James Derkits

In his autobiography, Nelson Mandela wrote, “I am fundamentally an optimist. Whether that comes from nature or nurture, I cannot say. Part of being optimistic is keeping one's head pointed toward the sun, one's feet moving forward. There were many dark moments when my faith in humanity was sorely tested, but I would not and could not give myself up to despair. That way lays defeat and death.” I would imagine that some of the "dark moments" for Mandela came during his twenty seven years as a political prisoner during the dark years of apartheid in South Africa.  I had the privilege to spend a little over a month in South Africa during my seminary years; most of my time there I lived at a seminary in Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape . Before I headed there, I got to spend a short time in Cape Town, and took a tour of the prison on Robben Island. There many political prisoners were held in the apartheid years, including Nelson Mandela. It was a profoundly moving experi

The last line of the Christmas Hymn, "O Little Town of Bethlehem reads, "O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!" I tend to forget that last line when I start humming that hymn. Instead, I think of a snow-covered Bethlehem somewhere around midnight, all quiet and still. Then I read the hymn looking for any mention of snow and find nothing. That image came from somewhere else. I have that experience with many things around Christmas: I carry a memories pieced together from the market place, artistic representations, hymns from the church, and the story from Scripture. Then at some point before Christmas, I try to sort through the jumble to find that place in my heart that anticipates a connection with God. That part of me that longs for reconnection with God, who jumped right into creation be with us in the midst of the messiness. I first started paying attention to that hymn, "O Little Town of Bethlehem," during some of my own messiness, when I w

In a recent sermon, I told a story about having difficulty lighting a candle. Later someone asked me how I found those metaphors for my sermons. I was reminded of a conversation with musician some time when she explained that she wrote songs from what she saw all around her; she could look around a room and write a song about something she saw. I try to find inspiration from what I see around me. A big part of my work is seeing the world differently. I'm not always good at practicing it, but my intention is to pay attention to my life in such a way that I ask, "What spiritual meaning may be drawn from this?" Another way to go about life is to constantly ask "Is that good or bad?" or "Do I like that or not?" Those questions put us in a place of judgement and constant judgement. I know from experience. Questions like, "What spiritual meaning may be drawn from this?" puts me in a posture of learner, and makes me curious about the world aroun

It is not only because of the problems that would arise with our IRS non-profit and tax status that discussions around the church tend to avoid politics, but that, too, is an important reason. We also avoid "political" conversation because the spiritual conversation, or our spiritual lives, necessarily supersedes particular politics; in other words, a healthy spiritual life should shape our response to the needs of the world around us, and that response can sometimes take the form of one political action or another, no matter our particular political leanings. It is my opinion that real reason we avoid conversation around politics in the church is that (in the best scenario) churches tend to be a mixture of people from different political leanings, and the conversation between people of divergent views has become so broken down that any mention of issues from the political arena quickly become heated. This, I believe, is shaped by our quest for entertainment on television:

A couple of weeks ago, we baptized Wes down at Caldwell Pier in Port Aransas. It was actually my second baptism in the Gulf, at that site. The first was a vacationer, and we were just there with his family. This time it was our family: someone from Trinity by the Sea.  Before the first baptism, I called up the Baptist Pastor in town to ask him how it worked. We just didn't get much experience with "living water" baptisms in seminary. Pastor William gave me some advice, and I took it. This time I had a bit of experience, and I had a relationship with Wes. We gathered there on the beach for the first part of the service, then Wes and I waded out together for the actual dunking (the Greek word for dunking is where we get the word baptism .) Wes had been for a run right past that very spot earlier that day. I had been surfing there a day or so before. What we both learned from our previous activities was that there were a ton of jellyfish in the water! I don'

Giving Thanks I only know how to say, “Thank you” in a handful of languages: American Sign, Spanish, German, English, and Greek. I think it is probably one of the most important phrases to learn in a language. The reason I know how to say thank you in Greek is not because I have traveled to Greece. I know how to say thank you in Greek because of my tradition’s practice of hanging on to Latin and/or Greek words for special actions and things. I have mixed feelings about that, to be honest. Sometimes hanging on to those ancient words can alienate people. If someone were on a quest to find God, would she look in a ciborium? (I digress.) Instead of abandoning traditional language, part of my work as a priest is to decode, or translate, when appropriate. The central "code word" for me is "Eucharist." It's what we do every Sunday morning when we gather for worship, including sharing bread and wine in Holy Communion. Eucharist means, "Thanksgiving." Centr

Halloween is just around the corner, so we carved pumpkins at our youth gatherings this week. A friend found a lesson to go along with the carving. It's a simple lesson about being like these pumpkins: opening up to God, how God cleanses us, and most importantly, that the light of Christ in us shines out from us. The Eve of All Saints' Day (All Hallows Eve) is going to bring all sorts of fun and creativity. That's a good way to allow God's light to shine. Create like the creator. It's a holiday that brings out a playfulness in us. We dress up and play tricks on each other, and even get a treat. Celebrate your created-ness, and your creativity. Be playful, and as you do, shine your light. We all need to see light!

This is one of those little praying places. A spot I've returned to again and again over the years. When I returned to this spot on the Guadalupe River, at Camp Capers, I remembered some of my prayers from that summer in 1998 when I was on staff there. That summer I brought a site-specific outdoor education curriculum (it had been an independent study toward my B.S. in Geography Education from Southwest Texas, San Marcos.) That curriculum helped me weasel my way onto the summer staff, since I had never gone to Camp Capers as a camper. I made it on, and was allowed to take each cabin for a nature hike and do some outdoor education. I enjoyed my time with the campers, and I think that's the first summer I tried to grow a full beard. I figured it went with the outdoor theme. That summer some of the other staff started calling me "Nature Boy." It was also a dark time for me. I was trying to understand my calling to the priesthood, seeking to trust that calling, and

If you're reading this from outside Texas (South Texas, even) this may seem a bit ridiculous, or just a bit late. Oh well. The weather just cooled off here. I'm actually wearing long sleeves! The cool weather makes me want to sit around a camp fire and play music. Yesterday, when I was sweating just walking to my truck, I didn't want to sit around a camp fire and play music. That little temperature drop changed everything. Last time I felt this cool (it's 66 degrees right now) was in July...I was not in Texas then, but in the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina. We were on vacation, and I spent  the mornings reading and writing on a screened in porch. I even sat next to a camp fire and played music. The weather is right. It's shifted my attention. It makes me want to be creative. The world seems to be conspiring, like in the beginning when that wind blew across the face of the waters. I bet it was a cool breeze, dropping the temperature of the planet just eno

Yesterday I had the good pleasure of visiting a hospital not because someone was ill, but because someone was just beginning! Michael Andrew Rembisz was born yesterday morning to Mark and Anne, and Alex is a proud older brother. This comes just after the birth of Fr. Bill and Judith Calhoun's granddaughter, Olivia. Bill snapped an amazing picture of Olivia grasping her mother's finger. It was only after he took the picture, that he noticed the positioning of mom's ring, providing the perfect caption: "FAITH." Faith, Belief, and Trust all come from the same Greek word "pistis."  The Faith-Belief-Trust of an infant in her mother must be one of the purest. For a newborn, what else is there? Last week, I also got to see a picture of another grandchild, the Schlechten's 4 month old, Annibelle (in the knit cap and pink jammies.) All these babies. All this life. In a season of thanksgiving, it's an easy time to give thanks for these

Photo of the Polly Anna,  headed out to the gulf. I didn't even know how beautiful it was until it was restored. The building needed a fresh coat of paint, so we took the four panels of the mural down, and the Harrisons offered to store them. A visiting youth group came and painted the entire garage (and cleaned out the inside--thanks again St. Thomas', College Station!), and eventually the artist, Clinton Baerman appeared to restore the mural. In the late 80's Suzanna Reeder commissioned the mural as a billboard for Trinity by the Sea. It included a banner that read "Trinity by the Sea Welcomes You." Boats depicted include the Polly Anna (one of my favorite places to buy shrimp!) and Suzanna's husband Gary Einkauf's boat "Shadow," built Edwin Hawn and Bruce Wilde. Suzanna eventually sold the property where the billboard stood, and the beautiful mural was moved to its current location as a memorial to her beloved Gary. The first time I no

All Saints' Church, Aston (photo from their FB page) The Rev. Ian Jennings is visiting Texas to see his family in San Antonio, and he and his wife are getting some time in Port Aransas by themselves. I met Ian last year, when he made the same trip. He is rector of All Saints', Aston, and serves two other churches in the north of England. We became Facebook friends last year after his visit, so we were able to arrange for him to preach on his visit at our Wednesday Healing Eucharist. It fell on the feast day of Sergius, Abbot of Holy Trinity, Moscow (1392), and in telling Sergius's story Ian reminded us that in going to the wilderness to pray (and eventually to form an abbey) Sergius was not retreating away from the front lines of the church, he was going to the front lines. The place of prayer in the life of the church is the "front line." Youth Group wrapped up Monday night with Compline, as usual. Tuesday evening Beverly Moorhouse led the second weekl

The first time I saw it, I jumped in. The day I graduated from College (in December) I jumped in. When I took a youth group on retreat, we went and jumped in. As soon as we could get him there after he was born, we took Eli, and didn't jump in, but did carefully take him for a swim. The San Marcos River holds a special place in my heart. I began my young adult life on the banks (and between the banks) that river. I've lost count of how many times I've been swimming and canoeing along the San Marcos River from just below the dam (the swimming hole I still think of as the falls at "Pepper's"), and on down the river to Staples. I've been swimming and canoeing those beautiful waters for 18 years now. To go back there is aspiritual  pilgrimage for me; when I teach about baptism, I often remember (and sometimes tell) stories of the San Marcos River. I've only been swimming in the actual springs, Spring Lake , once. I went snorkeling, and it was amazing.

Arrested Development, a popular television show, parodies modern American life and shines a light (and TV camera) on some of our less healthy practices. Set in a coastal town, the series included several special episodes that featured the obnoxious behaviors that tend to come out during the annual American-sacred-week of spring break. Seeing one of those episodes recently made me reflect on the typically unacceptable behaviors that come out when people visit our beach. The adage “let your freak flag fly” may become a literal practice as too-many cars drive up and down the beach flying as many flags as possible, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg, as you well know.             Most of our vacationers, of course, are wonderful and are here to enjoy our beautiful island   with families and friends. But, this summer, I have been hearing, brought more visitors than years past. They came in droves releasing whatever pent-up energies they have been saving all year; they arrived, did wha

So begins another year of sitting in a circle with 18-month to 4-year-olds each Thursday for chapel. Adults know how to be polite if my sermon takes a confusing turn,  if they lose interest, or if it's just; usually adults  try to seem to be engaged. Not so with these little ones. They will walk in wiggly. They will not want to sit still. They will wonder what I'm talking about. If I talk, which I try not to do for very long. The best thing is to sing. Sing familiar songs. Hand motions or even dancing helps. If I can bring in show and tell: a bowl made by a friend; a silver chalice; a box with a surprise in it. That helps, too. So begins another year of learning, and I am the learner. They are teaching me how to teach them. Really, it's the same with the polite adults. We sing, we make hand motions across our bodies in the sign of the cross, and we dance: kneeling, standing, following one another up with open hands to receive God in bread and wine. Show and tell: T

A couple of years before I had a banjo player for a roommate, I wrote a little warm-up song about the first person I ever saw playing banjo, or the first frog I ever saw playing banjo:  Sometimes I wish I was like  Kermit the frog;  sittin' in a swamp,  playing banjo on a log.   It was a warm-up song, in that I often played it while my friends were gathering, tuning up instruments, and/or choosing the next song. It was a very much a community song about wanting to be alone.  Kermit's got the greatest friends,  and I think I do, too.  But even he's got to slip away  for a minute or two. I forgot about that song for over ten years, then recently reconnected with one of my porch-music friends, and he reminded me of the song. He said he liked that "Kermit the Frog song." We were at a swim party with his family, and we were all going to see a concert in town later. Before I went to the concert, I slipped away to write down the song, so I didn

A while back, a friend asked if I ever illustrated any of my songs. I thought it was a funny question and just said, "no," at the time. Jim knew that I like to sketch from time to time in my journal just to catch an image or idea. Later, I asked him why he asked the question. He said my songs are very visual to him, which I took as a high compliment. It prompted me to try to sketch an image of part of one of my songs, so I took the chorus from a song called "Goblin."  It goes, There's a ghost out on the water and a goblin in the rock if I don't go and see them they're gonna come and make me stop.  One winter night, some time ago, I went for a walk along the San Marcos river, and noticed  these little swirls all along the top of the water. The water was warmer than the air, so on the water's surface, these swirling clouds formed and danced in the wind as they moved to the shore and disappeared. It was beautiful. The song is about what

I'm not much of a dancer, in a conventional sense. Given the option, I would rather play music and watch other people dance. I have had some close friends who can really move their bodies, with apparent ease, in such away that the space around them comes to life as they move either alone or in harmony with others. Of the few times I've been able to trick my ego into letting me be foolish and playful for a while, and actually try to dance, my favorite dances have been in community. I remember the joy of learning to Contra Dance when I was in my 20's. An old-time string band played simple, repetitious, traditional tunes as a caller directed us through the community dance; we laughed at ourselves when we tripped over one another, and we wore wide grins when we managed follow the instructions and keep rhythm.  At a recent retreat at the Mustang Island Conference Center, I taught a "Kenyan Halleluia" song during evening worship. Once everyone learned the simple song, I

Next week, I will make my annual pilgrimage out to Camp Allen, near Navasota, TX for the 28th year. My first visit was in 1985, and my parents tell me the story that when they first took me to camp, after they got me registered, they tried to find me to say goodbye, but I was busy helping other campers unload  their cars and get moved into their cabins. I was hooked from the start. I learned about God at Camp Allen. I learned that God was bigger than I had ever imagined. Each year, it seems, I return and in some way, my understanding of God grows. Being in nature, being in community, playing, sharing, walking from place to place; it all teaches me again and again. It has shaped who I am as a Christian, and Episcopalian, and a priest. I go there to serve the church, to be there for a new generation of campers, but I get so much out of my time there. The staff in the above picture and the one below is exactly the same. Different people, but the same spirit. The campers are the same,

I'm grateful to Bill Murray for reminding me that ten years ago, on August first, our new class of seminarians all showed up to Virginia Theological Seminary to start a three year journey toward ordination. (Not the Caddy Shack Bill Murray , but The Reverend Bill Murray .) I don't know what comes to your mind when you think about heading off to seminary (either your memories or imaginations), but here's what's on the top of my mind. I met some amazing people who I got to know over those three years. We sat around during the day and drank too much coffee, we shared meals organized and impromptu. We challenged one another on our assumptions about church and God and what it means to be priests. We laughed together and played a lot of music sacred and profane: sometimes we played music in chapel, sometimes at a local church, and sometimes in a bar. We found a balance that worked for us then, and helped shaped how we would be priests in the church (with or without musica