St. Christopher’s new banner is not simply art — it is a story, stitched in silk. It tells of churches that lost their homes, of people who carried on in borrowed spaces, and of a church that has grown into something new, together.

A symbol of grace and welcome, the banner weaves together congregations once scattered, each with its own story of loss, survival and redemption.

“The meaning of the icons really tells a story of extraordinary hospitality and welcome,” said Jeanneane Keene, chair of the banner committee.

A Church Divided

The story behind the banner begins in 2008, when the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth fractured over disagreements about the ordination of women and same-sex marriage. The breakaway sparked a bitter legal battle that dragged on for more than a decade.

The split left deep wounds. Churches lost their buildings. Parishioners were displaced. Entire communities were forced to reckon with grief, dislocation and spiritual uncertainty.

But over time, many found their way to St. Christopher’s.

“It represents the welcome that St. Christopher provides,” said committee member Marti Fagley. “When we were hurting, when we were homeless,

St. Christopher’s became a safe and welcoming place that helped us rebuild a new community.”

A Vicar’s Vision

The Rev. Paula Jefferson, the church’s vicar, said the idea for a new banner came during a diocesan council worship service. As she watched other congregations process proudly with their colorful banners, she felt a longing.

“I’ll confess — I wanted one of our own,” she said with a smile.

In August 2024, she formed a committee with representatives from each of the congregations that had joined to form St. Christopher’s.

“A banner felt like the perfect way to honor our journey, celebrate who we are today, and look forward to what’s ahead,” she said.

She turned to Keene to lead the project. At 91, Keene is the church’s oldest living original member, having joined just a week after its founding in 1957. She raised her family there, served multiple times as senior warden, and now acts as the church’s historian.

“Jeanneane brought everyone together,” said committee member Di Hall. “She was the moderator — making sure every voice was heard.”

Stitching Memory Into Fabric

The committee provided the vision, but the craft fell to Helen Ferguson, a longtime parishioner at All Saints’ Episcopal Church who had sewn vestments and banners for years.

All Saints, too, had lost its building in the schism. Ferguson had to leave behind many of the banners she had created and even disinter her parents’ ashes from the church columbarium.

“That’s still hard,” she said.

When she first heard about the project, Ferguson thought it would be a simple, elegant piece. Instead, it became one of the most intricate works she had ever attempted.

Each congregation had to be represented. At the center, St. Christopher would carry the Christ child.

“It took a while to find what I thought might be appropriate depictions for each of the congregations,” Ferguson said. She agonized over details, backing each delicate silk piece so it wouldn’t fray, puzzling over how to depict St. Christopher and the Christ child.

“I would dream about it at night,” she admitted.

The final design included:

• A cross for St. Simon of Cyrene
• A crown for Christ the King
• A dove for St. Francis
• A rose for St. Elizabeth

The banner, made of Italian silk with embroidered lettering and symbols, consumed more than 100 hours of Ferguson’s labor.

“I think of it as e pluribus unum — out of many, one,” she said.

On the back, stitched in gold, is a quote from former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry: “If it’s not about love, it’s not about God.”

Ferguson is also looking forward with hope. All Saints recently purchased a building once occupied by a Methodist congregation. “I want a parish-wide demo day,” she said with a laugh. “After the last five years, I want to break something.”



Stories Behind the Symbols

Etta Atkinson was raised Baptist, but her faith journey shifted when she married her Episcopalian husband in 1981. That marriage brought her to St. Simon of Cyrene, a historically Black Episcopal congregation, where she found a spiritual home. At St. Simon’s, she served faithfully on the altar guild and as a gifted lector – a gift she brought with her to St. Christopher’s.

Another lifelong member of St. Simon’s was Edwardean Harris, who had worshipped there since she was 8 years old. When the diocese split, Harris and others were, as she put it, “clapped out” of the church they had called home for decades.

 “It was painful,” she said. “But one door closes and another one opens.”

For a time, Harris and fellow parishioners worshipped independently before eventually being invited to join St. Christopher’s. Years earlier, artist Ferguson had created a banner for St. Simon—an image of the saint carrying the cross on his back. For Harris, it felt deeply fitting that Ferguson would also be the one to design the new banner for St. Christopher’s.

“St. Chris is home to me,” she said.

Diane Batterson was a longtime member of Christ the King, joining in 1976 and serving on the vestry, altar guild, and flower guild. In 2008, she arrived to arrange flowers and found a large “Stop” sign on the door, along with a notice that no one could enter without permission from a priest appointed by then-Bishop Jack Iker. “We were locked out,” she said.

Batterson cried for days but soon threw herself into rebuilding. Her congregation worshipped at a Lutheran church, using a makeshift altar. Later, she and her late husband joined St. Elizabeth, only to lose that building too in 2021 after the Texas Supreme Court’s ruling.

She eventually made her way to St. Christopher’s. “I probably won’t ever leave St. Chris—not unless they make me,” she said.

Marti Fagley and her husband relocated to North Texas in the early 2000s.

“When I found out where we were moving, I thought, ‘God, what have you got in mind for me?’” she said. With the brewing split already on the horizon, “I realized my job was to be the ‘no’ vote.”

They became active at St. Francis of Assisi in Willow Park, where Fagley served on the vestry and led the diocesan Daughters of the King. Even before the split, she sensed what was coming and drove to Wichita Falls with another member to prepare.

When St. Francis joined the breakaway diocese, she and others formed a new Episcopal congregation, worshipping in an elementary school with a portable altar her husband built. They eventually called a priest, but over time decided to disband.

By then, Fagley was leading an Education for Ministry group at St. Christopher’s. “I had a key to the building,” she said. “And I thought—why don’t we just go there?”

In 2021, when St. Christopher’s lost its building in the litigation, she was serving as senior warden and helped secure a temporary worship space at St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, where the congregation still gathers.

Di Hall, raised Roman Catholic, came to St. Christopher’s in the late 1990s after someone left a “welcome to the neighborhood” pamphlet on her door. She sent her son to the pre-school and became active in parish life.

Though she left for a time to attend a Bible church, she eventually returned.

“I enjoyed the Bible church, but I missed communion weekly,” she said. “I missed the liturgy and the mass and everything. I missed being Episcopalian.”

For her, the banner represents “a group of people that didn’t really have a home — kind of like me.”

“St. Chris, it’s family,” she said. “It’s my heart.”

Today, the finished banner rests in the same stand once used by St. Simon of Cyrene’s banner — another thread in the tapestry of shared history.

For Jefferson, it stands as both memory and promise.

“It honors our journey,” she said, “but it also celebrates who we are today and who God is calling us to become.”