Everyday’s a Holiday

St James in the City has stood at its current location on Wilshire Boulevard since 1926. Which in California makes it ancient by Los Angeles standards. Its beautiful stained glass windows line the clerestory, the oldest of which dates back to the early ’30’s. It’s difficult to make out the vibrant colors at night, but as the Reverend Kowalewski swings the censer, smoke from the incense rises past the archways and white beams of light shine through the cathedral. 

St. James believes that “all persons are created equal in the eyes of God, deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, and have a full and equal claim to the love, acceptance and pastoral care of the Church and School.” They welcome “all people without regard to their race, gender, sexual orientation, economic or social circumstances.”

I was glad to hear this. I was afraid a “Jew Alarm” would go off the moment I entered the door. 

The first thing I see upon entering is a swastika. Lots of them, sculpted into the foundation.

But these swastikas at St. James adorned the church long before anyone on this side of the Atlantic ever heard of Hitler. The swastika was an ancient HIndu symbol that spread to China, Persia, and Europe. The term “swastika” comes from su meaning “good” and asti meaning “to be.” Literally “well-being.”

Native American cultures used the symbol in their weaving and crafts. Its prevalence in early 1900’s American design, particularly in the Southwest, comes its use by tribes like the Navajo and from swastikas found during Heinrich Schliemann’s excavation of Troy in the 1870s.

I find out soon enough that St. James is true to its mission statement. The “welcoming everybody” is not just PR. The congregation tonight, though a majority white, contains a mosaic of all races, as does the staff and choir. 

This is not an ordinary night for the church, my friend reminds me. “I’m here at this church every week,” she says, “and I don’t know ninety percent of the people here tonight.” Tonight there’s not an empty seat in the house.

When the choir begins to sing I understand why people choose to celebrate Christmas at St. James. The choir is second to none. Pitch perfect, beautiful harmony, bringing new life to old hymns. I can’t help but think of how 3rd century Christians would react to hearing this powerful choir backed by the booming Murry Harris organ (originally brought in from St. Paul’s Cathedral downtown).

“Do you feel like you’re in Rome?” asks my friend. I do. St. James is Episcopalian/Anglican, but reminds me of the catholic churches of Rome and Florence. I wonder though what would those 3rd century Christians say if they could see us? Would they recognize the service as being from their own faith? What would they consider pagan? Like the sculptures on either side of the alter. In Jesus’ time his followers had no idols.

What about the red tippet of the rector? How did the candle rituals of the alter girls in their white hooded albs come about? Even Jesus’ birth date itself, December 25, is widely believed to have been chosen to appease the Romans and Northern Europeans, who wouldn’t give up celebrating solstice around that time of year.

Christianity has adapted to different cultures across the globe like no other religion. And the Reverend Kowalewski acknowledges it:

“It wasn’t until the late 4th century…that we first see Jesus of Nazareth depicted as emperor and king of the world. During this time, the emperor Constantine decided to legitimize the once persecuted Christian church by making Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire…“

Kowalewski pointed out in a previous sermon a few weeks earlier…

“Instead of conforming himself to the image of the Christ, Constantine and his successors gave the Jesus of the Gospels a radical makeover. So beginning with this period, we now see Christ portrayed as sitting on a regal throne up in heaven, crown, orb, scepter, kingly vestments, surrounded by his court of angels and apostles, ruling over the cosmos and looking very much like the earthly emperor who has now become Christ’s vicar and representative down here.”

He continues:

“The problem is that, this depiction of Christ as emperor and king, which has prevailed over time, is such a radical distortion of the Jesus we meet in the gospels as to actually be somewhat ludicrous. As a matter of fact, when we meet Jesus in the Gospels we see that he deliberately and intentionally set himself against empires and emperors and kings. Everything Jesus stood for, everything he did and said radically opposed the brutal political systems of domination and empire.”

The complete sermon is at:

Tonight the Reverend’s sermon is different. He starts off speaking about the General Store he went to as a kid. How you could buy anything you wanted there. “Food and clothes, tools and hardware…even a tractor.” And at Christmas time lights a plenty. He brought his sons back there one day to that General Store where he grew up. Only now the store seemed so much smaller than when he was a child. Could it really be the same shop?

And our relationship with God is sometimes like that. The world is so much bigger as a kid. Our relationship with God is strong. As we get older the mystery, the magic disappears. The distance between us and God grows. 

The Reverend points out, knocking the wood of the pulpit and the stone of the wall, that these things that seem so solid to our eyes and hands are actually swirling parts of near-infinite smallness which we are far from understanding. 

So, what if God is just the sum knowledge of what humanity can’t understand, which lessens day by day? If we understood everything in the world and universe, would there still be a need for God? 

I’m reminded of the Einstein quote: As the circle of light increases, so too does the circumference of darkness.

We will never have all the answers, for each answer brings more questions.

And at the end of the ceremony the choir marches down the center aisle with candles lit, and they stop at each pew to light the candles of those nearest to the aisle. And those people then light the candle of the person beside them and so on until every last person in each pew stands with a lit candle in hand, and then the whole congregation sings Silent Night.

Silent night, holy night,

All is calm, all is bright...

And I can’t help thinking about the little Sunday school girl who drew a picture of the birth of Jesus and showed it to her teacher. There in the drawing was the baby Jesus, and the Virgin Mary and Joseph, and the Three Wise Men, and for some strange reason a little fat man beside them. And the teacher asked, “But who is that?” And the little girl replied, “That’s round John Virgin. You know, Round John Virgin, Mother, and Child.”

Slowly the overhead lights dim and go out. But there is still light emanating from all of us. From each of our candles. As if the light of God that came from above, through the Rector, has now been passed to us. And now it was our turn to take that knowledge, that hope, that spirit, that light, and carry it out into the world.