It has been a joy to witness All Saints, through the unyielding faith, stewardship, and tireless efforts of so many, transform from the "leaky roof and empty pews" parish of the late 1980s to the vibrant congregation of today that enjoys solid finances and a beautifully improved, ever awe-inspiring building.

The peace I feel from worshipping in the Anglo-Catholic, high church tradition at All Saints is warm, palpable, and powerful. The sacredness of the ancient practices and traditions of the sacraments, liturgy, incense and bells touch my soul and bring me joy.

As I have aged my ability to be physically involved has decreased but I still remember that we must welcome and care for the stranger. I do what I can to support outreach to welcome and care for the strangers, whether they walk through the doors on Central or stay at a homeless shelter somewhere in the city. 

I was raised Roman Catholic and developed a love for rich liturgy and sacred tradition of that denomination. In particular, the charisms of care for the vulnerable, whole-person education, and refuge for migrants made a lasting impact on my own lived spirituality. After landing at All Saints in 2016, I found many of the same streams: ancient creeds, historic yet living liturgy, and care for the whole person.

For many months of the COVID-19 pandemic, we had to shift every aspect of our parish life online—our common prayer and worship, our care for one another, and our growth and formation as disciples of Christ. As a newly-ordained priest, I got to think creatively with members of the parish about how to hold tightly to the essentials of our faith while innovating and becoming comfortable with change. It has been a time to try, and to fail, and to try again. It hasn’t always been easy, but I believe that it has been a faithful endeavor.

Volunteering to serve those in need has always been a joy for me. The work done by Dayspring is an inspiration and it has been an honor to coordinate donations to their important ministry.

Recording myself in the church sanctuary, with the help of Frank Boles was a unique experience.  I felt honored to contribute to the music ministry in a time of adversity.

I am a foreigner, a member of the LGBT+ community, and a fairly recent Episcopalian. Still, All Saints welcomed and embraced me unconditionally, giving me a voice and entrusting me with important duties. The welcoming of strangers is not lip service here!

I came to All Saints because of the exceptional music and liturgy that is one of the gold standards of the Diocese! Ever since moving to Indiana in 2011, I have followed the music ministry at All Saints and I am thrilled to be a part of the future of this tremendous parish where everyone is truly welcome!

One of the most memorable times from when I was Rector were the funerals we offered to those who died from HIV/AIDS.  Other churches refused to bury them, but we gave them a wonderful send off with incense and glorious music.  Alleluia, Alleluia.

We thought we knew, but now we do not.  Our anti-racism film documents the stories of friends and parishioners who participated in All Saints during its Civil Rights’ heyday. Where is All Saints called now? We hope to learn.

In 1978, after being rejected from my former parish, I found myself in the procession on my first Sunday at All Saints.  The crucifer was a person who had stolen from the church, and the thurifer was a gay man who had been in prison for manslaughter.  I realized that these broken people of God were being made whole on a Sunday morning.

There are three distinct times I've made the decision to stay at All Saints over the more than two decades I've been a member. The first time was when a friend invited me to All Saints on All Saints Day, shortly before I moved to Indianapolis. I had never seen incense or processions like I did that night. I was wowed by the beauty and immediately decided that when I moved to Indianapolis it would be my church home.

The second time I stayed was after a four-year unexplained absence, when I was struggling both with the demands of my career and some misgivings about my relationship with God. When I at last returned, sheepish about the way I had disappeared, I found myself welcomed back as if I had never been gone. I am still grateful for All Saints' gentleness in its forgiveness, which was a powerful antidote to the shame I felt at the time.

The third time was after my mother died suddenly and unexpectedly. My trust in God was shattered. But by virtue of its history All Saints is a place that has an intimacy with grief. The church gave me a place not to be ok for far longer than is socially acceptable outside the church, believing for me what I could not, until I was ready to re-engage in my relationship with God.

This SOS ministry reminds me of this scripture:   For the ministry of this service is not only fully supplying the needs of the saints, but is also overflowing through many thanksgivings to God. 2 Corinthians 9:12

All Saints is widely known for its remarkable outreach and social ministries, but the glue which holds us together is our common desire to worship God in the beauty of holiness. At Mass, we see the clouds and smell the incense, we hear the bells and the chanting of ancient texts, we recite responses and sing hymns together, and ultimately, we feel the Body of Christ in the palm of our hand and taste it within ourselves. It is truly a sensual experience.

Morning Prayer: a centering way to start the week, a planned time to pray together for those on our hearts and minds, a support community as we pray together.

I found All Saints during during a time of deconstruction, when I thought faith and church was lost to me. This place was a safe harbor in a storm. Then it became a way station to an authentic and fearless faith for the first time in my life, and a place where—through the liturgical year and the Eucharist and the way we keep the feast—I experienced a loving God in more real ways than I could have possibly imagined. Now, I’m lucky to call All Saints home.