Date: August 6, 2021
I love words. I love studying their origins and derivatives. I love adding new ones to my vocabulary. I love looking up definitions of even the most commonly used words to catch a fresh glimpse of something that lends a new perspective or context to my understanding. The Oxford Dictionary provided just such a glimpse in this instance. The first definition listed for the word “COME” struck me: verb–“to move or travel toward or into a place thought of as near or familiar to the speaker.” Near and familiar.
Serving as a sacristan to this worshipping community is a humbling privilege and sacred work. Indeed, our manner of modified worship over the last eighteen months has been necessary for ensuring the community’s safety and it has remained holy; it has provided a new definition of “two or three gathering in His name and being in the midst of us.” I have encountered God in this space, both as a worshipper and as a sacristan. Yet, it seems we could all likely agree, it has been starkly void of “near and familiar.”
In my work, there is an expansive and holy silence that floods my heart and often fills my eyes as I enter into the chapel ahead of everyone else in the community. The sensory experience engulfs my preparation for the day’s worship. There is a palpable sense of presence in the crispness of the fair linen and the ironed creases of the purificator. There is holiness in the weight of the Bible as I carry it to the ambo. There is a sacredness in the subtle smell of the candle oil and humility in the fraying of the ribbon markers of the altar book. There is nearness. There is familiarity.
I speak on behalf of the entire sacristan corps: Omar Cisneros ’22, Mitchell Felton ’23, Janettarose Greene ’23, Sarah Lusk ’23, and Chris Micklewright ’23 to say COME. Come to the near and familiar, for we will have done our work to make it so.
Iva Staats ’22
M.Div., Diocese of Southern Ohio