Here is a review of Just Once from The Living Church, February 3, 2008
“This is the seventh book of poems written by Jamie Parsley, a priest of the Diocese of North Dakota. At age 32, he was diagnosed with cancer. His work details the experience. Anyone who has been through a similar experience will find this emotional work to be riveting.”
Monday, January 28, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
New Book available.
My new book is available.
Let This Road Beneath Me Sing: Prayers
is available for $5.00 ($2.00 shipping and handling)
from:
Enso Press
PO Box 10115
Fargo, ND 58106
You can find samples from the book at
www.jamieparsley.com
Let This Road Beneath Me Sing: Prayers
is available for $5.00 ($2.00 shipping and handling)
from:
Enso Press
PO Box 10115
Fargo, ND 58106
You can find samples from the book at
www.jamieparsley.com
Stony Point
by Jamie Parsley
The wind moves not
toward here but away,
up the shore from this
gathering of boulders
and this one lone pine,
its skeletal roots exposed
to the upward grasp
of the water.
I will leave here
one day never to return.
I will get up from this place
I called my own and never
again return, not leaving
any trace of myself behind—
not one thing that stone-
cold tides and persistent
winters can’t dispose of.
Even then, all will be well.
It will be good to go from here
and to be truly gone—
to not leave anything
that can be traced or
examined or exposed
like this day once
the sun unveils itself.
It will be enough to be
as the wind is in this place—
unleashed here—
an exhausting presence
that completely fills the air
and then is gone.
It will be good to be
as the clouds I remember
hanging above me the first day
I came here. They are gone now—
replaced by ghostly shadows
I find familiar
and yet strangely distant
in a familial sort of way.
The wind moves not
toward here but away,
up the shore toward that place
I have been headed toward
all my life.
The wind moves not
toward here but away,
up the shore from this
gathering of boulders
and this one lone pine,
its skeletal roots exposed
to the upward grasp
of the water.
I will leave here
one day never to return.
I will get up from this place
I called my own and never
again return, not leaving
any trace of myself behind—
not one thing that stone-
cold tides and persistent
winters can’t dispose of.
Even then, all will be well.
It will be good to go from here
and to be truly gone—
to not leave anything
that can be traced or
examined or exposed
like this day once
the sun unveils itself.
It will be enough to be
as the wind is in this place—
unleashed here—
an exhausting presence
that completely fills the air
and then is gone.
It will be good to be
as the clouds I remember
hanging above me the first day
I came here. They are gone now—
replaced by ghostly shadows
I find familiar
and yet strangely distant
in a familial sort of way.
The wind moves not
toward here but away,
up the shore toward that place
I have been headed toward
all my life.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Holy Name of Jesus
January 2, 2008
Chapel of the Ressurrection
Gethsemane Episcopal Cathedral
Numbers 6.22-27, Psalm 8, Galatians 4.4-7 and Luke 2.15-21
Yeterday, we celebrated one of my favroite feasts, the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus. This feast used to be known at the Circumcision of Our Lord. We have kept the feast, but we’ve changed the name, probably for good reason. On the eighth day following Jesus’ birth, he, like all Jewish males born in his time, was brought to the Temple, circumcised and named.
This name, Jesus or Joshua, Yeshua in Hebrew, was a common name in his day. There are two differing translation of the name: One is “God with us.” The other is “God saves,” or more specifically “God saves us from our sins.”
Today is an important feast on one hand because what it shows us is that we do truly have an intimate relationship with God. God is no longer a nameless, distant deity. God has a name—or rather the God who came to us in Jesus has a name.
We all know how important names are. Our own names are important to us. They define us. We have been trained to respond when we hear our name called.
We, in effect, are our names. Our names and our selves are bound inexorably together. Our name is truly who we are.
The same can be said of God. In the Old Testament God reveals the Divine Name as Yahweh. Yahweh is such a sacred and holy word to the Jews that it can not even be repeated. In a sense, the name Yahweh becomes so intertwined with Who God is that is becomes, for the Jews, almost like God.
It is the Name God revealed to Aaron. God said, “they shall put my name—Yahweh—on them and I will bless them.”
The message here to all of us is that to have a truly meaningful relationship with anyone—to truly know them—we need to know them by their name. So, too, is this same idea used when we think about our own relationship with God and, in turn, God’s relationship with us.
God knows us by name and we know God by name.
This is important. God is not simply some distant Being we vaguely comprehend. God is close. God is closer than we can even imagine. God knows us and we know God. We know each other by name.
This is why the name of Jesus is important to us. That is why we give the Name a certain level of respect.
Like the Name that was revealed to Aaron, so has the Name of our God been revealed to us. And like the name Yahweh to the Jews, the Name of Jesus is holy and sacred to us Christians.
We have all seen the IHS symbol in churches. Not many people know what IHS stands for. Some people think they are initials for “In his service” But they are not initials. They are the first three letters of the name of Jesus in Greek. They are the letters Iota, Eta and Sigma.
Whenever we see the HIS symbol, we are to be reminded of the Holy Name of Jesus. There was an old belief that the IHS devotion was started by a 14th century Franciscan priest, St. Bernadine of Siena. For St. Bernadine and for those who followed Bernadine’s devotion to the Holy Name of Jesus, nothing was more holy and more sacred than the Holy Name of Jesus. Certainly even for us, the Name is a vital and important part of what we believe as Christians.
The collect for the Feast of the Holy Name recalls that the name of Jesus is the “sign of our salvation.” I don’t see that as a sweet, overly sentimental notion. I see it as a very important part of who we are as Christians.
Anglo-Catholic people in the Anglican and Episcopal Church bow every time the Name of Jesus is mentioned. Again, I don’t see that as an overly pious action. I see it as a sign of respect for Jesus at a time when his Name is widely abused and misused.
We’ve all done it. We’ve all sworn, using the Name in a disrespectful way. We have not given the rightful respect to God’s name in our lives, even when we know full well that a name is more than just a name.
A Name is, in a sense, one’s essence. Certain in Jesus’ case, it is. Jesus is “God with us.” Jesus is “God saving us.” By this very name we have a special relationship with this God who has come among us
We belong to this God whose name we know. Of course, that doesn’t mean that God belongs to us. Rather, God is with us. All of us. God, in Jesus, has come to all of us.
God in Jesus knows each of us by name. Certainly those of us who are Christian know this in a unique way. When we were baptized, we, like Jesus eight days after his birth, were named. At our baptism, were signed as Christ’s own forever.
We were claimed by God by name.
By Baptism, our own names became holy names. By Baptism, God came to know us by name and because of that, our names are sanctified. We bear in us our own holy name before God.
So today—this day we celebrate not only God’s holy name but our own as well—and in the days to come, take to heart the fact that God’s name is holy and sacred. Be mindful of the words you use and be mindful of that name of Jesus in your life.
But also be mindful of your own holy name. When you hear your own name, remember that it is the name God knows you by and, as a result, it is truly holy.
In sense our own names can be translated as “God with us.” When we hear our names, let us hear “God saves us.” And let us be reminded that God knows us better than anyone else—even our own selves. Claim the holiness of your name and know that God in Jesus is calling you to your own fullness of life by name.
Amen.
Chapel of the Ressurrection
Gethsemane Episcopal Cathedral
Numbers 6.22-27, Psalm 8, Galatians 4.4-7 and Luke 2.15-21
Yeterday, we celebrated one of my favroite feasts, the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus. This feast used to be known at the Circumcision of Our Lord. We have kept the feast, but we’ve changed the name, probably for good reason. On the eighth day following Jesus’ birth, he, like all Jewish males born in his time, was brought to the Temple, circumcised and named.
This name, Jesus or Joshua, Yeshua in Hebrew, was a common name in his day. There are two differing translation of the name: One is “God with us.” The other is “God saves,” or more specifically “God saves us from our sins.”
Today is an important feast on one hand because what it shows us is that we do truly have an intimate relationship with God. God is no longer a nameless, distant deity. God has a name—or rather the God who came to us in Jesus has a name.
We all know how important names are. Our own names are important to us. They define us. We have been trained to respond when we hear our name called.
We, in effect, are our names. Our names and our selves are bound inexorably together. Our name is truly who we are.
The same can be said of God. In the Old Testament God reveals the Divine Name as Yahweh. Yahweh is such a sacred and holy word to the Jews that it can not even be repeated. In a sense, the name Yahweh becomes so intertwined with Who God is that is becomes, for the Jews, almost like God.
It is the Name God revealed to Aaron. God said, “they shall put my name—Yahweh—on them and I will bless them.”
The message here to all of us is that to have a truly meaningful relationship with anyone—to truly know them—we need to know them by their name. So, too, is this same idea used when we think about our own relationship with God and, in turn, God’s relationship with us.
God knows us by name and we know God by name.
This is important. God is not simply some distant Being we vaguely comprehend. God is close. God is closer than we can even imagine. God knows us and we know God. We know each other by name.
This is why the name of Jesus is important to us. That is why we give the Name a certain level of respect.
Like the Name that was revealed to Aaron, so has the Name of our God been revealed to us. And like the name Yahweh to the Jews, the Name of Jesus is holy and sacred to us Christians.
We have all seen the IHS symbol in churches. Not many people know what IHS stands for. Some people think they are initials for “In his service” But they are not initials. They are the first three letters of the name of Jesus in Greek. They are the letters Iota, Eta and Sigma.
Whenever we see the HIS symbol, we are to be reminded of the Holy Name of Jesus. There was an old belief that the IHS devotion was started by a 14th century Franciscan priest, St. Bernadine of Siena. For St. Bernadine and for those who followed Bernadine’s devotion to the Holy Name of Jesus, nothing was more holy and more sacred than the Holy Name of Jesus. Certainly even for us, the Name is a vital and important part of what we believe as Christians.
The collect for the Feast of the Holy Name recalls that the name of Jesus is the “sign of our salvation.” I don’t see that as a sweet, overly sentimental notion. I see it as a very important part of who we are as Christians.
Anglo-Catholic people in the Anglican and Episcopal Church bow every time the Name of Jesus is mentioned. Again, I don’t see that as an overly pious action. I see it as a sign of respect for Jesus at a time when his Name is widely abused and misused.
We’ve all done it. We’ve all sworn, using the Name in a disrespectful way. We have not given the rightful respect to God’s name in our lives, even when we know full well that a name is more than just a name.
A Name is, in a sense, one’s essence. Certain in Jesus’ case, it is. Jesus is “God with us.” Jesus is “God saving us.” By this very name we have a special relationship with this God who has come among us
We belong to this God whose name we know. Of course, that doesn’t mean that God belongs to us. Rather, God is with us. All of us. God, in Jesus, has come to all of us.
God in Jesus knows each of us by name. Certainly those of us who are Christian know this in a unique way. When we were baptized, we, like Jesus eight days after his birth, were named. At our baptism, were signed as Christ’s own forever.
We were claimed by God by name.
By Baptism, our own names became holy names. By Baptism, God came to know us by name and because of that, our names are sanctified. We bear in us our own holy name before God.
So today—this day we celebrate not only God’s holy name but our own as well—and in the days to come, take to heart the fact that God’s name is holy and sacred. Be mindful of the words you use and be mindful of that name of Jesus in your life.
But also be mindful of your own holy name. When you hear your own name, remember that it is the name God knows you by and, as a result, it is truly holy.
In sense our own names can be translated as “God with us.” When we hear our names, let us hear “God saves us.” And let us be reminded that God knows us better than anyone else—even our own selves. Claim the holiness of your name and know that God in Jesus is calling you to your own fullness of life by name.
Amen.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
St. Stephen
December 26, 2007
The Chapel of the Resurrection
Gethsemane Episcopal Cathedral
Fargo
Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
We all know this hymn very well—with those beautiful lyrics by the great Anglican hymn-writer and priest, John Mason Neale.
Well, today is the feast of Stephen—the feast of St. Stephen, the first martyr of the Christain church.
St. Stephen is one of those saints that we find ourselves looking toward again and again as an example of proclaiming Jesus to the world.
In addition to being the proto-martyr of the Church, he was also a deacon and is still highly esteemed by deacons.
Being the first martyr, St. Stephen was, of course, as we hear in the book of Acts, stoned to death for his belief that Jesus is God.
In his persecution he experienced a theophany—a vision of God, and of Jesus seated at God’s right hand.
As he lay dying, he prayed the first prayer ever recorded to Jesus, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”
The word martyr actually means “witness” and truly St. Stephen is a witness to us.
Even in the face of opposition, even in the face of death, St. Stephen professed his faith in Jesus—in that which he knew was true.
He is an example to all us in that we are all called to be witnesses one way or the other.
Some of us are called to witness for Christ as St. Stephen did—with our lives.
Those witnesses are called to proclaim their faith in Christ by dying for their faith.
Even now in the world, Christians are being persecuted for their faith and all too often, countless numbers of Christians still die for Christ in those hostile environments.
And, while dying for the faith might seem to be, ultimately, a failure, we have to remember that the Church has flourished with the blood of the martyrs.
The famous motto—“The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church”—is a very true statement.
What would our Church be without those Christians who were—and still are—brrave enough to stand up against injustice and oppression and die for Jesus rather than give up their faith in Christ and take on another faith?
So, yes some are called to be martyrs.
Not all of us are called to be witnesses as martyrs.
But all of us, as Christians, are called to witness to Jesus by our words and actions.
Being a Christian, as we discover in the story of Stephen and all martyrs, is more than just going to church on Sundays or on Christmas and Easter.
It is more than doing dramatic things, like Stephen, for the Church.
Being a Christian means living out our faith every day of our lives, every moment of our lives.
It means living out our Baptismal Covenant.
In the Baptismal Covenant, we first of all profess out faith in God, as Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
We then take that belief and carry with us in our witness to the world.
We promise to “continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers.”
We promise to resist “evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord.”
We promise to “proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.”
We promise to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor” as ourselves.
We promise to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving [our] neighbor[s] as [ourselves].”
And finally, we promise to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”
So, on this Feast of Stephen, as the snow lays “round about, deep and crisp and even,” as we think about the witness of St. Stephen and all martyrs, let us remember that we too are witnesses, every time we strive, with God’s help, to live out the Baptismal Covenant in our lives and in the world.
So, let St. Stephen be your guide. Let the Baptismal Covenant be your Rule of Life.
And as God worked through St. Stephen to bring renewed life into the Church, let God work through you as well to bring continued life to the Church.
Amen.
Gethsemane Episcopal Cathedral
Fargo
Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
We all know this hymn very well—with those beautiful lyrics by the great Anglican hymn-writer and priest, John Mason Neale.
Well, today is the feast of Stephen—the feast of St. Stephen, the first martyr of the Christain church.
St. Stephen is one of those saints that we find ourselves looking toward again and again as an example of proclaiming Jesus to the world.
In addition to being the proto-martyr of the Church, he was also a deacon and is still highly esteemed by deacons.
Being the first martyr, St. Stephen was, of course, as we hear in the book of Acts, stoned to death for his belief that Jesus is God.
In his persecution he experienced a theophany—a vision of God, and of Jesus seated at God’s right hand.
As he lay dying, he prayed the first prayer ever recorded to Jesus, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”
The word martyr actually means “witness” and truly St. Stephen is a witness to us.
Even in the face of opposition, even in the face of death, St. Stephen professed his faith in Jesus—in that which he knew was true.
He is an example to all us in that we are all called to be witnesses one way or the other.
Some of us are called to witness for Christ as St. Stephen did—with our lives.
Those witnesses are called to proclaim their faith in Christ by dying for their faith.
Even now in the world, Christians are being persecuted for their faith and all too often, countless numbers of Christians still die for Christ in those hostile environments.
And, while dying for the faith might seem to be, ultimately, a failure, we have to remember that the Church has flourished with the blood of the martyrs.
The famous motto—“The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church”—is a very true statement.
What would our Church be without those Christians who were—and still are—brrave enough to stand up against injustice and oppression and die for Jesus rather than give up their faith in Christ and take on another faith?
So, yes some are called to be martyrs.
Not all of us are called to be witnesses as martyrs.
But all of us, as Christians, are called to witness to Jesus by our words and actions.
Being a Christian, as we discover in the story of Stephen and all martyrs, is more than just going to church on Sundays or on Christmas and Easter.
It is more than doing dramatic things, like Stephen, for the Church.
Being a Christian means living out our faith every day of our lives, every moment of our lives.
It means living out our Baptismal Covenant.
In the Baptismal Covenant, we first of all profess out faith in God, as Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
We then take that belief and carry with us in our witness to the world.
We promise to “continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers.”
We promise to resist “evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord.”
We promise to “proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.”
We promise to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor” as ourselves.
We promise to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving [our] neighbor[s] as [ourselves].”
And finally, we promise to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”
So, on this Feast of Stephen, as the snow lays “round about, deep and crisp and even,” as we think about the witness of St. Stephen and all martyrs, let us remember that we too are witnesses, every time we strive, with God’s help, to live out the Baptismal Covenant in our lives and in the world.
So, let St. Stephen be your guide. Let the Baptismal Covenant be your Rule of Life.
And as God worked through St. Stephen to bring renewed life into the Church, let God work through you as well to bring continued life to the Church.
Amen.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Christmas Eve
December 24, 2007
St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church
Fargo, North Dakota
In the name of God, Father, + Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Well, here it is. Christmas Eve. Although it might have felt like Christmas since sometime in September (at least in the malls and stores), Christmas didn’t officially start until tonight.
As many of you know, I am an Oblate—or an associate –at Blue Cloud Abbey in Marvin, South Dakota—a Benedictine Roman Catholic monastery. At Blue Cloud, the Christmas tree and the Christmas decorations don’t go up until tonight—until Christmas Eve, when Christmas officially starts.
And now—this evening— Christmas is here. In this dark, cold night, we celebrate Light. We celebrate the Light that has come to us in our collective and personal darkness. We celebrate the Light that has come to us in our despair and our fear, in our sadness and in our frustration. And as it does, no doubt most of us are feeling two emotions—the two emotions Christmas is all about—hope and joy.
Hope—in our belief that what has come to us—Christ—God made flesh—is here among us
And Joy—at the realization of that reality.
As we come forward tonight to meet with joy and hope this mystery that we remember and commemorate and make ours this evening, we too should find ourselves feeling these emotions at our very core. This hope and joy we are experiencing this evening comes up from our very centers. We will never fully understand how or why Jesus—God made flesh—has come to us as this little child in a dark stable in the Middle East, but it has happened and, because it happened, we are a different people. Our lives are different because of what happened that evening. This baby has taken away, by his very life and eventual death, everything we feared and dreaded.
When we look at it from that perspective, suddenly we find our emotions heightened. We find that our joy is a joy like few other joys we’ve had. We find that our hope is more tangible—more real—that anything we have ever hoped in before.
And that is what we are facing this evening. Our true hope and true joy is not in brightly colored lights and a pile of presents until a decorated tree. Our true hope and joy is not found in the malls or the stores. Our true hope and joy does not come to us with things that will, a week from now, be a fading memory.
Our hope and joy is in that Baby who, as he comes to us, causes us to leap up with joy at his very presence. Our hope and joy is in that almighty and incredible God who would come to us, not on some celestial cloud with a sword in his hand and armies of angels flying about him. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes to us in this innocent child, born to a humble teenager in a dusty third world land. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes with a face like our face and flesh like our flesh—a God who is born, like we are born—of a human mother—and who dies like we all must die. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes and accepts us and loves us for who we are and what we are—a God who understands what it means to live this sometimes frightening uncertain life we live.
But who, by that very birth, makes all births unique and holy and who, by that death, takes away the fear of death for all of us. This is the real reason why we are joyful and hopeful on this beautiful night. This is why we are feeling within us a strange sense of longing. This is why we are rushing toward our Savior who has come to visit us in what we once thought was our barrenness.
Let the hope you feel tonight as Jesus our Savior draws close to us stay with you now and always. Let the joy you feel tonight as Jesus our Friend comes to us in love be the motivating force in how you live your lives throughout this coming year.
Jesus is here. He is in our midst tonight. He is so near, our very bodies and souls are rejoicing. So, greet him tonight with all that you have within you and welcome him into the shelter of your hearts.
Amen.
Fargo, North Dakota
In the name of God, Father, + Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Well, here it is. Christmas Eve. Although it might have felt like Christmas since sometime in September (at least in the malls and stores), Christmas didn’t officially start until tonight.
As many of you know, I am an Oblate—or an associate –at Blue Cloud Abbey in Marvin, South Dakota—a Benedictine Roman Catholic monastery. At Blue Cloud, the Christmas tree and the Christmas decorations don’t go up until tonight—until Christmas Eve, when Christmas officially starts.
And now—this evening— Christmas is here. In this dark, cold night, we celebrate Light. We celebrate the Light that has come to us in our collective and personal darkness. We celebrate the Light that has come to us in our despair and our fear, in our sadness and in our frustration. And as it does, no doubt most of us are feeling two emotions—the two emotions Christmas is all about—hope and joy.
Hope—in our belief that what has come to us—Christ—God made flesh—is here among us
And Joy—at the realization of that reality.
As we come forward tonight to meet with joy and hope this mystery that we remember and commemorate and make ours this evening, we too should find ourselves feeling these emotions at our very core. This hope and joy we are experiencing this evening comes up from our very centers. We will never fully understand how or why Jesus—God made flesh—has come to us as this little child in a dark stable in the Middle East, but it has happened and, because it happened, we are a different people. Our lives are different because of what happened that evening. This baby has taken away, by his very life and eventual death, everything we feared and dreaded.
When we look at it from that perspective, suddenly we find our emotions heightened. We find that our joy is a joy like few other joys we’ve had. We find that our hope is more tangible—more real—that anything we have ever hoped in before.
And that is what we are facing this evening. Our true hope and true joy is not in brightly colored lights and a pile of presents until a decorated tree. Our true hope and joy is not found in the malls or the stores. Our true hope and joy does not come to us with things that will, a week from now, be a fading memory.
Our hope and joy is in that Baby who, as he comes to us, causes us to leap up with joy at his very presence. Our hope and joy is in that almighty and incredible God who would come to us, not on some celestial cloud with a sword in his hand and armies of angels flying about him. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes to us in this innocent child, born to a humble teenager in a dusty third world land. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes with a face like our face and flesh like our flesh—a God who is born, like we are born—of a human mother—and who dies like we all must die. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes and accepts us and loves us for who we are and what we are—a God who understands what it means to live this sometimes frightening uncertain life we live.
But who, by that very birth, makes all births unique and holy and who, by that death, takes away the fear of death for all of us. This is the real reason why we are joyful and hopeful on this beautiful night. This is why we are feeling within us a strange sense of longing. This is why we are rushing toward our Savior who has come to visit us in what we once thought was our barrenness.
Let the hope you feel tonight as Jesus our Savior draws close to us stay with you now and always. Let the joy you feel tonight as Jesus our Friend comes to us in love be the motivating force in how you live your lives throughout this coming year.
Jesus is here. He is in our midst tonight. He is so near, our very bodies and souls are rejoicing. So, greet him tonight with all that you have within you and welcome him into the shelter of your hearts.
Amen.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Advent-Christmas letter
Advent-Christmas, 2007
Happy holidays! I hope all is well with you and those you love.
Well, another busy year to put to rest.
I am still serving as Assistant to the Bishop for Communications for the Diocese of North Dakota, as an Assisting Priest at Gethsemane Cathedral and as chaplain to All Saints Episcopal Church in Valley City, N.D. I also helped out for a good part of the year at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in north Fargo, while their priest (and my good friend) Liz Powers recovered from West Nile Virus.
My seventh book of poems, Just Once, was published on February 21, which was also the fifth anniversary of my diagnosis with cancer. It’s a beautiful book that has done very well (for a book of poems). I have received many glowing reviews and comments about it.
I was also a “poet in the schools” yet again in the spring at Cheney Middle School in West Fargo and also did a “Poetry Out Loud” session at the school in Kensal, North Dakota in November.
Happy holidays! I hope all is well with you and those you love.
Well, another busy year to put to rest.
I am still serving as Assistant to the Bishop for Communications for the Diocese of North Dakota, as an Assisting Priest at Gethsemane Cathedral and as chaplain to All Saints Episcopal Church in Valley City, N.D. I also helped out for a good part of the year at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in north Fargo, while their priest (and my good friend) Liz Powers recovered from West Nile Virus.
My seventh book of poems, Just Once, was published on February 21, which was also the fifth anniversary of my diagnosis with cancer. It’s a beautiful book that has done very well (for a book of poems). I have received many glowing reviews and comments about it.
My poems continue to be published regularly in the literary journals, including The Solitary Plover, Albatross, Arabesques, Sea Stories, Right Hand Pointing and The Litany Series. I also had a poem published this Fall in the Wilderness House Literary Review Anthology.
I was also a “poet in the schools” yet again in the spring at Cheney Middle School in West Fargo and also did a “Poetry Out Loud” session at the school in Kensal, North Dakota in November.
Be sure to check out my new website: http://www.jamieparsley.com/ which I launched this year. I also have a blog http://www.jamieparsley.blogspot.com/ where I post poems, sermons, etc.
One of the low points of the year was a disturbing experience with a stalker. A bi-polar cross dresser (yes, you read that right—I couldn’t make it up even if I tried) did over $3,000 worth of damage to my car on three occasions in May and once in August after several frightening incidents of harassment. He also stole the Cathedral Coordinator’s purse and did damage to the Cathedral van. He was eventually banned from the Cathedral and has stayed away from me since, but to say it was a sobering experience is an understatement.
The Cathedral elected a new Dean in September—the Very Rev. Dr. Steven Sellers. I am very pleased with the choice and have greatly enjoyed getting to know and work alongside Dean Sellers and his wife, Dixie.
I traveled quite a bit this year—including another wonderful trip to New York City in April and an equally wonderful trip to Los Angeles earlier this month as part of my duties as a member of the Board of Governors for Episcopal Life.
I start my fifth year at the University of Mary next month, where I teach a full load of courses. In addition to classes in theology, ethics and philosophy, I also taught a course this year in Crime Literature, which was fun. The University is sending me to Phoenix in January to teach a course.
My parents are doing very well. My mother just celebrated a year and half of no smoking in May. My father continues to work right through his “retirement.” They both are dealing with the aches and pains of aging, but otherwise, they’re healthy as ever.
My brother, Jeff, had a stroke in October following a heart attack and is slowly recovering at home.
I presided at five weddings this year (with two more already scheduled in 2008), mostly of students and former students. I also had three baptisms. And of course a steady run of funerals. One of the funerals I presided over was for my Uncle, Marvin Olson, who died Nov. 21.
So, as you can see, my life is never boring. There’s always something happening and I am enjoying all of it.
I wish you only the very best this season and many, many blessings in 2008.
-peace,
Jamie+
Jamie+
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