In silence we participate in honoring the great mystery with all other human beings. While we may not be able to explain of prove the mystery of God’s presence with us, we can choose to accept it. Sitting in silence gives us time to let it shape and mold our hearts. It can soften our judgements of ourselves and others and lead to thoughtful, compassionate action in our world.

Jon Kabat-Zinn, founder of the Stress Reduction Clinic and Center for Mindfulness in Medicine and Heath Care at the University of Massachusetts Medical School suggests 20 minutes twice each day for beginners. In the meditation groups that we participate in, we sit for one hour with a brief break after 30 minutes. Sometimes we do walking meditation for 10 minutes in between sittings. For beginners, Zinn directs us to “use your breath as an anchor to tether your attention to the present moment.” The posture the body should embody wakefulness. He calls it taking your seat, sitting with dignity, honoring and helind place and placement of body, time, and posture in awareness. This reminds me of Jesus’ words to “Stay Awake!” Zinn tells us that this is a work of a lifetime. It’s not a quick fix! The calming of the body and mind in silence without judgement is a peaceful way of being in this world. After all, we are human BEINGS, not human DOINGS!

The practice may bring changes in your life. It may influence your use of time, money, your choice of books to read and films to watch. It has prompted me to try to simplify my life, set priorities and appreciate the people and events in my daily life more fully. The practice of present moment awareness fits my Christian desire to pray continually.

It is my hope that the Christian church, now in the 21st century will begin to offer more opportunities for contemplative prayer. It was a practice among the early Christians, carried on over centuries in monasteries and convents and is associated with many saints, mystics, and monastics. It is a form of apophatic prayer, listening rather that talking to God. We do well at verbal prayers of thanksgiving, confession, petition, and praise of God in church, but seldom do we sit for even 5 minutes to calm ourselves and be receptive to God’s message for us as individuals or as members of the loving, caring community that we are. It is my hope that we can become more comfortable with longer periods of silence in church. Of course, we can always create a quiet, desert space in our home where we can enter the solitude of our heart, experience the presence of God within us, and “Be still and know that I AM.” (Psalm 46:10) or “Pause a while and know that I am God.”

Submitted by: Linda Elder

Many Grace parishioners have a family history with the Episcopal Church, and I guess I’m no different. My father’s side of the family are long-time Episcopalians.

My paternal grandmother’s ancestors were members of the Church of Ireland, which, along with the Episcopal Church, is a member of the Anglican Communion. They attended Mullavilly Parish and St. Mark’s Church (shown below), both located in the Diocese of Armagh in Northern Ireland.

My grandmother’s parents immigrated to the United States in the late 1880s, and attended Christ Chapel Episcopal Church in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn, New York. When my grandmother married, she and my Swedish grandfather joined St. John’s Episcopal Church in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn. The church is nicknamed “The Church of the Generals” due to the many military officers from the nearby Fort Hamilton army garrison that have attended services there, including Robert E. Lee, who was on the vestry in the 1840s , and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, who was baptized there, also in the 1840s. My dad’s sisters were married at St. John’s, and all my cousins, as well as my brother Brad, were baptized there, using the same font that Stonewall Jackson was baptized in. Below are pictures of my children, Nicole and Mike, at St. John’s.

You are probably wondering how the Erickson family matriculated from Brooklyn, NY to Holland, MI. It all stems from a fateful decision my father, Ken, made as a 10 year old. Ken had befriended a boy at his grade school who invited him to sing in the choir at Grace Episcopal Church across town in Brooklyn Heights. My dad didn’t want to go, but his mother finally convinced to just try it once. It must have gone well because he joined the choir as a boy soprano and stayed in the choir through his high school years, traveling on his own by subway every Sunday morning. While at Grace, he met Bill Finlaw, who would become his best childhood friend. Bill had an older sister who, due to the advice of a high school guidance counselor, decided to attend Hope College in Holland, MI. Later, upon high school graduation, Bill followed his sister to Hope, and my dad followed Bill. Two years later, my dad’s cousin, John Corry, followed my dad to Hope. He would later become a prominent columnist at The New York Times. Below are pictures of Grace Episcopal Church in Brooklyn Heights.

So my dad arrived in Holland in 1947 to attend Hope College, and started attending Grace Church and singing in the church choir. At that time, Grace was located on Ninth Street and the rector was Father William Warner, whose 25-year ministry had begun just a few years earlier after arriving from another Grace Church in Traverse City. My dad sang in the choir for several years and got to know the Warner family well.

After graduating from Hope College in 1952, Ken served two years in the army in Korea, and returned to Holland in 1954, when he started dating my mother. They married in 1956 and moved to Livonia (Detroit suburb), where my dad started a teaching job. They started attending the recently closed St. Martin’s Episcopal Church in Detroit, where our family would worship for many years.

Rosemary and I married in 1987, and we moved to Holland from Kalamazoo in 1989 and started worshiping at Grace. With my Episcopal background and Rosemary’s Catholic upbringing, the Episcopal Church was a natural fit. Our children, Mike and Nicole, were both baptized at Grace and attended Sunday school while growing up, and Rosemary and I have been active in various ways, such as Alter Guild and the Fellowship Commission.

My parents moved back to Holland from Livonia in 2004 to be closer to family, and started attending Grace as well. One day, my dad was helping our Director of Music, Steve Jenkins, sort through files of old sheet music. They discovered a sheet of music with my dad’s name on it. It had been sitting in the church files for over 60 years! For us, it was a remarkable reminder of our family’s extended history at Grace and the Episcopal church.

Submitted by Jeff Erickson

Grace Episcopal Church has been a part of our family life for over forty years. During these years, Grace played a large part in supporting Michele and me as we raised our family. Our two children, Katherine and Prescott E., were very active at church. They were acolytes, they attended Sunday school, sang in the youth choir, and they were also members of the youth group. Rev. Jen Adams took both of them on their Vision Quest which has given them a special bond with her. When Michele and I talk about Grace with our family, the glory of the Easter Sunrise Service seems to always become the topic of conversation.

The Sunrise service was very special. For many years our family took on the responsibility of planning and implementing the brunch that preceded the service. Both of our children worked hard to make decorations, set the tables, and to help in the kitchen. There were many Grace hands to help us cook and serve the food. The day before Easter, we would decorate the undercroft and made sure that no one saw what we were doing because Easter morning needed to be a surprise. All the tables were decorated with Easter candy, flower arrangements, and the bright yellow, pink and greens of Easter.

Easter morning came early for our family. It was dark because it was six o’clock in the morning. With sleepy eyes and a quick look at what the Easter Bunny brought, all of us put on our Easter clothes and loaded up in the van and off we would go to church. When we arrived, people were given little white candles with drip holders for the start off the service. The Sanctuary was dark and mysterious with just the sounds of peoples shoes clicking as they were finding their seat. It was a somber feeling. The service began with many prayers while people were gingerly holding their candle. Then, as if you were surprised at a birthday party, the lights went on, people started to ring bells, and acolytes paraded up and down the Sanctuary aisles wearing white gloves holding banners with bells chiming. The mysterious odor of incense filled the air. The organ bellowed out with joyful music announcing that the Lord has risen. The altar would be adorned with flowers and two banners displaying colorful butterflies seemed to fly up the wall on their own even though we knew someone was making this happen. There were many Easter mornings when the sun would shine through the stain glass windows with perfect timing. It was magical! After the service, everyone went to the undercroft to once again be uplifted by a beautiful Easter brunch. All the children loved the Easter candy and especially the French toast sticks. The undercroft was filled with the spirit of Easter.

Years have passed and times have changed. Easter at Grace is celebrated in a different manner now with an evening service with wonderful desserts enjoyed by all after the service. The past is the past, but the memories of our young children’s faces Easter morning will always be a very special moment in our lives at Grace.

Submitted by: Prescott Slee