Feast of Peter and Anna Cassey
I’ve been thinking about light lately, although for rather technical reasons and not specifically related to Jesus’ teaching in the 5th chapter of Matthew. Or at least I didn’t start out thinking of it as such. I’m hoping to do a small fundraising campaign to move some priceless stained glass to Trinity Cathedral, from a nearby church that has closed. The windows were designed for another building, but they would look beautiful anywhere. The only thing is, they need light to show their beauty and message. They are windows, after all. And that will be a challenge, as our church walls doesn’t really have any openings of the right size. That is to say, there are not some other clear glass windows we could remove from their frames to replace with the stained glass. And mounting glass windows intended to transmit daylight on solid walls, well… it really wouldn’t be the same.
But fortunately, light is available to us in so many ways. So I’ve been mulling over technical solutions, like boxing the windows and backlighting them with LED’s. That’s entirely possible, and in some ways better than stained glass lit by the sun, as they can transmit their light and color after dark. It’s a win-win. Putting a lamp under a bushel basket, though… that’s something of a lose-lose. The light is obscured until the bushel basket catches fire and burns down the whole house. That parable has always worried me!
But in light of the feast of Peter and Anna Cassey, which Trinity Cathedral is observing today with our bishop’s annual visitation, got me thinking about lights that burn so bright that they cannot be hidden. Not by bushel baskets, not by opaque walls, and not even by the pernicious shadow of racism. Of course we think of Jesus Christ in this light—and as this light—and so we kindle new fires and light candles in church in his honor. But we can also think of all the saints of the church in this light, and—in fact—we have many of their images embedded in stained glass around our church. We don’t yet have a window dedicated to Peter and Annie Cassey—saints of Trinity Cathedral—but I surely hope that we someday do.
April 16 of each year, the whole Episcopal Church marks the feast dedicated to Peter Williams Cassey and his wife, Annie Besant Cassey. They were among the founders of Trinity Parish (now Trinity Cathedral), and Peter became the first person of color ordained in the Episcopal Church west of the Mississippi River. Peter was a distinguished educator and deacon, but was never able to be ordained priest, likely due to racism. But nevertheless, he let light shine before others.
Peter was a fourth-generation freed African American. His great-grandfather bought his freedom and founded the first black church in New York, the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church. Peter’s grandfather was the first African American Episcopal priest in New York and founder of St. Philip’s in Manhattan. Peter’s parents, Joseph and Amy Cassey, were prominent Philadelphia abolitionists who saw to it that Peter received the best classical education available at the time, which included fluency in Greek, Hebrew, and Latin. When Peter arrived in San Francisco in 1853, he was only able to find work as a barber. But nevertheless, he let light shine before others.
He helped organize a community association to protect African Americans and other people of color, and continued that work in the late 1850s when he moved to San Jose. Peter moved to San Jose, where he formed an abolitionist group to help free slaves. He married Annie Besant, who also came from a prominent African American family. They helped to found Trinity Parish in 1862. At the same time, they rented the former Bascom School for Girls and established St. Philip’s Mission for Colored People and St. Philip’s Academy. In addition to African American children, the academy served children of Mexican and Chinese origin, who likewise were not permitted to attend the public schools. But nevertheless, Peter and Annie insisted they had lights to shine before others.
Bishop William Ingram Kip, the first Bishop of California, recognized St. Philip’s as a mission congregation of Trinity Parish and ordained Peter deacon in 1866. The bishop directed Peter to establish Christ Church for Colored People in San Francisco. And his light shone before many others, in parishes in North Carolina and Florida. Peter died on April 16, 1917, at the age of 86. Bishop Edwin Gardner Weed eulogized Peter, saying, “He was a remarkable teacher… He was broad-minded, an omnivorous reader, a clear thinker. His devotion to the Church and his untiring pastoral work brought many into the Church… A devout servant of the Lord, a Christian, a true and faithful pastor… The poor and the sick will miss him, and the example of his life will lead many to the Cross.” His light shines before others—including us—through the generations.
Peter labored to spread the light of Christ despite some considerable shadows that got in his way. I was struck by the tentmaker missionary nature of his endeavors: he did whatever he could to support himself and his family, despite his considerable education and influential Christian faith. The light of his passion for justice shone when he was a barber, when he was an educator of children others thought unworthy, and when he was leading parishes as a deacon. He was denied the priestly orders that he sought, but that didn’t diminish his will or his capacity to shine the light of the Gospel.
When the light is present—burning, even—in human hearts, it can be seen even when the viewing conditions are less than perfect. Even if your conditions and mine are less than perfect. We’ve all still got a light to shine and a story to tell. Like stained glass mounted against opaque walls: if that’s all we’ve got to work with, we’ll have to find other ways to let the light shine through. That’s what Peter and Annie Cassey did for the children of color in San Jose, and that’s what we do for each other. As writer Marianne Williamson has reminded us—
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory within us.
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.
And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously give
other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.
