One Year Ago - June 16
Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 69:1-23(24-30)31-38; PM Psalm 73; Ecclus. 45:6-16; 2 Cor. 12:11-21; Luke 19:41-48
Today’s Reflection
“Save me, O God, for the waters have risen up to my neck. I am sinking in deep mire, and there is no firm ground for my feet. I have come into deep waters, and the torrent washes over me. I have grown weary with my crying; my throat is inflamed; my eyes have failed from looking for my God.” Psalm 69: 1-4
A year ago today, I was not here in Birmingham. I was in London, doing a study course called Learning from London with Bexley-Seabury Seminary. I love London, with its beautiful architecture, gorgeous gardens and parks, outstanding museums, and an incredibly diverse population of residents and visitors from around the world. And I love Learning from London—I so much enjoyed that immersion experience as a seminary student in 2018 that I wanted to do it again as a priest in 2022.
I’d had a very tough summer personally in 2021, so I was determined that in 2022 I would have a much better summer—and that I’d start it off right by going back to England. And I was excited for the chance to be inspired again by all the innovative ways churches in the Diocese of London are connecting with their communities. I had high hopes of returning to Saint Stephen’s with ideas and energy for opening our doors and our hearts to our neighbors in new and creative ways.
That Thursday, June 16, we had another long day out and about around London—visiting churches from the Sir Christopher Wren-designed St. James, Piccadilly in Soho to the brand-new St. Francis at the Engine Room in Tottenham Hale in East London. As I scroll back through the photographs from that day on my phone, I see blue skies and bright colors and memories of an unusually hot June day traipsing around this massive city with clergy colleagues from around the U.S. and Canada.
The last photo from that day is of a particularly fancy drink I had (a peach bergamot negroni in a lavender-encrusted glass that really was photo worthy). I ordered this negroni (the first time I’d ever had one) at an Italian restaurant called Amalfi in Soho. A few of us headed back to that part of town as I was on a mission to go back to Liberty of London to get another couple metres of fabric for some clergy dresses I’d been planning to have made by Watts & Co. (I’d been to Liberty to buy fabric the day before, but learned I hadn’t bought enough.) I convinced a few classmates to go with me to that neighborhood, and I’d just run down the street to get the fabric while they enjoyed their drinks and appetizers. Our course professor and two other classmates ended up joining us there later, and we lingered over wine and dinner for probably three hours or more. A perfect end to our day.
So we returned much later than usual to the Highbury Centre where we were staying. I hadn’t been asleep for long, and was sleeping especially soundly, when my phone (which I had on the bed beside my head as an alarm clock) started to ring. I woke up feeling confused for a second, who would be calling so late—and surprised that my ringer was actually on, because I keep it on silent 99% of the time. I picked it up, looked at it, noted the time (1:20 something), and was very surprised to see that it was Lisa Schroeder from our church. In my very groggy state, I answered and asked Lisa if she remembered that I was in London. She did know, and said that she was calling to see if I had heard anything about a shooting at Saint Stephen’s.
A friend of hers, who had been a part of our book group sometimes, had called Lisa to see if she knew what was going on. As I talked with Lisa, and began to wake up and try to make sense of what I was hearing, I pictured that maybe there had been some sort of incident in the back parking lot. As I spoke with Lisa, I told her I would try to find out what was going on. As soon as I went to al.com, I saw the lead story—with pictures of police cars by the entrance to our church and blocking off Crosshaven—and my heart sank.
I began to try to get in touch with my colleagues, and at some point in the wee hours had a brief, convoluted conversation or two with John, who was an hour or so ahead of me in Greece. I got online and watched as Brad Landry from All Saints led an impromptu prayer service on Facebook, and later caught part of Presiding Bishop Michael Curry’s prayers for us. I saw pictures of people gathered to pray in the Publix parking lot. I heard that some people from the Parish Hall had made their way to the apartments across the street. Things started to seem both more real and more surreal.
I couldn’t go back to sleep. The sun comes up early in England in the summer, around 4:30 a.m. Around 6 something, I decided to walk up to the coffee shop by the Highbury Islington tube station to get some fresh air and some much-needed caffeine. At that point I’d had no in-person contact with anyone aside from the person who sold me my coffee. But as it happens, I had made plans by text the evening before to meet Josiah and Katie Rengers (fellow priests here in Birmingham) for breakfast that morning, Friday, June 17. We had figured out the day before that we were all staying at the same place there in London, but they were leaving that day to go to Wales. I had texted Josiah a link to the al.com story so they would know about it before we met. I appreciated the hug from Josiah that morning, and having a familiar face and voice there as I had my first real conversation about it all. In those first moments talking with Josiah, with the help of some caffeine, I began trying to make sense of what had happened to these dearly loved parishioners who had just been trying to share a simple evening of fellowship together in our Parish Hall.
After breakfast with the Rengers, I gathered with the Learning from London group for morning prayers, and felt the warmth and love of these new friends as they prayed for all the people of Saint Stephen’s that day. I gave them my regrets that I could not join them for the last day of church site visits, then went back upstairs to my little room to try to figure out what I could write as the Daily Reflection for that Friday. I had brought my iPad, and so I sat there at my little desk overlooking the street asking God to show me what to say (and he did).
After I queued up my Daily Reflection in Constant Contact and our website, I thought: what else can I do? I had a very clear sense that my task was to construct a list of everyone who had been at the Boomers dinner and begin to try to send them texts and leave them voice mails. Later that day, I began to hear back from some of them. I remember very clearly conversations I had with a few, and texts with others. Talking with them and hearing their voices helped me know better how to pray. Mainly, I wanted to make sure they heard my voice and hear me tell them that I was praying for them and that I love them.
At that point, it was approaching midday in London (and still in the wee hours of June 17 back home). I had emailed Fiona to see if she’d be OK with my doing our online Morning Prayer on Facebook that day, which in London would be at 2:30 p.m. Since I had a few hours until then, I decided that I would do something to get me out in the fresh air and the light of day for a while—take the tube across town to the neighborhood of Westminster Abbey to deliver my fabric to Watts & Co.
I put on my black clergy dress (the only one I’d brought with me) on that very hot London day (up to 95 degrees that day), and rushed off across town. I know it may sound like a frivolous thing to do on such a somber day, but I couldn’t go back to sleep, I didn’t want to sit around and get sucked into further despair, and (as I’ve told a few of you) I wasn’t going to let that jerk (the shooter) keep me from ordering my dresses.
I made it to Watts & Co., placed my order and left them my fabrics, and began to try to quickly make my way back toward the tube station by Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. I got back on the tube with no problems and made it back over to Highbury Islington. But as I looked at the time, I began to panic. I was going to be cutting it really close to get back to the Highbury Centre to do Morning Prayer at 2:30. I started to walk very fast, and then at the end was running through the streets of Highbury to get back into my accommodations with only minutes to spare.
I decided I’d lead Morning Prayer from one of the common areas downstairs, and ended up in this room with emerald green walls and a clock on the wall behind me. I quickly pulled over a small table, set up my iPad, and hoped that the Internet connection and Facebook Live would cooperate. I was sweating from rushing across London in the 95-degree heat as I began the livestream. Not only did it feel surreal to be doing Morning Prayer from London, and with no sleep, but also I felt a bit anxious about being sure to pray in ways that protected the privacy of the families not to mention striking the right tones of mourning and community and even forgiveness. As I led the prayers, hundreds of people from all around the United States and the world—including some familiar names of seminary classmates—commented to let us know they were praying with and for us in real-time.
I remember as I heard from people back home, some were concerned that I was all alone to deal with the devastating news of what was happening back at Saint Stephen’s. But what I want you all to know is that I never felt alone. Not only did I receive so many texts from home, but what are the chances that not one but two other priests from our Diocese would be staying in the very same lodging as me—and that we’d had plans to meet that morning. Then, when I rejoined my Learning from London cohort that night for dinner, I was surrounded by priests and future priests who couldn’t have been more supportive. I stepped out of dinner to take a call from Kathy Graham, who had recently joined our staff, and felt comforted to hear her voice. At some point, I joined an emergency staff meeting via Zoom, but I am not sure what day or time that was.
And as I finished my time in London that weekend (looking toward flying back to the U.S. on that Monday), I worshipped that Sunday, June 19 at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, whose priest Sam had spoken at Saint Stephen’s and at our Diocesan Convention just a few months earlier. When he heard of the shooting here, Sam offered to meet with me after church that day, to be a sounding board as I began to process all that happened—and all that would be awaiting me back in Birmingham. That Sunday afternoon, Sam also began to help me think through how I would preach what might be the most important sermon I’d ever given that following Sunday, June 26. I’m grateful to Sam for coming to speak and preach at Saint Stephen’s a few months later, in October, to help all of us continue to process what happened—as well as for his kind words in support of the anthology of essays written by parishioners and staff about their own June 16 experiences.
As long as this remembrance is, I know I’ve likely left some important moments out. But I am glad that I can finally write down and reflect on these memories as we mark this one-year anniversary of all that unfolded on June 16, 2022 at Saint Stephen’s. Thanks for reading and remembering with me.
Becky+
Moment for Reflection
Click here to read the Daily Reflection (“Hearts Broken Open”) I wrote on June 17, 2022.