The Diocesan Dialogue
Current Issue
January 2008

Church Revival: St. David's Not Only Survives, It Thrives

By Carrie A. Moore

Ed Note: This article, which first appeared in the Deseret News, November 17, 2007, is reprinted with permission.

PAGE, Ariz.—
At Steve and Jean Keplinger's Thanksgiving table, there will be turkey, ham and sauerkraut, mixed with traditional foods reflecting a potpourri of cultures. Nearly 200 people have been invited, and if you happen to show up, they'll squeeze you in somehow.

That the rector of St. David's Episcopal Church has invited his entire congregation to dinner at home is not unusual in this tourist-trade-dependent, desert community. Thursday's modern-day re-creation of the first Thanksgiving will be complete with gratitude — served up in large portions — for the survival and growth of a tiny church some said had died a long death and would never be resurrected.

They were wrong. In fact, St. David's has become so vibrant and full of life that a new sanctuary is now under construction, destined to the be the newest of 12 churches that line Lake Powell Boulevard in what may be one of the most diverse small-town faith communities in America.

The Rev. Steve Keplinger and his wife Jean.

With a population of roughly 6,800, Page depends on nearby Glen Canyon Dam for survival, not only for life-giving water but also for the life-sustaining tourist trade that caters to Lake Powell visitors: hotels and motels, fast-food outlets, Wal-Mart and watercraft rental-andrepair shops. High season brings lots of jobs and a regular paycheck. Low season means high unemployment and a lot of desperation.

Thanksgiving provides the perfect metaphor for a congregation the Keplingers say has survived and now thrives after more than 40 years of on-again-off-again administration, benign neglect by the former diocese of which it was a part and the travails that go with a shifting population and seasonal work force.

When the couple first rolled into town six years ago, "the lot was so full of tumbleweeds that I sometimes had to wear gloves to push my way through from the vicarage to the church (next door)," the Rev. Keplinger reminded congregants during a groundbreaking ceremony for their new building last summer. "The day we arrived, the door knob came off in Jean's hand. ... We opened the garage door, and it literally split in half. In the bathroom, no water came out of the spigot."

Green water came out of the kitchen faucet, and neither the heater nor the water heater worked. During their first attempt to do laundry, the washing machine blew up. "At that point, Jean turned to me and said, ‘What have you gotten me into?"'

Introducing himself to fellow clergy around town, he was often met with "St. What? Oh, THAT church. I thought it went out of business years ago."

Little wonder.

During its first half-century, the church's founder was killed in a plane crash. The first full-time vicar was defrocked, and the priest who replaced him was an alcoholic. The Rev. Ken Trickett finally brought some stability to the church in 1984, but he died within three years. The priest who replaced him disappeared in the middle of the night at Christmastime, never to be heard from again.

By 1991, the son of the church's founder returned to shepherd the flock, and congregants were convinced their troubles were finally over. But 18 months later, the Rev. Tim Kazan and his wife were killed in an auto accident."

The person who offered me this job did not tell me one of those stories until after I said I would come," the Rev. Keplinger recalls.

The Episcopal Diocese of Utah had annexed Page into its boundaries after one official there approached church officials in Phoenix, who said they had no way to provide the resources needed in the border town.

The Rev. Keplinger and his wife were charged with giving the ministry a final go, after church officials in Salt Lake City had decided to give the experiment six months to succeed or they would shut it down.

The couple decided early on to concentrate on two goals: first, to grow the congregation, and second, to establish social ministries that served the broader community.

Today, the church's past woes are distant memories for the six people who remained when the Keplingers arrived. Six years later, scores of people have come to call St. David's home. They span a wide spectrum of ages, ethnicity and socioeconomic and educational experience, drawn by a commitment to reach beyond the congregation and into the community.

The town's only food pantry now operates two days a week out of the vicarage at St. David's, housed in a converted garage that congregants use to gather and disperse food to more than 1,500 people per month—about 20 percent of the town's population. The Salvation Army also operates there during food bank hours, offering a soup kitchen, financial aid and counseling to the downtrodden.

Since demand regularly outstrips the supply of food, the Rev. Keplinger has designated the first Sunday of each month for his members to donate and help gather everything they can to keep the food bank shelves stocked.

"We refuse not to live in abundance anymore," he told a writer from the Virginia-based Alban Institute recently. "We will not buy into any scarcity."

That attitude has permeated his congregation and grown beyond the church's property line. Neighboring churches have taken notice. At first, some didn't take too kindly to the Rev. Keplinger's new way of doing things or his desire to build interfaith partnerships. There were some heated exchanges over his methods in the local newspaper, but ultimately, he believes actions spoke louder than words.

When he went looking for a place earlier this year to hold Sunday services while the new building is under construction, both the Catholic and Methodist churches in town were quick to offer. Sunday his congregation will give thanks for its abundance while meeting inside the Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church nearby.

The Keplingers say they're less worried about congregational boundaries than they are about serving community needs, including an expanding understanding of how to engage and build relationships with the Navajo Nation that predominates in this freewheeling town along Arizona's desolate northern border.

Jean Keplinger said volunteers for the church's social ministry go beyond denominational boundaries. "They've all bought into the idea that we're here to help and to be a part of the community, to help people find ways to solve their problems. A lot of our volunteers previously accepted help from the food bank and the Salvation Army, and now they've come back to help someone else," she said.

"I've never seen a community buy into something like this hook, line and sinker," the Rev. Keplinger said. "It's the healthiest church community I've ever been in. What you see is what you get. There's no backstabbing or any kind of politics. They are just so grateful for everything that it permeates through, and they use that gratitude to give back."

Consequently, Thanksgiving is not a single day at St. David's, but permeates the growing congregation year-round, he said. Yet that "attitude of gratitude" came about only when church members "stopped worrying about themselves and how they would survive and started taking care of other people."

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