06/07/2026
Blog Post from Bishop Tony Green, FCR
Sabbatical Reflections, Week One: A Visit to St. Francis Mission
Today marked the first Sunday of my three-month sabbatical from St. John of God Parish. As part of this season of prayer, reflection, and renewal, I have committed myself to visiting a variety of churches throughout the Capital Region. My hope is to experience worship from the pew rather than the altar, to listen more than lead, and to discover anew how God is at work in communities beyond my own.
For the first stop on this journey, I visited St. Francis Episcopal Mission Church in Albany, New York.
I know the Rector, Mother Karla Banach, through our shared ministry at Ellis Hospital. For many years, while I served as Director of Pastoral Care, Mother Karla volunteered as a chaplain. I have long admired her commitment to ministry, and choosing St. Francis as the first church on my sabbatical pilgrimage felt like a natural beginning.
As I drove to church that morning, I found myself reflecting on the changing landscape around me. The transition was striking. In just a matter of minutes, I traveled from neighborhoods marked by well-maintained homes, thriving corner stores, and visible investment into a neighborhood where economic hardship was much more evident. Buildings showed signs of wear, and the overall environment reflected the realities of poverty and disinvestment.
Yet I was reminded that churches often stand precisely where they are most needed.
When I entered the sanctuary, several lay leaders were busy preparing for worship. Some were setting up the sound system while others ensured that everything needed for the Eucharist was in place. There was a sense of shared ownership and participation that immediately caught my attention.
Mother Karla was seated in a pew with her arm around a child while speaking with several other children gathered nearby. It was a beautiful image of pastoral ministry—not administration, not leadership from a distance, but simple presence. When she noticed me entering the church, she smiled warmly, stood up, and embraced me. It was a lovely Christian welcome that immediately made me feel at home.
I told her that I was spending part of my sabbatical visiting different churches and had chosen St. Francis as my first stop. She seemed genuinely delighted and appreciative.
Then, with a smile, she said, "You know—I’ve told you before—we’re scheduled to begin at 9:30, but we never start on time."
We both laughed.
True to her word, the liturgy began a few minutes late. Rather than viewing this as an inconvenience, I found it to be a gift. It allowed me time to pray, browse through the Book of Common Prayer, and simply absorb the beauty of the sanctuary.
One item in particular drew my attention: a tapestry of St. Francis. The image portrayed Francis with his arms raised toward heaven, surrounded by birds in flight and accompanied by a wolf at his feet. The birds recalled Francis's love for creation and his ability to see God's presence in all living things. The wolf brought to mind the story of the Wolf of Gubbio and Francis's ministry of reconciliation and peace.
As I reflected on the image during worship, it seemed to embody much of what I would experience that morning: welcome, diversity, joy, and community.
The Mass itself was beautiful.
What touched me most was the active participation of children and youth throughout the liturgy. A child and a teenager proclaimed the Scripture readings. Another child offered a prayer during the Prayers of the People. Yet another brought forward the offering. Before the service began, I watched a gentleman patiently teaching a group of children the processional hymn so they could help lead the congregation in song.
Their participation was not symbolic or token. They were clearly valued members of the worshiping community.
I was also deeply moved by the multilingual nature of the service. The Gospel was proclaimed in English and, I believe, Burmese. The Lord's Prayer was spoken in multiple languages as well. Hearing familiar prayers voiced in different tongues reminded me of the universality of the Church and the vision of Pentecost—a community united in Christ while honoring the diversity of its members.
One moment during the Prayers of the People especially stayed with me.
Mother Karla read several petitions that had been submitted on the congregation's prayer board. Among them were two prayers that, at first glance, seemed remarkably ordinary.
One person prayed for more time with Mother Karla.
Another prayed that they would find a way to get tickets to a baseball game.
As I listened, I found myself smiling.
These were not prayers about illness, tragedy, or crisis. They were simple, honest prayers arising from everyday life. Yet there was something profoundly sacred about them. The prayer for more time with Mother Karla spoke volumes about the love and connection between pastor and congregation. The prayer about baseball tickets reflected a faith that trusted God with life's simple joys as well as its deepest struggles.
In some churches, there can be an unspoken expectation that only "serious" concerns belong in public prayer. What I witnessed at St. Francis was different. Here was a community comfortable enough with one another—and with God—to bring their whole lives into worship. Their relationships, hopes, joys, disappointments, and everyday concerns all had a place before God.
That authenticity deeply moved me.
As I reflected on the morning, I found myself returning to the contrast between the neighborhood outside and the life within the church.
Outside were visible signs of economic struggle.
Inside I encountered joy.
Outside were reminders of scarcity.
Inside I encountered abundance of spirit.
Outside were challenges that many communities would rather avoid.
Inside I found children laughing, people praying in multiple languages, a pastor embraced by her congregation, and a community that welcomed a visitor as though he had always belonged.
The vitality of St. Francis Mission did not depend upon the wealth of its neighborhood. Rather, it seemed rooted in relationships, hospitality, shared ministry, and a deep commitment to God's presence among the people.
This visit was a wonderful beginning to my sabbatical journey. It reminded me that the Church is alive in many forms and places, often flourishing in ways that challenge our assumptions about success, prosperity, and importance.
I left grateful for the welcome I received, inspired by the congregation's spirit, and eager to continue this pilgrimage of discovery.
Next Sunday, I plan to visit one of the Lutheran churches in the area. I look forward to seeing what new insights await.
For now, I carry with me the image of St. Francis standing beneath a sky full of birds, arms outstretched in praise, welcoming all of creation into the presence of God.
It seems a fitting image with which to begin a sabbatical.
