Sunday December 16th

The 3^rd Sunday of Advent
December 16, 2012
The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

Good morning!  So I start with a confession and the confession is that if ever there was a weekend where I enter this pulpit just a little unsteady and unsure it’s today.  You want to know that on Friday morning I set about my discipline of trying . . .  well actually Thursday night I set about a discipline of beginning to prayerfully consider what might be preached this day and then Friday morning the circumstances of that day quite frankly turned the page to another place.

So it’s the third Sunday of Advent in our ritual, we being a ritual people.  The third Sunday of Advent the scripture is and particularly the Old Testament and the canticle and the New Testament reading are about rejoicing.  The hymn, the gospel hymn, we just sang, “Life Up Your Hearts Rejoice.”   The third Sunday of Advent we light the pink candle or the rose-colored candle and in the Advent ritual, this is the Sunday we often call stir-up Sunday because of the collect that we pray today, or, rejoice Sunday.  And, clearly that’s just not going to do today.  That just doesn’t work.  It just doesn’t fit.  It’s not real life today.

So I just have a few words because quite frankly as I struggle to bring speech I’m quite aware of Walter Bruggerman who said we often come to church to bring to speech our pain--and I know that’s exactly where we are today.  What I want to be careful about today is my words, so I want them to be less rather than more.  I want them to be less because I don’t want to add to the fervor of the anxiety and the shock that is.  I’ve intentionally not watched a lot of news.  I have seen a few things posted and written and I want to be careful not to offer any platitudes and I want to be more than careful not to grind any political ax.  But, instead I just want to stand with you my brothers and sisters of the light and say that with you our hearts are broken because none of us can begin to wrap ourselves around the events of what happened among the innocents on Friday in Newtown, Connecticut.  And, in fact, in our liturgical life we have left, we have been pulled from the third Sunday in Advent to that day that we remember a few days after the feast of the incarnation, that is the feast The Remembrance of the Holy Innocents that day when we remember Herod’s slaughtering  of the children.  The truth of the matter is that it’s a dark dark day.  The truth of the matter is, and I wish it were different, God knows we cry out that it would be different and God knows that we hope that it will be different.  But the truth of the matter is every day in this sinful and broken world, there are innocents losing their lives, every day. It has come abruptly to us and it has come in great awfulness to us, in a small suburban town in Connecticut.  But here’s the word, if there’s one word, the one word is that we, brothers and sisters, are the children of the light.  And if there’s any time ever for us to make our journey together through this Advent season where we slowly light the candles in the shadows of darkness so that they will grow brighter until that bright and shining star settle over God’s promise to us that will visit in that crèche that God’s very being will be with us.  Now is the time to be children of the light again.  Because we’re people of the incarnation our hearts are broken as we can only begin to imagine the horror that is for those families in Connecticut.  But let your heart be broken.  Break open your heart.  And if ever there was a time when you, because I know this is true for many of you—whenever there’s been a time for you when you have tasted a bit of salvation in your darkest hour through the prayers, through the support, through the love of strangers and friends, if you have tasted a bit of salvation in your darkest hour, then shine that light of salvation this day for those who were connected to, even in Connecticut.  If ever there is a time for us to reach out and grab on to what we know and what we trust and that is one another, this is it. 

So my simple message to you in this dark dark time is please find the courage to continue to be the children of light.  And, if there is brokenness in your world or in a relationship, then shine a little light there today.  And when you go to bed each night, drop to your knees and pray prayers of healing and hope for people you might not even know.  Because it’s their darkest hour.  And, if you can carry a bit of hope and light for them now until they can find it on their own through God’s grace and mercy.  And pray it.  And be it.  Because we can’t find words to appropriately speak about such things, come today at 4 o’clock and if we can’t say it let’s sing it.  Come and join in the singing of the Messiah.  Place our hope in the singing of those songs.  And if you want, there is a group meeting later today between 5 and 5:30 over at Central Moravian Church on the green and bring a candle and light it.  A simple candle of hope.  Because that’s what we need to say to each other in difficult times.  Be children of the light.  That’s all we can do.  Because our hearts break on this day, let us be quite and silent and then let us welcome our choir who wishes to sing a song of God’s grace and tears as they shed. 

Amen.

Not the End of the World

Not the End of the World

Proper 28B    Hebrews 10:11-14, 19-25, Mark 13:1-8

November 18, 2012

The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch

Hear. Read. Mark. Learn. Inwardly digest.

Our collect today reminds us of the gift of our Holy Scriptures. I suspect our ancestors in the Episcopal tradition wrote this prayer because they knew that even faithful people don’t always pay close attention to what scripture has to offer. And today’s reading is known for being difficult. In fact, this passage from Mark’s Gospel even has it’s own name: the Little Apocalypse. So, perhaps especially it is useful for us to pray, as those who have gone before us have, that we may hear, read, mark and inwardly digest the Good News that Jesus has to offer. 

I remember encountering particular moments of anguish as a young adolescent: when I was rejected by a friend, or mortified by some public humiliation, or failed at an important task. And I remember what my mother often said, “It’s not the end of the world.”  These were meant to be words of comfort—and to give me a little perspective. I believe she wanted to remind me that no matter how awful I thought the situation was. it was not as bad as it seemed. Or even if it was that bad, there would still be life after it.

I think in the Christian life these words are worth giving some more thought. Why would we, as Christians, assure one another that bad times are not the end of the world? Perhaps because the end of the world is, after all, part of our story. And part of God’s story. And we know at some level that God’s story ends in triumph and glory. Who told us the world was going to end in fear, despair and destruction?  The end of the world for Christians is not death and destruction, but life and hope.

Jesus’ friends asked him what the end of the world will be like and Jesus tells them not to be fooled.  Beware that no one leads you astray. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but that it not it. Nation will rise against nation, there will be earthquakes and famines. But that is not the end of the world either. This is not the end, but just the beginning. The beginning of what? Of birth. Of new life.

For those of us in God’s story—in other words, for all of creation—the end of the world is nothing less than life. Why else do you think that Jesus not only died, but destroyed death and made all of creation new? As Christians we can look to the end of the world in hope, because it means the completion of God’s creation. It means rest and beauty and glory. For Christians, the end of the world is not to be feared, but to be celebrated.

This has to do with Christian hope. What is the Christian hope? The Christian hope is to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life. The Christian hope is to await the coming of Christ in glory. The Christian hope is to anticipate the completion of God’s purpose for the world. [The Book of Common Prayer, Catechism p. 862]

We seem to want to know, like the disciples wanted to know, when it will come and what it will look like. Why? Perhaps so we can be prepared. But Jesus’s point it this: First, this is on God’s time, not ours. We cannot know the when. Second, it is not about wars and destruction. Nevertheless, we are asked to be prepared. But the preparation is not about hedging our bets. The Christian hope is to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life.  We are not to live in anxiety, but in the assurance of Gods’ love for us. We are asked to be ready, to be prepared all the time for the coming of Christ in glory. And we are ready when we exercise our Christian hope.

As it says in Hebrews, let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful. We are to confess our hope. And let us consider how to provoke on another to love and good deeds. Part of living in hope is to provoke one another to acts of love and good deeds. To provoke means to stimulate or incite. We usually associate provoking with making someone annoyed or angry. But it comes from the Latin vocare:  to call forth. We live in Christian hope when we call forth in ourselves and one another simple acts of kindness. Perhaps this is the stance to take not only in times and places when it seems like the world is falling apart (or that our lives are barren or just plain difficult), but in all times and in all places. As preacher David Lose puts it, “We are not called simply to live our lives with no thought of God or neighbor but keenly looking for the sign of God’s imminent coming so that we can clean up our act. Rather, we are called to live always anticipating the activity of God. * 

As we enter the season of Advent, we will hear the message loud and clear to get ready, to be prepared, be alert for the Kingdom of God is at hand. We are meant to be alert and ready at all times, because God is acting and loving us at all times. David Lose continues, “Because when you live looking for the activity of God here and now, you begin to see it. In an act of kindness of a friend, in an opportunity to help another, in the outreach ministry of a congregation, in the chance to listen deeply to the hurt of another. God shows up in all kinds of places, working with us, for us, through us, and in us. You just have to look.

Let us go forth, anticipating the end of the world, and provoking acts of love.

*from the blog Working Preacher, by David Lose, homiletics professor at Luther Seminary, St. Paul, MN.

Bishop Marshall's Sunday Sesquicentennial Sermon

Nativity at 150
Sermon by Bishop Paul Marshall
Sunday, Nov. 4, 2012
It has been a week that demonstrates who the people of Nativity are. Patiently preparing for the worst, hoping for the best, and when trouble came, handling it with grace and charm. It is a good celebration of a great church.
During the week, we have been given envelopes from children in the Sunday School of your daughter church to help with relief on the south side, and I was deeply touched by their generosity, because the north side has turned out to have its own problems. I have a little gift of my own later, from a bank vault in Wilkes-Barre: it’s a piece of wood from the first structure in Bethlehem, probably the first place God was praised here.
If we think about the dozens and dozens of people who prepared this weekend, culminating a year’s celebration, it is important to hold in on mind the big question, why do it? There are old churches all over the land, many for sale.
The answer is, of course, we celebrate Nativity because it is still doing its ministry, doing it creatively, faithfully, and in service to Christ and his flock.
What kind of a message did it send to the community to build a house of God in 1862, a year of death, a year when The United States was losing a war on its own soil? A number of future rectors and lay people would have seen service in that terrible war. Can you imaging their relief to come inside the shelter of this church in 1865, giving thanks for their safety, thanks for their country, and shedding before God quiet tears for those who did not make it back with them. Again and again in Nativity’s history it has been a safe place for widows and veterans to pray and give thanks. And in no time of major conflict has Nativity failed to remember those who bear their country’s arms.
To build a church in 1862 was an act of faith and an act of service.
As we maintain and gratefully receive what our ancestors have placed here, we may well ask what is next. We have all been doing our part to preserve this wonderful place. Why?
Ordinarily I would say that the gospel passage is not so great for ALL Saints Sunday, but that’s another sermon, and here we have it and it meets our purposes very well.
Jesus’s friend is ill and he mysteriously takes his time in getting to the sickbed, announcing at one point, “our friend Lazarus is dead.”  When he shows up, sure enough, his friend Lazarus is not sick, but like a certain Norwegian parrot, is completely dead. They’ve wrapped him in burial sheets, laid him in the tomb, and covered it with rocks so the odors stay in and the robbers stay out.
Jesus comes before the tomb of his friend and cries. Some are unimpressed because he had plenty of notice to heal him, his friend. He tells them to open the tomb. Despite their fear of odor, they obey Jesus. And with a loud shout, “Lazarus come out of that tomb.”
If you had a hard time imagining Blind Bartimaeus stumbling up blind to find Jesus, this week we are to imagine a man tied hand and foot with his face totally covered responding to that compelling voice.
WHAT HAS TO HAPPEN? For the healing to be of any use to him, the community has to unbind him. They must set him free so he can stumble out into the sunshine to live out the miracle.
Do you know that the Hill-to-Hill Bridge was lined up with the cross on Nativity? Everyday thousands of aching people aim their cars needing Jesus to heal them and needing us to do the perhaps longer job of unbinding them—and they don’t know or have forgotten how to ask. You do know that from either end of that bridge you can walk to hovels where people are entombed in violence, drugs, and even murder. The skilled care they get from our partners in ministry at New Bethany and Trinity may be their only chance to come out of those tombs. We can be there for them with our cash and with our volunteer time.
What about our own Lazarus moments? I remember when my younger brother died in 1995, just over a month before the dog and pony show—now they call it walk-about—in this diocese. In the weeks after Ron’s death, I was as good as dead. I showed up from the Yale chapel because it was my job, but I was paralyzed with grief. I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t talk, I was mostly hurt and hugely angry. Then I realized two things. The real reason I came to church was to be hurt and hugely angry—there was no other place big enough to take it.  Eventually I realized that my stony silence in worship was not merely being tolerated by those around me: they were loving me, believing for me, singing for me, and at those moment when I thought I would choke on the bread and wine, they were receiving Christ for me.
Slowly I was exhumed by followers of Jesus, who offered me not one word of advice, but who loved me and lent me their faith. Talk would come much later.
That is one way the church has saved me—through its ritual and those who share it. Others are saved by having a place to come to be counseled, absolved, or to knit, teach, guide youth, sing in the choir, and dozens of other ways to get, like Lazarus, less tightly wrapped and closer to the love of Jesus Christ.
Just think of how many new ways there will be to do that in the next 50 years in this house! I wasn’t kidding the children; their ministries may be much different, yet showing the love of the same Jesus Christ.
I want to give you something: lines from Psalm 84: “How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts! Happy are they who dwell in your house! They will always be praising you. Happy are the people whose strength is in you: whose hearts are set on the pilgrims’ way.” May those next 50 years be an astounding pilgrimage.

Bishop Marshall's Sesquicentennial Evensong Sermon

Rejoice in the Lamb
At the sesquicentennial celebration
of the Cathedral Church of the Nativity
Friday, November 2, 2012
First, a word for those of you not familiar with Evensong. There is no more appropriate way to begin these sesquicentennial celebrations than with choral evensong. Since 1549, Anglicanism’s unique contribution to protestant life has been daily morning prayer and daily evensong with sermon. In many churches, especially in England and Africa, this tradition lives, and you still find it in many North American and Antipodean cities and in traditional churches everywhere. Just across the river from us, Trinity, Bethlehem, prays the office day-in and day-out, with a goodly congregation. Clergy and many lay people mark their day with these two services. Masterpiece Theatre fans know evening prayer is the core of the day at Oxford and Cambridge.
Morning and evening prayer are our backbone way marking the day as lived with God. Yet these services are very simple stuff, a bit of the psalms, lessons and canticles, and prayers. There can be a hymn added at the end. The optional addition, in Cranmer’s immemorial words, is that “in quires and places where they sing” there can be an anthem. And tonight we are grateful to have one of our region’s great and historic choirs sing the service and add an anthem in this hallowed place, adding a moment of exceptional beauty to a form of daily worship most of us know privately or in small groups.
Easily the worst aspect of theatre or music in the some parts of the country, besides unearned standing ovations, is the playing of the serious for laughs--a kind of aesthetic blasphemy in the name of amusing the groundlings.
So I want to assure you solemnly, that when Kit Smart wrote of “my cat Joeffrey,” he was not inviting knowing chuckle or laughter from cat fanciers. He was invoking his only companion in solitary confinement in fashioning the praise of God. He wanted every creature, in fact, every letter of the alphabet, assembled in that praise.
Not that he was always in prision. Christopher Smart, who wrote several of the hymns now in our hymnal, spent most of his life as a well-recognized poet, was the mainstay of two magazines, winner of multiple awards at Cambridge, translator of ancient texts, and so on. “And so on,” includes devoted high Church Christian. He died in debtors prison in 1771. Most of his works were well known, but the 32 manuscript pages, Jubliate Agno, from which a tiny selection we know as “Rejoice in the Lamb,” were published only in 1939. Much of them were written in what we would euphemistically term a mental hospital.
That is, late in his life Smart suffered from something between bi-polar disorder and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, either one of which our age would treat with meds, and he spent some time in solitary in a hospital that makes Nurse Ratchett look like Florence Nightingale. There he wrote much of Julbilate Agno, and it is easily worth your time to look the whole thing up on Google because it asks a big question. It asks a question that reaffirms our gathering in worship and provides our anthem something more profound than program notes. It asks, how do you keep it together when your mind is tortured?
Our anthem was commissioned by a parish priest for the fiftieth anniversary of his parish, a priest who went on to commission other important music, architecture, and sculpture.
Why an anniversary piece from the near-ravings of an Obsessive-Compulsive?
Benjamin Britten was, as we know from pieces like his War Requiem, on the side of the outsider, but I think there was more
First, I think, the text puts us to shame. Most of us don’t know the Bible well enough get most of the text’s allusions, let alone to assemble a prayer-rave like Smart’s. When Smart fell ill, he had something to fall back on. When Muslims call us people of the book, it’s an exaggerated compliment. Smart had the resources to summon Biblical figures to surround him like angels, archangels, all the company of heaven in the time when he needed company the most. If all the heroes you can recall are the starting pitchers of the Phillies for the last fourteen years when you are tormented, Christopher Smart is your man when you want to turn insomnia into prayer. It's All Saints—get to known them and invoke their prayers. It is never too late to learn the story in the Book that shapes our language and civilization.
Let’s come back to Cat Joeffrey. In context, he appears with all the creatures of God summoned to praise their maker. But there is drama, too. In the next lines, Joeffrey has attacked a little lady mouse, and her mate stands defiantly between Joeffrey and his prey, and Smart praises his valour, too. The entire order of nature is invoked to praise God. For the sake of his own sanity, Smart has found a way of seeing the world.
All of this is to say that Smart shows the Christian soul how to be mad, or at least, how to endure the mad moment. Who of us has not known racing thoughts, insomnia, the occasional obsession about an upcoming wedding? What if, on those moments we called together everything that we know, everything that has breath and everything that doesn’t -- to praise the Lord.
Ultimately Smart finds refuge in identifying with Jesus, who was also judged, rejected, and considered mad. Smart knew well the Bible’s claim that we have in Jesus a high priest who can truly sympathize with us, and relied on that.
Kit Smart lived in the world of Isaac Newton, so his imaginative possibilities were limited by modern standards. We who live in a post-Einstein, post-Heisenberg, Post-Steve Jobs and even Post-Harry Potter world have minds inhabited by so many dimensions, so many characters, so many possibilities. What would be our comforts, our solace in our waking and sleeping hours if like the Song of the Three Young Men or Smart’s raving we collected from all that populates our mind the voices that praise God and in doing so give us the courage to go on? Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord: Praise ye the Lord.
My one wish for Nativity is that it remains a house where all people can praise God while they have their being, with whatever voice God gives them.

Pentecost 20
October 14, 2012
The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

I’m a life-long baseball fan.  I’m relatively certain that the first baseball game that I attended that I have any awareness of it all I was at the latter part of my third year of life.  So that means, if you do the math, that I have been a baseball fan for going on forty-five years.  I played baseball as a child and in high school.  But I have probably attended more baseball games and witnessed more innings played than I can even imagine calculating.  One might describe me as a knowledgeable good baseball fan.  I know all the rules.  I know how the game is played.  I love the game because of its nuances.  I know all the unspoken rules.  I can watch a game and I, of course, can explain to my neighbor how the manager should be managing differently.  And certainly how the second baseman should be playing that position differently.  Throughout the years I have had an affection grow for baseball.  It didn’t hurt that my father reinforced that affection with his own affection for baseball.  The same is true for my brothers. I have a little show and tell; I have gathered some prized possessions out of that affection.  Baseballs.  This one is autographed by Tony Taylor.  You get a quarter from me if you know who Tony Taylor was.   Tony Taylor played second base for the Philadelphia Phillies when I was a wee child.  Then we have this baseball.  A particular prized position because this is one of the first baseballs that my father gave to me and it says to Tony.  That’s me.  Best wishes, Duke Snider.  By that reaction I see that some of you know who Duke Snider is;   Hall of Famer. The next baseball I have is autographed by Robin Roberts, yet another Hall of Famer who died recently.  There are other baseballs in this collection of prized possessions.  My father was a collector and his collection is immense.  Over the years he handed those baseballs off to me and then to my children.  I chose not to raid my children’s rooms early this morning and bring some of their collection—which I don’t think is quite become prized for them yet.  But, perhaps over time. 

I belabor my story with this show and tell only because I wanted to show off my prized possessions that come out of a deep affection for baseball.  In recent years as I have been going to baseball games. I have intellectually tried to wrap myself around the statistical possibility that I could have attended as many innings of baseball that I have attended and never come close to a foul ball.  You know, catching one of these of my very own.  One that I could add to the collection and say this is the one I caught at that game hit by that player.  I’ve never even come close to a foul ball.  Until about six weeks ago.  When neighbors of mine, called me on a whim because they had an extra ticket to a baseball game and they invited me to go.  Now these are acquaintances, not good baseball friends, but acquaintances who called me on a whim because as one explained, they understood me to be  “A good baseball man.”  I was happy to accept and  I got in the car and we spent all of our time talking baseball.   I was delighted to find that not only was I going to attend yet another baseball game but I had indeed accepted the right invitation because I was about to sit in the “right”place, if you know what I mean.  In a section of the stadium I only ever dreamed about going.  The section of the stadium that I either sat way up and looked down upon trying to see what they were doing down there or sat somewhere else looking afar wondering what it’s like to sit there.  I entered that expanse of beauty with all the amenities offered, I indeed was in baseball heaven. I took my seat in the front row, second level, and I began to watch the game with my beverage of choice in hand.  My companions and I talked through the whole game.  We shared stories about how the game is supposed to be played., about how the Phillies could just turn it around if they just listened to us.  I enjoyed it.  Then about the sixth inning it happened!  You know the crack of the bat.  There I sat in the front row, talking, talking, talking, my beverage of choice in hand, and completely unaware really of what was going on around me really.  It happened!  I didn’t even have to get up!  The ball landed in my lap!  God’s honest truth,  there it was!  A baseball!  I couldn’t believe it!  I didn’t even spill a drop of my beverage of choice.  It was fantastic!  So here’s what happened in the 30 seconds after that ball landed in my lap.  I looked down and I thought where did that come from?  I felt it in my hand and immediately I thought my God!  The baseball gods have finally rewarded me for being a good baseball man.  It felt good!  It felt different than any baseball I ever had in my hand ever, and I thought to myself, O yeah!  I can’t wait to go home and show this to my children, who probably won’t care, but I can’t wait!  I can’t wait to go home and call Archdeacon Cluett who has heard me moan over and over and over again about how many innings of baseball I have attended and never even been close to a foul ball.  I could not wait to go home and put it in one of these little plastic cases and add it to my prized possessions, writing on it the date that I caught it.  I would have to find out who hit it quite honestly because I wasn’t quite paying attention at that moment.  It was glorious and all was right. I remind you  this is all happening in 30 seconds, unlike how I’m telling it. Suddenly a voice emerged from about four rows behind me and it kind of went like this.  Boooooooo . . .   Whoops!  What’s he booing about?  Then I looked up.  Took my eyes off of this new prized possession and I looked to my left and there was a row of 13 or 14-yearold young ladies, one of whom that ball clearly had hit before it bounced into my lap.  Again, the boo, the face, and my coming to awareness of the “unwritten rule.” You know about the unwritten rule of foul balls at baseball games? .  If it hits a kid, you better give it to that kid.  Right?  I’m assuming that extends to other things like senior citizens, maybe spouse, maybe . . . .  but, there you have it.  Like John the Baptist or like maybe the writer from Hebrews in today’s epistle, there was a voice coming from behind me, a living word active and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing me, dividing me, from that which was mine!  That which I have waited for for forty-five years!  I glancing again at the young ladies coming  face—with a frown.  I couldn’t possibly give it up.  Couldn’t possibly. 

This is the story . . . the only way I could really figure out how to get into our story today about the rich young ruler.  The rich young ruler who had played it all right.  He knew all the rules.  Lived by them all of his life.  Yet he comes to Jesus asking the question—how can I inherit eternal life? How can I inherit the abiding eternal, loving, grace-filled presence of God that surpasses all understanding?   Jesus reminds him—well you know the rules.  You know the commandments.  Yes, Master, I played by the rules all my life.  Then as if he had been blind to a deeper reality, Jesus speaks of the “unwritten rule”  Jesus reminds him—but you’ve been blind to one thing.  Like a middle-aged man lost in his fury over a stupid baseball that landed in his lap, completely oblivious to the reality that it hit a little girl; Jesus reminds the rich young ruler that even in being great at following rules, he lacks one thing. Vision- Your blind  in essence Jesus says, that to follow me into the kingdom of God, you have to take your eye off of what you have, what you want, what you desire and what you think you deserve, and dare to come into the deeper water, onto the road less traveled, into the deeper struggle of the human cause.  So sell all of your possessions, Jesus says.  Give away all your baseballs.  Give it to those who need it the most—and then follow me.  How hard is this?  How hard is this?  Which by the way is the point . . . . it is hard to follow Jesus. 

So here’s how the story goes.  In that thirty-second time, I realized that I needed to give the ball and I did.  I’m here to tell you that I didn’t like it.  I gave the girl the ball.  I did not like it.  I didn’t!  I confess to you I was a little afraid of the guy behind me.  But, on the other hand, do you know what happened when I handed that ball over to that girl as I let that ball go from my hands?  Frowns to smiles . . . .  Can you imagine 13-14 year old girls at a baseball game having their night out?  Now they have a ball!  And they’re jumping, literally, up and down, jumping jumping jumping!  They pull out their camera, of course, their phone, and they’re taking pictures.  My friend who I’m with says “go get in that picture with them.”   I thought to myself, no.  The last thing my congregation needs to see is their Dean, with his beverage of choice in hand on a Facebook page with five 14-year old girls. 

Here is what I realize what from that silly experience about me and about the human condition.  I realized as I reflected upon that 30-second conversation in my head, that all those years of expectation and hope and desire for this thing—it’s not like I needed another baseball for God’s sake—I have many, some with really great names on them!  But it was mine.  I waited for it.  So what was the struggle even about for 10 seconds?  I think the punch line is, and maybe this is true for the young ruler or anybody else who dares to take the hard road—how easy it is to lose a broader vision of our companionship and need for one another; how difficult it is to let go of the “things” that have gained footing in our hearts that prevent us from letting go and following Jesus to the difficult roads that lead to the Kingdom he preaches.

I realized that my head was telling me that I lived in a world where I would never have another opportunity for such good fortune in my life, such good fortune to add to my prized possessions that is. My field of vision focused on that which landed on my lap precluded me from seeing the disappointment and even hurt just three seats away from me. Wow, what an insight.

 I might not ever get close to another foul ball again, this could easily be true. I was reminded however in this silly little life event, that like the rich young ruler, when it comes approaching  Jesus seeking eternal life, that is the deep abiding grace and presence of our Lord Jesus Christ, in this life and in the next. We do well to lift our eyes and let go of those “things” that hold our hearts and minds captive, for following Jesus into the Kingdom is hard, worthy, and best taken with eyes wide open.

Amen.

Sunday September 23, 2012

Proper 20 Sunday September 23, 2012

The Cathedral Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem Pennsylvania

The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

Mark 9:30-37

 

I remember once being sent in my car to find something described to me over the phone. I remember being completely disoriented as I had no idea what it is exactly I was looking for. I called from the car and asked stupidly, Where am I?   It is frustrating and disorienting sometimes when you are looking for something that has been described but that you have never seen before.

“Look for the resurrection," says Jesus, as he walks with the disciples to Jerusalem. He Is teaching them about his death and resurrection, but they don’t understand. They are confused again, they don’t get it again, Who would really in that moment. Like a student in Algebra I who doesn’t get it, but in order to save face because they think everyone else gets it, they don’t bother to ask for clarification.  Or maybe they are just plain scared because Jesus one line portrait of their journey’s point is filled with description of suffering and death, and they are still filled with the excitement of examples of power and miracles witnessing healings, expulsions of demons, and first rate miracles.

These companions of Jesus instead find themselves on this walk engaged in a discussion about which of them is the greatest? The greatest what? Or what do we mean by the greatest?  Well, I think its just human nature here at play. It’s like students comparing scores after a test. Like anyone competing for the notice and commendation of their supervisor. Like gathering with clergy who ask, So what is your average Sunday attendance, Mine is (fill in the bland)  Well,  maybe we need be careful not to judge the disciples too harshly or unfairly; Perhaps  the conversation is driven by earnest and authentic desires to be faithful to this charismatic dream in a man they have yet to come to understand. Maybe they are trying to find a way to measure their commitment to the Rabbi? Maybe they are struggling with the big question Mark’s gospel would have us struggle with ……Who is this guy anyway, the first to figure it our perhaps, the top of the class, the greatest, Or perhaps they were even jockeying for position to be the first to storm the gates of Jerusalem with Jesus, not at all being able to “see” the cross in the imaging of following Jesus there to Jersusalem.

All of this it seems to me a worthy struggle for his disciples to “see things more clearly”. This following Jesus thing it seems just as confounding sometimes to us, particularly the part about following Jesus to the cross, about working through our own nature to work out way to proficiency, find the correct curriculum to bring us to competency, finding measurables to demonstrate our faithfulness. All of this perhaps sometimes impairing our vision to a life lived in the heart of God.

And so we go back into that house in Capernaum where the teacher Jesus  is about to take his disciples to school. Not interested in their discussion about who is the greatest, Jesus takes them to school again, by offering them a new way to “look at the conversation”. There he picks up a child and invites them to “see with their hearts”.  You need to know that in this culture to these adult males striving to produce the greatest outcome in the eyes of their great master; a child is the unlikeliest of props. A child is the last thing they would be “looking for” to “see” deeper into this experience of following Jesus. Children were of no significance until they were old enough to produce (work in male; babies in female). Children were invisible.

 Jesus wants to stop the moment, change the frame, catch the attention of these focused men. So, he again makes the invisible, visible.  "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me, but the one who sent me (Mark 9:37). The disciples want to know who is the best at following Jesus, and Jesus says, "Do you see this child?’  In other words if you want to follow me into the mystery of the cross can you see the invisible? The unimportant, the vulnerable, the one yet to gain value unable to yet “produce”. The one not yet noticed. The one whose needs and wants you have not heard, you have not seen, you have been conditioned to be blind too?

Whats more Jesus it seems to be saying by inviting this child into their midst to change the frame of the picture, not only are you to see things you haven’t been looking for, but you are to welcome them into your very heart, existence, life! For when you do, you “see” me! And when you “see” me, you also “see” the one who him.

Another sign along the way might read “seeing is believing”, in this case “seeing is receiving into one’s very heart”.

Where is the invisible Jesus who will teach you the way of the cross?  In the grief of an awkward acquaintance whose behavior sometimes puts you on the defense, who is crying out for your compassion, an ear, and heart of consolation? In the sweet proclamation of  a small child who persists to be heard when you are “busy with other adult things”, offering you a simple grace if you will hear it, “you are beautiful”.  Or in the stories of a Sr. Citizen, whom you have never taken the time to really listen to, because life’s busyness has kept you from really “seeing” the amazing values that have driven a persons entire life.

Today we have a nice reminder to “Look for the invisible Jesus” as we take three young children into our midst and welcome them! We receive them not knowing at all what life will hold for them, trials, disappointment, triumphs and joys. But they remind us as we welcome them to look for Jesus, to point out those places and people that have become invisible to many and to greet them with warm and loving hearts. To allow these and all young persons to point to Jesus for us and join them in a journey into God’s very heart. Amen.

September 2, 2012 The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

The Cathedral Church of the Nativity

Sunday September 2, 2012

The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

James 1:17-27, Mark 7:1-8,14-15, 21-23

A wedding. A handshake. A kiss. A coronation. A parade. A dance. A meal. A graduation. A ritual is the ceremonial acting out of the profane in order to show forth its sacredness. A sacrament is the breaking through of the sacred into the profane.

A sacrament is God offering his holiness to us. A ritual is our raising up the holiness of our humanity to God.

I have oft used this quote from Fred Buechner at weddings or even funerals when I am aware the listeners gathered may be from different religious traditions or as may be the case moreso today, especially at weddings, when those in the assembly may have little experience with religious practices. I do so as an introduction to point to the importance of the rituals we take part in, the purpose of them,  the heart of them.

I do so, especially at weddings to remind all of us gathered that the point of the beauty of the rituals say of “dressing in beauty” or “processing to a public and visible place to consent to a joining” or  “repeating beautiful and profound words of promise to a new creation of marriage defined by covenant” or “joining hands bound symbolically by a stole, the yoke of Christ” or “by humbly kneeling before the altar to have this new creation blessed”  or triumphally, joyfully, and with dignity processing out of the Church and into the world” The point, the heart of the meaning of such ritual is to bring us into the full awareness that what we are about is “holiness”. It is not the pageantry of the symbolic acts that lead to a beautiful photo opportunity, or even the beauty of the words themselves, but what they point to and invoke in us.  Buchner so beautifully says it, to lift the holiness of our humanity to God and have it met by God’s holy offering for our lives!

The ritual pointing to the “mindfulness”  and “heartfulness” and “soulfulness” is what is at play in today’s Scriptures, especially in James and in the Gospel according to Mark.  

In the gospel reading today, Jesus again takes on the religious establishment. The engagement today is about ritual. In this interaction we are reminded of the ritual practices of the priestly establishment ironically enough concerned with a “holiness code”. The establishment are concerned it seems with Jesus’ disciples who are clearly not as concerned as they in keeping the purity rituals, in their minds, the rituals of holiness. Jesus seizes the moment as he often does to bring the audience into the “mindfulness of the heart of the matter.  On this occasion Jesus is asking the people to think of what holiness is discovered in the ritual? – Does the heart of their ritual reveal a holiness found in cleanliness or does their ritual of eating make them mindful that there are those who are hungry who need be fed?  Is compassion brought into mindfulness and action in this ritual?

Jesus reminds those who will listen that it is easy to lose sight of the heart of the matter and become lost from being in mindfulness of ritual for Godly things. It is the state of a holy heart that matters and what is borne from that holy hearts can be fruit of good works, as St. James would have it, or many opportunities for things that defile as Jesus would list them.

  It is not what goes into your body that will defile you or make you holy, and it is certainly not going to matter how meticulously you follow a ritual to “make these things clean” but rather what matters is an awareness of the heart of God that lifts our humanity to holiness and calls us out to live with integrity, compassion, dignity and with respect for all of God’s creation.

What matters to us? What begs us to raise our holiness to God in our rituals and seeks to be met by God’s holiness for us? What is the heart of the matter for us when it comes to bearing fruit reflective of our mindfulness, heartfulness, soulfulness of God’s promise for our lives?

For St. James, like Jesus’, it must go beyond just the ritualistic words of our faith, the words we say and receive is not the heart of the matter, but what is borne from our holiness matters, that is holy lives in activity of “holy living”, “holy acting”.  “Be doers of the word, not just receivers who deceive themselves”, James implores us.

Consider these holy words, taken from an old collection of prayers, produced in 1937 Forward Movement for personal devotion.  Pray this prayer mindful of St. James invitation to be doers of the Word, and Jesus call to the crowd to be mindful of what is in your heart.

Send us, O god, as thy messengers, to hearts without a home, to lives without love, to the crowds without a guide. Send us to the children whom none have blessed, to the famished whom none have visited, to the fallen whom none have lifted, to the bereaved whom none have comforted. Kindle thy flame on the altars of our hearts, that others may be warmed thereby; cause thy light to shine in our souls, that others may see the way; keep our sympathies and insight ready, our wills keen, our hands quick to help our neighbors in their need; for Christ’s sake. Amen.

Sunday August 26th, 2012

Sunday August 26, 2012

The Cathedral Church fo the Nativity, Bethlehem, Pa

Elizabeth Yale, Postulant for Holy Order, The Diocese of Bethlehem

Today, instead of being a good Episcopalian preacher and talking about the wonderful lessons, I want to offer you a challenge.

In effect, I am throwing down a gauntlet and you cannot run and hide because you have already agreed and accepted the challenge. Most of you have accepted this challenge multiple times a year since your baptism. So I am not really as courageous as you may have thought.

In case you need to refer to the specific wording or want to remember my challenge at a later time, it can be found on page 305 in the Book of Common Prayer. In case you haven't memorized the Book of Common Prayer, that is the section where the congregation renews their baptismal covenant before the prayer over the water and the candidate gets wet.

We read it there as the last question, "Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” The answer there is, “I will, with Gods help."

"Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?"

"Will you strive..." We get lucky here at the start. Strive is a great active verb and so we can honestly, or not so honestly, say we are always striving. Obviously we haven't achieved justice or peace among all people yet. Those are gigantic words with multiple meanings. Are we just supposed to be striving for no war, or just war? Or are we supposed to be striving for the lions to be playing with the lambs? We know where we want to go, but we don't always know what it could look like and so we keep striving and trying to reach out to people, trying to create justice and peace in small areas and trying to build together so that one day, justice and peace can be had among all people.

The challenge here is how can you strive? How can you help create justice and peace among all people? You've given your word that you will, so I ask you, what are you doing? Do you pray for peace? Do you pray for justice? Are you part of an organization, like our beloved friend Tom Lloyd was? He worked for peace. He was passionate about peace. Will you strive for justice and peace among all people?

Okay, maybe you aren't passionate about peace. It doesn't raise your excitement level. It's okay, we haven't finished the challenge. Can you get passionate about respect? I am sure some of you get a little bit passionate when you have been disrespected. The second part of our challenge is "Will you respect the dignity of every human being?"

Every Episcopalian agrees to respect the dignity of every human being, yet not every Episcopalian respects the dignity of every other Episcopalian. We face a large challenge here. We can break it down. On a personal level, should I respect my own dignity? Ash Wednesday told me, I am but dust, and to dust shall I return. What dignity is there in dust? Yet baptism tells me that I am part of the household of God, I share in God’s eternal priesthood. I am one of God’s handiworks and one of his children, so maybe I don't deserve respect, but I should respect the dignity of this awesome creation of God’s that is me. Thus, I respect my own dignity. One down, 7 billion to go.

Should I respect your dignity? You, sitting in this church this morning. You are my teachers, my elders, my providers, my challengers, my family, and my friends. Some of you are annoyances and all of you are my brothers and sisters in Christ. You are dust and you are not worthy of respect. You are God’s children and worthy of the greatest respect I can give. Thus, I respect your dignity. Two hundred down, 7 billion to go.

It seems that seven billion is a large number and growing daily. Not quite the number of the stars in the sky or the grains of sand, so humanity hasn't fulfilled God’s promise to Abraham yet, but large enough for a crowd of every human being to take up more space than the state of Rhode Island. Now we could wave our hands a little saying that we respect the dignity of all the people in the Church, but that still leaves us with most of the world’s population up for consideration. If we want we can pretend that on any given daily basis, we could respect any other human being we interact with. But I am not sure that is true. I'll tell you why. It is hard work respecting the dignity of every human being.

I learned that for myself how hard respecting every human being can be this past summer in Naples, Florida while doing my Clinical Pastoral Education for my seminary program. I worked as a hospital chaplain for ten weeks in the community hospital where everyone and anyone can get some medical help.

My respect challengers were people such as these:

• The man who smelled and told me that I have no idea what the Hebrew bible actually says. (and no, I couldn't tell him that I have read portions of the Hebrew bible in Hebrew).
• The lady in the psych ward who had all of her possessions, that being the clothes off her back, taken by the police in an assault case who was given clothes from the nurses so she could be discharged to the local homeless shelter.
• The teenaged boy who told me off sarcastically for coming to see him, but who I went to see two more times to show him I care.
• The lady who demanded to know how someone can be called a Christian if they dance, drink, or smoke.
• The man who told me I was brainwashed and that I need to open my eyes to the real truth of the world in science and accept that there is no God.
• The woman who owns more than I will ever have and yet cried while telling me how terrible her life is.
• The woman who I loved who scared me completely because she was worried about brain damage after a terrible fall from a horse because her story resonated with my past fall.
• All the alcoholic, drug abusing men who came through the hospital who would tell me stories of their times in prison and the lessons that they haven't learned yet.

It's hard to respect those who have no respect for their own lives, their own minds, their own bodies and no respect for those around them. But I learned this summer that they are the ones who need our respect. They need the model and the encouragement to respect themselves. They don't deserve respect. They are dust and they are not worthy. But they are also children of God. We do not get to pick and choose who is one of God’s creation, one of God’s children. All are Gods. Our sign says, All are welcome. All are to be respected. Will you respect the dignity of every human being? How do you respect every human being? Who are your challengers?

I have one more thing to say about this challenge. As I have already mentioned, if you have been going to an Episcopal church regularly for any length of time, you have already agreed to take on the challenge today. There are no loopholes and no hope for escape, our assent is there on the page. "I will, with Gods help." We say, I will, but we don't say it by ourselves. We say it as a congregation. So many people seem to believe that they must handle their lives, their struggles, their joys, their vows, all by themselves. The band The Shins wrote a song called Simple Song, and it portrays a man telling a woman, his wife or girlfriend, about the connection of their lives, he says in the chorus, "I know that things can really get rough, when you go it alone. Don't go thinking you gotta be tough, and play like a stone." Despite the great song Paul Simon made out of saying, “I am a rock, I am an island,” its not possible. Even the great American Catholic priest and mystic Thomas Merton wrote a book titled No Man Is An Island. Even Jesus kept some friends with him throughout his ministry to support and help him. It's not healthy to believe life can be lived without any help. And we specifically invoke God’s help. We know that if we even think about asking God for his help, God is helping us. God may not be giving us the kind of help we want, but we cannot blame God for not standing up to his end of the deal. The reason I can stand up here and challenge you today is because God is helping me and has helped me. I’ll tell you a secret, its totally worth it. Dignity, respect, justice, and peace are all more than just words. They build community. They open the Kingdom of God.

No matter where you are or where your challengers are, you aren't alone. Even way down in Naples, Florida, away from my family, this community, the seminary community and most of my friends, I was still supported and helped. We are here to support each other.

Thus, I challenge you.  "Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?"

 God is in. I am in. Are you?

 

8th Sunday after Pentecost
July 22, 2012
The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Yet again we have another tragedy to contend with.  There’s yet one more opportunity in our experience to be confounded, confused, angry, and mystified. Most of all in the midst of the happenings in Colorado this past weekend, to be heartbroken again.  We have before us yet one more opportunity to try to make sense of what makes absolutely no sense.  We have one more opportunity to be invited perhaps into a sense of defeat, of despair, or even fear.

 Like many throughout the world and in the United States, we are invited by the barrage of media coverage and their attempt to make sense of a senseless act.  We are barraged as in such a way that we indeed have this trauma extended to us and indeed our hearts break.  Our anxiety rises and the horror of what is so foreign to us mystified us.  For we human beings, particularly for us gathered here in this place, in this context, we are a spiritual people, and once again we might be asking ourselves this question.  So where is our God anyway?  This might be a day we check in with the theology of our hearts. 

So how is it that a reigning God can allow such things to happen?  This might be one of those times as we listen to many who seek to make sense, and again I remind you, there is no making sense that we check our “gut” questions.  In light of these circumstances you might find yourself playing some some of those old theological tapes in response to horror and trauma like this.  “Is this a test dear God?”  Or some even straining to make sense of it might go here—“Perhaps this is God’s will in some way for us to find maybe some pearl that will invite us into a new understanding.”  Those of us who experience clinical pastoral education know that this is not a question or a mindset or a theology that bears much fruit.  For once again, we are faced with a reality of what it is to live in an imperfect world with imperfect people, where evil indeed does rare its head.  And it is as simple and as difficult as bad stuff happens.  So where are we?  We are spiritual people, trying to make sense of a world that is indeed sometimes senseless.  We are trying desperately to pursue a path that reveals some sort of concert with our God and our neighbors.

A friend of mine recently posted a quote from the Chaplain at Williams College whose adult child was killed.  The quote posted reads,   “I wish some people would get it through there otherwise intelligent heads that God does not go around the world with his fingers on triggers, his fist around knives, or his hands on steering wheels.  God is against all unnatural deaths and Christ spent an inordinate amount of time delivering people from paralysis, insanity, leprosy, and muteness.  The one thing that should not be said when someone dies senselessly or even at all is this.  It is the will of God.  Never do we know enough to say that.”

So where does that leave us faithful people, faithful disciples, helpless on this side of the country so distant from that horror yet so close?

I believe as faithful people we are once again asked to place ourselves in the heart of the gospel story.  As we seek to be faithful, living for the good in our society and in our lives, and in our relationships, we might very well once again on this day be like the disciples who have returned from spreading kingdom news.  In our story today in Mark we find that the disciples have returned from extending hands of help and healing and Jesus invites them to “come away to a deserted place and rest for a while.”

 We today might do well to be tempted to join Jesus in the deserted place.  Like the disciples we might also recognize that the world’s needs continue to impress upon us, just as the crowds followed them along the shore bank that day.  Like those disciples who slipped away with Jesus, we indeed do know the world’s needs and hurts are following us, they are inescapable. These needs it seems sometimes even may be trying to get ahead of us, much like the needs of the crowds scurrying ahead of Jesus and the disciples hoping to have already arrived on the shore where Jesus would land his first step. The hurts of the world and the needs of the world await us. 

Once again we’re just asked as disciples to get on the boat with Jesus to go across the shore and moor the boat.  Difficult as it is, we are once again asked to join with the brokenness and the hurt of the world and know that God’s will for us is to share in our brokenness and offer it a balm of healing and love.  Jesus words so powerful then and so powerful now, we indeed are like sheep without a shepherd. 

Jesus’ response to us today is as it was all those many years ago when he looks at us in our hurt, he has compassion upon us.  We find ourselves this day with an opportunity to responds to Jesus’ compassion as those in the crowd on that crowded shore; that is to  crowd around him seeking healing and wholeness even in the midst of things that are beyond our understanding and of which we will never be able to make rational sense of, regardless of the volume of media reporting. 

 Fellow disciples, may I beg you one more time, may I ask you one more time to reach out again in the midst of our broken hearts and spirits and  dare to touch again the fringe of the garment of our Lord.  Can we ask of one another again to believe in healing and in hope and in grace and in a peace that is beyond our understanding, especially in the midst of bitter confusion.  Perhaps in the midst of so many words filling the airwaves trying to make sense of the senseless, we who walk by faith may be best to reach our hands and speak few words;

Lord have mercy.  Christ have mercy.  Lord have mercy.

7th Sunday after Pentecost
July 15, 2012
The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa
The Cathedral Church of the Nativity

Good morning!

In the “Information age” in which we live, that is the era of newspapers, the era of blogging, the era of rapid and instantaneous information—not always accurate mind you, but information nonetheless; I find myself  wondering what is it that those who would have witnessed the Jesus event would have blogged or reported?  What would they have said about the life , teaching and the ministry of Jesus?  What would they say about his death and about his resurrection?  Perhaps one would have said something like this, “Government Forces quell radical movement of Jesus of Nazareth,  Religious and Political Insurrectionist.”  “Dream Dies on a Hillside.” 

At the same time, I wonder what those who actually witnessed the fullness of the story,  that is those who lived, followed, ate, and served with Jesus would have reported? Well we kind of know what they said, don’t we?  Something like this, “Our lives have been touched by a vision and a dream, and we are spellbound.  We are compelled by the one who indeed has conquered death and now we seek to live and work in a world for transformation.  We seek to live with courage even as the world would want us to fear, for the dream that we follow did not die on there on a hillside.  Those are two very different stories.  Two very different accounts, and I guarantee you, two accounts being reported at the time of Jesus’s life, his ministry, his death and his resurrection. 

Today we get a glimpse into stories about power and authority.  We get a glimpse into Herod’s experience of power and authority.  Herod’s experience of this Jesus and of John the Baptizer.  Herrod, who was drunk with power and a bully to keep it, was so intrigued with the truth that John the Baptizer had to offer him.  Herrod was treacherous.  He was brutal.  And, he was oppressive.  He ruled in such a way that those in whom he had power over would live in fear. 

One has to imagine Herrod rubbing his eyes, rubbing them hard, as he hears from people who come to him and say about Jesus, “There is one who is teaching with power and authority.”  Herod, only knowing John, says “How can this be?  Is John the Baptizer raised from the dead?”  And some who we might consider bloggers of the day think perhaps this power, this Jesus, who’s teaching might have been John who was raised from the dead, or might have been Elijah perhaps they said or perhaps a prophet of old.  Can’t you see it?  Can’t you read it written in  your favorite blog?  The accounts of such reported by those without any factual information.

  Dr. Suzanne Mets writes about today’s scripture, “ while todays’ Gospel passage is mostly a bit of history, we also get a glimpse into Paul and his letter to the Ephesians.  We get a glimpse into what the faithful witnesses of Jesus were saying about him in Herod’s time.  Paul helps us understand how we are connected to God.  Paul reminds us of the amazing gifts we are given because God loves us.  And Paul reminds us that instead of being afraid that Jesus is John raised from the dead, Paul says blessed be God who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in heaven.  There is no fear here.  Just joyful gratitude that we are empowered by God’s blessing.  Paul goes on to tell us what some of those blessings are.  But, in the end, Paul reminds us that God’s grace is being lavished on us.  None of these things is a worldly gift.  They are all heavenly in nature.  And, we can, we can live our earthly lives with the spiritual authority in power as ones who understand themselves as lavishly graced and live in the world without fear, spreading the good news among our brothers and sisters.  In other words, being a witness and telling a story.  Our power and authority comes from being lavished by God’s blessings.  Like David, living into the full acceptance of Christ, of God’s presence, these blessings might cause us to dance, even in the face of what the world might consider us to be fearful of. 

I have just returned from the General Convention of the Episcopal Church.  The 77^th version thereof.  I’m still recovering from that event . . . literally.  I like some of you have already begun to read what the bloggers and the newspapers had to say—because trust me when you’re there you don’t have time to read those things.  I am mindful of what some may be saying about the convention, it’s spirit, and the actions taken there and I am mindful that like my question posed about what individuals would have written about the Christ event in ancient times, there is a diversity of reporting.

In light of this, I thought I would like to add my first  hand experience as a witness and participant to the Convention. I stand here then as  a witness, that is  as a person who was actually there, on the floor, interacting and taking my part in the councils of the Church.  One who worshipped, , taking the bread, taking the blood of Christ, engaging with brothers and sisters of this church of ours from across this country.   I’m here to tell you that we have been lavished by God’s blessings.  Our General Convention was organized around the five marks of mission.

 They are to proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God.  They are to teach, baptize and nurture new believers.  They are to respond to human need by loving service.  They are to seek to transform unjust structures of society. They are to strive to safeguard the integrity of creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth.  So let me tell you what we actually did at General Convention. 

  We passed a $111-million national budget.  The majority of which seeks to empower our church in the pursuit of these five marks of mission.  We passed unanimously the creation of a special task force to help us forge ahead a new vision of the structure of our church to better enable us to pursue these marks of mission and better align our resources.  I can’t help but tell you that eight hundred and some deputies on the floor, a couple of hundred of bishops in the other house—it may be unprecedented but the vote to create such a task force was unanimous—in both houses.  I don’t think that’s ever happened.  The unanimous vote seemed so startling to the House of Deputies we stood and applauded ourselves and we sang a hymn, “We Are All In One Mission.”  And now I will tell you, I was a little disturbed by it, because you would have thought that we had just eradicated poverty as opposed to just agreeing that we need to do business a differently.  I just mention our self congratulations over this obvious need to change as perhaps a check on our ego’s and  a challenge for all of us as we consider the greater challenges before us.

We authorized, and I’m sure you saw this on CNN, the creation of rites for same-sex blessings.  Something that you know in this Diocese, we have been doing. At the same time that authorization respected those Dioceses and parishes that may find practicing such rites theologically incongruent.  I want you to know in the conversations and hearings around this issue, the tenor on all sides was respectful., prayerful, earnest, and honest.

We elected representation for the next committee for the selection of candidates for our next presiding bishop.  Our own Cathy Bailey stood for election in Province 3.  Next time we’ll get her elected.  We had an impassioned conversation about evangelism and about an open table,  that is an evangelism strategy that invites all persons to participate in our table fellowship, not just the baptized.

 We authorized rites for a pastoral response for those grieving the illness and death of their pets.  Something the Methodists and Presbyterians did a long time ago.  How nice to be following the Methodists and the Presbyterians. 

We elected new leadership.  The House of Deputies elected The Rev. Gay Jennings as the President of the House of Deputies.  Gay, some of you might remember, was the preacher here for my installation as your Dean and our celebration of new ministries.  Clearly I’m happy for my friend.  But I’m also lifted up by the wise discernment of our church to invest in someone who I and many know  lives with courage every day for the sake of the gospel.  We worshipped together at General Convention, and we listened to one another at General Convention.   We enjoyed one another at General Convention. And we were lifted up by one another at General Convention.  The conversations that I had with the leaders of our church were life giving.  All of them, most of them, were about the vision of a future and the mission that we’re called to.   I left General Convention alive, a little tired, but alive. I return to you  feeling that our church is vital and faithful. I recognize this may not be what you might have  read. 

I left General Convention realizing that I/ we have been lavishly blessed and that all of must live with a courageous vision of the kingdom in a new day.  We are lavishly, lavishly blessed.

 I am aware of  one opinion piece in the Wall Street Journal characterizing  General Convention as a carnival atmosphere;  I missed that because I like all there was busy worshipping our God, sharing a vision for the church.  Sharing in hospitality with my brothers and sisters in Christ,   being built up, connecting with friends and witnesses from generation to generation, all of whom stood proclaiming our Lord Jesus Christ as Lord.  Whenever I’m at such gatherings, I think about our congregation here in Bethlehem. I think about our stories, and I think about you. I think about how courageously everyday people in this parish witness to our Lord.  I think about our angels  perched upon our rood screen believing they are watching over us.   I’ve said this before and I’ll say it until I actually do it,  but someday these angels will  come to life for me in a book, I promise, and  in that book they will proclaim lavish blessings upon us as we are reminded of our mission. Lavishly blessed we are as a church, and in that spirit hear the angles bestowing this blessing in the word from author John O’Donahue, “A Blessing of the Angels”. 

May the angels in their beauty bless you.  May they turn toward you streams of blessing.  May the angel of awakening stir your heart to come alive to the eternal within you to all the invitations that quietly surround  you.  May the angel of healing turn your wounds into sources of refreshment.  May the angel of imagination enable you to stand on the true thresholds at ease with your ambivalence and drawn in new directions through the glow of your contradictions.  May the angel of compassion open your eyes to the unseen suffering around you.  May the angel of wildness disturb the places where your life is domesticated and safe and take you to the territories of true discovery.  Where all that is awkward in you can fall into its  own rhythm.  May the angel of Eros introduce you to the beauty of your senses, to celebrate your inheritance as a temple of the Holy Spirit.  May the angel of justice disturb you to take the side of the poor and the wronged.  May the angel of encouragement confirm you in worth and self-respect that you may live with the dignity that presides in your soul.  May the angel of death arrive only when your life is complete and you have brought every given gift to the threshold where its infinity can shine.  May all the angels be your sheltering and be your joyful guardians.  Amen.