Letter from the Lockes

Dear St. Matthew’s, 

We Will Miss You.

Bob and I moved to Tennessee May 1st to join our daughter, Emily, and her family.  We pondered the move for about eight months after they left Hillsborough last August, visiting the Chattanooga area several times. When we finally put the house on the market in late March, it sold quickly. Then a rush ensued to get the house ready, then packing, and endless paper work. 

We are here now, surrounded by majestic mountains and a beautiful river. St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, where we will attend with our daughter, is a huge, stone Gothic structure with side galleries, and many stained glass windows.  The organ is a Casavant pipe organ that is VERY loud.  So loud you can hardly hear the large choir.  I am familiar with massive churches, having attended morning prayer every weekday morning at the Cathedral of St John the Divine with my classmates from St. Hilda’s and St. Huges school, as well as Sundays at the Church of the Heavenly Rest in Manhattan (or as they say, “Church of the Celestial Snooze”).  

We fell in love with the close, comforting space of St. Matthew’s. Not just the space, but the church family as well. Our welcoming was truly full of sincerity and comfort, not just for the first few weeks, but during the seven years we were members.  My time in the choir was nourishing, both for the joy of music, but also the friendships.  As a member of the Archives Committee, led by Ellen Druesedow, I experienced a unique opportunity to learn the history of the church and the town of Hillsborough from primary resources. Bob’s five years as a participant in study groups led by Joseph Riddick and Hugh Tilson, as well as his interactions with many members of the congregation were deeply moving experiences.

Paradoxically, being at a distance now, I see St. Matthew’s special character even more clearly.  That is not to say that the other, larger churches did not have history, missions, character, or beauty, and community on some scale – it’s just that all of those characteristics in a smaller version come into sharp focus at St. Matthew’s.  It’s like looking at a photo of something, say a leaf, and then looking at it under a microscope where all the intricate details are visible --  layers, and veins.  So, we learned history – not just about St. Matthew’s evolution, but also the history of Hillsborough, and the South. One can feel the immediacy of the past, as the site of the British government’s hanging of the Regulators is only a few yards from the Church’s property. We learned firsthand about the groups of the church that formed the patterns of service (such as the Ladies Sewing Society); the conflicts that riled the church during the Civil Rights Movement; and just recently, the struggles to attach facts of history to names of church donors. Allen Cronenburg’s historical narrative of the history of the Church in the Bicentennial publication is a wonderful read. I just read it for a second time before writing this letter. 

Researching the history and art of St. Matthew’s stained glass windows gave me a spiritual connection I hadn’t realized would occur. Because they adorn the small space, they can be viewed close up -- not at a distance or in an upper gallery. My favorite window is The Good Shepherd, designed by Henry E. Sharp.  Jesus’ eyes express his entire nature; steadfast in devotion for humanity, along with something that appears like sad knowledge. What that knowledge is, I’m not sure, but I’ve found myself staring at those eyes for long minutes during services. It serves as a conduit, for me, to the divine.  

Thanks be to God for St. Matthew’s!    Bob and I will surely be back for visits from time to time and look forward to seeing you all again. 

Claire Locke

ï  Ancient Greek Roots: The root of cháris is connected to the Greek verb chaírein ("to be happy"). In Greek mythology, the Charites were the attendants of Aphrodite who personified grace, beauty, and charm.

ï  Theological Meaning (17th–19th Century): When adopted into English (first recorded in 1875), charisma referred specifically to a divine, spiritual gift or talent bestowed by God, such as the gift of prophecy or healing in early Christian texts.

ï  Sociological Shift (1920s): The modern, secular meaning began with German sociologist Max Weber. He repurposed the word in his 1922 book Economy and Society to describe "charismatic authority"—a type of leadership that derives from a ruler's perceived extraordinary, supernatural, or divine personal powers.

ï  Modern Usage (1950s–Present): Over the latter half of the 20th century, the word lost its strictly religious and political connotations. Today, it is used to describe personal magnetism, interpersonal charm, or a compelling attractiveness that naturally draws others in. [1, 2, 3, 4, 5]