Beloved,
“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”
Michelangelo is famously said to have described his work this way after sculpting David from a single, flawed block of marble that others had rejected. He did not think of himself as creating David so much as revealing him by chiseling away everything that was not David. Whether or not those were his exact words, the image has stayed with me.
Lately, I have noticed a similar shift in my own vocational life. My attention is becoming less focused on adding more and more focused on chiseling away the excess. I am discovering that letting go is often much harder than holding on.
In my younger years, I worked hard to develop my character through experience, education, credentials, and achievements. I enjoyed meeting new people and building relationships. Considering that I arrived in this country with little more than a large duffel bag, acquiring things felt reassuring. The more I accumulated, the more established and secure I believed I had become.
Eventually, I hit the wall—quite literally.
As my shelves filled, each possession told a story of a milestone, a cherished friendship, or a meaningful season of life. Yet only a few remained visible. Many gathered dust, while others disappeared beneath piles of things I rarely touched. Not every object brought back joyful memories. Some carried grief, disappointment, or unfinished chapters of my life. Those were the hardest to release because letting them go felt as though I were erasing part of my own story.
What began as a simple decluttering project opened a whole new chapter of self-discovery. My resistance to letting go revealed what I was truly holding onto. The grief itself became my teacher.
Somewhere along the way, I remembered Pope Francis’ observation that he had never seen a moving truck following a funeral procession. The only treasure, he said, that we carry into eternal life is what we have given away to others.
Those words gave me permission to release my possessions—not because my past no longer mattered, but because I no longer needed objects to carry my memories for me. The memories had already become part of who I am. Letting go was no longer about losing something precious. Instead, it became an act of freedom, creating space to breathe deeply and embrace the life that is still unfolding.
Perhaps the same is true not only for our homes but also for our life together as a church. A community, like a person, discovers its deepest identity not by what it keeps but by what it gives away.
Since 2020, St. Paul’s has quietly lived that truth through our Sunday Service Food Collection. At a time when many people were filling their own pantries out of fear, you chose generosity instead. Week after week, you brought food for neighbors you would likely never meet. In serving together, we discovered that Christian service was not merely something we do after worship—it is itself an act of worship.
Every can donated, every bag carried, every volunteer hour offered became another small chip of marble removed. Little by little, God revealed something beautiful—not only in our wider community but also in us. We became companions in a shared mission, formed by generosity, and blessed with friendships that no can of Vienna sausage could ever fully describe.
On Sunday, August 9, at 2:00 p.m., we will celebrate that shared journey at Festive Gloria, a free concert of thanksgiving marking more than 200,000 donated food items. I hope you will join us, invite your friends, and give thanks—not simply for what was collected, but for what God has revealed through the faithful generosity of this community.
Faithfully,
Fr. Andrew
