The Pew Note
Lay ministry, honest faith, and the work that happens without a collar.
My first Sunday at Trinity Episcopal Church in Hartford, I put my name in the Guest Book. I’d felt the peace so many people talk about the moment I walked in, and I wanted whoever kept that book to know I’d been there. By Monday morning, the priest had emailed me. Not a form letter, not a bulletin. A real email, asking about my spiritual gifts and how she might help me grow deeper into my faith.
That was the moment I understood I was in a relationship of reciprocity, with my church and with God. I wasn’t there just to take communion, a warm greeting during the passing of the peace, and coffee. I was there to share my gifts. Spiritual gifts I didn’t even know I had yet.
I had direction. I had a conversation partner. I had a church leader who ushered me in as a leader from the very beginning. Decades later, I’m still giving, now in a different capacity.
I’m Marsha McCurdy Adell, Director of Lay Vocations and Ministry for the Episcopal Church in Connecticut and a parishioner at Trinity, Hartford. When I stepped into this role in January 2025, something became clear quickly: most people never had a Monday morning email. They came, they worshipped, they left. Nobody asked about their gifts. And yet they stayed, Sunday after Sunday, wanting to give something back, wanting to be part of something, not always knowing how or where or whether anyone was waiting for what they had to offer.
People take their lay ministry seriously, and they want help doing that. They want places to ask the real questions. They want practical tools, for the ministries they’re already serving in and for discernment, the ongoing work of figuring out where the Holy Spirit is leading them. They want to discover and use their gifts. They want to answer a call, even when they can’t quite name it yet.
That’s what The Pew Note is for. I have notes with observations from the field, and from the pew.
Some weeks I’ll write something shorter, personal, probably recollecting something that happened to me or someone I talked to that week. Other weeks something longer: history, theology, a question worth sitting with over something delicious to eat or drink. I’ll try to explain Episcopal vocabulary when I use it, because our tradition has a lot of it. I love both our tradition and the people in it who are quietly working out their faith in the middle of regular, complicated lives. The eucharistic minister driving forty minutes each way. The vestry member who said yes when she was already exhausted. The person who keeps showing up even when they’re not sure why.
It counts. That’s why. The longer answer is what this newsletter is for.
See you Sunday.