Want to learn about St. Lydia’s?

Read this article, “Dinner Church: Sit Down at the Table” to learn more about what we’re up to.

Interested in how St. Lydia’s got started?

Read this article, “Starting From Scratch” about how St. Lydia’s got started.

The Hidden Singer

by Wendell Berry

The gods are less
for their love of praise.
Above and below them all
is a spirit that needs
nothing but its own
wholeness,
its health and ours.
It has made all things
by dividing itself.
It will be whole again.
To its joy we come
together—the seer
and the seen, the eater
and the eaten, the lover
and the loved.
In our joining it knows
itself. It is with us then,
not as the gods
whose names crest
in unearthly fire,
but as a little bird
hidden in the leaves
who sings quietly
and waits
and sings.

The Most, and Least Important Part

Denise is a congregant at St. Lydia’s.

She can be reached at denisenyc2010@gmail.com

I suppose there are lots of things at St. Lydia’s (or any church) that people could find scary. Some congregants probably get a little nervous about having to make conversation with strangers during an entire meal, or singing without a loud organ that drowns out their voice. Maybe some people aren’t comfortable with the liturgy we use for the Eucharist, or don’t like holding hands while we pray. What sometimes frightens the Bejesus out of me is the food.

When I started going to St. Lydia’s about 10 months ago I had already made great strides in overcoming an eating disorder, but every day is still a struggle, and it’s still not easy for me to relinquish control over what I eat. There have been one or two Sundays along the way when my anxiety about what food I might encounter at dinner church kept me from going. And to this day, I still snack before I go so I don’t arrive too hungry, in case the menu doesn’t match what I think I’m supposed to eat.

But for the most part I go, Sunday after Sunday, because my desire to be there is greater than my fear. The friends I’ve made, and what we do together nourish my heart, my spirit, my intellect. And I also know that eating in community, exposing my body to a greater variety of foods, and eating surprise meals that I have no control over are all important elements of my recovery. I keep going back because I trust that practicing, week after week, can bring about changes.

“At St. Lydia’s, we place practice before belief. It’s the practice of eating, praying, and singing together that moves us deeper into faith. Instead of trying to figure out what we believe, we’re trying to live what we practice.” That’s from the St. Lydia’s Website. It’s one of the things that drew me to the congregation before I ever showed up, and it’s what keeps me going back.

I hope most people feel that St. Lydia’s is a church we can come to with doubts about God and faith, and with fears of intimacy, of public speaking, of cheese and bread and creamy salad dressing. For all of us, I hope it’s a place where we open up our broken selves to being knocked out of our comfort zones and transformed, and to feeling loved and welcomed in the spirit of hospitality that grounds our very existence as St. Lydia’s. Church really should be a place that helps us to loosen our controlling grip on life, that nudges us toward new heights of tolerance, and that prepares us for a life that includes surprises and even some discomfort.

I suspect that lots of people at our dinner church don’t care in the least about what we eat or drink on Sunday nights. Some congregants are probably grateful that it’s a place where we eat and drink at all. But I also suspect there are others who do think about what’s at the table at St. Lydia’s. Some of us might like to have non-vegetarian options occasionally, while others might object to that. I wonder if congregants who struggle with alcohol addiction would prefer if we served juice only. Maybe some people don’t even come because they know there will be wine. And I imagine that there are other people with concerns about food and drink that I can’t even come up with.

We are a dinner church. Our practice together nourishes body and spirit. What we choose to serve at St. Lydia’s matters, but the food on our plates is just one of the ways we are fed on Sunday nights. I remember when my first grown-up boyfriend told me that he thought sex was both the most and least important part of adult relationships. I think the same is true of the food we eat at St. Lydia’s: it’s the most, and least, important part.

What Did You Notice, facebook-style!

At St. Lydia’s we often ask the question, “What Did You Notice?”  This question featured prominently in our summer retreat, and we ask it at each Community Meeting.  The practice of noticing helps us to reflect on our experience and increases our awareness of God’s movement in our worship, our community, and ourselves.  I’d like to deepen this practice of noticing through the unlikely tool of facebook.  Every Sunday after St. Lydia’s, we’ll post a status update on the St. Lydia’s fan page, asking what you noticed at St. Lydia’s that night.  Take a moment to notice something, small or large, and see what others have experienced. We started last Sunday — take a look!

Community Conversations

Dear Lydians,

As we continue to grow, I’m finding that I need a place to be in conversation with you, the congregation.  We have dialogue in the sermon, reflect after worship, and have our Community Meetings, but I feel a need for time to discern and speak together about what we’re experiencing as a congregation and the identity we’re forming.  So I’d like to introduce a monthly Community Conversation.  These conversations will take place on a weeknight evening near Union Square.  The conversations will revolve around a specific topic that is timely for our community, and there will usually be a short reading that I’ll send out ahead of time to help guide our conversation.

I’d like to focus our first conversation around the balance between radical hospitality and the boundaries that keep our congregation healthy.  Each week we open our doors to whoever walks through them.  This is experience can be surprising, delightful, unnerving. Is there such thing as a community that welcomes all, and what support can we responsibly offer to those who come through our doors who are in great need?

-Emily

A word from Heather on holiday giving

When I was growing up, my church always “adopted families” for Christmas. Through the local food bank, we banded together to provide food and children’s gifts for a bunch of local families that needed a little extra help. Now that Lydia’s is in its second year, I’d like for us to begin observing a similar tradition of generosity, so I asked Rachel and Emily if I could spearhead a little Christmas giving campaign. I think it’s important to think not only of what we’ll be eating at dinner church this Advent, or what we’ll cook with our families and friends on Christmas Day, but also what we can do to make one other table groan, just a little, under the weight of wholesome food this Christmas.

A lot of programs in the city are all about giving presents to needy kids, and presents are a very nice thing, but Lydians focus on the importance of sharing a meal, and I think our outreach should be no different. I invite you to join with me to sponsor a family—just one family—this year. I’m trying to raise $70 so we can provide the following: a turkey, vegetables, stuffing, soup, gravy, fruit, bread, dessert, and an age-appropriate toy for each child under 16. Lookit how far that money goes! Do you think we can do it? I do! All it takes is a little digging in your pocket; we don’t even have to go shopping! St. John’s Bread and Life, the organization through which we’ll be sponsoring a family, does all the hard work, and they do it for more than 2,000 families each year.

When I posted on Facebook asking friends to recommend organizations that do this, several people suggested Bread and Life, but I also got one extraordinary comment from a friend of mine. “Just wanted to say that I was one of those adopted families as a kid and it was the best Christmas ever! You’re doing a great thing.” Though we may never meet them, these are real people we’re helping and we’ll really make a difference. Remember, giving is a spiritual practice.

To contribute, come talk to me (Heather) in person on December 5 or December 19, comment below so I can e-mail you directly, or leave money in the specially designated plate on the welcome table at St. Lydia’s. Since our collective donation has to be in fairly early (so they can shop!), I’m paying on our behalf in advance, so checks can be made out to me to reimburse me (if we get more than $70, I will dance a ridiculous dance at church in January and that money will go to Trinity’s soup kitchen). Remember, this is separate from any contributions you make to St. Lydia’s and does not go toward your annual giving goal. It’s just an extra bit of kindness during a tough time of year.

PS – If you’re looking for another way to contribute, Bread and Life would love the use of your time and hands! On December 11, 12, 18, and 19, volunteers are needed to set up, pack up, and distribute all the goodies.

The Wild Turkey

by James Tate

I was standing at the kitchen sink washing
a few dishes, when I hear this knocking at my door.
I looked out the window, but there was no one there.
But the knocking continued.  I looked down, and there
was this wild turkey staring at me.  He must have been
about four feet tall, and he was looking right into
my eyes.  Then he pecked at my door again, and I
instinctively opened it. He walked into the middle
of the room and said, “Gobble gobble gobble.” I poured
him a bowl of dry cereal and another bowl of water.
He tried the cereal and seemed to like it.  He’d take
four or five bites, and then wash it all down with a
couple of sips of water. Then he’d look up at me
with his blue head and his red and white mottled neck.
He finished the cereal, then flapped his great wings
as if to thank me. His green iridescent feathers
glazed the room in a magical light.  I walked into
the living room, and he followed me.  I sat down in my
chair, and he leapt up on the back of the couch.  He had
the meekest, almost beseeching eyes, that seemed to
say, “Whatever you want to do next is fine by me.
I’m your guest, after all, and we’ve only just met,
though I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime,
old friend, new friend, good friend.” “Gobble gobble
gobble,” I said.  He didn’t reply, but turned his head
away and stared at the TV, which was off.  We sat there
in silence for a good long time.  Sometimes our eyes
met, and we’d wander down those ancient hallways, a
little afraid, a little in awe.  And then we’d turn away
having reached a locked door.  He studied the room, too,
for any clue, but it must have seemed so alien,
the beautiful vases and bowls, the paintings, scraps
of a lost civilization.  Hours passed like this.  I felt
an immense calm within me.  We were sleeping in a tree
on an island in an unknown land.

–Read at St. Lydia’s on November 28

Ring the Bell

by Tomaž Šalamun

You boil that bit of time in between.
The difference between when you come
and when you say you are coming. No. It’s
not that simple.  I too am no novice.

The difference between the expected and
the real arrrival regardless of what you said.
The Bible cannot be read literally.  Layers of
uttered time are taken away.  But in those

thin little zones, the new shock of time folds and
rattles. I’m watered by longing, knocking my
head into the wall, on the ground, or I burn, burn,
folded up on the couch.  With my body and my

mind I experience the delight of all those tormented
before me, or I lie in bed dismantled.
Saints have always been annihilated in strange ways.
Man has always licked his lips because of God.

–Read at St. Lydia’s on November 21

Sermon: Mark 1:1-8

Read Emily’s latest sermon, “Love the Guest is On the Way,” preached at St. Lydia’s on the first Sunday of Advent, at her blog, Sit and Eat.