Virgins, Foolish and Wise

Pentecost XXII – Proper 27A – November 9, 2014

All Saint’s Episcopal Church – Rehoboth Beach, DE

(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton

Joshua 24:1-3a, 14-25
Psalm 78:1-7
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Matthew 25:1-13

Let us pray: 

(sung) “Mother said, 'straight ahead, 

Not to delay, or be mislead.' 

I should have heeded her advice. 

But he seemed so nice.”  

In the name of the Triune God. Amen.

So, that little ditty is from a song sung by Little Red Ridding Hood in the Broadway Play, “Into The Woods”. I thought of it as I considered this Gospel of the Five Wise Virgins and Five Foolish Virgins.   

Well, “virgins” is the King James translation. Today’s translation refers to them as “bridesmaids,” who, as we know from the tradition of that ancient culture, were all supposed to be virgins.   

So, right off the bat, I have issues with this Gospel text.

It goes downhill from there.

I mean, who the heck has a wedding in the middle of the night, anyway? How in heaven’s name are you supposed to be prepared for that?

And, what kind of groom turns up late? I have to tell you, I’ve done more weddings in the past 28 years than I care to remember and not once has the groom been late. A few have been a little tipsy, maybe. Others arrived with a bit of a hangover. 

But, late? No, not once.

The bride? Well, that’s a different story.

In one congregation I served there were a lot of Africans and Afro-Caribbean people who, I learned, operate on a different sense of time than we Westerners do. Things were always running late, it seemed. 

It got so bad that I foolishly felt compelled to establish a policy that I would allow the wedding to begin 15 minutes late; after that, I charged $25 more for every 15 minutes the wedding was delayed.

I told that to one couple and the bride-to-be rolled her eyes, nudged her husband-to-be and said, without any emotion in her delightful Caribbean lilt, “Paay da wo-mon.” 

He pulled out a crisp Benjamin, shrugged his shoulders as he handed me the $100 and said, “Back home, the bride is at least an hour late, lest anyone think she’s too desperate to get married.”

Brides? Late for a wedding? Even in the middle of the night? Check! 

Bridegrooms? Well, not so much.

So, there’s all that in my way, even before I get into the context of the parable.  The best thing I can say about this is something my dear friend and colleague Bob Morrison told me. “What I always remember about this parable,” he said, “is the notice I saw outside a Scottish Church many moons ago: “Would you rather stay awake with wise virgins or sleep with the foolish ones?”

Okay, don’t answer that, because that’s not the point of this Gospel.  

 Which – surprise, surprise – is something else with which I have difficulty. 

Apparently, Jesus likes weddings. You may remember that it was at a certain wedding feast in Cana in Galilee that Jesus chose to perform his first miracle – changing water into wine. There are two instances where Jesus talks about weddings as a way to talk about getting ready to meet God.  

In another wedding story, he talked about the guests who didn’t show up and the strangers who were brought in suddenly, and how even they were expected to prepare themselves for the occasion so as not to insult their host.

In this wedding story, it is clear that Jesus is saying that, if one does not prepare to be ready at any time – even in the middle of the night – to meet God, one is “foolish” and will not be allowed into the festivities.

I’m sorry, but, I’m having a  really hard time here, believing that those words came out of the mouth of Jesus. I’m thinking that was something his disciples preached to the early Followers of The Way to underscore the point that they felt that Jesus was coming back at any moment and they needed to be ready for his return.

Reminds me of a refrigerator magnet someone once gave me. It reads: “Jesus is Coming! Quick! Everybody Look Busy!”

I mean, didn’t Jesus tell other stories, other parables, about being overly prepared? 

How about the parable about the priest and the lawyer who were so busy traveling to the temple on the road to Jericho that they totally missed the opportunity to care for the stranger who was laying half-dead on the side of the road? 

You know, the one where the Samaritan stopped what he was doing and took the risk to stop and help a stranger – even though it was costly – and, in so doing, became a symbol of the way to get to Heaven?

Or, how about the parable of the so-called prodigal son? Remember how his prodigal father spontaneously prepared a feast for his returning son? Remember how it was his other son, the one who had been so faithful and careful that he missed the big celebration for his brother because his blind obedience to duty had snuffed out the love he had for his brother and all he could feel was resentment and jealousy?

I’m reminded again of a line from that song from Little Red Ridding Hood 

And he showed me things, many beautiful things, 

That I hadn't thought to explore. 

They were off my path, so I never had dared. 

I had been so careful, I never had cared. 

And he made me feel excited.. 

Well, excited and scared.

Sometimes, you know, we can be so careful, we can forget how to care. That’s a danger, you see, of being overly prepared. It can be paralyzing. In 12-Step Programs they have a term for it that I love: “Paralysis by Analysis.”

Then again, maybe this whole Boy Scout “Be Prepared” thing is my just my issue.  Maybe it’s yours, too. I have no trouble with being prepared. In fact, I’m the one who always ‘over packs’ for a trip. 

A few trips to England, Europe, Africa and Thailand pretty much cured me of that. There’s nothing like “discovering” that there isn’t a working elevator in a “developing nation” (Duh!) and ending up lugging a heavy suitcase up a train platform to convince you that there is a real cost to being prepared. 

Or, perhaps, if I’m honest, being ‘over prepared’.

Truth be told, there are so many gestures I’ve wanted to make and not gotten around to, there are so many risks I meant to take and shied away from, there are bold steps I failed in and ordinary moments I’ve missed. All because, ironically, I was so carefully prepared. 

It seems to me that most of us spend a lot of time nagging at ourselves that we should be doing more.  Often it’s hard to sit down and relax because that’s when the self-nagging really shifts into high gear. We get so wrapped up in being busy that we miss opportunities to be good. Or, better. And, lose the occasion to, say, commit random acts of kindness.

Of course, most of us try to err on the side of wisdom, but oh, my goodness, aren’t some of the sweetest moments in life brought to us by the amazing  foolishness of serendipity?

I remember one of the first weddings at which I was privileged to preside. The bride was 19 and the groom was 20. Both students at Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore. Poor as church mice. Too young, I thought, to be married. 

So did their parents, who decided to show their disdain and disapproval by boycotting the wedding. The bride and groom decided that they would get married, anyway, and walk down the aisle together and give each other away.

I remember the morning of the wedding, looking down the aisle and watching the two of them nervously sharing a cigarette at the entrance to the church and, just as they put it out under their shoes and clasped hands to walk down the aisle, their parents appeared at the church door. 

There was a great emotional greeting and many happy tears. And then, as if we had rehearsed it, I cued the wedding march –Handle’s Water Music, as I recall – and the six of them locked arms and processed squeezed themselves up the aisle, laughing and giggling and smiling, with more than enough joy in their hearts to fill heaven and bring joy to the very heart of God.

Oh, BTW and PS. Last time I checked (a Christmas card last year) that couple was still married. Twenty eight years later. Three kids. He’s a musician with the Boston Symphony and a successful and sought-after music teacher. She illustrates art for medical text books. And, they said it wouldn’t last!

I have other wonderful memories of the grace that comes from spontaneity, but one doesn’t need an “event” for serendipity to happen and to get a glimpse of heaven. 

Can there be anything more wondrous than turning a corner and finding a tree – one that you had never particularly noticed before – completely ablaze in the colors of autumn splendor? 

I regularly experience having my breath taken away when I gaze out my window to see what the weather is like outside and, to my utter amazement, watch a Blue Heron taking flight over the marsh.

Our youngest daughter and her husband are expecting their first child – our sixth grandchild – in April and, each week, she sends us a text message of the life developing in her womb. 

Yesterday’s message was this: 

“19 weeks! Could be halfway if this baby comes on the early side of full term! The baby is at least ½ a pound now and 6 inches curled up or 9 inches full length (that’s a tomato or eggplant according to my apps). Sensory pathways are being developed in the brain, hair is sprouting on the head, and movements are becoming more intentional ;). This coming Friday is our anatomy scan when they look closely at every single organ, including all four chambers of the heart, and we get to find out the baby’s sex.”

I’ve gotten one of these texts every week since she told us of the pregnancy at 10 weeks, and I can tell you that I weep at every single one. I weep with unexpected joy at the miracle of life, even though, I, myself, have experienced it several times myself. 

I weep at the mystery of deeply loving someone who isn’t even yet fully formed and is not legally a person. 

I weep that even though I have imagined each development of this new little being that I will be totally unprepared for the joy I will feel at the moment of birth, just as I did for her mother.

It is a mystery and a miracle to me how your heart can expand to be filled with so much love for each and every one of your children and grandchildren. It’s not something I was ever prepared for and did not know I could ever achieve. 

And yet, this surprise and mystery, to me, is a sign and symbol of what Heaven must be like.

Apple founder, Steve Jobs, who once memorably described death as "very likely the single best invention of life", departed this world with a lingering look at his family and the simple, if mysterious, observation: "Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow." 

That, to me, is the joyful hymn of a man who is totally prepared to be unprepared for the inestimable joys that await us when we see God face to face.

It’s scary and exciting, as Little Red Riding Hood sings, to be prepared to be unprepared. 

Here’s the thing I’ve learned about being scared and being excited. The body’s response to fear and excitement are exactly the same. Palms get sweaty. The pulse quickens. The B/P increases. A lightheaded feeling can lead to dizziness.   

Scared or excited. Your body responds the same way. It’s your brain that decides how you are going to respond. Wise or foolish, scared or excited, whether you are prepared or unprepared, know this: we’re all going to heaven.

So, I’ll leave you the way I began, with the wisdom of a foolish little girl, Little Red Riding Hood (“I know things now”)

And I know things now, many valuable things, 
That I hadn't known before. 
Do not put your faith in a cape and a hood.
They will not protect you the way that they should. 
And take extra care with strangers, 
even flowers have their dangers, 
And though scary is exciting, 
Nice is different than good. 
Now I know, don't be scared.   
Granny is right, just be prepared. 
Isn't it nice to know a lot?
 ..And a little bit.. not.

 Amen.

The Saints of God

A Sermon Preached at St. Paul's, Georgetown

November 2, 2014

(the Rev'd Dr) Elizabeth Kaeton

Note: This will be my last preaching "gig" for a while for this small but wonderful aging community of faith. Until their rector needs another Sunday off. I will most certainly preach without notes but, rather, from a "prepared heart".  It's a real challenge for me - the lover of the sound and shape and meaning of words - to stand in the midst of them and preach the Gospel from my heart, but their trust in me allows me to trust myself. They are saints of God, and I am blessed.

Today is 'All Saints Sunday', a day when we honor ALL the saints, who from their labors rest. So, I'm curious to know: How do you define 'a saint'? Is is just someone the church determines meets the criteria?

Or, are saints more like the people in the hymn 'I Sing A Song of the Saints of God'? You know, 'one was a captain and one was a priest and one was slain by a fierce, wild beast'? Or, is that a fierce, wild priest?

What is a saint? Who is a saint?

While you're thinking about that, let me tell you this story. It's about a little boy who was looking at the Memorial tablets on the church wall. One listed all those church members who had died during WWI and a second listed all those church members who had died during WWII.

The priest came up behind him and said, “Those, son, are the saints of this church. Do you know what a saint is?”

The little boy said, “No, what’s a saint?”

The priest said, “Well, saints are people who lay down their lives for others. These particular people are those who died in the service.”

The little boy was quiet as he considered the names in light of what the priest had told him, and then he asked, “Which service? The eight? Or the Ten?”

We often think of saints as extraordinary people, but if you read the lives of the saints, you will quickly see that they are, as that hymn says, “just folks like you and me.”

Sometimes, people say, "Oh, she's a real saint," when they talk about people who take care of the elderly or special needs people."

We have an adopted daughter who is profoundly challenged, mentally and physically. When she was a small child, people used to say to us, "Oh, you are saints." When, what they really meant was, "Oh, I could never do that! I could never taken in a special needs child."

Well, they didn't know Katie. We were the ones who were blessed.

In the Beatitudes, Jesus gives us a wonderful list of attributes that the saints of God have. 

Now, we might be tempted to guess that the kind of people Jesus would pick out for special commendation might be spiritual super heroes – men and women of impeccable credentials, morally, spiritually and every way possible.

But, he didn't do that.

It could very well be that Jesus didn’t pick out those people because, well, he knew that they already get special note and that is their reward. Or, maybe he didn’t pick out those sorts of people because, well, he didn’t happen to know any. I mean, he did hang out with tax collectors and prostitutes and all sort and manner of sinners.

So, these are the ones he picked out*:

Jesus said, blessed are the  “poor in spirit”. You know, the ones who have absolutely nothing to give and are in need of absolutely everything. You might think of several biblical characters like are like this, but I think of Ruth who had absolutely nothing to give to her even poorer mother in law except her love and fidelity and, in so doing, created a family. 

Blessed are the poor in spirit.

Blessed are those who mourn, he said. Yes, Jesus taught that through him was eternal life, but he also knew that, when people mourn, they do so because they know just how precious a gift life is. So, when life on this earth has ended, we weep. And, our tears are evidence of our gratitude, they are little drops of thanksgiving for life.

Blessed are those who mourn.

Jesus said, blessed are the meek.  These are the people who do not let their sense of being righteous delude them into thinking that they are always "right". They don't let their righteousness get in the way of their ability to listen to others, to be open to the thinking of others. Perhaps they disagree, but they are open to listening and affirming the perspectives of others and not insisting on their own perspective as "The Truth".

Blessed are the meek.

Jesus said, blessed are the merciful. Blessed are those who look at themselves in the mirror every morning and do not see a perfect person looking back at them. These saints are the ones who know that evil exists in every single person, including themselves, and are merciful when they find it in others and, perhaps, in that way, may attain an even greater triumph. 

Blessed are the merciful.

Blessed are the pure in heart, Jesus said. Not the totally pure – those who strictly adhere to the Levitical (or purity) Codes – but those who are “pure in heart”. These are the ones who are as flawed and as faulted as the rest of us, but somehow always seek and find the goodness of life.

Blessed are the pure in heart.

Jesus said, blessed are the peacemakers. Not necessarily those who have found the fullness of peace, but those who try, in little, seemingly insignificant ways, to make peace within themselves, their neighbor and God. 

Blessed are the peacemakers.

Jesus looks into the faces of his listeners and says, “Blessed are YOU” whenever you err on the side of heaven and look the fool for your troubles. 

Blessed are YOU when you do good when doing bad would be easier. Blessed are you when you do not return evil for evil but good for good.

Blessed are YOU when you hunger and thirst for righteousness, are poor in spirit and mourn, are meek and merciful, pure in heart and peacemakers, or a fool for Christ's sake.

Blessed are YOU, he says, and you can almost see those ancient people looking back at him with surprise and delight. I’m guessing no one ever considered themselves in their poor estate ‘blessed’, much less blessed with that which the world would consider invaluable.

So, the next time you are feeling down and worthless, I suggest that you read The Beatitudes again.   

Read them and know that God as revealed in Jesus is an extravagant God, filled with abundant mercy and kindness, full measure, pressed down and overflowing.

And know that you are loved unconditionally by God, with all your shortcomings and failings, all your blemishes and warts. You – YOU – are a saint of God.

Know that Jesus can and will take all of what you have to offer – even the things you think have no value – and take them to his very own sacred heart and transform them use them to the glory of the one and the same God.

I'm going to leave you with one last story about saints.

This one is about a little girl who was standing in the church looking at the people depicted in the stained glass windows, much like the ones here, in this church.

The priest walked in and asked her, "Do you know who those people are?"

"My mommy says they are saints," she answered.

"Do you know what a saint is?" asked the priest.

"Yes," she said, her voice full of awe and wonder, "They are people who let in the light in their own special way so that all of God's colors come together in a beautiful way."

So, as you consider all of the ways God has blessed you, try to be one of those saints who lets in the light of Jesus in your own special way. 

Help all the wonderfully different colors of God come together in a beautiful way and make the world a better place.

Amen. 


* Inspired by Frederick Buechner  ~ originally published in Whistling in the Dark and later in Beyond Words

The Joy of Funerals

Putting the words "joy" and "funeral" in the same sentence may sound a rather odd combination, even for All Hallow's Eve and All Souls and All Saint's Day.

One of our kids says about the work of Hospice: "You do death for a living."

I suppose that's the way some people see this work.  Some shake their heads with great sadness and say things like, "I don't know how you do it."

Others say with great solemnity, "I don't know how you keep from being depressed."

Still others are filled with a sense of awe and say, "If I did what you do, I think I'd want to go home from work every night and hug a tree."

And, my personal favorite: "Oh, I so admire people like you. You are living saints."

Clearly they don't know me, or many of us who are Hospice professionals. I do confess, however, that I neither try to dissuade or disabuse them of the thought of sainthood as applied to me, personally or any of my Hospice colleagues in general.

Because, you know, that's not the way I see Hospice work. At. All.

Then again, I'm an unrepentant, self-avowed Jesus freak. Which means I believe in life eternal. And, the communion of the saints. And resurrection.

Which means I believe in hope.

Hospice work is the most hopeful work I've ever done. Because, I keep learning, over and over again, that before there can be resurrection there must be death.

It's a simple truth, really, and simple truths are so easy to dismiss. Because most of us want to bypass the death and dying stuff and move right into resurrection.

Oh, and because I'm a total Jesus freak, I am absolutely passionate about full inclusion: believers, non believers, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, atheists, secular humanists and, my personal favorite: Nones. AKA: SBNR (Spiritual but Not Religious)

One of the real joys of this work is that I am sometimes asked to preside at the funerals of my patients.  Well, no one has a "funeral" anymore. It's all about "Memorial Services" and "Celebrations of Life."

If you've been following religious trends and "The Rise of the Nones", it will probably come as no surprise to you when I tell you that I rarely do funerals or memorial services in churches.

I would say that, conservatively, ninety-nine percent of the services at which I officiate are in the chapel of funeral homes.  I've also officiated at a memorial service in the very large conference room of a public library as well as at a country club.

There are also the services I've conducted in a state park, by the lake, on the beach and in a boat, after which followed the scattering of ashes.

I've used excerpts from "The Fall of Freddie the Leaf, " "The Velveteen Rabbit", "The Little Prince," and "The Giving Tree," which speak the message of the reasons and purposes for life as well as that of death in a way that echos the gospel message but doesn't hit them over the head with the same gospel that, for many of them, has been used as a weapon of judgment, punishment, and intimidation.

I've also used readings from sacred writings of a wide variety of religions and cultures which bring people great solace in their grief - to know that their experience is shared by people across a wide variety of geographical locations and different times in history.

They've all been individual and unique and distinctive, with things I never would have had the liberty to do in the confines of a church sanctuary.

The picture above is from a Memorial Service I did for a "24K Parrot Head". That is, a "solid gold" fan of Jimmy Buffet. You know, "Cheeseburger in Paradise" and "Margaritaville".

As you can see, we set up the front of the chapel in the funeral home as a beach scene, complete with palm tree and beach chair and flip flops in the sand. Yes, we sang "Come Monday" but we also read some Alfred Lord Tennyson and there was a proper Commendation right from the BCP.

It was, at times, solemn and at other times, lively and funny. It was, in a word, wonderful. A real celebration of life which didn't pull any punches about the sting of death, but with real faith and hope in the eternal life which is the gift of the Resurrection.

No, we couldn't have sung . . . .

Come Monday It'll be all right,
Come Monday I'll be holding you tight.
I spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze
and I just want you back by my side.

...... in church - well, not in any Episcopal church I know - but that was how this family chose to express the tension of their grief and their belief in eternal life. 

You don't see that? Okay, well then here's a nickle's worth of unsolicited advice: Don't do Hospice Chaplaincy.  Or, a funeral outside a church.

Oh, and by the way, you should know that after this song and the proper Commendation came the playing of taps and the ceremony of the folding and presentation of the flag by a few young military men to the deceased's son. 

Buffet, flip flops, Tennyson, The Book of Common Prayer, a wee bit of scripture, Taps and the American flag. When you're 64 years old and your life has been cut short by cancer, you should have the service that expresses everything you believe because what you believe will be part of your legacy to your children and family and friends. It will also be a source of solace and comfort for them as they grieve your loss.

And, the church ought to be there, even if the service is not - can not be - held in an actual church. 

Which is why I'm there, and part of the reason funerals are such a joy to me. It really is some of the best evangelism the church has to offer. And, some of the best theology the church has. 

Think of me as your own private missionary, going out into the world to represent the church and do the work of its mission, as well as bringing people back into the church. 

It's a real pontifical ministry. (Wiki: The English term derives through Old French pontif from Latin pontifex, a word commonly held to come from the Latin root words pons (bridge) + facere (to do, to make), and so to have the literal meaning of "bridge-builder".)

It builds bridges between personal faith and institutional religion and all sorts of estranged relationships on many levels, personal, familial and corporate.

Except, apparently, some don't get this. 

Awhile back, I admitted an 86 year old patient who died within 10 minutes of my arrival. His 84 year old, very-active-still-playing-golf wife described him as a 'lapsed Roman Catholic'. She was an Episcopalian and member of a local church.

"Well," she said sadly, "I'm pretty lapsed myself. These past three years since he had the stroke and confined to bed my life has really revolved around him."

"I haven't been to church," she said, "because I'm a solid eight o'clocker and I just can't get anyone to stay with him while I go to church. You know, like I can to play golf."

She looked at me sheepishly and said, "No, wait. I'm lying. I don't go to church because I can't. I'm just so angry with God right now, I can't go. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not this way. I was supposed to go first. He promised. What am I going to do without him? I'm so angry, I can't even listen to music. I can't. And, I love music. It's always fed my soul. And, I just can't. I know. I know. It's awful. But, I just can't. Not if I'm going to be able to keep it together and take care of him."

And then, her husband took a few deep breaths and died.

She wept and I held her and then I called the nurse to come and pronounce him.

While we were waiting, I gently encouraged her to consider what she might want to do in terms of a funeral. "Oh, no. She said. There won't be any funeral. He did not want anything to do with the Catholic Church and I haven't been to church in three years. So, there's that."

"Wait," I said, "I know your rector and he is a kind and generous man. He'll be wonderful."

"Oh, I know that," she said. "He always makes sure that I get the altar flowers at Christmas and Easter. And, I'm really grateful for that. It's just that ..  . well . . . I just can't."

"Look," I said, "If you aren't ready to go back into the church with all the music and everything, at least consider having a graveside service."

"Oh," she sighed, "why bother? No one will come!"

"Of course they will," I said. "You'd be surprised how many people will show up."

"I just . . . I just can't," she said.

"Okay," I said, "you don't have to. I'm just suggesting that you think about it. Your husband will be cremated, so you don't have to decide right away. You can do it months from now. When you're ready and able. And, when you're ready, call me. If it makes it easier for you, I'll do the service."

A look of relief came over her and she said, "Oh, would you? I don't want to hurt my rector's feelings. He's really a lovely man. I was on the search committee and he's exactly what we wanted. He's young and he has lots of energy. And, I'm ashamed to admit this, it's why I just can't . . . I just . . . I'm too sad and tired to have that much energy around me right now. You know?"

I chuckled and said, "Well, I've been waiting most of my life to be 'old enough' to be trusted with this sort of sacred task. I just didn't know being 'old enough' would come so soon."

We laughed and made a few 'old fart' jokes. I stayed a bit longer, let her and her family and friends who had come in some prayers, and left her with my contact information.

The next morning, on my way to my second patient visit of the day, I got a phone call. She and her daughter had decided to have a simple graveside service. Next week, if that's okay with you. Book of Common Prayer service. 1928 BCP? Well, no, it's okay. You can do Rite I or II, doesn't really matter. Oh, but please wear proper vestments. My husband would have liked that.

I asked if it would help if I called her rector to let him know about her husband's death and the planned graveside service. Again, she sounded greatly relieved. "Oh, would you? That would be really terrific. He's really a lovely young man and I just don't have the strength. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I have to do this to take care of myself."

I told her I understood completely and reassure her that he would, too. I said my goodbyes, hung up and immediately called her rector.

I filled him in on all the details and could not have - not in a million years - predicted his response.

"Well, he said with a deep sigh of disappointment, "the church has failed her."

"What?" I said, convinced I hadn't heard him correctly.

"We've failed her. We haven't gotten out the message of our radical, inclusive welcome."

"Well," I said, "don't discount yourself like that. She knows she's welcome there. She still considers herself a member - a solid eight o'clocker. She was just so concerned not to hurt your feelings."

"This is just the way she's grieving. I mean, she told me that she hasn't even been able to listen to music for the past three years. That's how vulnerable she's felt and how well-defended she's been. So, the church hasn't failed. You haven't failed. No one has failed . . .  . . . . . ."

"Oh no," he said, cutting me off. "I've failed. The church has definitely failed. Her husband will not have a church service. That's a failure."

I could feel my Portuguese blood starting to get hot. So, I took a deep breath and gave it another go.

"You know, ______, it's not about the church. It's not about you. It's about her. This is the way she's handling the pain of her grief and her anger with God right now. She'll be back to church. Just give her some time to grieve, and she'll be back."

"No," he said firmly, "I've failed. We have failed. The church has failed. The church won't be there for her in her time of need."

That's when my Portuguese blood reached the boiling point. I really struggled to stay calm but I'm sure there was no missing the passion in my voice.

"Really?" I said, "Seriously? And, what do you think I am? Chopped liver? I'm the church, too, you know. Think of me as a missionary of the church, carrying out your mission of radical, inclusive welcome. So radical and so inclusive that we'll even meet her where she is and not insist that she come to where we are. Think of me as an evangelist, bringing the good news of God's unconditional love even to the grave. I'm the church, too, you know? The church will be there."

There was a long pause and he said, "Well, I appreciate your effort, but I still believe that the church has failed her. We've got to do a better job of getting the word out."

My "effort"?!? My "effort"? !?

I took a deep breath and said, "Okay. Fine. Whatever. Well, then, bless your heart. Just thought I'd let you know. Because, you know, it's what she wanted. Bye now. God Bless. Have a nice day."

On one level, I understand what this young man is saying. Unfortunately, his understanding of the church is much, much different than mine. Smaller. Much, much smaller. Less "catholic". More centered around the institution and business of being church.

The Church on the corner of Rector and Building.

I suppose when you are young (or, younger than me) and you (think you) have something to prove and you are trying to build up a congregation, your metrics of success and failure are different than, say, a Hospice Chaplain who doesn't have to worry about The Four Killer B's of parochial ministry:   Budgets, Buildings, Boilers, and Bishops.

So, at the graveside service, there were at least fifty people in attendance, many of them members of the Episcopal church.  Solid eight o'clockers. They were so appreciative of my presence there and thanked me profusely.

After the service, several people came up to me and said, "I'm so glad my church was here for her and her family to honor his life. Just like the Prayer Book says, 'Even at the grave, we make our song, Alleluia, alleluia. alleluia!'. Thank you."

Some people do get it.

There is great joy in funerals. All those things we say in the Prayer Book are true. Even in the midst of death, we celebrate life. Life is changed, not ended.

The greatest joy of funerals is that it grounds me, spiritually, in the rest of the Hospice work I do.

On this All Souls, All Saints weekend, I give thanks for all those souls who have entrusted their dying and their death and funerals to me.

They have been my best professors in pastoral care. They have taught me about the mystical sweet communion of saints and the church's role in it.

Not to control it, but to bless those who come into it in baptism and those who leave with a commendation to God.

And, to be fully present, as well, to those whose path to God has been different from the particular one I follow.  There are, in fact, many paths, but one way to God.

The church is there for them, too. Meeting them where they are. Creating a sanctuary - a safe space - where that which is holy and sacred for them. You know, just the way Jesus did.

As Mother Jones famously said, "Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living."

And, as Nehemiah (8:10) says, "For the Joy of the Lord is my strength."

Let not your heart be troubled.

Have I mentioned that I have the best job in the world?

So, I recently admitted a 92 year old man, dying of cancer. Up until about three months ago, he was able to travel into the center of town on his motorized scooter, visiting local shops and restaurants and churches and, he says, "just spreading the love of God."

He's a retired, ordained minister in the church of the Assembly of God. He had worked for 20 years as a skilled laborer when, one day, he says, he "got the call". He retired from his job and went off to seminary and has pastored several small congregations, and, he says, "I always left the place better than I found it".

I have no doubt.

He's been failing this last month, and called for the chaplain today, "so I can get ready".

We chatted a bit and then I asked him what piece of scripture brings him the most comfort now. His face lit up and he began quoting Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. 

The whole entire passage. From his heart.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

"There's a time for everything," he said, "Now is the season for me to prepare to take my leave. I am not yet ready to go, but I'm at peace as I begin to hear my Lord calling me home. "

I wish you could have seen his face as he recited scripture to me. Serene only just begins to  describe it. And his energy was high. I could imagine him a fiery preacher in his youth, filled with passion for the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

So, I got a bit bold. I asked him if he had a Word of knowledge - a piece of Scriptural Truth - for me. And, if he did, would he favor me with it, please?

He bowed his head in solemn prayer for a few moments and then looked at me intently and said, "John 14, beginning at the first verse. Do you know it?"

"You mean, 'In my father's house there are many rooms . . . .'?"

"From the beginning," he said, "beginning at the first verse. 'Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me'." And then, he went on to recite the entire chapter, in proper King James version, which I confess that I had never heard.

Actually, I have really only read the first few verses - about there being "many mansions" in God's house. Oh, and of course, bits and pieces. But hearing the whole chapter in it's entirety was very different and in KJV - well, I guess that's one of the downsides of the lectionary. Or, perhaps, my over dependence on it. And, my own laziness in reading beyond it's parameters.

In that context, I wasn't even disturbed as I usually am by the "no man cometh unto the Father, but by me". I was too busy listening to the presence of Thomas and Philip and Judas (not Iscariot) and their conversation with Jesus as interpreted by this amazing 92 year old man.

If you haven't read the whole of John 14 in a while, here it is. In proper King James version (with apologies for the exclusive language).

"In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.
And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.
Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?
Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him.

Philip saith unto him, Lord, show us the Father, and it sufficeth us.
Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father?
Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? the words that I speak unto you I speak not of myself: but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works.
Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in me: or else believe me for the very works' sake.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father.
And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.
If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it.

If ye love me, keep my commandments.
And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;
Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.
I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
Yet a little while, and the world seeth me no more; but ye see me: because I live, ye shall live also.
At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.
He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him.

Judas saith unto him, not Iscariot, Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?

Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.
He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father's which sent me.
These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you. But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I.
And now I have told you before it come to pass, that, when it is come to pass, ye might believe.
Hereafter I will not talk much with you: for the prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in me.
But that the world may know that I love the Father; and as the Father gave me commandment, even so I do. Arise, let us go hence.

After he finished reciting the chapter to me, he leaned back in his bed, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. Then, he opened his eyes, looked at me and asked, "Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said, "I believe I do."

"This is what I want you to know," he said, looking at me intently and with more energy than I thought he could muster. "You may think you are alone. But you are not. You're never alone. God was with you before your beginning. God was with you as you were beginning. God is with you even when you don't think God is with you. And, God will be with you as you begin your new life in heaven with him forever."

He leaned forward in his bed and said, "So, let not your heart be troubled. You don't do this alone. You can't do this alone. You couldn't do this alone. Not without God being with you every step of the way."

"Do you understand?" he asked again, with intensity.

"Yes," I said, "I believe I do."

"Well, then," he said. "Alright. It's alright. So," he said, sitting back in his hospital bed, "next week you will come back and see me. We will have communion together. You will serve me. I will serve you. And, Jesus will be present. Because . . . what?"

"Because I'm not alone," I said softly.

He nodded his head like a teacher pleased with his student and he said, "We are not alone. Not ever. So," he said again, "Let not your heart be troubled. To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven."

He lowered his head and said, "Come, let us pray together. I'll start and then you follow."

I'm not really sure what happened next. All I know is that it was a moment of intense prayer.

And then, I said my goodbyes and I left, not knowing why, exactly, he had chosen that particular passage for me, or thought of that particular message, but I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I had just been on holy ground.

Like one of his congregations, he left me better than when he first found me.

Have I mentioned that I have the best job in the world?

Walls

A Sermon preached at St. Paul's, Georgetown

Pentecost XX - Proper 25A - October 26, 2014

(the Rev. Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton

Track 1
Deuteronomy 34:1-12
Psalm 90:1-6, 13-17
1 Thessalonians 2:1-8
Matthew 22:34-46

 

Note: I love the little congregation of St. Paul's, Georgetown, and I am so grateful to their rector for allowing me to preach and preside there when he needs some time off. The people are kind and generous and allow me to experiment with "preaching from a prepared heart". No notes. Just standing in the center aisle, "leaning on the everlasting arms". So, here's basically what I said.

I'm so grateful to our visiting organist, Ms. Janice, for that prelude.  You may not have recognized it, but it's a staple in the Methodist Hymnal. "God will take care of you," 

Refrain:  God will take care of you,
Through every day, o’er all the way;
(S/)he will take care of you,
God will take care of you.

It is a great theme song for this morning's scripture lessons.

At the 8 o'clock service, someone asked whether Moses, like Jesus, was born to the task. Was it his destiny to liberate the Hebrew Nation from bondage in Egypt and  lead them to the Promised Land? Just as it was the destiny of Jesus to lead us from the bondage of sin into the promise of Eternal Life?

That led to a wonderful, rich discussion about destiny vs. free will. What if Moses had said 'no' to God? What if Jesus had 'let this cup pass' from him?

Certainly, they had lots of obstacles in their path. What if they had just stopped there?

What if Jesus had allowed the "trick questions" of the Sadducees (which we heard last week) and now the Pharisees to stop him? Instead, he took their trick question and turned it around. Where the intent had been to stop Jesus, he stopped them in their tracks.

And then, there's Moses. When we meet him this morning, he has been allowed to see the Promised Land, but not to live in it. He dies at the ripe old age of 120. 

Do you know why it took forty years of wandering around in the desert before they got to their destination? I wondered that, too, and then I remembered learning about that, way back when, in seminary. I remember reading in Numbers 13:1-33 how Moses sent out 12 scouts to check out the land of Canaan, but 10 of them thought it was too dangerous to inhabit because, they thought, it was inhabited by giants.

You can almost see Moses having a 'face palm moment', sighing, and saying, "Oy!" He figured out right quick that these people - his people, the people God had called him to serve - had lived in slavery for so long they were afraid of freedom.

So, he figured he'd wander around the desert with them until the 'slave generation' died and then the new generation, those who had never felt the sting of the whip or suffered the pain of hunger to be able to fully embrace life in the Promised Land.

As my dear friend, Louie Clay says, "Where there's death, there's hope."

Jesus turned the tables on the wall. Moses followed it for awhile.

Which reminded me of a story my father told me.

My father was not an educated man. He was pulled out of school in the sixth grade to work on his father's farm during the Depression. Then, when he was 18, he was drafted into the Army during WWII and fought on the Pacific Front.

One of the top three things I remember about my father was the nightmares he would have about his experiences in war. My father was also an alcoholic. I believe my father suffered from post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and used alcohol to 'medicate' himself from the pain he felt.

Life with Father was never easy, but I treasure this story as one of the few but precious gifts he gave me.

He said he was in the Philippines during WWII and, at one point, he and about four or five of his buddies got separated from their battalion. Before they knew it, night fell and, he said, in the jungle the sky was so dark he couldn't see his hand in front of him, much less figure out their location by looking at the compass.

Suddenly, a wall appeared before them. They couldn't tell how high it was. They couldn't tell how long it was. It seemed to go on forever. 

So, they walked along it, feeling their way in the dark.

They did this all night. In the pitch black night. No knowing where they were. No knowing where they were going. Cursing the wall until exhaustion took over and they fell asleep at the wall.

When they awoke, the morning light was filtering through the trees and, over the wall, they could hear the sound of men's voices. One of the men lifted another man up so he could peer over the wall. When he came down, he was as pale as a sheet. He said, 'Guys! It's the Japanese. The enemy!"

As they all let that truth sink in, they also realized that the very wall they had been cursing all night was also the same wall that had been protecting them all night. That, in fact, without that wall, they might all be dead.

And, my father said, "Elizabeth, never curse a wall. It might be there to protect you."

There are times, in life, when we are on the path we believe God has called us to follow and suddenly, an obstacle appears. And, in those moments, we have a choice.

Actually, we have a few choices. We can stop and turn around and end our journey.

Or, like Jesus, we can turn the tables on the obstacle and stop it rather than have it stop us.

Or, like Moses, we can just walk along it for a while, until the time is right to make your move.

Either way, when a wall appears, it's not the end of the story. You have some choices. Your destiny is dependent upon your free will, your ability to choose how you will deal with the walls life sometimes puts in our path.

And, either way, no matter what you decide, God will take care of you.

Amen.