James Derkits

I have been blessed to be part of some wonderful communities, beginning with my biological family: four older sisters and two parents, all loving. St. John's, Silsbee comes next: my first church community, where I learned the spiritual practices of the Episcopal tribe. But those two were part of me before I was conscious enough to know I was part of a community. Camp Allen was the first community I was conscious of entering . You've heard plenty of my Camp Allen stories, but here I'll mention that when my parents were ready to leave after dropping me off and getting me signed in, they had trouble finding me to say goodbye because I was helping another camper get moved into the cabin. I jumped into that welcoming community with no hesitation. I was 8. I even found transitioning to college life in San Marcos fairly easy, not only because I went there with one of my friends from camp, but because so many other freshmen were moving there looking for a new community as w

I wanted to be in two places at once on Sunday evening. I wanted to be sitting at the bar and experiencing what it was like to hear bits of the verses of "Halleluia, we sing your praises" drifting in from the next room. I wanted to catch glimpses of bread and wine being lifted up and words being spoken in unison by a community. I wanted to see what it was like to be a regular at the bar, and wonder what was happening in the next room. But I couldn't be in two places at once. Tuesday night Charles Bishop set up the projector and already had  Wasteland  playing when we showed up at Liberty Station on Washington. This was our second "Sustainability Series" movie night and brought out about twenty people, once again. And, like the first one there were only a handful of churchy types there. Word went out through Urban Harvest's newsletter,  Pancho and Leftey's  blog, fliers  at Liberty Station and Catalina Coffee, and most importantly word-of-mouth. T

You already know these guys if you know me. You have heard stories about Kevin and Billy if you have heard me preach or if we have shared a beer. That first picture is Kevin and I at Camp Allen when we were in high school as some improvised characters for a skit. Kevin and I had already known each other for about nine years when that photo was taken. Then we went to college together in San Marcos where we met Billy. I had never known a banjo player before. (It took him a while to BECOME a banjo player. The banjo is loud whether you can play well  or not.)  Now the three of us have been playing music together for about fifteen years, our most recent performance at a Camp Allen fundraiser. It all seems to come full circle. All that to say, the three of us know each other quite well. A week ago, I got to go fishing on the Lighthouse Trails near Port Aransas. The trails cut through the inland pools and thick vegetation that is the home of an array of wildlife. We took home a few fi

Last Sunday was Pentecost Sunday. The day we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit who (literally) inspires us Christians and empowers us to continue the work God. It was an emotional Sunday, for the Derkits and several other families  are all moving on from St. Mark's to new things, new places. Having journeyed for a while int his community, we are being sent out from this St. Mark's Family. But on another level, everyone was being sent out, kicked out for a time. One of  my favorite parts of our liturgy is the end when we are collectively sent out into the world to do what we've been shaped to do, and become the people we are being transformed into. This time, though, we were sent out so that the space where St. Mark's gathers to worship God could be transformed. The first thing to receive the kiss of spinning teeth-of-metal was the altar rail. It was sawed out to be moved into Hauser Hall where St. Mark's will worship until the renovation and restoration i

A few weeks ago, I set out one of our recycle bins for the last time. We had two bins: one for paper products, and one for everything else. That week, instead of setting my two bins side-by-side I left the purple, store-bought bin stacked on top of the official city bin. You may have guessed that the purple bin went into the truck to be recycled. It was time. I probably bought that bin in college, or more likely, I borrowed it from my parents 15 years ago. I used to keep my camping gear in it in the back of my Bronco II. More recently I kept charcoal in it in our back yard. Finally, starting to wear out, it became the paper recycle bin, now it will be something else for someone else. Proving once again that all that we seem to posses is not our own. This is not a lament along the lines of the Lemonheads, " Stove ," I don't miss that recycle bin at all, so far. I was just a funny thing to me to walk out and see that my recycle bin had been recycled. The contai

I can remember a few occasions of facing my fears in life. The first ones that come to mind are what I'll call fears of nature.One early fear of nature came to me when I was about 8 years old and I was playing in the woods. I was in a fantasy world, battling some monster or enemy army, when I came to a little creek bed. I was afraid to jump across at first, then I told myself, "It's okay, I'll live until I'm 35!" Which to my young self meant something like "135." I made the jump across, and I was fine. It wasn't really about the age I would live to, but about snapping myself out of a temporary fear that was threatening to ruin my play time. Last week on our sail-camping adventure I had another moment of facing a natural fear. This time the threat was sailing from Matagorda Island back to Port O'Connor. We sailed out just fine, and a had a great time play sailing while we camped out for two nights. But on the day we were scheduled to s

Patrick and I found this mosaic hidden in a closet at St.Mark's not long after I joined the staff here. It is a beautiful piece of art, and that year we  used it as the image for our Women at the Tomb, our Good Friday liturgy. That liturgy juxtaposes the Stations of the Cross with musical reflections. The liturgy juxtaposes Christ's journey to the cross and grave, even while celebrating the life-giving creativity of music. The mosaic is an appropriate image for that service, because the cross frames the picture, but we are looking past the cross to something else. It's a mysterious image of a figure walking away from the cross, but the shadow of the cross stretches far off into the distance. If it is a post-crucifixion, resurrection image, the cross it still present. With Easter's arrival the church universal celebrates the mystery of Christ's Resurrection. As we, the church, move past the lenten journey and Holy Week into the greatest season of the year

Thursday night was fun! I was personally excited to see  The Real Dirt on Farmer John  with a few friends at  Liberty Station . I thought I would meet some new people and try some new fare from the  H-town StrEATS  food truck. But it was better than that, and I'm not just talking about the oysters from the  Shrimp Boat Projects . While we were learning about one farmer's struggles with how to save his family farm and the amazing learnings he discovered long the way, we were doing a little exploratory gardening on our own. At a recent workshop on creative evangelism, I mentioned that while our culture has adjusted to the huge shift that took place in the 60's, the church still hasn't quite adjusted. Now is the time when I remind you and myself that I love the Episcopal Church: our liturgy, our theology, our identity, and our history. It is because of that love that I am really interested in how we remember to be the Body of Christ in the world. How do we embrace

I grew up at St. John's Episcopal Church, Silsbee, TX. Participation in the Episcopal Church my whole life has made me who I am. Of course there are other factors that have shaped me, but a big chunk of my evolving world view comes from my participation in the Episcopal Church. I don't mean one specific location of the Episcopal Church. I have been an active participant of  St. John's , Silsbee;  Camp Allen ;  St. Mark's , San Marcos;  Camp Capers ;  Christ Church Cathedral , Houston;  St. Patrick's , D.C.;  St. Mary's , Cypress,  St. Mark's , Houston; and of course St. Mark's  Between-the-Bayous . Those are specific expressions of the Episcopal Church, and I include Camps Allen and Capers because they were both important parts of my formation. One of the best parts of the Episcopal Church is that I can list that many different churches, and still be talking about the same church. The word episcopal comes from the Greek word ( episkopos ) for &qu

I have seen these signs all over town. They aren't on every street corner, and sometimes they are easy to miss, because they are usually up higher than our typical sight line. I am interested in street art in general, but these signs blow me away. I have done a little searching online to see if I could find any conversation about them, and I haven't found anything. If you know something about them let me know. Maybe it is their simplicity that catches my imagination. They almost always change my mood. It is fascinating to me that seeing the word "LOVE" painted on a board in fun colors interrupts whatever I am thinking about, and makes me smile. At Liberty Station one night, John Price and Rob Reeder were pressing me to articulate what Between-the-Bayous is all about in a quick phrase. Eventually, we came to what may seem the obvious: it's about love. What we do is "share love." Behind all the stories stories we share is love. Creation is about lov

We are busy people. Not just me, or my family, or my church friends: Everyone is busy. We all stay busy, and it is my hunch that part of the challenge for the Church (of all shapes and sizes) is to help people remember not to stop, but to pause from time to time. Cooper is our five year old puppy. He will always be a puppy, I'm afraid. We put training hours into him, and yet, he still behaves like a puppy. He is has become the more vocal of our two dogs ( Boykin Spaniels ), and the last few days he is taking it to a whole new level. He has never been very happy separated from the human part of his pack, but now the instant he goes outside, he turns to scratch on the door to come inside. When he goes into the kennel, he begins this just-perceptible whine that reaches any corner of our house. That whine slowly builds, and sometimes turns into the most annoying bark-howl hybrid that may push me over the edge someday. But not today. Cooper has been so whiny lately because I

There is a moment in the liturgy for ordination to the priesthood, after the community has sung "Veni Sancti Spiritus," or "Come Holy Spirit" when, in silence, the Bishop lays hands on the ordinand's head, and the clergy present also gather around and lay their hands on the ordinand. I remember feeling the pressure of all those hands, and the literal connection to that community of people who had ordered their lives to serve in this role in the church. It is the moment, if there is a precise moment, when one becomes a priest. The Bishop says a prayer, and the ordinand stands, ordained. The ordination service itself is a sacramental experience: an outward and visible sign of something that is happening on a spiritual and inward level. My ordination was on the Feast of Epiphany, so the readings were taken for that day. I invited friends to do a bluegrass version of "We Three Kings." I also asked our music director to take the melody from Nirvana

Ch ristmas is upon us, and you can see it on people's cars. This year elf ears are a new creative addition to wreaths,  antlers, garland, and lights. The car decoration that I've always felt ambiguous about is the, "Keep Christ in Christmas" magnet. You may have one on your car, a couple of my family members have them, and put them on display for the season. On the one hand, I like the public reminder that in the midst of the busy shopping season. Between the Santa photos and abundance of twinkly lights, there is, in that magnet, a little reminder of the Christian story that is about God becoming Incarnate in human flesh. The magnet captures many elements of the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke's Gospels (Mark and John do not include the story Jesus' birth.) The magnetic image includes Mary and Joseph; it includes an interpretation of the animal shelter they lodged in; it includes the star the Magi followed to come see the newborn King after he was born