Month: May 2014

A Sermon for the 6^th Sunday of Easter

Year A – 25 May 2014

Eleanor Lee Wellford, Associate Rector

John 14:15-21

Jesus said to his disciples, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

“I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”

This time of year can be particularly bittersweet for families who have children graduating from high school.   All graduations signal transitions but I think the hardest may be for the high school seniors and their families.  The Fall will mark the first time that most of these 18 year olds will be on their own for an extended period of time.

In some contexts, these graduates are considered to be adults in that they are old enough to serve our country in the armed forces, and they can vote.  To their parents’ way of thinking, though, they’re still kids. 

The reality is that no matter what the context, they are teenagers which means that they are making decisions and judgments with a teenage mindset.  And that’s scary for any parent or grandparent to realize!

Even though we do our best to raise our children well throughout their first 18 years of life, we know there is still much that they can learn from us before they head off to college.  And that makes us feel anxious. 

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could somehow beam ourselves to be by their sides before they let their peers pressure them into doing something they’ll regret?  I’m sure they’d love that…

Anxious is the same way Jesus’ disciples were feeling when they learned that their mentor and Teacher would be leaving them.  They still had so much to learn from him.  Why was he abandoning them? 

Anticipating their anxiety, Jesus promised his disciples something to help them when he would no longer be physically with them.  We heard about it in this morning’s gospel reading.  Jesus promised them an Advocate. 

What is that, or maybe who is that?  Another word for Advocate that we hear just in John’s gospel is Paraclete from the Greek verb meaning to comfort or console; to encourage or call on for help.  It’s not an easy word to translate into English and may be better understood in the context of what was going on at the time John wrote about it.

Promising his disciples an Advocate was part of the same Farewell Discourse that we heard a portion of last Sunday.  In some ways, it’s comparable to the last gathering around the dinner table that families have before their 18-year old leaves for college.  All of a sudden it seems as if there is so much to say and so little time to say it all.

After Jesus had gathered his disciples around him and shared his last meal with them in what we recall as the events of Maundy Thursday, he then rose from the table, took a towel and washed  his disciples’ feet.  Then he said to them: “I have set you an example…Love one another as I have loved you.”  Then he told them that he was going to the Father (John 14:3).  That’s the context of what was going on.

“If you love me” Jesus continued, “you will keep my commandments.  And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to be with you forever” (John 14:15). 

Jesus, being the first Advocate perhaps, went on to describe the other Advocate as “the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him.  You know him,” he told his disciples, “because he abides with you and he will be in you” (John:14:17). 

And then comes my favorite part of the passage.  Jesus told his disciples that he will not leave them orphaned (John 14:18).  

I usually think of being orphaned as something terribly sad that happens to children but the truth is, as soon as we lose both of our parents, we adults become orphaned.  And any of us whose parents were our Advocates in being by our side through life’s experiences, knows what suddenly being orphaned feels like. 

What usually happens, however, is that one or more people step in and help fill the gap left by our parents’ death.  These people may have been part of our lives all along or they may have been people on the periphery.  They may even have been strangers. 

When both of my parents died, there were and are people here at St. Mary’s who are still helping to fill the gap – and I’m guessing they don’t even know it.  My best friend’s mother died two weeks ago and I’ve marveled at the way her circle of friends has tightened around her like a huge hug.

That’s the context that I use to help me define the word Advocate, or Paraclete – the Spirit that stirs up compassion in people and causes them to act out of that compassion on our behalf.

Laura was one of those people.  She was living in a small row house in Alexandria in the year 1918 when a terrible plague called the Spanish Flu claimed the lives of millions of people.  During the 2nd week of October in 1918, Laura was taking care of 5 boarders in her small row house: a 1-year old boy named Charlie, his mother and his father and his grandparents.

Just one week later Laura had only two boarders left: little Charlie and his grandmother.  His mother and father and grandfather had all died.  Laura took one look at that tiny boy and knew what she had to do. 

She scooped him up in her arms and loved him as her own.  Whether she spoke the words or not, she knew in her heart what Jesus had meant when he said: “I will not leave you orphaned…I am coming to you.”

Charlie grew up and married and had children of his own.  And it was his daughter who wrote the following: “Laura died long before I was born; so it’s only through the way my father loved me that I have a glimpse of the woman who did not leave a little 1-year old boy orphaned and who loved him with a mother’s heart.” (The story of Laura is paraphrased from Lectionary Homiletics Volume XIX, Number 3, pg. 30).

So back to those children who are transitioning to living life on their own.  Where is their Advocate, their Paraclete?  Who will step in to fill the gap between good and poor judgment or between experience and inexperience?  Who will step in and stand up for them?

The answer is: we don’t know.  And that’s where trust comes in – which is always the hard part. 

The disciples had to trust what Jesus was telling them about the Advocate that he was sending to them, that as you remember, was not anyone the World could see or know.  We have to trust that the same Advocate which Jesus sent to his disciples is available to us and to our children as well. 

It won’t prevent them from making bad choices, but it will be right beside them if and when they suffer the consequences of their own or of others’ poor judgment.  That trust is really about the only thing that helps us let them go. 

And when we do let them go, we may feel alone, even disoriented, and whether they would admit it or not, they may, also. But it’s only a feeling.  The reality is that the Counselor or the Paraclete or the Holy Spirit is always acting in ways to move people with hearts like Laura on our behalf and on our children’s behalf. 

And it’s that reality that we appeal to when we pray for the comfort of the Holy Spirit to be near us to defend us, within us to possess us, around us to preserve us, before us to guide us, behind us to justify us and above us to bless us.  (St. Catherine’s School prayer).

Amen. 

A Sermon for the 4th Sunday of Easter

Year A – 11 May 2014

John Edward Miller, Rector

It is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly. If you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong, what credit is that? But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God’s approval. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps.

“He committed no sin,and no deceit was found in his mouth.”

When he was abused, he did not return abuse; when he suffered, he did not threaten; but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly. He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed. For you were going astray like sheep, but now you have returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls.  – 1 Peter 2:19-25

 Jesus said, “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”      – John 10:1-10

 The Collect

O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people: Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

On this fourth Sunday of Easter, the focus of our worship is Christ the Good Shepherd. We take on the role of his sheep and express our gratitude for his pastoral care in music, Scripture, prayers, and sermon. This metaphor, which depicts the relationship of God to his people (of Christ to his Church), remains lively and meaningful to us. Indeed, our Episcopal Church celebrates the ancient concept in the ministry of the bishop, who is the chief pastor and overseer of the diocesan flock. When the bishop makes a parish visit, he or she enters the church carrying a crosier, the symbol of the bishop’s authority. Episcopal crosiers may be ornate, but the simple ones are unmistakably pastoral. They are replicas of the shepherd’s staff, reminding us that the bishop our pastor, and we are the sheep of the pasture he tends. That is the bishop’s ministry to us on behalf of Christ Jesus.

The convergence of Good Shepherd Sunday with the celebration of Mother’s Day is a happy coincidence – especially for those of us who are keenly aware of the deep commitment, the nurture and guidance, and the abiding mercy that our mother lavished upon us. Each of us is the product of those blessings, and the awareness of them is not only heartening, but it is vital to our healthy self-esteem and sense of wholeness. In my own case, this is a precious memory now, but it is a living legacy that I cherish. Among the multitude of amazing things that my mother gave me was her empowering example of faithfulness. She believed in, and completely trusted, the power of love. That explained her courage to carry on when my father was totally disabled at age 27, her unwavering devotion to him, her steadfast care for me and my brother, and her depth of faith in God. Love gave her confidence in life, and she taught us how to live it abundantly, despite hardship and disappointment. Mom, like many other exemplary mothers that we recall today, was a true shepherd. And I am grateful that she was the one who taught me the 23^rd Psalm. Little did I know then, at a tender age, how great a lifesaver that little gem of Scripture would be for me. I have a feeling that she knew, and her entrusting it to me is an enduring grace.

The pastoral relationship – the bond between the shepherd and the sheep – is the setting that promotes life. “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want,” the opening verse of the psalm, makes that explicit claim. Everything that follows develops that inspiring idea. As we recite the psalm, we are invited to feel the support and encouragement of our own relationship to God, made evident through the shepherds of our experience. By the closing verse, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever,” the peace of God embraces our being – if we let that be so. And we, the Good Shepherd’s beloved sheep, may safely graze on green pasture, and drink deeply of the waters of comfort.

That soothing thought gives a regular boost to many of us. However, the life-giving power of the shepherding bond is neither self-evident nor automatic; it took much on God’s part to achieve it. A colleague recently reminded me that it is really no compliment to be thought of as sheep. Even though they are peaceful and lovely to behold as they graze, sheep can be contrary, stubborn, wayward, inattentive creatures that always need to be looked after. That’s why the shepherd’s role is essential to the health of a flock. The shepherd has to be their guide, their protector, their goad, and their nurturer, because they cannot take care of themselves. And it is understandable that the psalm says, “thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.” The shepherd’s tools are essential, providing strength and shield for us vulnerable sheep. This is especially true of the shepherd’s staff, which has a crook at one end to retrieve us when we stray and to pull us along when we dig in our heels. The other end is useful too. It has a point to prompt and prod us onward when our mind is wandering, or when we are indecisive.    

The truth is that “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned – every one – to his own way.”[1] That is a hard and humbling thing for us to admit. And yet, that is what we do at the outset of virtually every worship service. We confess our sins so that we may receive and accept God’s infinite goodness and mercy. In the words of the General Confession, this is what we say:

Almighty and most merciful Father, we have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep, we have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts, we have offended against thy holy laws, we have left undone those things which we ought to have done and we have done those things which we ought not to have done.[2]

That’s a sweeping admission of sin and guilt. Nevertheless we do so in the liturgy, not as an exercise in futility, but as a reality check, and as act of contrition that lowers our defenses and opens up our whole self to receive the transforming gift of forgiveness. 

Christ our Shepherd showed us the way. He leads us in the path of righteousness for his Name’s sake. The Apostle Peter described the transformed life in his epistle to the newly formed Christian community. He said:

When [Christ Jesus] was abused, he did not return abuse; when he suffered, he did not threaten; but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly. He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed. For you were going astray like sheep, but now you have returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls.

 As flawed as Peter had once been, something magnificent had changed his life. Because Jesus had forgiven Peter’s denials and breech in loyalty to him, the apostle began the process of living in the power of the resurrection. That new being enabled him to walk the way of the cross, and to fulfill Christ’s command to feed and tend his sheep.  

That’s why Peter could assure them that they were “free from sins.” Paul too, believed that. He said to the Galatians, “For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand fast, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.” The yoke that he was referring to was legalism – living based on keeping the letter of the law. Paul knew well that that way is self-defeating, because everyone falls short of the mark. So, how is it that both apostles were so confident in life? What truth were they trusting that propelled them through and beyond the valley of the shadow of death? It was that each man had witnessed personally that “the LORD is my shepherd.”  

At Easter the door opened. The barrier to life was rolled away. In the power of God Jesus was the first to walk through that portal. He is alive, and he beckons us to follow him into the life abundant. In his own words, he is the “gate of the sheep.” He said, “Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” Our Good Shepherd “calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice.”

Jesus is the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.[3] He is the one in whom freedom abides, the one in whom God has shown us the end – the omega point[4] – toward which He is drawing us, namely the kingdom of love. Christ the Good Shepherd leads the exodus from bondage to sin and death to the promised land of freedom. However, it is not a freedom to do as we please. This freedom is costly; it was purchased at a high price. It is freedom to be Christ’s risen body in the world. It is liberty to love, to worship, and to serve.

There is a text from Isaiah[5] that is often read at Prayer Book burials. The prophet’s words reflect the hope realized by the exiles of Israel who had languished in bondage in Babylon:

The Spirit of the LORD God is upon me; because the LORD hath anointed me to preach god tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound .  .  . that they might be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified.

 That is our hope, at Easter and always. In Christ’s resurrection from the dead, God opened the door of the prison. Easter is the Bastille Day for all humanity. Our opportunity, our challenge is to follow our risen shepherd who calls us by name, and walk out into the freedom that is awaiting us.

But he doesn’t just stand there, tapping his sandaled foot, as he beckons and waits for us to come hither. Jesus, who is grace incarnate, always comes back to get us. Whether his patience is strained with our self-absorption or not, he continues to act on our behalf. Like the persistent widow who keeps on rapping on the door of a judge who neither reverence for God nor a care for what people thought of him,[6] Jesus’ relentless love never gives up on us. He is not willing to let us go.

In the Name of God our Father, and Christ the Good Shepherd, and the Spirit of their Love for us, let us accept their invitation, and live a life that is worthy of this calling – a life that is wholesome, and eternal. Amen.

 A Sermon for the Third Sunday of Easter

Year A – May 4, 2014

David Hathaway Knight, Priest Associate

In the Name of God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Now on that same day, two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”  (Luke 24: 13-16)

 While it’s nice to have a full congregation on Easter Day, I confess that I have come to believe over the years that those of you who faithfully show up Sunday after Sunday, and especially on these Sundays following Easter Day itself somehow grasp the Easter message in a way that perhaps eludes so many. I once heard it said that the emptied out pews after Easter Day remind us of those who, after that first Easter, had disappeared not really taking in all that had happened and what it would mean for them from day to day.  It has ever been thus, so in some way it is a joy for a preacher to try and prepare a sermon for a congregation such as you all are this morning. You are the ones who are here through thick and thin.  You understand that Easter is by no means over with the triumphant postlude after the last service on Easter Day.  It is, in fact, just beginning.

The Gospel passages during these Sundays during the great fifty-day celebration of Easter give us a vivid glimpse of important times when Jesus appears to those whose lives had been so disrupted by the event of his death. On Easter Day itself, we saw the women at the empty tomb, grieved that his body had been stolen before they could prepare it for a decent burial.  In their grief and confusion they could not grasp the notion that he was still in their midst.  Then that night, as we heard in last week’s gospel reading from John, we witnessed the disciples minus Thomas who was off somewhere bereaved and bewildered all by himself, huddled in a room fearfully trying to bring order and make sense of what happened.  They too could not grasp the notion that he was still in their midst until he appeared to them behind those locked doors. A week later, Thomas was with them but did not believe what they tried to tell him until once again, Jesus appeared to them all in that room behind those locked doors. He reached out to Thomas in a way he knew Thomas might understand.  Now today we see two of Jesus’ followers, one of them whose name was Cleopas, walking along the road on the way to Emmaus.  Like so many others, their hearts were troubled by the hopelessness and the helplessness they felt after all that had taken place. They too could not see Jesus when he came along beside them on the road even though he began to engage them in conversation for as well, they were reeling in shock from the events around his violent death on the cross.

Today’s account in Luke’s Gospel describing Jesus’ encounter with two who had been followers of Jesus gives us insight into the nature of faith itself. It is an account that helps us to realize that faith does not require visible proof.  You see, our natural tendency is to want visible, tangible evidence.  You’ve heard the phrase, “Seeing is believing”   Luke describes how these two followers of Jesus were walking on the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus.  Still in shock over what had happened just a few days earlier, they were talking when someone drew up and caught stride with them, but in their state of shock their eyes were kept from recognizing him. This man who had joined them asked what it was they were discussing.  Surprised, Cleopas, one of the two followers, asked the man if he was the only stranger in Jerusalem who had not heard about what had happened.  The man listened.  Then, he began to recount all the things he had taught them.  He spoke to them about all the passages in the scriptures that foretold about himself, yet despite what he said to them, their eyes were still kept from recognizing him.  As the end of the day drew near, the two followers of Jesus prepared to stop to eat and the man who had joined them walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him to stay with them and join them for dinner.  As he sat at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it and gave it to them. And then, what happened?  He vanished from their sight. They looked at each other in utter amazement.  They said, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road while he was opening the scriptures to us?”  They went and told the eleven of their companions and told them what had happened and how Jesus had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

How often have you said, or heard it said,  “I believe with all my heart?”  The New Testament writers were on to something when they spoke of how we see things with the eyes of our hearts.  Believing is a result of having the eyes of our hearts opened so that we can see either for the first time, or that we can see once again. If it is true that we see with the eyes of our heart, as scripture says, then the condition of our heart affects our ability or our inability to see things clearly. Those who followed Jesus and who loved him were so overwhelmed that they probably had no idea how shocked they were because shock is what happens when things shut down when our bodies are met with trauma. We become overwhelmed.  When we are overcome with grief, or our eyes are blinded by the emotions we are feeling, we cannot see those things in our midst that we might otherwise be able to see.  We become numb to our surroundings. If, for example, there is anger or resentment in our hearts then we see others wrongly.  If our hearts are weary, then the world around us becomes distorted.  Yet when the eyes of our hearts are opened by such things as love, or grace, or by forgiveness, we come to see things more clearly again.  That evening on the road to Emmaus, when they stopped to eat together, something happened when Jesus took the bread, blessed it, and gave it to them.  They remembered once again what they had done so many times in the company of this man.  It all came back to them. When the eyes of their hearts were opened, they recognized Jesus. They saw him and he became known to them once again in the breaking of the bread.  So it would be in the generations to come as the faithful would gather to break bread together in his presence.

The late Jesse M. Trotter, who was dean of Virginia Seminary when I began my first year there, wrote a wonderful book, now unfortunately out of print, titled, Christian Wholeness. (Fortunately, Tenny Wellford was able to find me a copy)     In it he speaks about the Eucharist and he writes, “Consider… that in the Eucharist the priest does not by some magic of conjuration or incantation bring down to the altar the presence of Christ.  Rather in this sacrament Christ calls us ever and again to his side to refresh and renew our faith-union with him. Times of fragmentation and scatteredness, of confusion in our beliefs and of self-dissatisfaction are never dealt with once and for all, to be over and done with.  Valleys and mountain tops are the contours of life.  By repeatedly returning to Christ in the Lord’s Supper or the Mass, in the Eucharist or the Holy Communion, regardless of the name we customarily give the sacrament, our need for courage and wholeness is met.”

Jesse Trotter’s words connect to your experience and to mine as we face the valleys and the mountain tops that are the contours of our lives.  I have found them to be true in my own journey. During the days following the loss of our son, Jamie, for example, the eyes of my heart were blind to precious many things. I was not able to preach for some time. I kept a low profile.  People were very patient and gave me space.  Then Thom Blair asked me if I wanted to be the celebrant at the 8:00 service.  I figured I could do that as I had done it for all those years and I could get through it.  It would simply involve, or so I thought, reciting the familiar words in the Prayer Book. But something happened. It was during the Eucharistic Prayer in Rite One when I came to the words, “Therefore with Angels and Archangels, and with all the company of heaven…”  What I remember is that at that moment I could feel the emotion rising up within me.  Somehow, by God’s mercy, I didn’t lose it but was able to keep it in the middle of the road and continue on, yet I had become aware of a presence I had not felt for some time.  To this day I believe it was God’s Holy Spirit making known to me once again the presence of the risen Lord and it was in the breaking of the bread that the eyes of my heart began to open once again. It was a thread onto which I could hold.  My belief began to return.  As my belief began to return, so the eyes of my heart could see the risen Jesus somehow beside me.  It is an ongoing journey for me as it is for most of us.  That’s why we are given the sacrament of Holy Communion so that again and again we can return to God’s table and do so throughout our journey through the valleys and mountain tops that are the contours of our lives.

 As each of us comes to God’s table this morning, may the eyes of our hearts be opened to the presence of the risen Lord, that your yearning for the courage and the grace to meet whatever you have to face in this coming week be met.

 On this third Sunday of Easter we have every reason believe that Jesus is with us.  In the breaking of the bread we find that the eyes of our hearts are opened and we can see the presence of the risen Jesus by our side and in our midst.  Believing, we can see once again. It is then that you and I go out into the world around us and in whatever way we can—whatever way that is our own— to show and tell others that this is so.

“Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him…  Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.”