Messengers of God

 

“See I am sending my messenger ahead of you.”

A Sermon preached on Facebook Live Broadcast

Advent II - December 6, 2020

One of my fondest memories of being a rector is working with children. I know. Not too many rectors say that. One of my friends once said that preaching a children’s sermon was something akin to being thrown into a bucket of live bait.

 

Well, they are pretty daunting, but so much better than so many other things about parish ministry. I loved Adult Christian Education and Bible Study and Adult Forum and I loved home visitation. But, I will tell you plainly that I did NOT like the Three Killer B’s of parish ministry: Budgets, Boilers and Bishops.

 

Even though I was fortunate enough to have Tim Wong, a full time Missioner for Youth and Young Families who was, in a word, amazing, he and I worked fairly closely together on program development for youth and young families.

 

Tim and I did the acolyte training together, which was always a hoot. I told them they were the “messengers being sent ahead”. I always started the training with a class in church architecture. No, seriously. I wanted them to understand the “sacred space” they were in and why certain things were in certain places.

 

That was important because when I asked them not to wear flip flops or sling-back shoes that made “flip flop noises” all the way up the aisle, or to please make sure their sneakers were at least clean or grass stains and mud, they would understand their role as “messengers being sent ahead” of everyone in church to lead us into a closer relationship with Jesus.

 

I pointed out the baptismal font, which we had recently moved from a side corner of the church to the middle of the church, removing half the pews on both sides which not only accommodated the family who gathered ‘round the font during baptism, but also allowed for people in wheelchairs to have a seat right in the midst of the congregation, rather that stuck off to the side or way up in front, which brought attention to their condition. Here, they were just one of us.

 

That allowed me to talk about the primacy of the symbols of the two major sacraments of the church – baptism and Holy Eucharist, in the font and the altar. The church also had stained glass windows – twelve of them – each with a lower latch window that could open and each of the latch windows bore a stain glass symbol for each of the 12 apostles.

 

That gave me an opportunity, later, in confirmation class, to tell them the stories of each of the 12 apostles and why that particular symbol was chosen for them. I can’t tell you how many art projects that inspired – drawings, clay models, poems, prose and one musical piece – which was part of their assignment for confirmation.

 

But it was the ceiling of the church that always caught their imagination. When we are able to get back into St. Paul’s, Church– whenever that is – I want you to look up. You will notice that the ceiling looks like the inside of the bottom of a boat.

 

That’s intentional. The interior of a church is called a sanctuary for a reason. It is a place of the promise of safety. We are symbolically held under Noah’s ark, safe in the place where God promised Noah that never again would the earth be destroyed.

 

I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see the kids looking up at the ceiling during a lesson or a sermon, or, sitting out in the pews with their parents, point out the ceiling or one of the stained glass windows and teaching their parents what they had learned.

 

Now, I rush to admit that those were the good times with the acolytes. The unspoken but very firm rule of young acolytes is “It’s all fun and games until something goes wrong and then, it’s HYSTERICAL.”

 

I got the idea of teaching from the church architecture from one of my mentors, an Armenian Orthodox priest in the city of Lowell, MA where I was chaplain at the university. Fr. Koumarianian was a big, portly man who stood an imposing 6’5” with a booming voice to match.

 

We first met when I and Frank, a Jesuit priest, arrived on his doorstep one Wednesday evening to do an Adult Forum on AIDS, which was the pandemic at that time. Frank and I were part of the Interfaith AIDS Task Force which always sent us out, two by two, male and female, just like Noah, to do the teaching.

 

Fr. Koumaranian opened the door to the church and he looked for all the world like that character in one of the Indiana Jones movies. You know, the one who was huge and dressed in black and had two ginormous swords and all Indy had was the whips?

 

Right. That’s how it felt to be standing in the presence of Fr. Koumaranian, in his black hooded cassock, and what could be seen of his coal black eyes and swarthy complexion under his very full beard and black hood. He said not a word but just stood there, arms folded across his chest, waiting for one of us to speak.

 

Frank introduced himself and then me and explained that we were there for the AIDS forum. There followed a period of considered, heavy silence until Fr. K said, “In my tradition, Jesuits are the enemy of orthodoxy.” And then, looking straight at me, he said, “And, in my tradition, there is no such thing as women priests.”

 

Yes, so, I remember nudging Frank with my elbow and taking a half a step back, ready to exit, stage right, when Fr. K said, “You come in. You sit here. Divine liturgy will be over in 15 minutes. Someone will come to bring you to Parish Hall. You come then. You teach.”

 

And, he turned and left. Frank and I sat on the bench, daring not to speak but occasionally sending worried glances at each other. I really did NOT want to be there. Neither did Frank. This was the closest I had ever gotten to my imagination’s image of John the Baptist and it was too close for my comfort.

 

Well, it didn’t start well, but the evening was a great success. The people – about 40 of them – were welcoming and kind and generous with all sorts of wonderful cheeses and breads and drink. And, they were a most attentive and appreciative audience.

 

We did hold our collective breaths, however, when someone asked Fr. Koumaranian what he thought of what we had said. “Well . ..  ., look,” he said. “The world is changing, yes? We have things now we could not have imagined when we were children. Look, look at that coffee pot. Electric! Imagine! A machine that makes coffee! And, look. The women’s guild just bought a ‘science box’ (microwave) for the kitchen. You push a button and food cooks without a flame! Who could imagine such a thing? Everything is changing and some change is good.”

 

“But,”, he continued, “some change is not so good. Like this AIDS. But, we have to change with it. Our own Peter, a boy I baptized, a boy some of you taught in church school, a boy I trained to be acolyte and taught for confirmation, has AIDS. And, what are we supposed to do? Kick him out? Not love him? No!”

 

At that, Fr. K slammed his fist down on the table. “No!” he said again, hitting the table again with his fist.  “No,’ he said again with the same loud emphasis.

 

“Peter is not an abomination. We who do not love him as God loves him are the abomination. To reject him is an abomination that stinks the air in God’s nostrils. No, we will love Peter as God loves him and Jesus loves him and us.”

 

The room was suddenly filled with murmurs and nodding of heads which made it even more noticeable when two men and a few women left the room, apparently in protest. 

 

“Let them go!” said Fr. K. “I will talk with them later. They will come to see the light. They will come to see that even though it came from this Jesuit and this . . . woman . . . priest . . . (he spit out the words), it was still the truth. It was still the right thing to do. It was God’s message to us from these two prophets.”

 

At which point he came over to us and hugged Frank so hard I might have seen his eyes pop except he was buried by Fr. K’s massive form. And then, he came to me, stretching out his arms wide in an invitation to a hug. I walked right into his arms and wept at his gentleness and kindness and acceptance of me.

 

He then turned to the congregation and led them in applause for us. I found my eyes filling with tears. Clearly, this was a holy moment for this congregation and I was privileged to be in the midst of it. As the applause died down, Fr. K said, “And, if I can repent of my ways and change, anyone can. So will those four who left. So will any of you who still have doubts.”

 

“Not to worry,” he said, “Mother here,” he said, pointing to me – ME! Mother! Wait? What! – “Mother here,” he said, “will come and talk more to us. Won’t you, Mother?”

 

I swallowed hard and said, “Yes, of course, Father. Any time.”

 

And that started an incredible relationship with Fr. Koumaranian. He was determined that if I was going to call myself ‘priest’ then he was going to do his very best to repair the holes in my seminary education and priestly formation.

 

I have lots of Fr. Koumaranian stories to tell you but I will tell you that when I was privileged to attend a baptism, I would watch him take the baby in his arms and walk the infant around the church, pointing out the various scenes depicted in the stained glass windows and in the ceramic mosaics in the wall and on the floor.

 

“ . . . and this is your cousin Paul . . . he thought he was a big shot but he got knocked down from his high horse. . .. and this is your cousin Mary of Magdalene, who was the first to proclaim the resurrection of Jesus (Imagine! A woman!) See all things are possible with God.. and this . . .  .”.

 

It was from Fr. K that I understood the importance of the role of John the Baptist. He was “a messenger who went ahead”.

 

As we wait this Advent season for the Incarnation, and we wait patiently for Christ to come again, Fr. K continues to teach me the importance of taking on the role of John the Baptist for ourselves and proclaim Christ’s incarnation and his coming again.

 

No, I’m not suggesting that we dress in camel’s hair cloth and eat wild honey and locusts. Neither am I suggesting that we all wear black hooded cassocks and scare the beejesus out of everybody. And, even though Jesus says that to enter the Realm of God, we must be like little children, I’m not suggesting that either.

 

I am suggesting that we consider new information and all the new changes and challenges life can bring with an open mind and an open heart. That we remember what is essential – especially in the midst of this pandemic in the midst of this season of Advent when we are stripped down to the essentials of life.

 

That means loving one another as God and Christ love each other and they love us – enough to send out the Holy Spirit to work through us  - as unlikely a vessel as we might be - to bring words of truth and hope and healing, even to those who might reject the Good News of God’s unconditional love and forgiveness and walk away.

 

I hope you love one another enough to tell the stories of our faith to each other and our children and our children’s children. It is through these stories that our faith will stay alive, even when we are outside of the safety of the sanctuary of our church buildings.

 

If there is a Christ in me and a Christ in you, there is a John the Baptist in me and a John the Baptist in you. We are the messengers which God has sent out ahead to tell of God’s Incarnation in Jesus and Christ’s coming again in great glory.

 

Amen.