Sermon from Sunday, May 13
Sixth Sunday of Easter
John 15:9-17
Initiative
(This was the last sermon I preached at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Waco, Texas)
Remarkably little happened on Sunday, May 5, 1985 in Los Angeles, California. It was a beautifully ordinary 73 degrees in the afternoon. The Dodgers lost. The Angels won. There were some Cinco de Mayo celebrations taking place throughout the city. And at St. James’ Episcopal Church in South Pasadena, the Rev. Michael DiPietro baptized his grandson in a private ceremony that afternoon. Not many were in attendance for the baptism; a few family members, some close friends. And, of course, me; just a little two month old squirt.
One of my dad’s cousins took an audio recording of the baptism. The whole service took about fifteen minutes – something I’m sure many of you have wished for. Through the crackly sound track you can hear my grandfather’s voice, the weak congregational responses, and of course, me.
May he rest in peace, my grandfather wasn’t the most stirring preacher. He was a trained educator and school administrator, so he was good at talking people to sleep. I listened to the audio of my baptism just a few months ago, and gracefully, his sermon was just a few blessed minutes. But something stuck out in what he said. My grandfather said that what was taking place at my baptism wouldn’t come to immediate fruition. Like a seed that falls dormant, he said, we don’t know when the shoot will grow. It may be soon, or it may take some time. He said that the Spirit would enliven my faith when the Spirit was ready.
As many of you know my spiritual journey, the promises and gifts given to me at baptism took a great deal of time to grow and come to fruition – just about sixteen years. Then something happened. I’m not quite sure exactly what it was, but I started praying. I started reading the Bible. I started going to church. The seed that had been planted at baptism was putting forth its tender shoots.
Yet my grandfather’s words went unheeded. Because of my ill-begotten pride, I believed that this newfound faith was of my own doing; that I had somehow created my Christian life, that I was a self-made worshiper and pray-er. I was smug enough to think that God was lucky to have me worshiping him. Oh, what foolishness dwells in the immature!
Oh, what a thoroughly American mindset I had! I succumbed to the folly and fallacy of the self-made. I was relying on my own creativity and ingenuity. I believed that I could carve out and create myself. That with only a bit more freedom, a bit more capital, a bit more energy, then I would be a self-made man, a self-made Christian. The American Dream, that we can pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps, weaseled its way into my budding spiritual life.
And then I matured. Well, really, God grew me up. God taught me the lesson of John 15. I did not choose Jesus, Jesus chose me. I did not appoint myself to be a Christian, God appointed me to be a follower of the Lord. I began bearing fruit of God’s Kingdom, not the fruit that I would have wished to grow. I would have wanted sweet fruit, fruit that tasted good in the mouth but was sour in the stomach. But Jesus chose to grow fruit that tasted like ash in the mouth but bore fruit for God’s Kingdom.
At that time, God called me to spend every Sunday afternoon in college with the poor, forgotten residents of an east Austin nursing home. Believe me, playing wheelchair volleyball in a nursing that smelled of urine and death was not something I chose to do – God chose me. The seeds that had been planted in my baptism had put forth their tender, immature shoots. And now those shoots turned to branches, and started to produce.
Then God chose me for the priesthood. And God chose me to serve here as your assistant rector. And God has chosen me to serve as the rector of Holy Comforter. It is absolutely fundamental that we remember how this process works: God always takes the initiative. Any action that we take as Christians is only a response to God’s call.
This is a counter-cultural lesson to be learned. Our system demands initiative. We want to quantify our job performance. We want to show how well our portfolio performed last quarter. We want our bosses and co-workers to know just how creative we are, how driven we are, how much we can earn, produce, make. In our system, humility, obedience, and reaction are negative traits. Those who humble themselves, are obedient, and react to situations lose out.
But not so in God’s Kingdom. Jesus chooses us, we do not choose Jesus. This is a basic lesson, especially for those of us, like me, who were baptized as infants.[1] God claimed us and took us as his own long before we even knew we were alive. Everything we do in our Christian lives is simply a response to God’s initial action.
Whether we were baptized as infants or we were just made the leap of calling ourselves a Christian yesterday, God is calling each one of us. Every single one of us in this church is being called by God to do something. Is that idea unsettling? You betcha. But is it true? Absolutely. God might be calling you to do something crazy, like fly off to Malawi or become a monk. But God might also be calling you to do something not so exotic. Maybe God is calling you to just stop, to be quiet, and to listen for God – to pray with a friend, to find a spiritual mentor, to simply be with God.
Now before you get all anxious and start fretting, “I don’t know what God is calling me to do!” I want you to relax. Any call from God probably won’t come to you in a flash or in a dream. A call from God doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ll start hearing voices. A call from God will come in a conversation, it will come in a chance encounter, it will come to you in a book or a phone call or a newspaper article.
The question is then, how will you respond? Will you respond faithfully? Will you let God choose you, or will your pride step in the way as you try to choose God?
Sunday May 5, 1985 seemed to be a typical day. Oh, what a foolish thought! That was the day that God set my entire life in motion. That was day that God called me to follow Jesus, that was the day God appointed me to be a priest, that was the day God sent me off away from this magnificent church.
And with that, I bid you all the fondest of farewells. Maggie and I are speechlessly thankful for your love and generosity. I have not called you my congregation or my parish, but I have called you my friends.
[1] Loosely paraphrased from The Most Rev. William Temple
Burial Sermon – Helen Fadal Murphy
Smile
(I preached this sermon at St. Alban’s on Thursday, May 10, 2012 at the burial of Helen Fadal Murphy)
Part of the privilege and the blessing of being a priest, is to hold hands with the dying and to pray with them. With Helen, I only had this privilege once; yet it was a time that I will not soon forget. What sticks in my head so much is Helen’s smile. It was beautiful. And so simple. And so extraordinarily lovely and warm. As we held hands and prayed, I could see her reading my lips as I prayed for the blessings, joy, and peace that only come from God our Father. I offered thanks for Helen, God’s servant, and for her life, her love, and for her smile.
I’ve heard many stories about Helen in the past few days, and I’ve been struck by the struggles she endured in her life. Tragedy and sickness were not strangers to Helen; indeed for many years, they were her companions. The more and more I prayed and reflected on Helen’s life, the more lovely her smile grows in my mind. Despite the death of her son, despite her lack of hearing, despite her liver transplant – Helen gave smiles freely. She even gave me, a priest she hardly knew, a smile that made me feel right at home.
That wasn’t the first time Helen had ever smiled. I can envision Helen smiling on her wedding day, in this very church. I can envision Helen smiling at the birth of her sons. I can see Helen smiling at Little League games and at the number of neighborhood children that graced her life. I can see Helen gently smiling at the doctors and the nurses who worked with her for so many years.
I would like to think that Helen was smiling because she knew something we didn’t know; much as I envision Jesus smiling at Martha. In the midst of her pain and anguish at the loss of her brother, Martha approaches Jesus: “Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Jesus responds with a promise, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha puts her trust in the Lord, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” And then I see a smile grow. The corners of Jesus’ mouth pull up, his face softens, and there is a glint in his eyes, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”
I see Helen smiling because she knows just how true these words are, because in so many ways, she experienced the resurrection in her life. She was given a new organ, part of her body was remade and renewed. Because of this great gift, she lived to see the birth of her two beautiful granddaughters. She took great delight in her family, and lived for many years in gratitude for the great gift of her life. Helen smiled because she knew and experienced just how wonderful the gift of resurrection truly is.
And Helen smiled because she knew that this wasn’t the end of the story. Sure, she had tasted resurrection, but that was just an appetizer. The fullness of God’s banquet was still before her. That smile, that smile that touched so many lives and spread so much love, was Helen’s way of saying, “this is not the end.” Hope ever lies before us. This is the hope of the resurrection, the hope of a renewed body, of being with our Lord, and with Helen, and with all the saints who have gone before. This is the hope that we, like the Lord Jesus, will have our very own Easter, when the stone of death is rolled away and the dawn of a new life breaks over the eastern sky. With such a blessed hope, Helen could not help but smile.
Sermon from Sunday
Magic Genie
Fifth Sunday of Easter
John 15:1-8
The Disney movie “Aladdin” came out when I was in second grade. As a typical seven year old, I was immediately enchanted by the big, blue, magic genie. Leaving the theater, my mind began to race: “if I had a magic lamp with a genie in it, what would be my three wishes?”
The first wish was easy – a Super Nintendo, duh! What else could I possibly want? But wait! I have two more wishes! Hmmmm, I would like to be the best baseball player on my Little League team. Yeah, that’s right, I want to hit homeruns. Okay, so that’s settled. A Super Nintendo, be a great baseball player. Now for my third wish? Well, I may as well throw a whole bunch of money on top of that. So there they were, my three wishes: a Super Nintendo, be a great baseball player, and a beaucoup of money. The only problem, of course, is that magic genies are awfully hard to come by.
Regardless of our age or maturity, we all harbor a latent desire for our dreams and wishes to come true. “I wish that I could find a husband. I wish that I was skinny. I wish that I had more money to pay off my mortgage.” Though our fantasies about magic genies have long been dispelled, deep down, we still wish that we could find somebody, something to wave a magic wand and make it all come true.
Then we come across this passage from John, and we think we’ve found it! Of course, here, here is the answer. We had been just been looking in all the wrong places for somebody to grant our wishes. For Jesus says, “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you” (15:7). Aha! So all we have to do is rub the magic lamp of prayer in the name of Jesus, and poof! We’ll get exactly what we wish for.
Then, disastrously, we find ourselves the subject of that classic joke: “I prayed that God would give me a bicycle. God didn’t give me a bicycle, so then I stole one and asked for forgiveness.”
But in all seriousness, when God does not answer our prayers and grant our wishes, we’re faced with a dilemma; a dilemma that begs the question, “does God answer prayers?” First, we may think that we didn’t pray hard enough, or that we didn’t have enough faith when we prayed. So we get back to it; we pray really, really hard for a promotion, for a mountain of money, for ourselves. Still, our wishes go unfulfilled.
We are faced with the specter of the other half of the dilemma; perhaps God isn’t living up to the promise. Perhaps God doesn’t care about me. Or, lurking somewhere between fear and doubt, perhaps God doesn’t even exist.
Scylla and Charybdis
Caught between this Scylla and Charybdis, our prayer lives plunge into the depths of despair. Either we aren’t praying hard enough or we are praying to the wrong god, so what’s the point? I’m still without a husband, I’m still paying off this mortgage, and I’m still overweight. This dilemma only proves the depravity of our prayers.
It is time, then, for us to bear the full glory of Jesus’ words, and to test our prayer life by tasting the fruits of our Christian life. So what are the fruits of your prayers? In those quiet moments you have with God – in the shower, driving to work, on your knees – what is taking place? Are you bearing the fruit of the Kingdom of God or the fruit of the Kingdom of You?
When our prayers focus on us, then our hope is surely lost. When we replace “thy will be done” with “my will be done,” we are set up for trouble. Spurred on by our prayers, we want more and more, so we’re willing to fight, claw, and gouge our way to more and more. We start bearing bad fruits. We are branches gone bad. On our own, we bear bad fruit. Fruit of cynicism, skepticism, anger, isolation, and dented pride.
When prayers are honest and true, not self-centered or conceited, then you cannot help but produce the fruits of God’s Kingdom. As part of the true vine, the vine that grows and flourishes from God the vinegrower, we bear good fruit, abundant fruit. We bear the fruit of service, humility, grace, and obedience. We don’t fight, but humbly submit. We don’t serve ourselves, but serve others. A vibrant and active life of prayer, saying and meaning “thy will be done,” will inspire us to acts of love and faithfulness.
A prayer life and an outward life are just two sides of the same coin. If God’s loving activity is working through us, then our prayer life is probably pretty good. And if our prayer life is good, then we are most likely accomplishing God’s will in our lives.
Remember, this is the not the magic genie god, this is God the vinegrower and we are the branches. We have life and growth only because our life and growth comes from God. No vine can tell the vinegrower how the whole operation should work.
And here we come upon the truly scary part about prayer. Jesus is the vine, we are the branches, and God has the pruning shears. When we start producing wild grapes or bad fruit, God will come along and snip off those bad bits. God the vinegrower will come by and lop off our addictions, our malice, our pride, our envy. With the shears of love, God will snip, lop, and chop us down so that we can begin producing fruits of righteousness.
Stained Glass – “I am the vine”
God, like all vinegrowers, clips and points us, the vines. A vinegrower will direct the branches so that they grow along paths that will provide them with nutrition and water. With God, the direction is always toward the cross. God will snip, lop, and chop us back until we are pointed in the direction of sacrifice and love. This will be a painful process. We have to trade our pride and arrogance for the gifts of God’s Kingdom. Our prayers and thoughts will not be about us, but about God and others.
When given a magic lamp and a genie, nobody in their right mind would wish to be sacrificed and crucified. Yet that is exactly where we stand. True prayer is not about what we want, but about what God wants for us.
This is a long way of answering the short question, “does God answer prayers?” The answer is, of course, yes. The harder question is, “what are we praying for?” If we’re praying out of our pride, conceit, and ego, then our prayers are lovingly unanswered.
We do not have any magic lamps lying around. But God has churches full of magic lamps. You. Me. Us. We only have to settle into a rhythm of prayer. Then God can begin to work on us. And God’s dreams and hopes and wishes for the world are accomplished through us. These won’t be three of God’s basest wishes. What God accomplishes through us is nothing other than the fruit of the Kingdom of Christ.
“I will give you three wishes”
“Aladdin” the movie came out when I was in second grade. I remember leaving the movie theater and asking myself, “what would I do if I had three wishes from a genie?” I probably would have wished for tons of money, a Super Nintendo, and to be the best baseball player ever.
There’s a danger of coming to John 15 with these thoughts in our mind. As Jesus teaches that he is the vine and we are the branches, he says, “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you” (John 15:7).
Aha! We’ve found the magic lamp! Jesus will do for us whatever we wish! Let’s start praying!
Then comes the disappointment: I prayed for “x” but it never happened. In fact, “y” happened instead. Faced by this contradiction, we are forced to make one of two decisions about God: 1) either we didn’t have enough faith and didn’t pray hard enough to make our wishes acceptable to God or 2) these words are a lie and God doesn’t have power to grant wishes, or even worse, God doesn’t exist.
Stained Glass Window in St. Alban's
"I am the vine, you are the branches"
But Jesus is not a genie from a magic lamp. Jesus is the vine and we are the branches.
Here’s the catch. I think that the key to understanding this promise is to read it in light of the whole passage. See, if we start praying and wishing for things that selfish, that we really aren’t yet abiding in God, we aren’t yet branches from the vine. We aren’t praying “thy will be done” but “my will be done.” God is God, not Santa Claus or a magic genie.
Once we abide in God we start praying and wishing for the things that only abide with God’s will. These are the prayers and wishes that are accomplished by God. Before all else, we are to abide in Jesus, just as Jesus abides in the Father. Then, and only then, are we to wish in Jesus’ name.
All in all, this is a question of formation. If we are still praying for the things we want, then God has some more pruning to do. And let’s be honest, that pruning may hurt as we lose our egotism, pride, and selfishness. But this is a cleansing process, and the hope is that we are then formed and grafted onto the true vine. As members of the vine, we begin to bear fruit abundantly. These are the fruits of the Kingdom – holiness, obedience, faithfulness.
Looking back
One year ago we all heard the announcement: Osama bin Laden is dead.
Now, there have been plenty of articles, blogs, and thoughts given to the reactions that swept across the country. Masses gathered in public places to chant “USA! USA!” while waving American flags. Others, like me, didn’t hear about the news until the next morning, and then I had some mixed reactions.
My first reaction was that of surprise: “Wait. What? Did I read that right? Wow.” From my sophomore year of high school to my first year of ordained ministry, Osama bin Laden was cast in the role of America’s bogey man. And now he’s dead. Weird.
Then I saw the clips of crowds massing in public places chanting “USA! USA!” while waving American flags. My reaction, again, was mixed. And to tell you how well the Episcopal liturgy works, my first thought was that of Good Friday. We, cast as the crowd in the service, corporately condemn and call for the death of somebody we don’t understand. “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
Please don’t misunderstand me, I am not comparing Jesus to Osama bin Laden. Rather, I find the reaction of the crowds eerily similar.
Finally, as the months wore on, I had another mixed reaction. What has changed? Weren’t we still sending our troops and our treasure into the Afghan quagmire? And why has the rhetoric not changed? We are still talking about hunting down terrorists. Osama bin Laden’s death, while a symbolic victory for hawkish Americans, seems to have accomplished very little.
I fully realize this is a touchy issue. Again, I am not trying to offer any judgment, but rather I am opening my soul to you, the reader. Thank you for allowing me the grace and the room to express some of my reactions.
Oh the things you can learn in a bar…
In our Bible study at Barnett’s Pub we are reading through the Gospel of Mark. As I make my transition out of St. Alban’s, I’ve been asking some lay folks to lead our pub bible study. Last night, Jack led us through chapters 5 and 6 of Mark. And even though I’d read these passages dozens of times, Jack pointed out something new to me. I suppose this young dog is still learning tricks.
Beers and Bibles.
The passage was Mark 5:1-20. In this story, Jesus crosses the Sea of Galilee and heals a man possessed by demons. It’s a funky story, and I’m sure you don’t have the patience to read my take on the whole thing, so let’s just look at the first 8 verses.
This poor man, possessed by demons, lives among the tombs. Though he was once shackled, he is now free to prowl about, howling and “bruising himself with stones” (v. 5). Seeing Jesus, the man runs and bows down before him shouting, “What you have to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me!” (v. 7).
In our conversation, Jack pointed out the odd nature of the man’s request. Here he is, bruising and tormenting himself with stones, yet he asks that God not torture him. How bizarre!
Many of us stay out among the tombs, bruising ourselves. We beat ourselves up over our failures. We dwell on how terrible we are. Our minds are fixed on our own pain and shortcomings. But this is what we know.
It is downright scary to say to God, “I am done with that. I am done with that sad life. I desire your healing.” What’s so scary about this is that we are trading our normalcy for chaos. True, our normalcy, bruising ourselves with stones, is not healthy. But this is what we know.
Stepping out and bowing before God will propel us into a chaotic life, a life that we do not know. Yes, it will be healthier and holier, but for a time it will be chaotic.
What stones do you use to bruise yourself? What are the marks and the scars of your self-centered fear and anxiety? Would you rather live a normal, hurtful life, or a chaotic, holy life?
“Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what he has shown you” (5:19).
Questions & Answers
Today was the annual “Pastor Appreciation Day” at Reicher Catholic High School. The St. Alban’s youth that attend Reicher get a yearly laugh at my expense when some teacher thinks that I’m a student. Sigh. It’s the curse and the blessing of a baby face.
Part of the rigmarole includes the theology teachers showing us their textbooks and talking about the curriculum. Being good Anglicans, the St. Alban’s youth are skeptical, yet understanding of the vast Catholic tradition. There was one point, though, when all the Episcopalians gave a communal eye roll.
Open your hearts, not your books
The Bible used in all of the theology courses at Reicher is “The New Catholic Answer Bible.” When the theology teacher (Deacon Jeff Heipel, who is a baller that demands my total respect) picked up that Bible and started to talk about it, there was a palpable feeling of discontent among the Episcopalians. I think that St. Alban’s has done a good job of forming these youth to understand that the Bible isn’t to answer our questions, but it’s to question us.
This is where, I think, that Catholics and Baptists have much in common. Stereotypically, these groups want to know the right answer. From the outside, it almost seems like an obsession. There is this unmitigated desire to know the facts about God.
And that’s where Episcopalians differ. We don’t want to know about God, we want to know God. The scriptures of the Old and New Testaments help us on this journey but we realize that, more often than not, it’s the Bible that raises questions of us. “Are we being faithful? Are we living into the fullness of God’s Kingdom? Where do we need correction or exhortation?”
Don’t try to know about God. Because in the end, our limited words can never fully describe the ineffable wonders of God. Rather, try to know God. Walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God (Ephesians 5:2).
Book Review Wednesday
I am so pleased to see that the number of followers on my blog has nearly doubled in the past week. I suspect much of this has to do with my recent call to serve at Holy Comforter. This means, however, that many of you don’t know me very well, or even at all.
Remember when you were a kid, and had just scarfed 3 donuts, and your mom said, “You are what you eat!” Well, I believe you are what you read. So for those of you who don’t know me all that well, I’m going to share with you what I’ve been reading (other than the Bible) over the past month. My hope is that you get an insight to the world of Jimmy Abbott.
I’m not trying to brag by saying how much I read. I love to read and I want to share that love with you. Plus, at this point in my life, I don’t have any children, so I’m trying to stuff as many ideas into my head as I can before there are little Abbotts running around.
Books!
“Murder in the Cathedral” by T.S. Eliot – Maggie and I will be visiting Canterbury Cathedral in May. To get prepared, I read Eliot’s play about the murder of Thomas Becket. It’s a stirring dramatization of those events. The first time I read this was to prepare for my ordination to the priesthood. The four spirits that tempt Becket are the four spirits that tempt every clergyperson.
“The Yiddish Policemen’s Union” and “Gentlemen of the Road” by Michael Chabon - Michael Chabon is one of my favorite authors. He was awarded a Pulitzer Prize for “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.” Chabon tries to write in the classic American novel genre. He thinks that simply telling a great story is good enough for a book. These two works are especially hilarious.
“Jesus and the Victory of God” by N.T. Wright - Tom Wright is a bishop in the Church of England and a prominent New Testament scholar to boot. Many say that he is the preeminent New Testament scholar in the world. This book, “Jesus,” is the second volume of an eventual five volume series on the New Testament. I love Tom Wright’s devotion to God, the Church, and authentic scholarship. He has written a number of books for the non-scholastic types. The top three, in my opinion, are: “Simply Christian,” “Surprised by Hope,” and “After you Believe.” (Maggie is reading “Surprised by Hope” right now.)
“Till We Have Faces” by C.S. Lewis - In this story, Lewis reworks the Cupid and Psyche myth. There are elements of the Christian story and some real gems of wisdom sprinkled throughout the story. Here’s my favorite line from the whole book (and a great one-liner about Christian liturgy): “The story and the worship were all one in his mind.”
“Improvisation: The Drama of Christian Ethics” by Sam Wells - I’ve only made it about fifty pages in this book. But already I love what Wells has to say. I am intrigued by the parallels between theatrical improvisation and a vibrant Christian ethic.
Harper’s Magazine - I only subscribe to one magazine, Harper’s. Call me a weirdo, but I prefer long-form journalism rather than sound bytes.
Holiness
Jeremy Taylor
The title of my blog, “Blogitations on the Holy Life,” is meant to be a 21st century play on Jeremy Taylor’s, “Holy Living, Holy Dying,” from the 17th century. Reading Jeremy Taylor’s devotionals were crucial for me in my development as a person of prayer. Part of Taylor’s entire project is to give his readers the tools and wisdom needed to live a holy life and to die a holy death.
This isn’t a new concept in Christian practice. Indeed, it wasn’t even a novelty for Taylor in the 17th century. 1 Peter 1:15-16 says, “Instead, as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in all your conduct; for it is written, ‘You shall be holy, for I am holy.’” And here again we see that the author of 1 Peter isn’t inventing the idea of holiness, but he is taking up the strain from Leviticus in which the people of God are called to be holy.
Let’s take a breather here. It would be awfully easy for us to read this passage and become overwhelmed by the nature of this exhortation. “I am supposed to be holy? How could I ever do that?” If you have your bible with you right now, I want you to take a pen and write “y’all” where it says “you.”
This exhortation is aimed at the body of believers, the Church, not solitary individuals. Together, as the Body of Christ, we are to become holy as Christ is holy. Through our common prayers, worship, and mission we are in the process of becoming the holy people of God. This isn’t something you can do on your own, so don’t try.
I am putting this into practice right now by praying through the Holy Comforter parish directory in addition to my prayers for the people of St. Alban’s. Sure, I don’t always know who I’m praying for, but I’m praying for holiness. That together, God will form us into the holy people of God.
Sunday Sermon – Fellowship
Fellowship
I John 1:1-2:2
During my second year of seminary, I had the opportunity to spend time in the Dominican Republic. This small, island country is actually part of the Episcopal Church, and I went with one of my seminary buddies to their Episcopal seminary in Santo Domingo.
In the Dominican Republic
Like anybody who has traveled overseas, we immediately found ourselves immersed in unfamiliarity. We packed into taxis and buses, always accompanied by merengue music. The food was different, I mean, we had ham sandwiches for breakfast. And worst of all, the coffee was unfamiliar; that’s an issue for a coffee fiend like me. I had difficulty getting my bearings, I had trouble thinking in my crazy, mixed-up Spanglish. It was like I was in a different country (smile).
Now the Episcopal seminary in Santo Domingo has its own little chapel. Not any bigger than from me to the first pew and no wider, all the seminarians crammed in for daily morning eucharist. And as I sat there, lost among a new people, I heard strangely familiar words: “Bendito sea Dios: Padre, Hijo, y Espiritu Santo.” “Blessed be God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Then the familiarity came again: “El Senor sea con ustedes.” “The Lord be with you.” “Y con tu espiritu.” “And with thy spirit.”
Suddenly I was in a familiar place. The words, though they were different, were the same because we were praying for the same things. It struck me, as the congregation of seminarians started saying, “Padre nuestro,” Our Father, that the fellowship of the Church is much grander than I ever imagined. Episcopalians in Santo Domingo were praying with the very same words that I had been praying with for years.
That magnificence, the grandeur of the Church’s fellowship, is part of the message from the letter of First John. In its opening sentences, that letter states, “we declare to you what we have seen and heard so that you also may have fellowship with us; and truly our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ.”
This fellowship is a type of participation, of partnership with one another and with God. You see, there is no such thing as a Lone Ranger Christian. In order to be in communion, in fellowship with God, you must first be in a community with other Christians. There is simply no way to have a communion, a fellowship, by yourself. We need the Church, we need one another in order to know God.
This is also the message that the 20s & 30s of St. Alban’s have heard me say over and over again. I call my vision for the 20s & 30s, “The Spirituality of the Nomad.” In our world, people of my age are nomads. We spend a few years in one place, then move to another city for a job or a romance, and then it’s off to somewhere else for more school or who knows what. We are nomads. But the good news is that no matter where we go in our nomadic sojourns, the fellowship of the Church will always be our companion. I have told the 20s & 30s many times that while they are here in Waco, they are to utterly throw themselves into the ministry and community of St. Alban’s. And when they leave, we will be sad, not because they’re leaving the fellowship of the Church, but because they are moving on. And so, it’s time for me to practice what I preach.
God has called me to serve as the next rector of Holy Comforter Episcopal Church in Spring, Texas. Sunday, May 13, will be Maggie’s and my last Sunday at St. Alban’s. We will be leaving this community, probably with a few tears and some sad good-byes. But like the nomads that we are, we will move on to Holy Comforter. Now, we aren’t leaving the fellowship of the Church. That wonderful and sacred mystery is much grander and bigger than we can ever acknowledge. The fellowship of this Church, the fellowship we find in God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ spans from the slums of the Dominican Republic, to Waco, and to Spring.
As a sign of this fellowship, in the coming weeks during our Prayers of the People, we will be praying for Holy Comforter. Lord knows they need it (with self-effacing gesture). And Holy Comforter will be praying for St. Alban’s. This is how the fellowship of the Church behaves – we pray for and serve one another, without jealousy or sadness, but with a true, and humble spirit.
This news, coming as its does during Easter, has perfect timing. It is now, during these great fifty days of Easter, that we celebrate the grandeur and magnificence of the fellowship of God. Nothing, not even death itself, can separate us from the communion of God and the Church. Just one week ago, we all stood in this church and shouted, “Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!” This is more than a stirring proclamation. It is the defiance of death itself. Nothing, absolutely nothing, stands in the way of our communion with God and with one another. Distance, time, generations, separate churches – all of that is counted as nothing compared to the fellowship the Church has with its people and with God.
All of this fellowship and communion has a purpose. We don’t gather to say our prayers in vain. Again, the letter of First John speaks boldly and beautifully about the purpose of Christian fellowship and about the fruits we are to bear. The letter says, “We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.” Just as we cannot follow Jesus alone, we cannot find joy alone. In order to be truly joyful, to really be happy in this world, we must have the fellowship of God and the Church.
So even though Maggie and I are leaving this wonderful place, we are joyful. We take great joy in the love that we have shared with each one of you. We take great joy in the tasks that we completed together. We have great joy because we lived and experienced the lovely fellowship and communion of St. Alban’s.
Very soon, everything will be unfamiliar. St. Alban’s will be different. Holy Comforter will be different. During this transition, some will look on these two churches and will think of them as foreign. The landscapes will be unfamiliar; but only in outward appearances. The God I worshipped in a tiny seminary chapel in the Dominican Republic is the God of St. Alban’s and Holy Comforter; the God of the Church. It’s only in outward appearances that things are different. What will never change is the fellowship and joy that comes from God.
