Sermon – John 13:1-17, 31b-35, MT, YB, April 1, 2021

Tags

absence, church, digital, dignity, evensong, experts, grief, Holy Week, Jesus, love, Maundy Thursday, pandemic, serve, service, tension

One of the things I have learned over the years is the mixed blessing of offering pastoral care from personal experience.  The mother who lost an adult child both feels gratified to help someone else going through the same situation and angry that she is now an expert in grieving the loss of an adult child.  The man who has been through addiction is honored to help someone else through addition – and yet wishes he were not so personally knowledgeable.  The divorcee talking to a dear friend whose marriage has recently crumbled shares, “Welcome to the club you never wanted to belong to.”

As we started thinking about how to honor Maundy Thursday in a pandemic when many of the things we would normally do on this night are forbidden, we thought the same:  we already know how to do this.  We learned last year that when we cannot experience the intimacy of footwashing, the grief of the last holy meal before Easter, the dimming of the lights, the stripping of the altar, and walking out of this space in silence, turning to a totally different liturgy can create another kind of comfort.  We turn to Evensong in the hopes that another ancient tradition, one the Church celebrates almost everyday in the Cathedrals, Minsters, and colleges of the Mother Church in England, will ease the mourning of yet another loss during this time of pandemic.

But being experts in how to cope in a pandemic – either liturgically, emotionally, or spiritually – does not make the grief any easier.  We still feel the absence of what has been – almost as much as we feel the pending absence of Jesus when we will lay him in a tomb tomorrow.  Having figured out how connect with our community digitally, enjoying seeing people’s names pop up on Facebook, and loving hearing the sounds of our Choral Scholars coming through our TVs and laptops on YouTube, certainly has sufficed in these days – and in fact has brought many people into Hickory Neck who had never experienced Hickory Neck before.  But all of that does not negate our grief that a year later we are still in this liminal time of “not yet.”

So, what do we do with this internal tension that we are not yet where we are going, and certainly not fully who we have been?  I like to look at Jesus in our gospel lesson tonight.  Jesus knew what was coming on this night too.  He knew Judas, his beloved companion on his pilgrimage, was going to betray him.  He knew great tragedy was coming, abandonment by the other disciples would happen, and humiliation, pain, and death were inevitable.  Sitting in the upper room, in the tension of no longer being just a rabbi and not yet the risen Messiah, Jesus could have easily wallowed in grief.  Instead, in that overcrowded, tense upper room, Jesus gets up, takes off his outer robe, and ties a towel around his waist.  In the face of pending doom and tremendous transformation, Jesus bends down, and washes feet.  When the world is in chaos, Jesus does the work of humble service, of respecting the dignity of others, of an everyday deed of loving his neighbor.

We cannot possibly know when church will begin to feel familiar and comfortable.  We do not know which changes we have experienced in the last year will become permanent.  We cannot know the lasting impact of this pandemic on the fabric of our lives.  But we do know what Jesus says tonight.  In the face of the unknown, Jesus says to do two things:  to serve others as he served his disciples and to love one another.  Jesus makes everything quite simple tonight.  In the face of disorienting new realities Jesus says: serve and love. That is our invitation in this most sacred week – when our grief and frustration are sometimes paralyzing, engaging in the work of serving and loving are the actions that will give us strength for the days and weeks ahead.  Amen.

Sermon – 1 Samuel 3.1-20, E2, YB (Annual Meeting), January 17, 2020

Tags

action, creativity, difficult, God, Here I Am, Hineni, journey, listening, pandemic, Samuel, Sermon, service, technology

When I was in seminary, our Old Testament Professor would take roll every class.  She told us at the beginning of the semester we could either answer with, “Here,” “Present,” or if we were really bold, “Hineni,” which is the Hebrew word for “Here I am.”  Most of us giggled and several of us used the term throughout the semester.  But what I am not sure any of us realized fully was saying hineni was not simply about practicing our Biblical Hebrew or even taking attendance.  As one scholar explains, the word hineni connotes “a willingness to respond with action to one’s master.”[i]  So all those times we have heard those words uttered in Holy Scripture, “Here I am,” from Samuel, Moses, Abraham, Jacob, to Mary, we are not simply witnessing God taking attendance.  We are witnessing a weighty exchange: from the one who utters the words being willing to respond with action, to the response God offers:  a journey of difficult service.[ii]

As we gather for our Annual Meeting today, I am keenly aware of how much this has been a year of saying hineni to God.  At the beginning of 2020, showing up for God was easy.  We celebrated the ministry of our curate, we welcomed with gusto Presiding Bishop Curry’s message of love, we walked as pilgrims through the music and stones of the Mother Church in England, we sang the spirituals that have accompanied our black brothers and sisters for centuries.  Saying hineni was easy then.

Saying hineni was a lot harder when a pandemic began ravaging our nation, when our buildings closed and all our ministries had to totally transform within days’ notice, when weeks turned to months of separation and mourning for all we missed, when our black brothers and sisters called us to task about the impact of institutional racism in our country, and when political trauma demanded we define our Christian identity.  Saying hineni to God this year has indeed been an experience of being invited into a journey of difficult service.

But saying hineni this year has also been an experience is seeing the heretofore inconceivable.  We went from being a church with zero commitment to broadcasting our services to being a church with daily online worship.  We went from being a church where homebound members only saw an occasional visit to being a church where our homebound could see faces online they know not just in worship, but in formation and fellowship.  We went from being a church who put the onus on others to walk through our church doors to get to know us, to being a church who did drive-by birthday celebrations, online live auctions, and helping newcomers “meet us” without actually meeting us in a what we thought was the best way. 

 When Samuel, in a sleepy, confused stupor says hineni to God three times, he has no idea what is coming.  He is not a priest, he does not know that his priestly mentor will be replaced by himself, he does not know he will anoint kings, take away kingly power, and eventually watch his own sons fail as Eli’s do.  And yet, when Eli helps Samuel understand what he is to do, Samuel responds the fourth time, “Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.”  His response is no longer a sleepy, obligatory response of action, but is a confident, mature embracing of the difficult, but incredible road ahead.

We are entering into another year where God is calling our name too.  The arrival of vaccines at some point this year does not mean as we eventually regather we will simply go “back to normal.”  No, when God calls our name this year, God is inviting us to continue saying hineni to this new journey we are on – one where we continue being committed to sharing the gospel using all the technological gifts at our disposal, where we consider the new ways God has showed us to reach our neighbors in need, where we witness to the unchurched, and where we praise God for the gift of creativity that has always been our gift here at Hickory Neck – and then use that creativity to keep saying hineni to God.  As we look forward to this year, we do not simply sing hineni, “Here I am Lord.”  We also boldly say, “Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.”  Amen.

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[i] Cory Driver, “Commentary on 1 Samuel 3:1-10 [11-20]” January 17, 2021, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/second-sunday-after-epiphany-2/commentary-on-1-samuel-31-10-11-20-6 on January 14, 2021.

[ii] Driver.

On Bringing the Church and World Together…

Tags

bless, church, community, fellowship, holy, identity, rogation, sacred, service, welcome, world

Photo credit:  http://stas.org/en/media/photos/rogation-days-2016-15612

This coming Sunday at Hickory Neck, we will be adding a procession and blessing before our service begins in honor of Rogation Days.  Traditionally, Rogation Days are the three days before Ascension Day during which the litany is said as an act of intercession. In England, Rogation Days were associated with the blessing of the fields at planting, and in the United States they have been associated with rural life, agriculture and fishing, commerce and industry, and the stewardship of creation.[i]  For Hickory Neck, we are using this year’s Rogation Days to give thanks for rainwater collection barrels built for our Community Garden by a Boy Scout in our parish.  We will also bless the Garden, praying for a fruitful harvest for our parishioners and neighbors who use the gardens this year.

What I love about this upcoming event is that it represents a confluence of everything about which the church should be.  Our Community Garden has long been an example of using our property as a way to bless and welcome others.  At the garden, I see strangers become friends, people planting and tending in sacred silence, and the fruits of labor shared with one another.  Meanwhile, it has been a joy to watch our parishioner take leadership of an Eagle Scout project that benefits the church, the community, and his troop.  Watching our parishioner bring his faith community and his service community together has been a tremendous witness to each of us about how to make connections between the various parts of our lives.  And marking Rogation Days with liturgy is the church’s way of making the everyday parts of our lives sacred.  We take the labor of our hands, the fellowship of friends and strangers, the bounty of creation, and we name it all as holy.

Often when people think about church, they think about the building and the people who regularly attend worship services on Sundays.  But the church is much more about what the faith community does outside of the walls of the building, and how the community uses the blessing of its property to bless others.  This Sunday, we celebrate the ways in which we are living into the fullness of our identity, while also challenging ourselves to ever be outwardly-minded in our ministry.  I hope you will join us, but mostly, I hope you will invite a friend as we celebrate the ways in which the blessing of our community flows out into the world!

Rainwater Collection Barrels Installation.  Photo credit:  Paula Simmons.  Permission required for reuse.

 

[i] Donald S. Armentrout and Robert Boak Slocum, eds., An Episcopal Dictionary of the Church:  A User-Friendly Reference for Episcopalians, “Rogation Days,” as found at https://www.episcopalchurch.org/library/glossary/rogation-days on May 1, 2018.

Homily – 1 Peter 5.1-4, George Herbert, February 27, 2014

Tags

call, faithful, George Herbert, God, homily, priest, service

Today we honor George Herbert, a priest and poet in the church.  Herbert was born in 1593 to a well-connected family in England.  Though he flirted with politics, he eventually turned to the church, becoming a priest age 33.  Two things are notable about Herbert.  First he is well-known for his poetry, some of which became hymns.  He influenced many other poets, as his poems moved people on issues of prayer and the spiritual life.  Herbert was also well known for his devotion and service to others.  His approach toward life and ministry inspired many.  In fact, his words, “Nothing is little in God’s service,” remind Christians again and again that everything in daily life, small or great, can be a means of serving and worshiping God.  When talking about his poetry, Herbert seemed to meld the two passions when he wrote about his poems as being “a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my soul, before I could submit mine to the will of Jesus my master, in whose service I have found perfect freedom.”

What Herbert reminds us of today is the sacred nature of all our calls.  Sometimes, we do not feel comfortable using “call” language for what we do on an everyday basis.  In fact, we read passages like the one from first Peter, and we presume that only clergy, or “elders,” have a call.  Though first Peter is talking about how a spiritual leader should lead, we cannot assume we are exempt from similar instructions.  In fact, I might argue that the call that each of you live out in the world is far greater than the call I live in my position.  You have the much together jobs of witnessing in everyday life without such clear markers of faith and devotion like a collar.  And you have the ability to reach way more people that I could ever hope to because unlike what many people assume about me, you are actually “normal.”

What first Peter and George Herbert would both like us to see is that all of us have kingdom work to do, and our aim is to do that work faithfully and with enthusiastic hearts.  Herbert only lived to be 40 years old, and yet one of the things we honor is the way in which he was a faithful, humble, enthusiastic priest – not a bishop, or martyr, or leader of some great movement.  He was just a parish priest who knew that nothing is little in God’s service.  As we celebrate his passion for everyday life and everyday call, we too are emboldened by knowing that fulfilling our calls is not “little” in God’s service.  Amen.