Bishop Rob Delivers Final Address at St. Paul's School - April 13, 2026
Good morning. It is a deep and awesome privilege to be with you again. Thank you for your welcome. This passage that we just heard from John's gospel is the first of what are referred to as the resurrection appearances of Jesus. He comes and he meets the disciples the evening after he rises from the dead and he comes with wounds. He comes showing them the evidence of their having abandoned him at the cross. They're locked in a room. They've locked themselves into a room for fear and probably shame. Each of them in that room left Jesus to hang and die.
It's of note that when Jesus comes, he could have just said, "Where were you? You promised to be with me even to the end of time, to the end of this whole journey, and you all took off—each one of you.” Instead, the word Jesus speaks is, “Peace.” Peace. It's a message of forgiveness, a message of healing, a message of restoration, of community in the midst of division, hatred, and fear. Yesterday, most Christian churches that follow what's called the Revised Common Lectionary read that passage of Jesus extending peace, but the same day, we also heard in the news that prospects of peace in the Middle East were becoming more remote.
And it occurred to me, as it often does, that there will be no world peace if there's not first peace among us, peace within our own communities, our own neighborhoods, among us in our own schools and churches and synagogues and mosques, peace within ourselves. And peace is not something that urges us to just forget what we've done with each other, against each other or to each other. Real peace does erase our memory of past hurt, but it holds us accountable without rancor, without hatred, always respecting the dignity of every human being. I can never read this passage of being in a locked room--the disciples in a locked room for fear and shame, and Jesus entering that room --without remembering of a moment in my life when I was very young, 13 years old, that bears some similarity, although in a much less significant way. But for me, it was a pivotal moment.
I grew up in suburban Connecticut, outside of New Haven, and I was a freshman in high school at the time. And I remember one day, it was late fall, and the bus took us home, and I got off the bus and we started to walk. It was about a quarter mile walk from the bus stop to my house, and there were a number of other students. One was Mary, my next door neighbor, with whom we shared homework with our algebra or geometry, whatever that was, which I was never good at. And there were three brothers, Billy, Gary, and David. And we got off the bus and started walking home, and one of the brothers noticed a crab apple tree on another house in that development. Something came over him, and he decided that he would pick up one of the crab apples that had fallen to the ground. There was a whole nest of them. And he picked it up, and he threw it at Mary, hitting her in the back.
He did it again, this time hitting her in her cheek. She began to cry and quickened her pace, and then the other brothers followed, gathering fistfuls of crab apples and hurling them at Mary. And then they asked, "Robbie, how about you? " And so I picked up a crab apple and also hit Mary. It landed in the back of her head, hard enough to sting. We all made it home. After that, I went into my house. Both my parents worked, so I opened my math book and started to try to do my homework. About a half an hour went by and the doorbell rang, and I wondered who could that be. So, I went down the hallway and I could see through the panel of windows on each side of the door that it, of course, was Mary.
I pretended not to hear. I hid away, but she kept ringing the doorbell. Finally, I couldn't pretend anymore, and I had to open the door. And there she was, her face tear-stained, and she said, "Rob, the Miller boys, they always treat me that way. I could expect it from them, something like that. But today, today it was you. I thought we were friends.”
God help me, I just melted at that moment. I don't think I could even say, "I'm sorry." But she knew that even at 13 years old, even though we didn't know the language of forgiveness and grace and all of that, we knew that there was a deep hurt.
We were not at peace. Now, God bless my mother. She always had a cookie jar of those wonderful Toll House cookies. I said, "Mary, come in, please." And I put out some of those cookies out and poured some milk. Maybe that was the beginning of my decision to become a priest. It was like teenage communion, and we just sat there in silence and had cookies. Somehow we got through the next hour or so. We talked about math. We made small talk. Small talk is not to be underestimated in our healing with one another, small talk, lowers temperatures. Small talk begins the tender bonds that build and restores relationships.
The next morning, we went to the bus stop and I knew that I had to stand with Mary and walk alongside her as she faced the cruelty, the senseless, gratuitous, pathetic cruelty of my other neighbors. Sure enough, they picked up crab apples even the next morning and started hurling them this time at both of us. That afternoon when we came back from the bus, I think they realized that it was puny and pathetic what they were doing. They had stopped.
You remember that scene in the Lion King? (This is a transition.) When Simba is called back to the pride, (interestingly called, “the pride”), to come back to community after living a life of Hakuna Matada—where you just look after your own desires and wants and concerns. Rafiki, who holds a staff and has vestments, is a priest but he’s also, of course, a baboon. (Clergy are sometimes thought of that way.) Anyway, Rafiki leads Simba to a pool of water and he, Simba look at the pool of water. The movie superimposes this image of his father, Mufasa. And somewhere Mufasa says, "Simba, you have become less than you are.”
You have become less than you are.
When Mary rang that doorbell and she said, "Rob, today it was you” That was my Mufasa moment. “You have become less than you are.” Jesus doesn't bother to ring the doorbell. He goes through locked doors and when he shares peace to those disciples undeserving and needing to be held into account, he reminds them that you have the power to forgive or to retain the memory of hurt. That's the message of our faith. That's the message of Easter. If we can't reckon with the call to become who God has created us to be, holy, flawed, deeply flawed, wholly beautiful and forgiven, there's no chance for this world. It starts here. It starts in our own hearts.
Thank you.
Easter Message from Bishop Rob — April 2026
Every year, a close reading of the same gospel, even if we’ve read it over a life-time, brings something fresh, something green, and new—something surprising. It may be very familiar and obvious, but the Holy Spirit wants us to notice it as though for the first time because we need to hear it for the first time. This year what springs up as though a new sunrise is the verse in John’s gospel, at the end of the Good Friday reading, when we hear these words:
Now there was a garden in the place where he was crucified, and in the garden, there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid.
To this day, in the Holy City of Jerusalem, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is also known as the site of Calvary, Golgotha, the place of the crucifixion, where tradition tells us that a relic of the cross was uncovered AND it is also the place where Jesus was laid in an unused tomb. It’s from the tomb, of course, where God raised him from the dead. Execution and resurrection happen in the same small piece of real estate: the place of unimaginable suffering by human hands and hearts AND the site of the world changing triumph of life over death, love over fear, forgiveness over hatred. It is the place our savior expresses humankind’s deepest abandonment by God and humankind. And it is the site of recognition: of us recognizing Jesus and then the risen Jesus seeing us as a friend. It is the site of the most holy “both/and” which is our life in the Risen Christ.
Our Calvaries are legions. There are so many, too many, and too heartbreaking to list. We all know what they are. The effects of human sin and cruelty, done by us and to us, are all around. We see them. They burden and grieve us. Those crucifixions lead us to times of both despair and hope. They are the reason for our prayers, our seeking help from God and each other. They are the cause of our thirst for righteousness, our struggles to forgive, and our cries to be forgiven. The desolate Place of the Skull and the Garden of Resurrection are layered on top of each other. The suffering and death of bodies, of communities, of hope itself, occur in the same place, and with even more power where we meet Jesus’ Rising. From out of the depth of the Sepulchre, Jesus calls us each by name just as he called to Mary Magdalene on that first Easter morning.
May your Good Fridays, your scenes of deep loss and sorrow be converted into a glorious resurrection, a rising to life, to a love and a life that is stronger than death. What courageous joy that gives us, to know in our bones that nothing, not even death, or the fear of death, will separate us from the love of God in Jesus. May that love and life rise in our hearts this Easter, and may every day be Easter. Jesus Christ is Risen. Alleluia.
Bishop Rob and Bishop Angel, of Cuba, spend time together.
Report from Bishop Rob - House of Bishops Spring Meeting - March 17-25, 2026
It was a privilege for me to attend the spring gathering of the House of Bishops at Camp Allen in the Diocese of Texas. Though I always hate to leave my beloved Diocese of New Hampshire, I find the time enriching to be with my colleague bishops from the whole Episcopal Church, including from the dioceses in Latin America, Europe, and Taiwan.
By now a Word to the Church has been issued. Its intent is to offer a message of hope, unfailing in the Good News of Jesus Christ, even in times of crisis and discouragement. The new war in Iran—extending to the whole Middle East—the ongoing conflicts in Ukraine, Sudan, and other parts of the world weigh heavily on all of our hearts. Such suffering is a call for us all to pray, fervently, for efforts for a just and lasting peace. I am humbled by the work of my fellow bishops and their churches as they strain to hold together community in Christian fellowship even as forces of inhumanity toward immigrants are rampant and political rages foam.
We always come together in prayer. I have been part of a small but growing number of bishops who devote daily time on contemplation. We do this because as our world experiences such chaos, disorientation, and division, and even war, it is essential that Christians, especially Christian leaders, stay rooted in the awareness of God’s enduring, loving, and life-giving presence in the Incarnate, Crucified and Risen Jesus. Any word or action that is not rooted in prayer is, as Paul says, like a noisy gong to a clanging cymbal. I believe that the tenor of our discussions during the more business-oriented sessions of the House has been more open to deep listening and respect because of the critical mass of bishops who practice contemplative prayer, even those who consider themselves more activist on certain issues.
We spent much of our time discussing the state of theological education, particularly for the raising up of priests in our Church. The landscape of traditional seminary training has shifted significantly in the past 15-20 years. Our denomination has gone from relying on eleven 3-year residential and very expensive seminaries to something like seven, and each of those offering paths that are more accessible to postulants for Holy Orders in local settings, such as rural New England. Much of the changes in education have been driven by economic and demographic forces. The bishops’ discussion of these trends was much overdue. It was so confirming to me to see how our establishment of the School for Ministry, for laity, deacons and priests is something that is becoming more and more accepted and even normative in the wider church. As I spoke with bishops from Ecuador, Columbia, Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, Cuba, Massachusetts and Pittsburgh, I was heartened to learn how we are all facing similar challenges in the urgent need to raise up new ministers of the gospel. New Hampshire’s hybrid model is something looked to and admired by such different settings in the Episcopal Church.
We also heard of Presiding Bishop Sean Rowe’s diligent efforts to reform and reshape the organizational structure of the Episcopal Church in a way that supports evangelism, church planting, and redevelopment. There are significant and overdue changes being contemplated, about which we will hear in the coming months. This support for church renewal is of keen interest to us in New Hampshire as we initiate new missions in Manchester, Claremont, Portsmouth, and more in the coming years. This is so important to consider and welcome as demographic models predict a movement northward of the U.S. population in the coming decades. We have been praying for young adults and families for years. I pray that the spiritual and organization work we have done in our Diocese in recent years has helped us prepare for the growth that, God willing, is coming our way.
We discussed proposals in the wider Anglican communion that seek to deepen and further relationships with other provinces of the Church where relationships have been strained and in disrepair for a variety of reasons. The Nairobi-Cairo Proposals are fascinating to read because they imagine a church that is seeking ways to be in communion, and defining what communion means, in an era when the long-term trend for churches, religions, indeed almost every institution in society is toward greater splintering. Though the bishops are, in my view, rightly cautious about the proposals, it is encouraging to think of the many who continue to do the hard and sacred work of true reconciliation across serious differences of practice.
I was so grateful to hear a fulsome presentation from Bishop Ann Ritonia, Bishop Suffragan for the Armed Forces and Federal Ministries. Our church’s work to provide pastoral care and accompaniment to chaplains in the military, federal prisons and hospitals is truly essential, especially when so many of these chaplains encounter tremendous moral, spiritual, and physical trauma. I am grateful for Bishop Ann’s witness to both the gospel of Jesus Christ AND the U.S Constitution’s protection against the incursion of governmental establishment of religion of any kind.
Finally, the return home through a Houston airport stressed with dramatically fewer TSA agents and many more ICE agents felt like being in a country that has changed. As I walked through the labyrinth paths to the security check points, along with thousands of others, I thought of the many pilgrims throughout millennia who have walked the Way of the Cross in Jerusalem, recalling the path the Jesus took from his entry into that City, to his actions in the Temple, to his Trial, his Crucifixion, his burial and his Rising.
I hope that wherever your journey and observances this coming Holy Week takes you, you may know how Jesus Christ walks alongside you, sharing your hopes, your joys, and the depths of your sorrows.
He will raise us all in peace and glory.
Yours in the Risen Christ,
+Rob
Make Your Giving a Joyful Act
Dear sisters and brothers in Christ,
About this matter of aid for God’s people, it is superfluous for me to write to you. I know how eager you are to help and I speak of it with pride to the other dioceses and bishops when I visit them. I know that when you hear of appeals to give, you do so out of a sense of bounty and not because you feel spiritually blackmailed.
‘Remember: sow sparingly, and you will reap sparingly; sow bountifully, and you will reap bountifully. Each person should give as each has decided for oneself. Not out of a sense of reluctance, guilt, or compulsion. We are not about arm-twisting or feeling like we are squeezing blood from a rock, right? God loves a cheerful giver… Our giving is not merely a contribution to the needs of God’s people. Much more than that, God can multiply whatever we give in a flood of thanksgiving to God…Thanks be to God for God’s gift which is beyond all praise!’
Do these words sound at all familiar? I hope you’ve heard a version of them before. They come from Chapter 9 of St. Paul’s Second Letter to the church in Corinth. I confess I’ve done a little paraphrasing and editing to underscore his enthusiasm for the opportunity we have to give.
You read that correctly…Paul’s enthusiasm for the opportunity we have to give. In churches that are thriving and growing and full of the Spirit, people love to give. Anybody who has travelled and worshipped in churches of economically stressed or undeveloped communities will tell you how much the Offertory is the most fun part of the service. In these churches it’s not enough to pass the basket around once during the service. Sometimes it comes around several times, sometimes each time to address a different need within or outside of the community. Often it comes because the people just want the chance to give more. In fact, any eucharistic service, including our tiny mid-week services, that doesn’t invite at least a modest opportunity to give- even just a plate at the back of the church that comes up at the Offertory—doesn’t really make sense in the spirit of the hospitality of God’s Table. Do we come empty-handed when invited to a meal at our neighbors? Money is not the only thing you can bring to the Altar. I remember the exuberance of a predominantly Polish congregation in Brooklyn where I served as a seminarian when links of freshly made sausages came up in the brass plates. (I think they went to the local soup kitchen, but I remember some pretty good pancake breakfasts!) Children in another parish I served brought up crayon drawings in the plate with the same glee as any child might present a work of art and saying, “Look, Ma! Look, Dad, what I made!” Those children knew God delighted in the cheerfulness of their giving.
What would it mean if that same kind of joy of giving was widespread in the Church in New Hampshire. What’s preventing that from happening? I suspect it’s partly because we are infected by the contagion of consumerism. We are more focused on what we are getting from Church rather than what we share. We expect to get value from our dollar, goods or services in return for our investment. Or we give whatever is left in our wallets to the church as opposed to the first fruits, the first that comes in the best we have, the cream of the crop, to our community. Where’s the joy in that? Where is the love?
A member of our family tells the story of overhearing a couple walking down a sidewalk in Manhattan. The woman is animated, clearly frustrated as her companion appears somewhat preoccupied, perhaps sullen and annoyed. She turns to him and says in a loud voice, “I am not talking about the pizza! I’m talking about our RELATIONSHIP!”
I think that’s kind of what Paul is saying to the church in Corinth and to us in New Hampshire when it comes to our giving. We are not talking about money or the budget. We are not talking about the bricks and mortar or the cost of clergy or candles. (Though, like pizza, these things are good and necessary!) We are talking about our relationship… the bonds and links that hold us together. Benevolence, kindness, generosity, prayer, justice, mercy, love. These things are in poor supply in our society, a culture that seems to be disintegrating into coarseness, disparity, and violence before our eyes. It’s not a feeling of blind obligation to give to the church that will renew us, either our church or our society. Rather renewal of our Church will come from the sense that we get to give. We get to share in the same flood of thanksgiving that God releases in our hearts. We get to go ever deeper into our relationship with God and each other in Christ when we give from the top, over the top. “Thanks be to God for God’s gift which is beyond all praise!”
Your brother in Christ, +Rob