Being and Becoming

A Sermon preached at St Mark's, Millsboro

Pentecost XVII - Proper 19 B

September 15, 2024

Track 1
Proverbs1:20-33 Psalm 19 James 3:1-12 Mark 8:27-38

In this morning’s gospel, Jesus is traveling through the villages of Caesarea Philippi when he asks his disciples, "Who do you say I am?"

It’s important to listen to his answer. After he waits for his disciples to respond, Jesus doesn’t so much tell them who he is, as what he was about to become.

Let me say that again: Not who he is, but who he is to become and what he must do in order to become what he was created to be.

He also told the disciples about the process of becoming that they, themselves, must experience if they are to be known as his "followers".

Note, please: Not what he is or they are now – but who they must become and how to achieve it. And that, of course, requires sacrifice of who they are now. For Jesus, that involves death. For the disciples, it means the death of their former self and possibly their actual death.

The other night, I was preoccupied with all that is going on in the world. I couldn't really focus on anything I'm presently reading . Network television was, for me, just junk - game shows, talent contests, reruns, and political commentary, the last being pretty much a combination of the first three.

I decided to watch a British film called, "Me Before You" on streaming TV.

 

So, I'll say this and get it out of the way: Emilia Clarke plays the character Louisa Clark. How many here are a fan of Game of Thrones? I’m not just a fan, I’m a true fanatic.

Emilia is probably best known for playing the Khaleesi (or Princess), Daenerys Targaryen, a most formidable woman. She is known as the Mother of Dragons which were born in the fire of her rebirth.

Her intention is to do what she must to become the first Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Hers was not a baptism of water, but a transformation by fire.

One of her most famous lines - when she wasn't shouting "Dracarys," to make her dragons breathe fire - was the understanding of what she must do to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Tyrion Lannister, of House Lannister, tells her that it is an impossible task. All of her family in House Targaryen is gone. So is House Stark and none of the others will back her.

She says, “Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell: they're all just spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one's on top, and on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground.”

Tyrion responds, “It's a beautiful dream, stopping the wheel. You're not the first person who's ever dreamt it.”

“I'm not going to stop the wheel,” says Daenerys, “I'm going to break the wheel.”

See also: formidable woman.

So to see her go from that character to the silly, flighty, Louisa Clark in this movie, with her funky fashion and impossibly silly rage of facial expressions was, well, difficult. I almost turned it off, but I had paid $2.99 to rent it and I'm cheap so I watched.

I'm glad I did.

 

Very short synopsis: Louisa is a "quirky," irrepressible cheerful, and very kindhearted young lass in Northern UK who moves from one job to the next to help her family make financial ends meet. Her whole worldview is tested when she becomes a caregiver for Will Traynor, a wealthy young banker left paralyzed - a quadraplegic - and deeply cynical from an accident two years earlier.

He wants to go to Switzerland to be euthanized. She wants to show him that life is worth living. During their six-month relationship, they are both changed and transformed. But not in the way you might suspect.

Both have to lose their lives in order to regain them.

 

I've been thinking about that movie in terms of the question Jesus asks his disciples. I've been thinking about how we are not - tomorrow, or next week, or, for some of us, next year - who we are today. Some of us change for the good and some of us, well, life's unkindness has left some of us unkind. Or, grumpy. Or, arrogant. Or, pessimistic and depressed and cynical.

Oh, we have the basic qualities and characteristics that are part of what is referred to as our "nature" - much of which can be tempered by how we are "nurtured".

The point is that we are always becoming.

Depending on how we manage the circumstances of our lives - the curve balls and the strikes and the walks, as well as the line drives, base hits, and home runs - we become more or less of who we are and the image God had of us when we were first conceived in the mind of God.

And, that is the point of our life in Christ: to become more of who we are as we discover why it is we were born here, at this time, in this place, for this purpose.

Not all of us have grand purposes – to become President of the United States, or a research scientist who helps to put a human on a faraway planet or discovers a cure for a previously incurable disease. Not all of us will ever be an Olympian, much less win a gold, silver or bronze metal.

For some of us, it is enough that we have discovered something –  a passion, sobriety, a relationship – that has saved ourselves from disaster or catastrophe.

For some, it is enough that we exhibit courage and strength and bravery in overcoming, to the best of our abilities, an illness that may eventually take our lives.

Some of us have stopped the wheel of patterns of family destruction. Other of us have broken the wheel.

I don’t know why you come to church. I don’t know your individual stories, but I see your faces. I have looked into your eyes. I know that if you have loved, you have suffered. I know that you didn’t get here today to who you are and what you have become without some sacrifice of self.

You can not become who you are without sacrificing at least in part what you once were.

Some of us had parents, grandparents, and great grandparents who sacrificed living with their families in the land of their birth to make a new life in this country. They never knew – could, perhaps dream but not even imagine – the life we have now. Their sacrifice was not so much for themselves but for the dream they had for us before we were even conceived or born.

And that is the point Jesus is making in today’s Gospel. No, we’re not as close to sacrificing our lives as the first disciples were. No, we are not being persecuted for our faith as the early Christians were. But, to be a Christian is to always die – at least a little – to self so that we can become better followers of Christ.

Being in order to become.

Dying to self in order to more fully live in Christ.

Living this life fully until we are called by God to live fully into the gift of Life Eternal.

This morning’s scripture tells us that Jesus “called to the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Many of you have taken up your cross and followed Jesus into this wonderful little faithful church to become The Body of Christ. The good news is that the journey did not end when you arrived and became a member of St. Mark’s, Millsboro. Indeed, by the grace of God, the journey has only just begun.

Alleluia! And let the church say, “Amen.”

A Short Sermon on Sin

 

A Short Sermon on Sin
Old Christ Episcopal Church, Laurel, DE
Pentecost XV - Proper 17B

When I was planning this sermon and remembering the last time I was here, I recall that it was hotter than the hinges on the gates of hell. Which is a good image for this sermon which I’ve entitled “A Short Sermon on Sin”.

I don’t think I’ve ever preached a sermon on sin. It’s not something Episcopalians do. Oh, we partake in our fair share of sin; we just don’t like to hear about it – especially in church – and never in a sermon, thank you very much.

Might make people uncomfortable. That would be awkward. And, they might not come back to church. Like, ever again. These days, we can’t afford to miss out on one single pledge.

Well, buckle up folks, because whether you want to believe this or not, Jesus just preached a very short sermon about sin. We also heard one in the Epistle of St. James, the son of Joseph and Mary and the presumed brother (Oh, okay, half-brother) of Jesus.  

Here's the difference: the focus of James’ sermon about sin is slightly different from Jesus. James talks about being not only “hearers of the word but doers of the word”.  Jesus is much more concerned about the relationship we have with each other and the world rather than the things we do that are considered sinful.

The religious leaders of his day were horrified that the disciples of Jesus were not strictly following the religious rules of their day. Specifically, they were not ritually washing their hands before they ate. This was not a concern about cleanliness, per se. This was a concern about godliness.

Remember, please the that Levitical Rules that created these cleanliness codes were in reaction to the concern of the Israelites that their time in bondage in Egypt had to have been a punishment from God.

Whatever it was they did, they certainly didn’t want to do it again and make God angry. So, all of these rules were carefully created about what could and couldn’t be eaten, and how they should and shouldn’t be prepared, and what one should and should not do, and all very carefully followed so as not to anger God and find themselves slaves again.

Jesus says, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

Bottom line: Jesus is calling us to pay close attention to the content of a one’s character rather than the content of someone else’s purse. Jesus is calling us to open our eyes to our relationships with one another rather than following the law out of blind obedience to it.  Jesus is saying we must honor God not just with our lips but with our lives.

That’s because sin is whatever leads us away from the first and great commandment: 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. ' And the second is like it: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”

Now, those commandments from God have been around for centuries and it seems fewer of us in each succeeding generation have been successful in following them. Otherwise, we wouldn’t still have the sins that Jesus names as coming from the human heart: “fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly.”

Hear me: I am not an anarchist. Rules are not bad. Rules are good things because they can govern and steer a relationship along a good path. They become bad when they become a narrow gate through which relationships must always past. When this happens, the rules become the basis for the relationship. Sometimes, rules become the substitute for the relationship.

I submit that this is so because, while it may be easy for most of us to love God, and for some of us to love our neighbor, for many of us, it’s the “as yourself” part that we mess up on. It’s so much easier to blame others for what we think we don’t have – enough money, a suitable spouse, a good enough home, a good reputation. And so we steal and commit adultery and envy and slander, and so on.

“As yourself.” Love God, love your neighbor AS YOURSELF. It starts here, in the human heart.

Croatian scholar, theologian, and author of many books on reconciliation, Miroslav Volf, wrote, “Forgiveness flounders because I exclude the enemy from the community of humans even as I exclude myself from the community of sinners.”

Understanding ourselves as humans that have also been broken by sin is the key to opening the door to forgiveness and reconciliation. As a Christian, I cannot talk about sin without talking about forgiveness and reconciliation.

 

It's sort of like the Japanese art of Kintsukuroi, the art of repairing broken pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. When we understand that we have all missed the mark, when confess that we have all fallen short, we open ourselves to God’s grace which is like a gold or silver lacquer that makes us even more beautiful for having been broken. That admission, that confession, allows us to see the beauty in other people’s brokenness and find forgiveness and reconciliation and peace.

And, you know, that’s really all I know about sin. Or, all I know to say about sin. And, forgiveness. And, reconciliation. Except, to say this: There is absolutely nothing – no sin of any sort or manner or condition, intentional or not – that can keep you from the love of God. Not even you.

 

Amen.



The Collect

Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen.

 

The Epistle

James 1:17-27

Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.

You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God's righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.

But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act-they will be blessed in their doing.

If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.



The Gospel Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

When the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them. (For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders; and they do not eat anything from the market unless they wash it; and there are also many other traditions that they observe, the washing of cups, pots, and bronze kettles.) So the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, “Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” He said to them, “Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written,

‘This people honors me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me;

in vain do they worship me,
teaching human precepts as doctrines.’

You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.”

Then he called the crowd again and said to them, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.” For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

 

 

FaceBook Sunday Morning Reflection 

August 18, 2024

Good Sunday morning, children of the Bread of Life.

We're almost done with this summer cycle of John's Gospel and Jesus torturing the metaphor of Bread until we say, "Stop! Okay! I get it! You are the Bread of Life. If I eat this bread, I'll know Life Eternal. Got it!'

Well, you must admit, it IS a difficult concept to get your head wrapped around, even if you are well-acquainted with metaphors and similies.

It's the stuff about "unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you" that really pushes the envelope, I think.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just left the Metaphor Zone.

I often wonder what it must be like to be a person who has not really been exposed to Christianity except, maybe, little snippets here and there about "love your neighbor," and "love one another" and then decides to walk into church one Sunday morning and hears:

"Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them."

Whoa, Nellie! Mic drop. Mind blown. Where's the door?

Actually, I know this is going to sound sacrilegious and close to heretical, but I can't imagine that when we get to heaven there'll be two lines - one EZ pass lane for Christians and one TSA, take off your shoes, laptop out of the suitcase, only 3-ounces of liquid, full body scan lane for anyone who hasn't been baptized or received Holy Communion.

I think John might have been exaggerating just a teeny-tiny bit to convince The People of The Way to take a right turn away from The Temple and toward Jesus.

I mean, c'mon.

Do you really think that when Gandhi got to the Pearly Gates he got turned away? Or Buddha? Actually, I think Jesus came right out and greeted Buddha at the gate and brought him in himself and the two of them are walking together around heaven even as I write this.

Then again, I can say all this because I'm not a rector and I get a pension that no one can take from me, so I've earned the right to be a little heretical. Especially if I err on the side of generosity.

I think Rachel Held Evans has it absolutely right (and she was an Evangelical who became Episcopalian, so, you know, she's got the creds) when she said:

"The church is God saying, 'I'm throwing a banquet and all these mismatched, messed up, people are invited. Here, have some wine."

Anyway, just this week and next and we'll be done with the metaphor of Bread. The Gospel will be gluten-free once again.

I can't leave you without noting a very important date on today's calendar and Thee Best story that goes along with it - especially since we'll soon be learning to say, "Madame President."

On this date in 1920, the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was ratified, giving women the right to vote.

The first national constitutional amendment had been proposed in Congress in 1878, and in every Congress session after that. Finally, in 1919, it narrowly passed both houses of Congress and was sent to the states to be ratified.

Most Southern states opposed the amendment, and on August 18, 1920, it all came down to Tennessee. The pro-amendment faction wore yellow roses in their lapels, and the "anti" faction wore red American Beauty roses. It was a close battle and the state legislature was tied 48 to 48.

The decision came down to one vote: that of 24-year-old Harry Burn, the youngest state legislator. He had been expected to vote against it, but he had in his pocket a note from his mother, which read:

"Dear Son: Hurrah, and vote for suffrage! Don't keep them in doubt. I noticed some of the speeches against. They were bitter. I have been watching to see how you stood, but have not noticed anything yet. Don't forget to be a good boy and help Mrs. Catt put the 'rat' in ratification. Your Mother."

He voted in favor of the amendment.

In your prayers, please remember one Harry Burn who was a good boy and did what his mother asked and changed history to include herstory. It's not like changing bread and wine but it's pretty damn near miraculous. I think Jesus is well pleased.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

Wonder Bread

St. John's Episcopal Church, Milton, DE
Pentecost XII - August 11, 2024
Proper 14, Year B, Track I

In my mind’s eye, I can still see my grandmother’s kitchen as clearly as I can see my hand in front of me. I can see her kitchen table  -  the place where we ate breakfast together every morning - which also served as a banquet table of sorts when the whole family was together. 

 

Of necessity, it was a large table. Like many immigrant families, hers was large. My grandmother had twenty pregnancies and twenty-two children. Only nine made it to adulthood - five girls and four boys - but when you add spouses and their children, my grandmother’s kitchen filled up very quickly. 

The table was also the place where meals were prepared - meat, poultry, and pork were tenderized and fish and shellfish were seasoned with generous amounts of salt, pepper, onion and garlic (lots and lots of garlic) as the basics and then, depending on the menu, with fresh or dried seasonings like sage, basil, oregano, thyme, parsley, and saffron.

It was the rare occasion that meat was served alone. It was always in a casserole or a stew, in a pot roast or a loaf, a soup or a pot pie, and always surrounded by tons of vegetables, fresh out of her garden or from large jars which she had put up: potatoes, carrots, squash, turnips, beets, string beans, tomatoes, broccoli, etc.

The menu varied, depending on what the butcher had on sale or what my grandfather and uncles and boy cousins  (“the boys” as she called them) had caught on their fishing trip when they took my grandfather’s boat off the coast of New Bedford, MA or had gone into deeper waters off the island of Cuttyhunk.

The one item on her table on which you could also depend was bread. Now, my grandmother was an excellent cook - I can’t think of a thing she made that I didn’t like - and at the risk of sounding like Oprah in that Weight Watcher commercial, I’m going to say it anyway, “I love bread.”  Probably more than Oprah, I love bread.

Now, if you’ve ever had real bread - especially if you’ve made or been part of the process of making real bread - you know the difference between real bread and processed bread. I’m probably going to date myself, but I’m now old enough that I don’t care anymore, but I remember the first time my mother brought home something called “Wonder Bread”.

How many here will admit that they remember Wonder Bread?

How many still eat it?

Mother was sooOOoo proud, sooOOoo pleased to be able to bring home to her children bread that was different from anything she had been fed as a child. This wasn’t some recipe created by some peasant in a fishing village in the old country. This was wasn’t some ancient recipe but something created by smart men, modern men - actual scientist in a real laboratory - that was made from a scientific formula. 

 

Not a recipe, a formula, see? It wasn’t ancient, it was modern. Not from a kitchen but a scientific laboratory. Not heavy and dark but white and light as a feather. Why, it was a miracle of modern science. It was a wonder, is what it was.

And so, it was called WONDER Bread. 

Except, we hated it. I mean, we kids didn’t say that, of course. Not to her face. We must have had a sense that one day, it would be our turn to be the parent, longing to please our children in a way that our mother or father never could.

As my mother hovered over us at our kitchen table, we each took a bite of the bread on which she had slathered margarine - not the pale, creamy, sweet tasting butter from our grandmother’s house, but that deep yellow spread that didn’t taste or smell or feel anything like real butter.

She seemed so eager to please us, so excited to be so different from her own mother and establish herself as a mother in her own right, that, well, we smiled and then oohed and aahed until she clapped her hands with joy and turned her back to head into the kitchen.

Once her back was turned we kids looked at each other around the table. Our eyes silently conveyed our chagrin and a resignation to our mother’s romance with the miracles of modern science.

We knew that whenever we wanted real bread we could just head downstairs to our grandmother’s apartment and she’d always give us a thick slice of her bread - sometimes slathered with real butter and her strawberry preserves or dripping with orange marmalade; other times, depending on the season, we would have a real treat of fresh warm bread, right out of the oven, slathered with butter and then topped with fresh slices of peaches or pears or apples from the fruit trees in her yard. Sometimes, as a special treat, she would take some of her freshly ripened figs, mashed and cooked with honey, which would become a fig jam.

It was no wonder to us that Wonder Bread could never hold up to the weight of real butter and slices of fresh fruit or a thick layer of fresh fruit preserves. Or, in the summer, a thick slice of beefsteak tomato. There was simply no comparison. But, Wonder Bread was not created for that. It was created to make more bread available to more people at a fraction of the cost. It was a utilitarian ethic at its finest, efficient best: The greatest good for the greatest number.

Wonder Bread may have been a miracle of modern science, but we kids had already tasted something that was a mystery.

Somehow, someone, somewhere way back in time had figured out that taking a living thing - a fungus called yeast - and added it to ground flour and sugar and water - the basic elements of life - and if you had the patience to watch it rise and fall and then rise and fall again and then if you kneaded it with the strength of your arms you didn’t know you had, and then baked it in in an oven - could create something that, mysteriously, would sustain and nourish life.

It was the difference between tasting a scientific wonder and entering the deep mystery of the alchemy of the very stuff of life.

Earlier in this sixth chapter of John, we read that Jesus had just finished feeding 5,000 people with just five loaves and two fishes. The people were so astounded by this miracle that they followed him out on the Sea of Galilee to see what other miracles this prophet could perform.

But Jesus pointed them beyond their present reality and toward the mystery of life. He told them that His life was the central ingredient of Life. He said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Our bodies are still nourished and sustained by the bread of this world, but our souls - ah, but our souls - require a different kind of substance and nourishment.

We were born into this world, as Teilhard de Chardin says, not as human beings to have a spiritual experience - No! - but as spiritual beings to have a human experience. We need the bread of this world for our bodies, but we need the Bread of Life - Jesus - to nourish and sustain our souls.

Every Sunday, we gather together as a community of faith and listen to the ancient stories of God’s intervention in the drama of our lives. We sing the old, old songs which tell the story of Jesus and his love. We profess our faith in the ancient Creeds, and confess and receive absolution for our sins, offering prayers and petitions for ourselves, one another and the world.

It is then the job and the privilege of the priest to gather up all these various ingredients - the elements of our worship that act as flour, sugar, salt, yeast and water - and offer prayers of gratitude over them and make what we call “a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving” over the simple, basic elements of creation so that we - together, people and priest - our work - the sacred liturgy of our lives of faith which we call Eucharist - the words of our faith become flesh and call forth the true presence of Jesus,the Bread of Life, that our souls may be nourished from the bounty of creation for this life and the life to come.*

We are spiritual beings who are here, on this fragile earth, our island home, to become human beings so that, when our work here is done, we may return to our Heavenly home as spiritual beings with the One who creates Life.

How any of that happens - how the simple elements of creation - bread and grapes become wafers and wine - become the Body and Blood of Jesus, the Bread of Life - is a deeper mystery than even the mystery of how the simple stuff of creation becomes the Bread of the world.

It is more than a wonder; it is a miracle of faith in which we are privileged to participate each and every Sunday, being the day when we remember and celebrate the gift and the mystery of the Incarnation, the Miracles and Wonders and the Resurrection of Jesus.

Hear again the words of life which feed our very souls: “Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

I don’t pretend to understand it. I just embrace with deep gratitude the wonder of it all so that our faith, our souls, may be nourished and sustained in this life and the next.    

Amen.

*I must say, I think I out-St-Pauled St. Paul with that sentence that is, itself, a full paragraph. I think he would be proud of me.

No Idle Tale

 

A Sermon Preached at
St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Millsboro, DE
Pentecost X - July 28, 2024
*Transferred Feast of the Philadelphia Eleven (/9/29)

• Exodus 1:15-21
• Sirach 1:4-15
• Galatians 3:23-29
• Luke 24:1-11

Preface of Baptism

 

They didn’t believe them.

According to St. Luke, there were at least three of them whose names were known: Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James; and then there were “the other women”. They had come with Jesus from Galilee and, after the crucifixion, came to the tomb, prepared to perform the ancient rituals of burial that women had been assigned for centuries.

It has ever been thus. Women have always been present to help when a person comes into the world. We see that in the first lesson from the Book of Exodus when the two Hebrew midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, deliver both Hebrew and Egyptian women of their babies.

Women have always been present at the incarnation of birth and at death, and now, when we see them together in the tomb, we ought not to be surprised that they were the first to be present at the resurrection. But, the Eleven didn’t believe them. Scripture tells us that they said their words seemed “an idle tale and they did not believe them.”

Tomorrow marks the 50^th Anniversary of the Ordination of Women in The Episcopal Church. Eleven brave women who had already been ordained deacons presented themselves for ordination to the priesthood at the Church of the Advocate in Philadelphia, PA. Four bishops, three retired and one active, agreed to ordain them.

The story of their journey to ordination is no idle tale. The struggle of their stories to be faithful to their vocation is reflected in the stories of those women in those early years of the ordination of women in The Episcopal Church. The resistance was sometimes dramatic and cruel; other times, the resistance was very sophisticated and nuanced and even scholarly. Sometimes it was both, depending on the source and the circumstance.

My own favorite story of the sort of sophisticated, scholarly resistance is one I personally experienced, but I was certainly not the only woman who heard these words. For me, it came from the man who was Canon Theologian in my diocese - which was Maine. I was a member of the Cathedral and he was on the Diocesan Staff. We had worshiped together for several years. He had witnessed the ministry I had there, at the Cathedral, and knew my story.

He said he did not doubt the sincerity of my sense of call. It was not the sincerity; it was the authenticity. You know, as if I were simply telling an ‘idle tale’ but with great conviction. Still, he said, he could not support my ordination.

Why? Well, hold on. I’ll say it slowly, as he did to me, and loudly, the way some people speak to a person from a country foreign to you because, if you speak loudly, they are certain to overcome the language barriers. You know, like when you are in a different country and you don’t speak their language so you yell “Where is the bathroom?”

The Canon Theologian said to me, his nose in the air as if he had caught a whiff of a bad odor, “I believe you have ontologically insufficient matter for a sacerdotal ministry.”

The polite translation of that would be “You ain’t got the right stuff or ordination, kid.”

 

The more dramatic and cruel version happened when I was about seven years old. I was a scrappy, scrawny immigrant kid whose parents worked the factories and the mills but I was very devout in my faith, even at a young age. The nuns knew me because I had attended daily mass with my grandmother for as long as anyone could remember.

It was one of those times when we were ahead of our lesson plan and Sister Bucky (her name was really Sr. Bernadette but we called her Bucky behind her back because she had terrible splayed teeth and, well, kids can be cruel), our teacher, was filling idle time asking us to answer her question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The boys went first. They all wanted to be doctors, lawyers, businessmen, and one, I remember, wanted to be a priest. We all knew he didn’t really want to be a priest but he was a real suck up - an Eddie Haskell type for those who remember the TV program “Leave it to Beaver”. We knew he really wanted to work in his father’s hardware store and then take over the business after his father retired. He often bragged that he was “set for life”.

The girls went next. Lots of future “Mommies” answered in the group. A few secretaries and one or two teachers and nurses. I was very clear about what I wanted to be, and said so loudly.

“I’m going to be a priest,” I said. And, everyone giggled. Except the boys. They laughed. Real loud. They practically fell over each other, slapping each other on the back like it was the most hilarious thing they had ever heard.

Sister Bucky laughed with them and said, “Don’t be ridiculous! You know better than that. Girls are nuns and boys are priests.”

“No,” I said, thoughtfully, seriously, respectfully, resolutely. “No, I’m going to be a priest.”

The look on Sister’s face was enough to have soured a glass of milk. The kids saw it immediately and a few giggled nervously, looking down at their shoes. Sister Bucky was not amused.

“No,” she repeated. “Girls are nuns. Boy are priests.”

 

“I know,” I said, sensing danger but pushing through, “But, I’m going to be a priest.”

 

Sister moved closer to me and, catching me completely off guard, slapped my face. Hard. I closed my eyes and held the side of my face, trying to take in what had just happened.

When I opened my eyes, Sister’s face was inches from mine. She actually growled as she said, “Don’t you ever say that again. Girls are nuns and boys are priests. Understand?”

“Yes, Sister,” I whimpered. She told me to go to the bathroom and wash my face and then return immediately to my seat in the classroom. There would be no recess and no snack for me.

When I got home, my mother looked at the red welt on the side of my face and asked me what happened. I told her the whole story. My mother listened carefully and then said, “Well, what did you expect? You were very naughty. You come from a good family. You embarrassed your whole family today. Now, don’t you ever say that ever again. Do you understand?”

And, I never did. Not until I was in my late twenties, by now a young, divorced mother who had found spiritual refuge and comfort and sustenance in The Episcopal Church. I had heard about the Philadelphia Eleven but I wasn’t really certain what to think about it. I had never met a woman priest so it was not a reality for me. Like a lot of other things in my life, I found it easier to just shut down emotionally and spiritually and just get on with my life. I understood the assignment and was obedient to it: Never talk about it ever again.

One Sunday, home from church at the Cathedral, I sat down to read the NY Times, which, in those days weighed about two pounds, all folded into “Sections”. (Remember?) The NY Times Magazine Section fell out and there, on the floor, on the front cover, was a picture of The Reverend Martha Blacklock, rector of St. Clément’s Episcopal Church in the Theater District of Lower Manhattan. There she was, sitting on the church steps with her little Jack Russel terrier, wearing jeans, sandals and a black, short-sleeved clergy shirt and a white Anglican collar.

I remember looking at the picture and bursting into tears. There it was, despite what Sr. Bucky and my mother had said. Proof. Women can be priests. And that was the start of this amazing journey which has led me, 38 years later, to the enormous privilege of serving you, in this church, in this pulpit, at that altar, today.

It's probably hard for you to imagine that my story is real. I don’t blame you, really. It’s hard to imagine - even for me with all I have been through, with all so many of my sisters have been through -  that such a thing could have ever once been true. It’s hard to imagine, since there are now so many of us in The Episcopal Church, that there was once a time when there were no women who were priests, much less bishops. Or, in fact, acolytes or crucifers.

Pew Research estimates that today, 40% of priests in The Episcopal Church are women. The House of Bishops reported last month that about the same percentage - 38% - of bishops are women - at least 15 of those women are women of color.  And yet, here we are, trying our best to live into the words of St. Paul that we are “all children of God through faith.” And that “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

The ordination of women is not an idle tale, but a cautionary one for the rest of the world which does not hold the value and worth of a woman’s life equal to that of a man or even a tiny cluster of cells. For those of us who believe in Jesus, who strive to follow his teachings, who believe in the resurrection and the gift of the Holy Spirit, well, we take equality of personhood a thing not to be taken lightly or inadvisedly. We are, as Jesus commanded, to love one another as He loves us - unconditionally, beyond gender or social status or age or race or sexual orientation.

For those who believe in the Incarnation of God in Christ, who believe in the freedom of the love of Jesus and the power of the Holy Spirit, which is the gift of the resurrection, the question of the man who spoke to the women in the tomb rings in our ears, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

For if we are alive in our faith, then we - like the ancient midwives of Egypt, Shiphrah and Puah, and the women at the tomb, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and “the other women,” and the Philadelphia Eleven: Alison (Cheek), Alla (Bozarth), Betty (Bone Shiess), Carter (Heyward), Emily (Hewitt), Jeannette (Picard), Katrina (Swanson), Marie (Moorefield Fleisher), Merrill (Bitner), Nancy (Hatch Wittig), and Suzanne (Hiatt); and the courageous bishops who ordained them, Daniel (Corrigan), Robert (DeWitt), Edward (Welles), and Antonio (Ramos) - we all will find the courage to hear, trust and follow the Holy Spirit wherever she may lead, that the gifts of all of God’s people may flourish throughout the earth, through Christ our Savior.

For the story of the resurrection of the church, like the resurrection of Jesus, is no idle tale.

Amen.

 

 *Propers transferred with permission of the Bishop Diocesan

*PRAYER FOR THE PHILADELPHIA ELEVEN: Jesus our brother and friend: we rejoice that your Church raised up, prepared and supported the eleven women ordained as priests in the Church of the Advocate on the Feast of Mary and Martha of Bethany. We pray for those known as The Philadelphia Eleven: Alison (Cheek), Alla (Bozarth), Betty (Bone Shiess), Carter (Heyward), Emily (Hewitt), Jeannette (Picard), Katrina (Swanson), Marie (Moorefield Fleisher), Merrill (Bitner), Nancy (Hatch Wittig), and Suzanne (Hiatt). We thank you for the bishops who ordained them, Daniel (Corrigan), Robert (DeWitt), Edward (Welles), and Antonio (Ramos). Thank you for calling these women to priesthood, and for giving them the resolve to answer. As Mary and Martha brought diverse gifts to your service, so may we choose the better part, seeking to serve you in all orders of ministry, for the sake of the Gospel, the good of your Church, and as a gift to the world. We pray as you have taught us, in your life-giving name. Amen.

PRAYER FOR THOSE WHO DIED: Holy God, author of life, you who love those who are in the world, love us to the end; we thank you for the lives of those first women to be priests in The Episcopal Church, who have passed from this life to the next. We remember them and call out their names into the universe: Alison (Cheek), Suzanne (R. Hiatt), Jeannette (Picard), Betty (Bone Schiess), Katrina (Wells Swanson). Inscribe the witness of their deeds in our hearts as you have written our names in the palm of your hand. May they rest in peace and rise in glory. Amen.

(* Adapted from a prayer from the DioLA)

Humility and leadership

 

A Sermon preached at
Old Christ Church, Laurel, DE
Pentecost VII - Proper 9 - July 9, 2024

2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10
Psalm 48
2 Corinthians 12:2-10
Mark 6:1-13

It’s hot and humid so I want to get right to the point of these lessons from scripture. And, that point - okay, points, there are two -  are humility and leadership.

There’s a lot of yapping and yammering going on in all the modern public squares about leadership, specifically about how age affects leadership. Well, the age of one specific leader when the other potential leader is only three years younger.

Our culture has maintained pretty high standards and qualifications for leadership: Honesty. Courage. Integrity. Civility. Reliability.  Visionary. Diplomacy. The Ability to Compromise. Empathy. Crisis Management. Those are not unrealistic expectations, especially when we are talking about the highest positions of elected leadership in our land.

I've also been comparing the measure of leadership in our culture with the expectations we see in the lessons in this Sunday's lectionary. I think there are a different set of standards in Scripture, some of which are conflicting. In the Hebrew Scripture (which we didn’t read) David was 'anointed' to be King and became "greater and greater". Paul tells that odd story about a man with a thorn in his flesh and how God's strength is perfected in our weakness. And, of course, Jesus is a prophet without honor in his hometown who taught his disciples humility.

Humility. We don’t usually list that as an attribute we seek in our elected officials. Indeed, many of our political candidates exude the kind of bombastic enthusiasm of a used car salesman. I learned an important lesson about humility and Christian servant leadership many years ago from none other than the master of humility and servant leadership himself: Desmond Tutu.

I’ll spare you the details but I was at NYU where one of ours daughtrs was working at the time and snagged me a ticket to a reception being held for Bishop Tutu. NYU was giving him an award for his work on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa

I was delighted to meet him again To my amazement, he recognized me from a meeting years earlier (That’s another story I’ll save for another time). He was delighted to see me in my clergy collar and said, “See, I told you The Episcopal Church was going to ordain women. And now, in South Africa, women are also being ordained priests. God is so good, isn’t She?”

We laughed and I said to him, “But you! Look at you! When I heard you had prostate cancer, I was very sad but then, not too much later, I heard that you had accepted the position of head of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and I thought, “Is he out of his MIND?”

The good bishop laughed and said, “Well, you know my President? Nelson Mandela? Well, when my President asked me to take that position, I said, ‘Oh no. No, sir. I am not the right person for the job.”

“Why not,” asked my President.

“Oh, Mr. President,” I said, “I am not qualified.”

“How so,” asked my President.

“Oh, Mr. President,” I said, “I laugh too easily. I cry too easily. I am weak.”

“Ah,” said my President, “then you are perfectly qualified for the position.”

“How can that be so?” I asked.

“Well,” said my President, “if you laugh too easily then you know something about the absurdity of life. And, if you cry too easily, then you know something about The Truth. And, if you are weak, then the power of God is able to work through you and we will have the hope of finding reconciliation.”

I think that kind of leadership takes real humility. It's the kind of humility that comes from a deep love of God and a love of servant leadership to put what you may want - important as that is - secondary to the love of God and God's call to you. To use the gifts of your leadership - even if they don’t seem like “gifts” - in the best of service to others.

That kind of humility takes honesty and courage. Integrity and civility. Being reliable and a visionary. A diplomat with the ability to compromise. To have the capacity for empathy, and a skill for crisis management.

It's the kind of humility I hear echoed in the teachings of Jesus and the words of St. Paul. I don't know if they apply specifically to the leadership of the President of the United States - or any elected position of public trust -  but I think humility is not a bad leadership quality for anyone who has a position of that much power.

So, in these Dog Days of Summer, when anxiety is running almost as high as the heat and humidity and heat index, I ask us all to take a deep breath and listen to the message of the words of Holy Scripture.

Maybe we need to pay attention to that thorn in our side, the one that keeps tormenting us with anxiety and doubt. Maybe we need to kick the dust from our sandals, say Peace to those who refuse to - or simply can’t - hear us, and move on. Maybe we need to laugh a bit more, so we can accept and embrace the absurdities of life. Maybe we need to cry a bit more easily so we’ll better understand the painful realities of finding and living the Truth.

And maybe, just maybe, if we admitted our weaknesses more often we would understand these words of St. Paul, “(God’s)  grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness. .  . Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”

Amen.

Sean Rowe, Presiding Bishop.

Katharine Jefferts Schori, Sean Rowe, and Michael Curry

So, the Episcopal Church continues to meet in General Convention in Louisville, KY, and thank God, none of the deputies, alternates, bishops, vendors or volunteers is female, pregnant, and suffering a miscarriage because, if she were, she may end up in jail, given the "states rights" in that particular state concerning reproductive rights.

We'll know today or tomorrow where the next GenCon will be happening three years from now. I really, truly hope we don't give our money to a state that doesn't treat women and LGBTQ people, and people of color like full citizens with equal rights. I'm not voting but people I know and love are and they might just read this during a downtime in the legislative process.

We have elected a new PHOD (President, House of Deputies) by re-electing Julia Ayala Harris to another term. For only the second time in our history, that position had been contested - and by two other women of color. Today, we are electing a VPHOD which, by canon if not by tradition (and, in The Episcopal Church, tradition is practically canon), must be a different order of ministry than the PHOD. So, the slate is all clergy.

Yesterday, of course, we elected Sean Rowe, who has been serving as bishop of the Diocese of Northwestern Pennsylvania and the Diocese of Western New York, to be our next Presiding Bishop.

Now, contrary to what you might have sensed from all the hype - the bishops meeting in secret in a cathedral proving only that all bishops have a bit of Drama Queen in them - a PB is NOT a Pope. In its origins, the position of the Presiding Bishop is just what it says - someone to preside over meetings of all the bishops. You know, so things would be "meet, right and proper, so to do." Because, of course, that's the first, albeit unwritten rule of Anglicanism: Order. The second is like unto it and also to be revered: Tolerance.

I'm not at all surprised that Sean Rowe was elected on the first ballot with seven more votes than were absolutely necessary to win (He received 89 votes. 82 votes were needed to win.). He's fairly popular in the dioceses of his jurisdiction. One of his constituents said to me of him, "He's one of the last of a dying bread of genuinely nice White Guys. And," she added, hastily, thinking I'm sure of ++Michael Curry, "he's a good preacher."

Well, the rule of elections has held. The polar opposite of the incumbent gets elected. I've seen it in every PB election since John Hines who was progressive and passionate about social justice, who was then followed by John Murray Allin who was conservative and opposed to the ordination of women.

Ed Browning, who was as informal and as comfortable as a lovely old sacristy slipper famously said, "In this church of ours, there will be no outcasts." He started the whole movement for radical inclusion in the church. Reaction to Allin, much?

Frank Tracy Griswold, was formal and erudite, from old, mainline PA money, a good, solid moderate Anglo-Catholic who supported women and consecrated +Gene but was all about deepening spirituality. I firmly believe that he and Browning could not deny the brisk breeze of the winds of change and Griswold, especially, smelled schism in the air which seemed to make him perpetually anxious.

Katharine Jefferts Schori was the first woman PB, and she was formidable. Her mere presence as a bishop was so threatening she was forbidden by the Archbishop of Canterbury to wear her miter with the rest of the bishops when visiting Southwark Cathedral in the UK. As I said the other day, the bishops who left for ACNA threw the vote to her because they thought, like all arrogant tyrants, "apres moi, le deluge" and were setting up the church for failure which would be blamed more on a woman and not so much on them. I understand that more women were called as rectors while she was PB than at any other time. The "Great Episcopal Schism" also happened on her watch.

Michael Bruce Curry tried to move our focus away from our anxieties about bean counting and ASAs and "all things institutional church" into a more relational focus with God and Jesus. "If it ain't about love, it ain't about God," will forever be his mantra, and "The Jesus Movement" will always be his legacy.

Sean Rowe, I think, is going to put our focus back on the institutional church with a heart for cutting down the bureaucracy, focusing more on the local church, strengthening them, and really working on mergers at every level. He, himself, has been bishop of NW NY and WPA, and I suspect we're going to see more diocesan mergers in the next decade.

It's about time, I say.

The next decade is not going to be a particularly exciting time, but there will be lots of organizational change, at which Rowe apparently excells. As Rowe said, “If we’re honest with each other and ourselves, we know that we cannot continue to be the Episcopal Church in the same way, no matter where we live.”

It's going to be a reaction to the previous guy, as it always is. Which won't be bad. To be honest, we need it.

In his first public remarks after his election, Rowe said, "“God is calling us ever more deeply into the unknown." I chuckled and thought, "The man is preaching to himself as well as the church."

I have no doubt he has no idea what he's gotten himself into. I strongly doubt anyone before him really understood the enormity of the position of PB.

He's about to find out. So are we. Here's the thing to remember, which I know Sean knows: He's not the Pope, but he's not just the PB. The role has expanded into a more global presence.

No, his election will not directly affect the 'bums in the pew', except that we will have a new name to pray for in the Prayers of the People. The role of the PB is more of a "Climate Control Officer."

The PB sets the tone and tenor which impacts the environment in the diocese and in the sanctuary. The policies and politics of the PB give permission or cover to diocesan bishops and rectors to step out on issues of faith - or hide behind them.

We're in for an interesting journey over the next 9 years with the youngest PB ever elected. (He is 49, beating out John Hines who was elected at the age of 54). I think Michael, as always, captured it best when he said to General Convention earlier this week at the joint gathering of the House of Deputies and the House of Bishops before the legislative sessions started:

“I’m here to tell you this Episcopal Church is stronger, more durable, and has a future that God has decreed and that God has figured out.”

“And I’m here to tell you, don’t you worry about this church. Don’t you weep and don’t you moan. Just roll up your sleeves and let’s get to work. That’s our future.”

So, roll up your sleeves, lace up your boots, blow your noses, and get ready to get back to work. We're still part of the Jesus Movement. The only way any Movement maintains momentum is to move.

Let's get on with it.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia!