James Derkits

Though I had heard the quote before, what really brought it to light for me was hearing a woman put the lines to music, and make it her own; then teach the song to a group of us as a "paperless" song, so that it became our own as well: "In my end is my beginning, in my beginning is my end; in my end is my beginning, in my beginning is my end." Those sung words, turned around, and repeated  again and again come from T.S. Elliot's Four Quartets (Part II: East Coker) Now, they ring in my ear, sung from my heart at the many ends and beginnings of things. Things like a year, or a life. Today I will officiate a funeral for a woman I barely knew. To sit with a family, to instantly get to know them with no hope for small talk, but to jump right into questions like: "What story do I need to hear about your mother/wife/sister?" is an impossible balancing act. Seeking the path between a church-every-week-cradle-Episcopalian sitting in the rocking chair, the

On a recent conference call, I was led in a meditation of arrival; instead of picturing a conference room, where we were all seated around a table, the facilitator walked us into his home, and painted a mental image of his living room, where we all gathered around the fireplace with Mr. and Mrs. Claus on the mantle. I settled into a comfortable chair, accepted a mug of eggnog, and became comfortablly present for a conversation about the Collaborative Operating System . Once fully present, the facilitator talked about this cross-cultural festival time. I've been trying to pay attention to the universal experience of this more-dark-than-light time of year (in the Norther Hemisphere) for the past several years. He reminded us of the Scandinavian Yule Log traditions, many of which include taking a piece of the log for next year's kindling or scattering the ashes in a garden for next year's fertilizer. I was drawn once-again to the Advent Wreath, the light of which grows

As we finally arrive at Christmas, after the four-week journey of Advent, I am thankful for my inherited tradition of waiting until December 25th to begin celebrating Christmas. That doesn't mean we miss out on all the festivities, it means we get 12 days of Christmas, so the party lasts all the way until Epiphany on January 6th. That's what the song "The 12 Days of Christmas" is about. Over the years that song has held symbolic meaning for Christians celebrating the Incarnation of Christ, and like all poetry and music, the song points beyond itself to something greater. This year, I would like to offer a Port Aransas rendition of "The 12 Days of Christmas," and invite you to have fun pondering what the symbols might mean for you in your own spiritual journey. (Rather than offer their meaning here...that would be to simplistic.) It is truly a gift to live in a place so full of Spirit, and abounding in opportunities to bump into the mysterious presence of God

I'm away on retreat this week. I'd invite you to say a prayer for me, and in this Second Week of Advent, reflect on  how you might carve out time for yourself to spend some prayer-time with God. It can be as simple as turning off the television and lighting a candle. Keep awake. 

Well, I managed to dodge Black Friday once again this year. It's really not difficult, I just go to the fridge for a left-over turkey sandwich, and the next thing I know the chaotic race to be the fist to buy the most is over. This year, I was fortunate enough to spend time I might have been shopping playing with Eli on a little Holy Tridiuum ("three days") that gets much more attention than even THE Holy Tridiuum of Good Friday to Easter Morning. make-shift swing we strung up at his grandmother's house with his great-grandmother (97) watching. I actually don't think I know anyone who participates in the Black Friday rush, but maybe I do. The most interesting thing about Black Friday, to me, is that it is becoming a day of cultural holy obligation. Americans are developing a whole holy calendar around shopping for Christmas. From Black Friday to Cyber Monday, there is what any Ancient would recognize as a I'm not advocating for more cultural

Listen to a story: "Every year on Thanksgiving afternoon...in a county several counties away...the legendary Turkey Uncle makes his annual ride-around on his magical four-wheeler to try to encourage everyone inside the house to come outside, away from their napping spots, to enjoy the beautiful outdoors. The family laughs to see such a sight, then half of them come outside, and half of them find a football game to watch." Well, that's how my Thanksgiving Story would begin if I wrote a Thanksgiving Story. It's not made up. From there it would turn back the clock a couple of days and describe family gathering from different parts of the state, catching up over meals, a campfire, and boardgames at the dinner table. I really do have a beloved family member who occasionally likes to put a turkey decoy on his head to make everyone laugh. And I'm not sure that the four wheeler has any special powers, but I remember that moment as feeling magical. What I love about t

A few months ago, Eli was playing with a friend running in-and-out of a little pool. They played a few games that involved toy helicopters, and splashing parents. Those were fun, but my favorite moment was when Eli said, "Let's just joy out!" I'm not sure exactly what he meant, but they kept playing and were as happy as could be. We parents looked at each other, smiled, and said, "Yeah, let's joy out." What a good mantra. What a good lesson. Joy out.

The Season of Advent is just around the corner, and as usual, I am ready to begin the blue season of expectation. I'm ready to begin this new Adventure. For me it is a season of introspection and anticipation of what the new year will bring. It's also a season, for me, to consider my spiritual practices. I usually find some churchy thing to follow each year; a pamphlet or podcast series from a seminary. This year I'll be watching the short, daily videos from SSJE Brothers. They show up in my email daily, and the Brothers offer rich wisdom. I know from too much experience that when I neglect my spiritual practices, my energy and focus drop, and I tend to get grumpy. I don't have the reserve to do the things I need to do in my day to day life. I have also learned in recent years, the importance of allowing my spiritual practices to evolve as they need to evolve. I started keeping a journal in high school, and began writing in it more often after college. Somewh

When Moses came down from the mountain, where he was visiting with God and receiving the liberating commandments that would free the people from perpetual distraction, he found that the people had already recreated one of their former idols: the golden calf. Of course, the people were eventually brought back into the way that leads to God, but right there in the shadow of the mountain where God was speaking to Moses, instructing him in the way that they could walk with God, they back-slid. They opted for something they knew, that they could hold, touch, and see rather than wait for Moses to report back from the cloud and fire at the top of the mountain. We've probably heard that story often enough to know better than to make a literal, physical golden calf or statue, and place our prayers at its feet. If the Hebrew people following Moses had heard that story, they would have already known better, too. And they probably would have secretly created new and even more

 I hadn't been to Enchanted Rock for about 10 years. A decade away from that place. Unlike my visits to cities I once lived in, the rock remains the same. It was very familiar to me, from the top of the dome to the gruss filled steam bed down below. I went there with a group of eight clergy with Jeff Hammond from St. Barnabas who offered to drive us out there and show us around. He goes out there a couple of times a week, which surprised me, until I realized I go to the beach a couple of times a week. Get out to nature. It's good for one's soul. We stood up on top when we finally arrived, and someone suggested to Bishop Reed that this was probably the spot where one could see the most geography of the diocese in a single view. As we caught our breath, I felt the breeze and remembered other visits to Enchanted Rock from my past. Once with two of my nephews. Several trips with friends during college. One time with a friend who was an experienced climber. He was helping me

  I heard about the total eclipse on NPR while driving to the North Padre Bible Study. When I arrived at the site for our meeting, I went ahead and set my alarm for 4:15 a.m. so that I wouldn't forget to do it later. I recently learned from Barbara Brown Taylor's Book, Learning to Walk in the Dark, that sleeping 8 hours straight through a night is a modern invention anyway. What better night (early morning) to get up and play in the dark than on the night of this eclipse. In the early morning, when my alarm woke me, Laura asked what was going on, and I reminded her about the eclipse. Then I went out to find that it had already begun. The Earth's Shadow was crawling across the face of the moon as the orbits of the earth and moon aligned just right to shadow the sun's light. After I saw what was happening, I went back inside to make coffee, then found my binoculars. The light from the moon was so bright it was difficult to look at it through binoculars at first, but

Laura and I recently spent a weekend out around Marfa, Marathon, and Ft. Davis in West Texas. The change of scenery itself was refreshing. The open space of the desert is so quiet it invites an internal dialogue. We didn't do any extended hiking, but we did take a short walk around Ft. Davis State Park, playing chicken with the looming storm clouds. Yes, there were storm clouds! The whole desert was actually green from all the rain they've had recently. I am accustomed to seeing the rugged rocks with the bare, dead-stick-looking ocotillo. But on this trip, they were completely green. A couple of times the view was so green it looked more like Smokey Mountains. Even though I live in a beautiful, natural setting, it is still nice to get a change of scenery from time to time; it restores my soul. West Texas (Trans-Pecos) also holds a lot of memories for me. That was the preferred Spring Break and Christmas Break get-away during my college years (rather than a crowded beach.) T

I've been told by someone I trust that there are about 365 occurrences of the phrase, "Do not be afraid!" or some variation of it in the Bible. I always lose count, but I think of that significant number each time it comes up. The angels always say it because they have to, so that whomever they are visiting will listen to what they have to say instead of needing a change of clothes. The repetition of the phrase points to the reality that an encounter with God can be a terrifying experience. I remember one time in particular when I really wanted a sign from God: I was working at a camp one summer, up late after all the rest of the staff had gone to bed. I sat on the back steps and asked God for a sign, because I couldn't get a grip on what I believed or if I believed anything. Just after I prayed to the God I wasn't sure I believed in, I quickly said, "Never-mind," and went to bed. I had this immediate fear of a giant angel rising over the pine trees in

I like to play at remembering the spiritual nudges I have received along the way that led me into this priestly vocation. On a recent trip to San Marcos, during which new students were arriving at my alma mater and getting settled into dorms, I was reminded of how I ended up spending so much time at St. Mark's and involved with Canterbury. It was a simple invitation to come play music. On that recent trip, I spent time with one of the new College Missioners for Texas State.  They are calling the ministry The Spring . How appropriate! I tried to convey to him just a drop of the importance of that river ( the San Marcos ) to my own spiritual life, to the life of University, and the life of the town. I looked Sam in they eyes and told him I learned about as much from the river as in classes; that it taught me about Baptism and about the Holy Spirit. I invited him to sit at the feet of that master for a while, and get to know the wisdom of the river. I actually got a little choked u

Beverly supports a baby on the baby-supply area. The new U.T. Marine Science Institute Estuary Explorium is now open, and I get to be a volunteer docent! I've been learning more about the unique ecosystem created there where the freshwater from rivers co-mingles with saltwater from the gulf, like it does in our bay here between the island and the mainland. It creates a place where so much life thrives. It is also an in-between place. It's not the ocean nor the river. The water's salinity, temperature, and level change with weather, seasons, and tides. The flora and fauna are uniquely evolved to exist in that ever-changing environment, so long as the changes aren't too swift or drastic. After my volunteer orientation, but before my first day as a docent, I spent some time in a sort-of cultural estuary. Three of us from Port Aransas traveled toward the United States-Mexico border; as we started our journey, I soon I realized that we were already moving from o

 Sometimes I long for my years at VTS (Virginia Theological Seminary.) There are certainly the friends and faculty that I miss, but the environment and the expectation to be growing, learning, and exploring faith and spirituality are what I think I really miss. I read quite a bit (currently A History of God by Karen Armstrong), but there's something about setting aside the time and space; something about being with fellow sojourners that makes the experience that much richer. I am so thankful for the continuing education requirements of our church, and for the support and time to grow, learn, and explore (including the financial support of Trinity by the Sea and the Diocese of West Texas!) I believe that, as a leader in a spiritual community, if my own spiritual journey is not active, then there's not much I can offer to others...the well runs dry. Of course, I am fed by the weekly practice of writing sermons, writing this blog, etc., but to get away for some serious soul

At a recent baptism, we got playful in our conversation about the symbolism of water: we considered all the ways we use water in daily life, and why it is such a powerful symbol. Washing, drinking, and cooking are very important, but soon we remembered how we use water recreationally (How could we forget that, living here?) Specifically, we talked about surfing. Early on in my conversations with folks about surfing, as I was struggling to learn some basics, someone said, "You don't really catch the wave, the wave catches you." What wisdom! What a wonderful thing to consider when reflecting on what our baptism means, and what the life with the Holy Spirit is all about. A few years ago, I learned the metaphor our Celtic Christian friends use for the Holy Spirit. Instead of a docile dove, they use the image of the Wild Goose! What a very different set of qualities for the Spirit. A Wild Goose is always on the move, and is something we may spend a lifetime c

 I played golf once with my "best buddy" when I was in 3rd grade. I remember looking for golf balls, and his dad telling me it was okay that I lost them, and maybe I could just ride in the cart for a while. This year after hanging around our 6th Annual Trinity by the Sea Golf Tournament , I feel inspired to try again. I've already heard rumor of some less than perfect golfers I may try to tag along with so I don't drag anyone down.  All that to say, even though I have not played golf in the past, I may try to put my toes in the water. I mean, it's for a good cause, right? I have until May 1st to at least learn a little etiquette. What I really learned, about our tournament anyway, is that it's about having fun. We had such a great time, form the volunteers, to the staff at Palmilla, to most importantly, the players! (See the winning team in the above picture. The winners were having fun!) Each year brings it's challenges of hustling raffle ite

Two separate times since Easter I have sat still. Once on the banks of a river, just watching the river slide past, and occasional turtles and fish stirring the calmer waters. Once on the beach as Eli jumped wave after wave after wave. Stopping those two times made me realize how much I need to be still. A different sort of thinking takes place there. Un-multi-task thinking. No new stories to scroll up through. Just sitting, allowing my soul to catch up with my body. Today I read this in the book Through the Year with Thomas Merton. He wrote it a long time before the words multitasking and facebook were popular. "The question arises: is modern man--confused and exhausted by a multitude of words, opinions, doctrines, and slogans--psychologically capable of the clarity and confidence necessary for valid prayer? Is he not so frustrated and deafened by conflicting propagandas that he has lost his capacity for deep and simple trust?" (from Thomas Merton's Life and

Plastic bag in front of Trinity by the Sea On a recent trip to Austin, I was surprised and delighted not to be handed a plastic bag when I checked out of a grocery store. I wasn't buying much, so I was able to carry out my things without remembering to bring in my reusable bags. For some time now, I've gotten in the habit of turning down plastic bags in convenience stores when they try to put my humble bag of sunflower seeds, lonely, in another bag. The plastic grocery bag has become like a handshake at the end of the deal: it seems to make the shopping experience complete. It is such an ingrained habit, that the person behind the cash register sometimes gets a suspicious look when I ask for no bag, as if thinking, "This yahoo is threatening our way of life!" I think about habits a lot, as a Christian of the Episcopal persuasion. Our practices and our experiences in everyday life shape the way we understand our relationship with God, with others, and with ours

Notice the Sister 7 T-Shirt? I can remember standing outside a 21+ club in Houston when I was 19, trying to hear a few lines float out the door from Patrice Pike’s band at the time Sister 7. I was there with the friend who originally let me listen to the live album “Free Love, Nickel Beer.” Patrice was kind enough to stop by and say hello to us after the show. By that time I was already enthralled by the music and lyrics, and noticed the deep spirituality of the music as much as I appreciated her sincerity and passion when she performed. By the time I started listening to her music, I already sensed a call to the priesthood, so was reflecting on some of the themes I discovered in songs like “Forgiven” of the self titled Sister 7 album: “We’ll all be forgiven…” Her lyrics pointed toward a loving God who I had come to know, and even recognized that the human institutions claiming to represent God sometimes missed the boat. Her music continues to influence my own theology of a