The Rev. Canon Mariclair Partee
Yes, that was the correct gospel reading for today! We have not pressed fast-forward and gone directly to Lent, we are instead taking a little bit of a tour of our liturgical seasons as we hear what is ordinarily a Lenten reading on this last Sunday of the season of Pentecost, the Feast of Christ the King, as preparation for Advent. Did you get all that? If you are visiting the Episcopal Church for the first time today, please, do not despair-we do not always speak in code!
Pentecost, longest season, today would have been the 30th Sunday in the season. Gail in the office, who posts my sermons to the blog, will be glad that it is the end of my very clever joke-46th Sunday in Pentecost, 73rd Sunday in Pentecost.
So we have finally come to the end of that longest of seasons, and here we are, the Sunday of Christ the King, the Sunday before Advent begins, with a bit of the Passion story-Jesus being interrogated by Pontius Pilate. What is going on?
I think that we are given this low-point, this very un-kingly moment in Jesus’ life for two reasons. One is to balance the description of kingship we get in the reading from Daniel:
That Prophet says:
As I watched,
thrones were set in place,
and an Ancient One took his throne,
his clothing was white as snow…
his throne was fiery flames,
and its wheels were burning fire.
A stream of fire issued
and flowed out from his presence.
A thousand thousands served him,
and ten thousand times ten thousand stood attending him.”
That is the sort of language we are used to in the describing of kings, that is the sort of majesty and opulence we associate with royalty. Royalty were considered God’s chosen rulers on earth, and so they were worthy of gold and silver and jewels and thousands upon thousands of servants. And so how much more stark is the contrast between this fantastical description and what we hear in the Gospel:
Jesus, God’s true son on Earth, handed over to a local governor and judged like a common criminal, interrogated about his kingship in this common context.
And that, I believe, is the second reason we are reading this particular passage from John today-because Jesus was in fact a king, and he came to turn the notion of kingship on its head. He was a king like no other-his kingdom was in heaven not in his earthly life, and so in this scene with Pilate we see Jesus redefine the very nature of kingship. This is very in line with his teachings during his life-the meek shall inherit the earth, the last shall be first-and the king must meet death to enter his kingdom.
I think that the wise people who designed our lectionary had all of that in mind when they set the readings for this day, and I think they also took this chance to inject a bit of drama into our Sunday. I say this because today is in fact the last day of Pentecost, which means that next Sunday is the first Sunday of Advent, which in another oddity of church time v. secular time is the beginning of our new year. Advent is the season of holy waiting, of prayer, study, fasting all in anticipation of the birth of our Savior at Christmas.
And so I think the readings today were chosen as a sort of bookend of the season to come-we see Jesus at the end of his earthly life as a bit of foreshadowing of what is to come in the life of this child we eagerly await.
In the last line of the Gospel passage Jesus says to Pilate:
"You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice."
If this Gospel was a movie we were watching in the theater, there would have been dramatic music-
And the camera would have cut away from the torch lit audience room in the imperial palace, and we suddenly would have found ourselves in dusk in Jerusalem, following a carpenter and his heavily pregnant wife as they walked from inn to inn in the dying light, seeking lodging, though none was to be found.
And our little film would end deep in the night, looking down on a manger as animals placidly chewed and a single lamp flickered, and the cry of a newborn King echoed in the night.
AMEN.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
24th Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 28
The Ven Richard I. Cluett
Imagine that you are living in a time of great conflict. The powers of chaos seem to rule. The temporal powers of nations and armies are warring around you. Revolutionary bands are mounting armed resistance to gain power over their own lives and freedom for their people. Chaos reigns. You expect the worst. You expect the end of life as you have known it. You are searching everywhere and anywhere for some way through this time. Some reason to hope.
You find yourself huddled in a cave with others and someone reads to you the words from the Book of Daniel. “The Lord spoke to Daniel in a vision and said, ‘… Michael, the great prince, the protector of your people, shall arise. There shall be a time of anguish, such as has never occurred since nations first came into existence. But at that time your people shall be delivered, everyone who is found written in the book. Many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever.’”
There will come a time when wars and rumors of wars will cease. There will be a time when swords are turned into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. There will come a time when Anguish will end.There will come a time when God will reign. And you live in hope, even in the worst of times.
A couple of centuries later, Jesus and his disciples stand in the courtyard of the magnificent Temple built by Solomon to the glory of God. But as we heard again last week it had become a place where the name of God was used to enrich a few at the expense of all others. Jesus had said, “They devour the houses of widows.”
And today he proclaims that the day will come when what had been perverted by greed will be laid waste, “Not one stone will be left here upon another, they will all be thrown down.” And that will be the beginning of the birth of the age in which truly God will reign.
And if you go to Jerusalem today and walk your way through the narrow streets of the Old City, you will eventually come to the site where the Temple stood. And you see that it has been thrown down, stone by stone, until all that is left is the wall of the foundation. Even if you have not seen it, you have heard of it. It is called The Wailing Wall.
As you stand looking down at it, you see devout people laying their pain, their worries and anxieties, laying their fears, placing the burdens of their hearts before God at the foot of the wall. Some literally placing them on little scraps of paper into the crevices between the remaining stones.
Leading up to that terrible time, in Mark’s Gospel we hear Jesus say that there will be many who would lead the people, including his disciples, astray. They would offer all kinds of false hopes. Perhaps claiming military engagement, or even promising eventual and complete victory. Some will try to speak with the voice of Jesus and get them to go “My way, this way, not that way. Go this way. Live according to my rules.”
And if you think this only happens in the rare cults we read about or see on television, I want to tell you that it has happened even in parishes and dioceses of the Episcopal Church in the late 20th and early 21st centuries in the Christian Era. For the past year my work has been care for those who have been so led astray, used, abused, and finally left behind.
It was not only in the time of Daniel, nor only in the time of Jess, or solely in the time of the evangelist Mark, or the author of the Letter to the Hebrews that these things occurred.
The issue was then in those dangerous times and is now, where and how do we hear the voice of Jesus? Whose voice do we listen to? Which call do we follow? How do we follow in his way? Where do we seek our salvation? Do we have any reason at all to hope?
Did you ever wonder why the Bible has all those stories, the kind that inspired the Left Behind Series? All the apocalyptic stories of the fall of the Temple and Armageddon? All the prophecies in both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures of doom and gloom?
This apocalyptic literature was written and has been preserved because they point to the worst circumstances of life. The authors weren’t prognosticating the future, no fortune telling, pointing to cataclysmic events that would be happening in the far and distant future. No reading of Tea leaves. They were reading the signs of their times. They were writing from the context of their lives. The stories were created out of their experience.
Have you known Anguish or Agony? Have you ever been truly afraid? Have you ever been terrorized by demons, or powers, or forces which you could not control? Have you ever been lost and not known which way to turn, or not known who, what or how to follow to get to safety? Have you suffered a great loss and been left feeling bereft, totally alone?
That’s what these stories are about. They are talking about the all too familiar perils and pitfalls of life, real life, all human life, our lives. Their subject is “When bad things happen to good people?”
They are a call, a reminder, a warning to stay close to the one who is the source of strength, the one whose way is true, the one with whose image we have been created, and redeemed and saved, and who is always present in every circumstance of life, and even we believe, present beyond this life, beyond the grave, the one in whom we can trust and in whom we will ultimately rest from all our labors, all our strivings, all our fears, all our wanderings, all our pain – and find perfect peace.
If you want to be reminded from time to time who that is, who has come in Jesus of Nazareth to announce and bring into being this new age, pull out your prayer book or your bible and slowly, quietly read Psalm 139 and receive the gift that is contained there for you. Listen.
I know you through and through - I know everything about you. The very hairs of your head I have numbered. Nothing in your life is unimportant to me, I have followed you through the years, and I have always loved you - even in your wanderings. I know every one of your problems. I know your need and your worries. And yes, I know all your sins. But I tell you again that I love you - not for what you have or haven't done - I love you for you. ~ With thanks to Mother Theresa.
There is a wonderful hymn that sings these truths:
Look around you, can you see?
Times are troubled, people grieve.
See the violence, feel the hardness,
all my people – weep with me.
Walk among them. I’ll go with you.
Reach out to them with my hands.
Suffer with me and together
we will serve them, help them stand.
Forgive us father; hear our prayer.
we would walk with you anywhere,
through your suffering – with forgiveness,
take your life into the world.
Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison.
Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.
The Good News in the Gospel of Jesus Christ is “God reigns – the Alpha and the Omega, which is and which was and which is to come, the Almighty." No matter what, God reigns.
The Ven Richard I. Cluett
Imagine that you are living in a time of great conflict. The powers of chaos seem to rule. The temporal powers of nations and armies are warring around you. Revolutionary bands are mounting armed resistance to gain power over their own lives and freedom for their people. Chaos reigns. You expect the worst. You expect the end of life as you have known it. You are searching everywhere and anywhere for some way through this time. Some reason to hope.
You find yourself huddled in a cave with others and someone reads to you the words from the Book of Daniel. “The Lord spoke to Daniel in a vision and said, ‘… Michael, the great prince, the protector of your people, shall arise. There shall be a time of anguish, such as has never occurred since nations first came into existence. But at that time your people shall be delivered, everyone who is found written in the book. Many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever.’”
There will come a time when wars and rumors of wars will cease. There will be a time when swords are turned into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. There will come a time when Anguish will end.There will come a time when God will reign. And you live in hope, even in the worst of times.
A couple of centuries later, Jesus and his disciples stand in the courtyard of the magnificent Temple built by Solomon to the glory of God. But as we heard again last week it had become a place where the name of God was used to enrich a few at the expense of all others. Jesus had said, “They devour the houses of widows.”
And today he proclaims that the day will come when what had been perverted by greed will be laid waste, “Not one stone will be left here upon another, they will all be thrown down.” And that will be the beginning of the birth of the age in which truly God will reign.
And if you go to Jerusalem today and walk your way through the narrow streets of the Old City, you will eventually come to the site where the Temple stood. And you see that it has been thrown down, stone by stone, until all that is left is the wall of the foundation. Even if you have not seen it, you have heard of it. It is called The Wailing Wall.
As you stand looking down at it, you see devout people laying their pain, their worries and anxieties, laying their fears, placing the burdens of their hearts before God at the foot of the wall. Some literally placing them on little scraps of paper into the crevices between the remaining stones.
Leading up to that terrible time, in Mark’s Gospel we hear Jesus say that there will be many who would lead the people, including his disciples, astray. They would offer all kinds of false hopes. Perhaps claiming military engagement, or even promising eventual and complete victory. Some will try to speak with the voice of Jesus and get them to go “My way, this way, not that way. Go this way. Live according to my rules.”
And if you think this only happens in the rare cults we read about or see on television, I want to tell you that it has happened even in parishes and dioceses of the Episcopal Church in the late 20th and early 21st centuries in the Christian Era. For the past year my work has been care for those who have been so led astray, used, abused, and finally left behind.
It was not only in the time of Daniel, nor only in the time of Jess, or solely in the time of the evangelist Mark, or the author of the Letter to the Hebrews that these things occurred.
The issue was then in those dangerous times and is now, where and how do we hear the voice of Jesus? Whose voice do we listen to? Which call do we follow? How do we follow in his way? Where do we seek our salvation? Do we have any reason at all to hope?
Did you ever wonder why the Bible has all those stories, the kind that inspired the Left Behind Series? All the apocalyptic stories of the fall of the Temple and Armageddon? All the prophecies in both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures of doom and gloom?
This apocalyptic literature was written and has been preserved because they point to the worst circumstances of life. The authors weren’t prognosticating the future, no fortune telling, pointing to cataclysmic events that would be happening in the far and distant future. No reading of Tea leaves. They were reading the signs of their times. They were writing from the context of their lives. The stories were created out of their experience.
Have you known Anguish or Agony? Have you ever been truly afraid? Have you ever been terrorized by demons, or powers, or forces which you could not control? Have you ever been lost and not known which way to turn, or not known who, what or how to follow to get to safety? Have you suffered a great loss and been left feeling bereft, totally alone?
That’s what these stories are about. They are talking about the all too familiar perils and pitfalls of life, real life, all human life, our lives. Their subject is “When bad things happen to good people?”
They are a call, a reminder, a warning to stay close to the one who is the source of strength, the one whose way is true, the one with whose image we have been created, and redeemed and saved, and who is always present in every circumstance of life, and even we believe, present beyond this life, beyond the grave, the one in whom we can trust and in whom we will ultimately rest from all our labors, all our strivings, all our fears, all our wanderings, all our pain – and find perfect peace.
If you want to be reminded from time to time who that is, who has come in Jesus of Nazareth to announce and bring into being this new age, pull out your prayer book or your bible and slowly, quietly read Psalm 139 and receive the gift that is contained there for you. Listen.
I know you through and through - I know everything about you. The very hairs of your head I have numbered. Nothing in your life is unimportant to me, I have followed you through the years, and I have always loved you - even in your wanderings. I know every one of your problems. I know your need and your worries. And yes, I know all your sins. But I tell you again that I love you - not for what you have or haven't done - I love you for you. ~ With thanks to Mother Theresa.
There is a wonderful hymn that sings these truths:
Look around you, can you see?
Times are troubled, people grieve.
See the violence, feel the hardness,
all my people – weep with me.
Walk among them. I’ll go with you.
Reach out to them with my hands.
Suffer with me and together
we will serve them, help them stand.
Forgive us father; hear our prayer.
we would walk with you anywhere,
through your suffering – with forgiveness,
take your life into the world.
Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison.
Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.
The Good News in the Gospel of Jesus Christ is “God reigns – the Alpha and the Omega, which is and which was and which is to come, the Almighty." No matter what, God reigns.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
All Saints' Day
The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa
I cannot help on days like this in our tradition, it is on All Saints Sunday, I cannot help but reflect on all of the Saints, the living and the dead. And, my reflection this week led me to remember and reflect upon those members of the Quilt Group here at the Cathedral, a ministry for many years shared by women of this church. Their quilt room was a sanctuary unto itself. Do not enter unless you bring with you the spirit and the gift and the talent and an occasional urge to smoke a cigarette. These were women some of you may remember, and if you’re newer to the Cathedral or visiting this day, these were women who were committed to being together each week for hours, sharing things in common, sharing this place in common, sharing their faith in God in common, sharing their lives in common, and sharing their passion for bringing together their abilities, their gifts, and their talents. Each year, indeed, they did bring together a beautiful patchwork of patterns that would be gifted to the Cathedral through the emergence of a beautiful quilt.
I remember early as a curate hoping and praying that some year one of those quilts would be for me. They were not.
I remember this group because one year, maybe because I was young and didn’t know any better or because God was bracing me, I agreed to drive them in the old church van to Lancaster to the quilt show. There, on that trip, I realized what it was all about. They loved each other, these women. They loved each other. They loved being together. They loved sharing their life stories together. They loved sharing their gifts and talents together. They just, plain and simply, loved each other. This, indeed, was a coming together of beautiful patterns. Beautiful patterns of their lives and their faith and the gifts that they had to offer one another.
This group, some are living now in the saints in heaven, and there are a few of you sitting out there, but on such days as All Saints, it is through relationships like this that we get a glimpse into what it is to be knit together as the Collect for this day speaks to us. That God has knit us together in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of Christ. This tradition of ours claims that we are knit together, both the living and the dead. That pattern of lives lived in history by those who have been created and gifted and sent, and those who are now living created and gifted and sent are, indeed, woven together in a fabric that emerges in Christ as a beautiful pattern.
This is such unique theological and existential worldview and is a gift to you and me. But the saints of God, the living and the dead, are patched together in a relationship that is alive, that is intimate, and is dynamic. Fred Beuchner reminds us that the power of this patchwork comes in the belief that in that communion even that death has sure enough put an end to some in this patchwork that death, sure enough, has not ended the relationships that we share with them. He says or however else those who have loved and died may now have come to life since. It is beyond a doubt that they still live in us. Memory is more than a looking back to a time that is no longer. It is a looking out into another kind of time altogether, where everything that ever was continues not just to be, but to grow and change with the life that is in it still. The people we loved; the people who loved us, the people who, for good or ill, taught us things, dead and gone they may be. But as we come to understand them in new ways, it is as though they come to understand us, and through them, we come to understand ourselves in new ways, too.
On this All Saints’ Day, you may bring with you to this communion, that is to you and me with one another, you may bring with you those to whom you are connected and in relationship with, those who you love and those who love and love you, who indeed are living with the saints of God in heaven. And you may, indeed, I pray, come to understand that this is an intimate patchwork that makes you, you, and makes us a community of faith. It makes us who we are.
I confess to you that I love movies. You probably knew that. I also confess that I’m really trying hard to stay away from any baseball analogies today. But you may remember the two versions of The Night at the Museum movies. Anybody see any of those? Don’t be afraid. The two movies that live in me are The Night at the Museum 1 and 2 and also Where the Wild Things Are, but I haven’t seen the movie. I’m more about the book. I think you know The Night at the Museum is a story that takes place at the Natural History Museum in New York, and the second one takes place there and at the Smithsonian in Washington. This fictitious story is about the magic that happens in those places at night and of which the night watchman is privileged to partake when the doors are shut, the sun goes down, the people leave, and all of those people of history living in those places come to life. It’s fantastic! And the adventures they have as those people come to life and sort out their places and conditions continuously is a wonderful thing.
I confess when the doors are shut and the lights are out and I just need a place to be that I occasionally walk over into the sanctuary and sit in the dark. And I begin to imagine what it would be if we could have a Night at the Cathedral. Maybe we will. I imagine the memorials that are on these walls, or the stitch work that exists in the cushions or in the kneelers, or the fingerprints of DNA that have been left over the centuries on all of the wonderful things that we see and touch and experience here. I wonder if all of those who came through that door, and that door, and who were baptized in that font, might come to life. I literally imagine what it might be to experience a party, a communion with the Sayres and the Packers and the Butlers and the Jeters and the Lindermans and the Potters and the Whiteheads, and there are a few for whom I have some really interesting questions, but I’ll keep them out of this right now. All of those names, all of those people throughout the years who came to this place to meet Jesus, they came to this place to be knit together in a communion. How wonderful it would be, in fact, on All Saints’ Day – how wonderful it is.
Not only do we remember in such a gathering as this, but we recognize that the relationships continue to inform and strengthen us. The pattern, the patchwork, continues to be made new. On this day, we will be delighted because there are more threads being woven into the patchwork as we once again go to that font, as have thousands literally. We celebrate a new beginning as we welcome the newly baptized, and as we insert them into the patchwork that is you and I. And now, Where the Wild Things Are...you see, I believe with all my heart, I believe that we are, indeed, knit together in a communion of saints, the living and the dead. On this day together we gather for that great banquet, and we gather together celebrating that which is the divine. That which is, ties us together and that is the craftsperson, the creator; the one who made us, who celebrates with us as we pour water. And, as we eat bread and wine and we share our faith and our lives, and I hear, as that story in Where the Wild Things Are, I hear the great call to our journey. Let the rumpus begin. Amen.
I cannot help on days like this in our tradition, it is on All Saints Sunday, I cannot help but reflect on all of the Saints, the living and the dead. And, my reflection this week led me to remember and reflect upon those members of the Quilt Group here at the Cathedral, a ministry for many years shared by women of this church. Their quilt room was a sanctuary unto itself. Do not enter unless you bring with you the spirit and the gift and the talent and an occasional urge to smoke a cigarette. These were women some of you may remember, and if you’re newer to the Cathedral or visiting this day, these were women who were committed to being together each week for hours, sharing things in common, sharing this place in common, sharing their faith in God in common, sharing their lives in common, and sharing their passion for bringing together their abilities, their gifts, and their talents. Each year, indeed, they did bring together a beautiful patchwork of patterns that would be gifted to the Cathedral through the emergence of a beautiful quilt.
I remember early as a curate hoping and praying that some year one of those quilts would be for me. They were not.
I remember this group because one year, maybe because I was young and didn’t know any better or because God was bracing me, I agreed to drive them in the old church van to Lancaster to the quilt show. There, on that trip, I realized what it was all about. They loved each other, these women. They loved each other. They loved being together. They loved sharing their life stories together. They loved sharing their gifts and talents together. They just, plain and simply, loved each other. This, indeed, was a coming together of beautiful patterns. Beautiful patterns of their lives and their faith and the gifts that they had to offer one another.
This group, some are living now in the saints in heaven, and there are a few of you sitting out there, but on such days as All Saints, it is through relationships like this that we get a glimpse into what it is to be knit together as the Collect for this day speaks to us. That God has knit us together in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of Christ. This tradition of ours claims that we are knit together, both the living and the dead. That pattern of lives lived in history by those who have been created and gifted and sent, and those who are now living created and gifted and sent are, indeed, woven together in a fabric that emerges in Christ as a beautiful pattern.
This is such unique theological and existential worldview and is a gift to you and me. But the saints of God, the living and the dead, are patched together in a relationship that is alive, that is intimate, and is dynamic. Fred Beuchner reminds us that the power of this patchwork comes in the belief that in that communion even that death has sure enough put an end to some in this patchwork that death, sure enough, has not ended the relationships that we share with them. He says or however else those who have loved and died may now have come to life since. It is beyond a doubt that they still live in us. Memory is more than a looking back to a time that is no longer. It is a looking out into another kind of time altogether, where everything that ever was continues not just to be, but to grow and change with the life that is in it still. The people we loved; the people who loved us, the people who, for good or ill, taught us things, dead and gone they may be. But as we come to understand them in new ways, it is as though they come to understand us, and through them, we come to understand ourselves in new ways, too.
On this All Saints’ Day, you may bring with you to this communion, that is to you and me with one another, you may bring with you those to whom you are connected and in relationship with, those who you love and those who love and love you, who indeed are living with the saints of God in heaven. And you may, indeed, I pray, come to understand that this is an intimate patchwork that makes you, you, and makes us a community of faith. It makes us who we are.
I confess to you that I love movies. You probably knew that. I also confess that I’m really trying hard to stay away from any baseball analogies today. But you may remember the two versions of The Night at the Museum movies. Anybody see any of those? Don’t be afraid. The two movies that live in me are The Night at the Museum 1 and 2 and also Where the Wild Things Are, but I haven’t seen the movie. I’m more about the book. I think you know The Night at the Museum is a story that takes place at the Natural History Museum in New York, and the second one takes place there and at the Smithsonian in Washington. This fictitious story is about the magic that happens in those places at night and of which the night watchman is privileged to partake when the doors are shut, the sun goes down, the people leave, and all of those people of history living in those places come to life. It’s fantastic! And the adventures they have as those people come to life and sort out their places and conditions continuously is a wonderful thing.
I confess when the doors are shut and the lights are out and I just need a place to be that I occasionally walk over into the sanctuary and sit in the dark. And I begin to imagine what it would be if we could have a Night at the Cathedral. Maybe we will. I imagine the memorials that are on these walls, or the stitch work that exists in the cushions or in the kneelers, or the fingerprints of DNA that have been left over the centuries on all of the wonderful things that we see and touch and experience here. I wonder if all of those who came through that door, and that door, and who were baptized in that font, might come to life. I literally imagine what it might be to experience a party, a communion with the Sayres and the Packers and the Butlers and the Jeters and the Lindermans and the Potters and the Whiteheads, and there are a few for whom I have some really interesting questions, but I’ll keep them out of this right now. All of those names, all of those people throughout the years who came to this place to meet Jesus, they came to this place to be knit together in a communion. How wonderful it would be, in fact, on All Saints’ Day – how wonderful it is.
Not only do we remember in such a gathering as this, but we recognize that the relationships continue to inform and strengthen us. The pattern, the patchwork, continues to be made new. On this day, we will be delighted because there are more threads being woven into the patchwork as we once again go to that font, as have thousands literally. We celebrate a new beginning as we welcome the newly baptized, and as we insert them into the patchwork that is you and I. And now, Where the Wild Things Are...you see, I believe with all my heart, I believe that we are, indeed, knit together in a communion of saints, the living and the dead. On this day together we gather for that great banquet, and we gather together celebrating that which is the divine. That which is, ties us together and that is the craftsperson, the creator; the one who made us, who celebrates with us as we pour water. And, as we eat bread and wine and we share our faith and our lives, and I hear, as that story in Where the Wild Things Are, I hear the great call to our journey. Let the rumpus begin. Amen.
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