Why do we veil the crosses and images of saints in the church during Lent?
 
Like many of the liturgical practices in The Episcopal Church, this one isn’t prescribed by canon law or by the rubrics in the prayer book.  It’s an amalgamation of traditions that have formed over the centuries.  And like much of our liturgical ceremonial at St. Mary’s, this custom has its roots in two separate-yet-intertwining traditions: the traditional Roman rite[1], and the variation of the Roman rite that was used in parts of England prior to the Reformation: the Sarum use.[2]
 
In the Sarum use, unbleached linen trimmed in red and black (“Lenten array”) was typically used during Lent.  Images and crosses were covered from Ash Wednesday until Easter.  In the traditional Roman rite, the color used during Lent is violet.  Images and crosses are veiled during the two weeks preceding Easter.  Most Anglo-Catholics use violet during Lent as we do, and most Episcopal parishes observe the Lenten veil through the entirety of Lent.
 
What is the spiritual significance of this practice?
 
The Lenten veil is a visual representation of the penitential nature of the season.  The cross – the sign of Christ’s glorious victory over death – and the images of the saints who lead us closer to him are simply too bright for us to bear during this season of mourning and penance.  The veil also reminds us of the fig leaves worn by Adam and Eve, the visible sign of the shame felt by our first parents when they ate the apple from the forbidden tree.[3]  During Lent, we hone our spiritual habits, and as we do, we become more aware of our own sinfulness with its corresponding shame.  As we grow in self-awareness of our tendency to sin, we also become more and more aware that we are not able to fix ourselves on our own.  We need a Savior.
 
The veils will come off soon enough as Easter is just around the corner.  But in the meantime, the Lenten veil reminds us that we are sinners in need of a Savior.  In the words Fr. Alexander Schmemann, “The night may be dark and long, but all along the way, a mysterious and radiant dawn seems to shine on the horizon.” [4] 

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[1] By “traditional Roman rite”, I’m referring to the primary liturgy used in the Roman Catholic Church from 1570 until 1962 along with its prescribed ceremonial.  It is properly referred to as the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite, but commonly called the Tridentine Mass or the Traditional Latin Mass (TLM).

[2] The Sarum use is a now defunct pre-Reformation variation of the traditional Roman Rite that stems from the Diocese of Salisbury and spread to much of southern England as well as elsewhere in the British Isles.  If you’re interested in an academic overview of the Sarum use, click here.  It is a pet peeve of mine that in The Episcopal Church today, it is common to attribute any liturgical peculiarity to the Sarum use in order to attempt to legitimize it, even if it has no basis in historical practice.  For example, Episcopal parishes that use blue as the liturgical color during Advent often call it “Sarum blue”, even though blue was never the color used for Advent in the Sarum use.

[3] https://livingchurch.org/covenant/2015/03/03/veiling-crosses-in-lent/

[4] http://ww1.antiochian.org/great-lent-excerpts/intro_journey_to_pascha
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The audio recording of this sermon can be found here.

Epiphany V
St. Mary’s Episcopal Church
The Rev’d Charles Everson
Isaiah 6:1-13, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11
February 10, 2019

“Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts!  Heaven and earth are full of thy glory!”  These words, referred to as the Sanctus – the Latin word for “holy” – have been sung in Christian worship from the very beginning, and they find their roots in our Old Testament passage from the prophet Isaiah. 

It begins with a simple fact that seems rather out of place in such an awe-inspiring vision: “In the year King Uzziah died.”  Uzziah was a real king in history.  We know the date of his death, a few things about his political views, and we know that like many of Israel’s kings, he began his reign as a good king but ended up going completely off the rails with his pride being his downfall. He was then struck with leprosy as punishment, and lived the rest of his life under house arrest until his death.[1]

It was in this historical context that Isaiah sees this vision of a very different kind of King. The vision is in the Temple in Jerusalem which the Hebrews believed was directly connected to God’s celestial palace in heaven.  Isaiah sees the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty, and in addition to the throne, an altar is present.  God has giant proportions in this vision with the hem of his robe filling the entire interior of the Temple.[2]  Angels with six wings were attending to him.  Two of the wings covered their faces, two covered their feet, and with two they flew – another translator indicates that hovered is a better translation.[3]  They were calling to one another, Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of Hosts!  Heaven and earth are full of thy glory!

Their response to being in the presence of God was one of fear and trembling.  Perhaps even terror.  They covered their faces as God is so holy that they can’t even look at him.  And they covered their feet because they’re in the presence of holiness and can’t let their feet touch the ground.  Isaiah, faced with this awesome vision in the Temple, notes that the pivots of the thresholds shook at the voices of the angels as they sang this hymn, and the house was filled with smoke.

In a moment, when we sing the Sanctus, note that the altar party and even some in the congregation profoundly bow when we sing the hymn the angels sang in Isaiah’s vision, and you’ll see a decent amount of smoke arise.  In a sense, we are entering into the holiest moments of our worship of God, a God who is so holy and powerful and awesome that we can’t help but avert our eyes, bow in deep respect, and pay homage.

Isaiah, faced with this almost fantastical vision of God in his throne room in heaven, responds by saying, “Woe is me!  I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips…yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts!”  Faced with God’s holiness, he recognizes his sinfulness. The Hebrew words translated as unclean lips infer that he has a foul mouth and is perhaps even a liar, something you and I might be able to relate to.  One of the angels took a live coal from the altar – so hot that tongs were needed – and touched Isaiah’s lips with it.  Think about how sensitive your lips are.  This must have been a terribly painful experience[4] for Isaiah, but the result of it is that his guilt departs and his sin is blotted out.  It is only now that he’s been forgiven that Isaiah can respond in the affirmative to God’s question, Whom shall I send?  He says, Here I am; send me!

It would be really nice if the passage stopped here, and I could simply tell you, “recognize that you’re a sinner, accept God’s forgiveness, and then go out into the world and do God’s work!”
But God tells Isaiah to go to the people and tell them to keep listening but not understand.  He tells them to make the mind of the people dull.  Isaiah has to be confounded by God’s instruction, and asks, “How long, O Lord?”  How long until you relent and turn from judgment to rescue and redemption?  God responds not by giving a time and a date, but by saying that first the land has to be devastated.
Sometimes things get worse before they get better. 

Zac, as you’re preparing for Holy Baptism, know that the waters of baptism won’t be quite as painful as the burning coal was for Isaiah, though, we could run down to the Missouri River to baptize you by full immersion which would have the opposite effect.  But also know that responding to God’s holiness by acknowledging your sinfulness and accepting God’s forgiveness doesn’t automatically make your situation right.  Same thing for me and for all of you who have been on this Christian journey for a long time: sometimes, our circumstances get worse before they get better, no matter how faithful we are to our Lord and to his teachings.

In his letter to the church at Corinth, Paul reminds us to hold firmly to the Good News he’s proclaimed to us – the good news that he received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day.  This Good News, like the context of Isaiah’s vision, was rooted in history.  This isn’t a myth or a fable. Christ actually died for our sins, was buried, and was raised on the third day.  As if he knew the church at Corinth wouldn’t believe him, he begins to call witnesses: Peter, James, the twelve apostles, and five hundred other brothers and sisters who saw Christ with their own eyes after his resurrection.  Like Isaiah, Paul responded to God’s call as an unclean man unworthy of such a calling – before his conversion, he persecuted Christians to the point of their death.  Even he could be redeemed and reconciled with the holy God Isaiah saw in his vision.

Friends, some of us in our community are struggling.  Struggling spiritually, financially, dealing with family dysfunction, physical illness, the awful effects of old age, and so on.    And yet we continue to gather in this place with our parish family and choose to worship a God that is so holy and powerful that we must avert our eyes and pay homage.  As you struggle, I encourage you to hold fast to the Good News that Jesus died for your sins, that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day.  Choose to hold fast to this Good News day after day, even when things seem so dire that there appears to be no hope.  And choose to keep coming back to this Temple to encounter the Almighty in the beauty of holiness with your friends and family again and again.


[1] This summary comes from Same Old Song podcast, Mockingbird ministries.  https://www.mbird.com/podcasts/

[2] Robert Alter. The Hebrew Bible: A Translation with Commentary. New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, 2019.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Alter.

Pentecost Day, Year B
May 20, 2018
The Rev’d Charles W. Everson
St. Mary’s Episcopal Church
Acts 2:1-21
 
Today is Pentecost Day, one of the seven principal feasts on the church calendar along with Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, Ascension, Trinity Sunday, and All Saints.  Only two of those days – Christmas and Easter – have widespread corresponding traditions in the secular world like Christmas trees and Easter bunnies…well, three if you count Halloween candy as somehow connected to the Feast of All Saints.  But not so on today’s feast! For me, Pentecost is a breath of fresh air when it comes to church festivals – no Christmas in July, or Easter chocolates temping me during the Lenten fast.
 
On Pentecost Day, the Church celebrates – quite simply – the birthday of the Church.  I’m not sure about you, but what happened on Pentecost Day isn’t quite like any birthday party that I’ve ever been to.  The description of the events that occurred on the first Pentecost Day seems a bit crazy to me.  The “signs and wonders” that happened in Jerusalem that day – rushing wind, tongues of flame, and the miracle of speaking in foreign languages – sound awe-inspiring and almost fantastical.  St. Peter’s sermon, based on the prophet Joel’s words, “fill the air with Spirit-filled visions and dreams involving blood, and fire, and smoky mist.”  It’s no wonder that some of the observers thought these early Christians were drunk at 9 o’clock in the morning![1]
 
And yet the church in today’s world seems to be in sharp contrast with this story from the Book of Acts.  Like it or not, we hear many voices tell us that the church is in decline, and in particular, that The Episcopal Church is losing members.  In fact, we very rarely hear good news about the state of the church.  Many Episcopal preachers don’t talk much about Jesus in their sermons, and many parishes – if they even offer Christian education – have a hard time getting folks to attend.  It’s not surprising that many Episcopalians have a hard time articulating their faith in a reasoned and yet passionate way.  People don’t give enough to support the expensive upkeep on old historic buildings like ours.  Church budgets hardly can squeeze enough out of the turnip to take care of ourselves, let alone spend money on those outside the walls of the church.  Those aspiring to be ordained are told time and time again, “Don’t quit your day job.  Have a source of income outside of the church, because the church is in such a horrible state that there likely won’t be money to pay you a full-time salary.”
 
On Pentecost Day, when we hear of the signs and wonders, the Spirit’s power, the amazement and astonishment experienced by the crowd – it’s hard to relate those events to what’s going on the church in 2018.
 
What do you think would happen if the Holy Spirit descended afresh on our church? Would we hear new things from those who are different from us? Would we be pushed in new, astonishing directions?[2]
 
I’ve had the privilege over the past few weeks to care for one of our newer parishioners during his stay in the hospital – I’ll call him John.  John has been coming to St. Mary’s for six months or so, and came to us with a longing to serve Christ and to be in community with other Christians.  A few weeks ago, two others from St. Mary’s and I were sitting with John in his hospital room, and he said to us something like this: “I’m so grateful that you all would visit me and spend time with me while I’m sick.  Not too many years ago, when I was sick in the hospital, no one wanted to come visit me because I was a jerk.  Now, I’ve changed my life and decided to follow Jesus, and I’m thankful that he’s brought me to St. Mary’s and that you love me enough to come spend time with me.”  The differences between John’s life experience and mine sometimes makes it hard for us to understand one other.  But in the end, I have learned so much about repentance and gratefulness and the “ministry of presence” by spending time with this man in his suffering.  Our differences stretched my heart and mind in new, astonishing ways.  In other words, the Holy Spirit breathed life into both John and me through these visits. 
 
Not only did the Spirit move the two of us, but the two others from our parish who ministered to John were ministered to by John as well.  And thus, we have a glimpse of something new and beautiful that is starting in the life of St. Mary’s – the beginnings of a formal, trained, and willing lay pastoral care team, ready to unselfishly love and care for those among us in need.
 
One of the men in our parish, whom I will call Rick, is sold on the mission and vision of St. Mary’s.  He loves the preaching, the music, the young people he sees in the pews, and the fact that we’re trying to reach out to those who live downtown.  Rick is so sold on who we are that sometime over the past couple of months, he invited more than a dozen people who live in his apartment building to church, and then to brunch afterward.  Rick did something that most of us are hesitant, or perhaps even afraid to do: he invited his friends to come to church in the hopes that they will come to know the love of Jesus and to become part of this community of faith.  Rick put himself out there and asked, knowing that they all come from different perspectives and different faiths, and that some or most of them might even reject his invitation.  He did it anyway.  I know him well enough to know that that this was such an unselfish act on his part – so unselfish that I’d get in big trouble for calling his name out from the pulpit, so I won’t do that.
 
If you and I are friends on Facebook, you have no way of not knowing that I was up at 3am yesterday morning to go to Union Station to watch the wedding of Prince Harry and Ms. Meghan Merkle.  For you see, I am an Anglophile.  You may know an Anglophile or two, but probably not at the level I’m talking about.  When you leave the church out the parish hall, look immediately to your right, and you’ll see my car complete with a window decal of HM Queen Elizabeth II on the back window.  
 
There were many remarkable things about yesterday’s royal wedding.  All of the expected pomp and circumstance were there, and all of the beautiful Anglican liturgy, all of the historical trappings of a thousand-year-old monarchy.  But there were several rather stunning breaths of fresh air amid all of the tradition.  First, the royal bride was bi-racial, and a descendent from slaves in the American south.  The People of Color in the wedding – the preacher, one of the choirs, and many of the attendees – gave visible witness that God’s love is liberating for all those held captive in oppression.  Second, the preacher was the Presiding Bishop of our own Episcopal Church, Michael Curry, who preached the love of Jesus in a way that has likely never been heard at a place like St. George’s, Windsor – and he preached this love of Jesus in over a billion listeners worldwide.  The stuffy Brits didn’t quite know what hit them.
 
What do you think would happen if the Holy Spirit descended afresh on our church?  Would we hear new things from those who are different from us?  Would we be pushed in new astonishing ways?
 
The stories of John and Rick here at St. Mary’s, and of the message of love we heard at the royal wedding – this is what happens when the Holy Spirit descends afresh on our church.  This is what happens when you and I choose to extend what Bishop Curry calls “the unselfish, sacrificial redemptive love of Jesus” with those around us, both at church and outside these walls.  In all three cases, individual followers of Christ saw the Holy Spirit at work in some, small way, and said yes, I want to be a part of that.
 
It seems to me that despite the constant negative messages we hear about the state of the church today, we are seeing glimpses of the Holy Spirit moving in powerful ways, here at St. Mary’s and around the world.  All three of these stories exhibit unselfish, self-sacrificial, redemptive love. What do you think would happen if you and I intentionally opened ourselves up to the possibility of even greater outpourings of the Holy Spirit here at St. Mary’s? 
 
Like a bud that grows into a flower, we are seeing glimpses of such a potential outpouring of the Spirit – in the budding pastoral care team, in the parishioners who boldly invite their friends to church, in fresh and liberating expressions of old ceremonies and traditions.  We are seeing a foretaste of an outpouring of the Holy Spirit in the uptick in Sunday attendance, in the increase of diversity amongst our members (diversity in gender identity, sexual orientation, age, and socio-economic status).
 
Friends, these things don’t have to be a mere glimpse or foretaste.  These buds can grow into a flower.  The Spirit is waiting to fulfill the visions and dreams we’ve been given about sharing the love of Jesus with our friends and neighbors and especially those who live right here in downtown Kansas City.  What do we need to do to get these buds to grow into a beautiful flower?  You’ll hear more about the practicalities and mechanics of fleshing out this vision in the coming weeks and months, but the answer for today is quite simply love.  Not romantic love, not the love you feel for your parents or siblings, not sentimental love.  By saying yes to the unselfish, sacrificial, redemptive love of Jesus.  By spending time with Him in prayer – both here at St. Mary’s and at home – and by loving those around us without expecting a darned thing in return.
 
Let us open our hearts and minds to hear the voice of the Holy Spirit around us, leading us to new and astonishing things…and let us heed the Spirit’s call to say yes to love.  Amen.


[1] David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, vol. 3, Year B (Louisville (Ky.): Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 3.

[2] This was a questioned asked by The Rev. Scott Gunn, executive director of Forward Movement, that I came across in a Facebook post sometime the week of May 14, 2018.