Br. Christopher Stephen Jenks, BSG

I grew up in the church – quite literally. It was a few steps off our living room. Two churches in particular played a primary role in my spiritual formation: St. Peter’s Church in the Chelsea section of Manhattan, where my father served as vicar from 1961 to 1973; and St. Luke’s Chapel of Trinity Parish in Greenwich Village (now the Church of St. Luke-in-the-Fields , where I went to school and sang in the choir of men and boys.

St. Luke’s and St. Peter’s were similar in many ways. Both were "Anglo-Catholic" – that is, they both came out of the "high church" tradition in Anglicanism that stressed the Catholic and Apostolic nature of the Anglican Communion. Both were inner-city missions, in the tradition of the great "slum" parishes of the 19^th and early 20^th centuries in London, New York and other urban areas. However, they were different in many ways as well.  St. Peter’s was (and is) a church deeply engaged with issues of social justice and outreach to those marginalized by society as a whole. The vicarage at St. Peter’s was a semi-public building with all sorts of people constantly coming and going throughout the day and night. Besides being a home for my family, it housed the offices for the parish; a pastoral counseling center for poor and homeless people; a food pantry and clothing bank; the offices of the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC); a counseling center for men who had been drafted or who were at risk of being drafted into the military during the Viet Nam War; offices for numerous arts groups; and as home base for many other organizations and political action groups. The church was also at the forefront of liturgical renewal and reform. At a time when most Episcopal churches either tried to imitate English parish churches or cathedrals as seen through a romanticized fog, or grafted the ornate rubrics of pre-Vatican II Roman Catholic liturgies to the Book of Common Prayer, the liturgy at St. Peter’s was simple and direct, but very "Catholic."

At St. Luke’s School , I received a first-rate education and he was introduced to the "religious life" (i.e., life under vows) for the first time. Several of my teachers were sisters of the Community of St. John the Baptist, and the school’s headmaster, Father Paul Weed, was an oblate of the Order of the Holy Cross . Through singing in the choir, I became intimately acquainted with the beautiful and complex liturgy of the Anglican High Mass in its most developed form, and I received rigorous musical training and discovered a love for liturgical music that remains with me to this day.

Both St. Luke’s and St. Peter’s instilled me with values that continue to be mainstays in my life.

• The Christian life is not just about "religion" as popularly understood. The Christian life is a prophetic vocation. As Christians we are called to confront the powers and principalities of this world, and all that would separate us from the love of Christ.

• To be a Christian is to be part of a community of believers – the Body of Christ. There is no such thing as a solitary Christian. Even hermits are part of the community.

• Being a member of the Body of Christ means doing the work of the Risen Christ in the world today. It means meeting and ministering to Christ in each person we encounter, showing no partiality. None of us can do this perfectly, of course. Like the Risen Body of our Lord, we still bear the wounds of crucifixion. But this doesn’t make us any less the Body of Christ.

• The Christian life is rooted in prayer and worship, both individual and corporate. However, if the life of prayer does not lead us to ministry, it is merely self-indulgence. If ministry does not lead us back to prayer, we cut ourselves off from the source and reason for our ministry, which is to serve Christ in our brothers and sisters, and our work becomes arid and meaningless.

In addition, because both St. Peter’s and St. Luke’s are among the oldest church buildings in New York City, I developed a passionate love for architectural history, particularly the ways in which individual buildings are altered over the decades and centuries to meet the changing needs of the communities they serve.

After spending my high school years in the hills of western Massachusetts, which was quite a change from life in the big city, I moved to Boston to attend college, and I graduated from Boston College  with a degree in theology. While living in Boston I became seriously interested in the religious life while seeing a brother of the Society of St. John the Evangelist  for spiritual direction. Although attracted to the religious life as lived by that community, I sensed, I think rightly, that as a young man just out of college, joining a residential religious order would be an abdication of my adult responsibilities. It would be an attempt on my part to live in a kind of perpetual childhood. About the same time I was introduced to members of the Brotherhood of St. Gregory , which is a non-residential community whose members live and work in the world under a Rule of Life and under vows. After initial conversations with members of the Brotherhood, I decided to apply for acceptance into the postulancy, and I was admitted in the spring of 1987.

By this time I was back in New York, enrolled in the Graduate School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation at Columbia University . I was also struggling with addiction to drugs and to compulsive sexual acting out – a struggle that had begun during my college years in Boston. After years of attending 12-step meetings, I finally began to make significant headway with this addiction, and I found, much to my astonishment, that instead of being a curse, my addiction was among the greatest gifts I had received, for it was in the areas of my life that I was most wounded that the healing power of God flowed most easily. Click here for a sermon preached on the Feast of Sts. Timothy and Titus.

I spent the next several years working in the field of historic preservation, specializing in the preservation of religious buildings. I served on the staff of the New York Landmarks Conservancy  and as independent consultant. I even returned St. Peter’s, and managed the initial stages of the restoration of my childhood home. While there I helped design and implement an in-house job training program specializing in architectural woodwork restoration and replication. Of seven trainees, six were recruited from Our House, a drop-in program operated by St. Peter’s for residents of a local welfare hotel. Of those six, three secured permanent construction-related jobs after the completion of their work at St. Peter’s. This was a sign of things to come.

In the spring of 1995 I came to the dedication of Br. Bernard Fessenden House in Yonkers, which had been founded by some of my brothers, and I instantly fell in love with the place. I sought and received permission to join the residential staff, and I moved in the following August. Upon moving in, I was immediately confronted with one of the most challenging situations of my life. One of the first residents of the house, Silas,^* was a man with AIDS who had severe dementia and who was obviously near death. He needed constant supervision and he was really too sick to be in a place like Fessenden House. For example, during his first night in the house Silas left the building naked, and we found the next morning in the parking lot, where he had fallen. The next day I was freaking out about Silas. When I returned home from my day job I found myself in tears and questioning whether I could handle the situation. After composing myself and cleaning up, I came to the dinner and found two places left at the table. One was right next to Silas. The other was at the opposite corner from him. I was left with a very clear choice, and I was at first inclined to take the far seat, but something prompted me to sit next to Silas and help him with his dinner. The next day Silas was taken back to the hospital, where he died several days later. To this day I believe that if I had given into my fear – if I had taken the far seat at the table – I would not have lasted another two weeks at Fessenden House.

The rest, as they say, is history. In 1998 I left my day job and was appointed Executive Director of Fessenden Supportive Housing, overseeing the house’s change from a residence for men with AIDS to a residence for men in recovery from severe alcohol or drug addiction. I spearheaded the formation of a board of directors for the new organization and oversaw its incorporation as a not-for-profit corporation in New York. Working with the board, treatment professionals and other staff members I put together new house policies to address the needs of men in recovery from drug and alcohol addiction who are often dealing with medical or psychiatric problems as well.

When I came to Fessenden House, it was with an attitude I am now rather ashamed of. I thought that we were "holy brothers" helping those less fortunate than ourselves. I could not have been more wrong. I have found we have been entertaining angels without knowing it. Each man who has come to us, has come with a profoundly important message that I have needed to hear and to heed. Each man who has come to us has known his need of God. Each man who has come to us has freely given his love and freely received it from others. Each man who has come to us has displayed tremendous courage in the face of overwhelming odds, dignity in the face of degradation, hope in the face of despair, love in the face of hatred. Each of the men who has come to us has lost everything, so each of them has had nothing to lose. Each man who has come to us has communicated this in his own, unique, inimitable, lovable way. I cannot help but think they minister to me far more than I minister to them.

Br. Christopher Stephen is a life-professed member of the Brotherhood of St. Gregory and Executive Director of Fessenden Supportive Housing, Inc.