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Seventh Sunday of Easter
Robin Rusconi St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Sunday, May 21, 2023 Before I entered the discernment process, I had no understanding of what it entailed. Growing up Roman Catholic, I’d hear that a guy was going to the seminary to become a priest. I might see him occasionally at church, but it mostly seemed like he went away for a few years and came back a priest – like when I went to law school. I applied, got accepted, took tests, and then graduated. There weren’t committees that decided my path unless I was to fall below the measure, or I applied for a special program or role. I pretty much charted my course and decided what classes to take and where to apply for positions. To say that discernment required an adjustment in my usual way of understanding the control I have over my life is an understatement. Don’t get me wrong – for every struggle I have had - be it writing my spiritual autobiography or a paper on the writings of a certain challenging German theologian, I have received tenfold back from my cohort, my peers at BKSM and my time among you all here at St. Mary’s. This process has been a blessing. And while I am way better about ‘trusting in the process’ than when I started, I really hate waiting for decisions to be made about my future, waiting for my graduation, and (God willing and the people consenting) waiting for the bishop to lay hands on my head. Sometimes it feels like all I do is wait and pray. Maybe that is why when I was preparing to write this sermon, one thing I kept thinking about was how the apostles must have felt after they were sent back to Jerusalem. In some ways I wonder if they felt a lot like my cohort and I feel right now. We are all waiting and praying to know and understand what is next - HOW are we called to serve God? All we know is that one of our charges during ordination will be ”to make Christ and his redemptive love known, by your word and example, to those among whom you live, and work, and worship”. What that will look like once we are ordained and start our diaconal ministries, isn’t for us to know - yet. This morning, our reading from the Acts of the Apostles is the culmination of Jesus’s time on earth. Jesus is still teaching and preparing his disciples. Granted, the apostles have experienced a lot in the last 50 or so days that would be hard to wrap your head around. They saw their leader, who they believed would bring about the return of Israel, surrender and let himself be sacrificed in the most humiliating way. Then suddenly, he returns 3 days later with the expected wounds, but otherwise the same – except that he can now appear out of thin air. So, in today’s reading when they ask Jesus is if it is time for him to restore the kingdom of Israel, they were asking a perfectly logical question. If Jesus could rise from the dead and appear at will, what couldn’t he accomplish? As observant Jews, they were familiar with the restoration of the Kingdom of Israel foretold in the Old Testament. Their minds weren’t focused on the creation of an ethereal kingdom. They were thinking in concrete terms – a powerful kingdom returning in a measurable, earthbound period of time. After all their time with Jesus they didn’t understand that he was never talking about a physical resurgence of the nation of Israel, but instead of a spiritual reawakening and return if its people, of God’s people, to their covenant with God. That is why Jesus said “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority.” Essentially – “you aren’t understanding. I am trying to get you prepared to be my witnesses. You are supposed to continue my work and proclaim God’s word “in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth”. He is preparing them to understand what the Holy Spirit will bring to them – God’s Kingdom isn’t just where I, Jesus, am going. It’s here on earth too, and it is your call to tell everyone that the kingdom of God is real, is based on love, and everyone who believes can enter. This is the shift that the disciples didn’t grasp. Jesus’s focus had changed. He was no longer preparing them for his death and resurrection, for HIS actions. Instead he is preparing them for THEIR next steps and the restoration of the kingdom of heaven on earth. One example of this change is when they ask him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom?” After answering their immediate question, he changes the focus – “…you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria…”. Jesus said the Holy Spirit would act and then the disciples would become his witnesses. Jesus’s role in their ministry is soon to be that of a former teacher who has imparted all of his wisdom and set his students off on their own path. We see this change again in today’s Gospel from John. It is another perspective of Jesus’s ascension and his words immediately preceding it. Together with the Apostles, we are privy to a conversation between Jesus and God. In what has been called Jesus’s Farewell Prayer’ we hear Jesus intervening with his Father to “protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” Jesus tells God that he has taught the apostles everything. They just need to be brought into Jesus’s and God’s relationship – to be god-filled. It is clear that the way forward isn’t about Jesus acting anymore “And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you”. Jesus has handed off his ministry on earth to his disciples, and to all of his disciples across the ages. One thing I have learned in my discernment process is that in the eyes of God once we are baptized, we are all preparing to be God’s witnesses. Just like the disciples, Jesus is trying to teach us the way of love. We are learning, growing, and training to be his witnesses in the world. We are all to go to the uttermost parts of the world to proclaim his love – but most importantly to show his love to those who need it most – the outcast, the hungry, the ill, the poor. It is all of our calling to go forth as witnesses of God’s love and the hope of the resurrection. But it is also about timing. About listening, praying, and waiting, because we are on God’s time, not ours. Like the apostles, we will all have our times of waiting. Of praying, and not knowing what is next. The key is that we are ready and listening for God’s call when it comes. If we do this, we will live into the promise of Jesus’s Ascension. As one commentator said, “Ascension Sunday, is a day to celebrate the ongoing work of the Risen Christ, to pray without ceasing that the Spirit will empower us for witness, and then to actually go out into the world and bear witness to the Risen Christ, so that the Kingdom may come in all its glory. Amen. Sixth Sunday of Easter
John 15:1-8 (extended to verse 11) The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Sunday, May 14, 2023 Last week, we heard the chapter before today’s gospel passage in which Jesus tells his disciples that he is going to prepare dwelling places for them. When they ask where he is going, he reveals himself as the way, the truth, and the life, and says that those who know him will know his Father also. In other words, he responds not by pulling out a map and showing a location, but rather by giving us himself. It’s about relationship, not a place. The same is true in today’s reading about the vine, the vinedresser, and the branches. Jesus uses the word “abide” nine times again not referring to a place, but rather a relationship. “Abide in me as I abide in you,” he says. This passage is often seen as a launching point for the preacher to give you three ways in which you can abide in Jesus (for example by prayer, reading the Bible, being generous, and so on). The problem is that “abiding” isn’t something to do. Abide is a passive verb in Greek. It’s not something you do, it’s who you are. In this metaphor, Jesus is the vine, and we are the branches. What do branches do? Work really hard to stay connected to the vine? No, branches simply exist as part of the overall vine. All you have to do is be a branch. If you’re worried you aren’t abiding, you are abiding, because a person who is not abiding isn’t worried about this at all. Whoever does not abide in Jesus is apparently thrown into the fire and burned. Jesus isn’t saying, “You’d better abide or else! This is a description of being. The vine was a common image used in the Hebrew Bible to speak of Israel as God’s people and conveyed the ideas of divine love and divine judgment. And it was a common image in the minds the disciples as they listened to Jesus speak these words as the Jewish Temple was surrounded by a giant golden vine. The vinedresser here is still God, but the vine is not Israel, but Jesus. The branches are part of the vine, that is, part of Jesus’ mystical body, the Church. Through the waters of baptism, we are grafted into Christ’s body, the Church, not because of our own works, but by the unmerited grace of God. All of the baptized make up the branches of the vine, with God the Father pruning and cleaning so that we all may bear good fruit. Like last week, this passage is all about relationship, not a list of rules. That said, branches only exist as part of the greater vine, not in isolation. This was somewhat of a new concept to me coming out of the Southern Baptist worldview. For many evangelicals, the only requirement to abide in Jesus is to pray and read the Bible at home. In this view, church attendance and corporate worship and being involved in the wider body of Christ is viewed as helpful and highly recommended, but not essential. On the other hand, you have the Roman Catholic Church with its notion of “holy obligation” which states that the faithful are required to attend Mass on Sundays and certain other high feast days, unless impeded by sickness or other serious reason; the failure to go to Mass on these days is said to be a grave sin that, under certain conditions, can send you to hell unless you go to private confession first. The Episcopal Church is, like you might expect, sort of in the middle. Title II, Canon 1, of the 2022 Canons of the Episcopal Church says, “All persons within this Church shall celebrate and keep the Lord’s Day, commonly called Sunday, by regular participation in the public worship of the Church, by hearing the Word of God read and taught, and by other acts of devotion and works of charity, using all godly and sober conversation.” This expectation is not issued as an edit under pain of eternal damnation, it’s a description of who we are as Christian people. Rather than “holy obligation,” I prefer the term “holy opportunity.” “Abide in me as I abide in you,” Jesus says. When I say that Christianity isn’t all about the rules, it’s about relationship, don’t mishear me. I’m not saying that the Church has no expectations of the faithful. We do. There are expectations, formal and informal, in every relationship. But I don’t think of these expectations as a list of things to get done on a checklist to avoid the pains of hell. The simple expectation to come to church on Sundays and major feasts is more a description of the foundational practice of all Christians – what it means to be a branch on the vine. The branches are fed and nourished by being part of the vine; we are fed and nourished with spiritual food and drink in the Sacraments of the Church. Baptism is how we become branches, and it is in the bread and wine of Holy Communion – especially on Sundays and major feasts – that we are nourished, and pruned, and even made clean by the vinedresser. At the breaking of the bread, we offer and present to the Lord our whole selves, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice to him, asking the Father that we may be made one body with him, that he may dwell in us, and we in him. Each of us – each branch on the vine – is part of the greater whole, but we, of course, maintain our individuality and come to this place with our individual struggles and joys. The vinedresser prunes every branch that bears fruit, that it may bear more fruit. I remember seeing a recently pruned vineyard while on a winery tour in Northern California and thinking that the vine had been pruned back so much that it looked dead! The Christian life is not all fun and games. Sometimes it can be brutal, and sometimes it is joyful. But God is at work in each of our lives, whether we’re bearing fruit right now or are so pruned back that we couldn’t bear the weight of even one, small grape. “Abide in me as I abide in you,” Jesus says. “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you; abide in my love…These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.” Amen. Fifth Sunday of Easter
John 14:1-14 The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Sunday, May 7, 2023 This passage we heard from the gospel of John is a favorite at Episcopal funerals. I did a quick search of my sermon folder and wasn’t surprised that I’ve preached at no fewer than 10 funerals at which this gospel was read. Why is it so often chosen for funerals? Because it makes us feel good to hear these comforting words when we’re in sorrow and grief. “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus says. The disciples were more than troubled when they first heard these words. Despite the fact that we’re in the Easter season, the setting is Jesus’ farewell address at his last supper with his disciples, and he has just told them that he is going to leave them soon. He has also predicted that one of them will betray him, and another will deny him. The disciples are understandably troubled and anxious. They don't know what is going to happen, or where Jesus is going, or how they will cope without him. In the midst of their despair and anxiety, Jesus comforts them, saying, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. It feels good to hear “Do not let your hearts be troubled” when you’re faced with grief at the loss of a loved one. It feels good to hear that Jesus prepares a place for his followers and will come again and take them to himself so that where he is, there they may be too. It feels good to hear these words when you are troubled. Yet the disciples were still confused. Despite Jesus assuring them that they know the way to the place where he is going, Thomas, in his characteristic bluntness and honesty, ask, "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" We, too, ask, “What sort of place is Jesus going to prepare for us? And where in the heck is it?” It’s easy to say, especially when someone dies, “They’re going to a better place.” Or “Heaven has gained another angel.” This dwelling place Jesus is preparing for is not so much a place as it is a person. I am reminded of my paternal grandparents’ home which was around for the first 23 years of my life. 8004 Tomahawk Road in Prairie Village, Kansas, where my grandparents Chuck and Trula Everson lived for over 50 years. I remember the phone number – 381-0555 – and this sounds silly, but I think I remember the smell. No matter what was happening in life, I knew I was “at home” when I was there, and that all was right in the world. Though I associate objects and smells with this feeling, the feeling wasn’t really about the place itself, but about my grandparents. When I was there, I felt entirely loved and it felt like home. In response to Thomas’ confusion about how to find the way to follow him wherever it is he’s going, Jesus doesn’t respond with a map, or as set of doctrines the disciples should assent to mentally, or some abstract notion of what happens to the soul between the death of the body and the end times. He responds with himself. He says, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Jesus is the way to the Father by his death and resurrection through which he paid the price for our sins and reconciled us with God. He has broken down the wall of hostility that separated us from God and from one another and brought reconciliation and wholeness. In the waters of baptism, he has made us citizens of heaven and members of the household of God. Jesus is the way, not so much as a route to somewhere else, but as a pathway to unity with God. Jesus has revealed the truth about God and about us. He has shown us who we are: sinners in need of forgiveness and redemption. And he has shown us who God is: ever-forgiving, ever-loving, ever-redeeming, not because we deserve it, but because it is who he is. He has shown us what life is about: empowered by the Holy Spirit – whom John refers to as the “Spirit of Truth”, loving God and loving our neighbor, day and in day out. Finally, Jesus is the life. As in “eternal life”, or full participation in God’s very being. He himself is this life, and it is in relationship with Jesus that we are invited to be fully united with God in this life and the next. There are those in The Episcopal Church and other mainline Protestant Churches who cringe when they hear this verse because they are embarrassed because some say that Jesus is saying that only those who call themselves Christian and believe in him can get to heaven. Remember, Jesus isn’t making a public proclamation in the synagogue or before the imperial officials. This isn’t meant as some sort of doctrinal proclamation about who gets to heaven and how. Rather, Jesus is comforting his closest friends who were terrified as they were faced with the imminent death of their master and friend. He continues, “If you know me, you will know my Father.” And in case there is any doubt, he adds, “From now on you do know him and have seen him.” He is simply telling his disciples who he is. It isn’t only Thomas who doesn’t understand. Philip says, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus’ humanity comes out a bit in his irritated response: “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.” Jesus then echoes something from the beginning of John’s gospel: “No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart who has made him known.” Christianity is all about relationship with a person, not about following all of the right rules. Being a member of The Episcopal Church and St. Mary’s isn’t about genuflecting at the right time or supporting just political causes, nor is it about being able to intellectually understand and assent to each phrase of the Nicene Creed, as important as all of those things are – it’s about growing into a deeper relationship with God as he has made himself known to us in Jesus Christ as individuals and as members of this parish and the wider body of Christ. Dear friends, when you are troubled, be comforted by these words that our Savior said to his friends: ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. The Fourth Sunday of Easter
Text: John 10:1-10 Sean C. Kim St. Mary’s Episcopal Church April 30, 2023 Today, we observe what is traditionally known as Good Shepherd Sunday. In our readings, we have the famous Twenty-third Psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd,” and we have the story of Jesus, the good shepherd, in our Gospel from John. Jesus, the good shepherd, is one of the most popular icons in Christianity. Here at St. Mary’s, we have a beautiful stained-glass window in the St. George Chapel that depicts Jesus carrying a lamb on his shoulders. And in our parish office, we have a large, black-and-white picture of Jesus, standing in the middle of a flock of sheep and holding a tiny lamb in his arm. The painting used to belong to one of our parishioners, the late Ms. Faye Hopkins. We are all familiar with Jesus, the good shepherd. But, in today’s Gospel, we find another, less well-known metaphor for Jesus, the gate, more specifically, the gate to the sheepfold. So, on the surface, we seem to have a case of mixed metaphors, two incompatible, confusing metaphors. How can Jesus be both the shepherd and the gate in the same story? Well, setting our literary conventions aside, the two metaphors work together to convey the main point of the story: Jesus, the good shepherd and the gate to the sheepfold, is the source of care, protection, and guidance for his followers. In seeing Jesus as the good shepherd, we have the promise and assurance of his constant presence in our lives. The good shepherd never leaves his flock as he cares and provides for them. And I can think of no words more eloquent than the Twenty-third Psalm in expressing this fundamental conviction of our Christian faith: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. He revives my soul and guides me along right pathways for his Name’s sake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. As followers of Jesus, we are never alone. We are his flock, in the company of other sheep and guided and protected, cared and provided for by the good shepherd. Whatever the circumstances of our life may be, whether we find ourselves in green pastures - when everything in life seems to be going smoothly, enjoying health and success - or the valley of the shadow of death - when we confront a serious illness or death – Jesus promises to be with us. The image of Jesus, the good shepherd, has provided comfort and strength for the faithful in countless situations. In seeing Jesus as the gate, we have a less familiar image than the good shepherd but no less important. I have to confess that when I was preparing the sermon, I had to do some research about sheep. Having always lived in the city, I’m ignorant of farm life and animals. I remember when I first started working at the University of Central Missouri in Warrensburg and began the long drives through rural Missouri, one day I sighted sheep grazing in the fields. I think it was the first time in my life that I had seen sheep in person. And I had thought that sheep were found only in places like England and the Middle East, not in the U.S. and certainly not in Missouri. So, I excitedly called my mother and exclaimed: “They have sheep in America!” In our Gospel text, we read: “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture” (John 10:9). So, based on what I’ve learned – and please correct me if I’m wrong – the sheepfold is the enclosure where the sheep come in during the night to rest and find protection from thieves and predators. So, it is through Jesus, the gate, that we enter the sheepfold to find rest and protection. Then, during the day, the gate is opened so the sheep can go out, led by the shepherd, to find pasture. According to these images, Jesus, the shepherd, walks with us and leads us in our daily lives, but, as the gate, he invites us to retreat from the world into the sheepfold, where we find rest and protection. Four years ago, April of 2019, about a month before I was about to begin my service at St. Mary’s, I had a conversation with one of our parishioners, Spencer Jasper, as we were concluding our vigil on Maundy Thursday. Spencer, a long-time parishioner, shared with me his love for the church, and he made a comment that will always stay with me. Pointing to our beautiful altar, he said, “This is the gate of heaven.” Yes, this altar, on which Our Lord Jesus Christ offers himself to us, is indeed the gate of heaven. He invites us to enter this sacred space, away from the cares and distractions, perils and dangers, of this world, and to find rest and refreshment. And as we gather at the altar to celebrate the Holy Mysteries, heaven and earth meet. We are joined by the citizens of heaven. Angels and archangels, patriarchs and prophets, saints and martyrs, and our beloved ones who have gone before us – all descend around the altar to join us in praise and adoration of Our Lord Jesus Christ. In the Eucharist, we are given a foretaste of heaven. So, dear friends, we gather at the gate of heaven this morning. In the words of our Prayer Book, we come to receive “the holy food and drink of new and unending life in him” (The Book of Common Prayer, p.363). We come not for solace only, but for strength; not for pardon only, but for renewal (The Book of Common Prayer, p.372). And, when the service is ended and we leave the sheepfold to go back into the world of green pastures and shadows of the valley of death, we will be carried in the arms of our good shepherd. The Third Sunday of Easter
St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Fr. Charles Everson April 23, 2023 I’m not sure about you, but my social life isn’t what it was before March 2020. Before most people knew what a coronavirus is, back when pandemics were mostly talked about in horror movies, Jay and I were in the practice of entertaining at our home several times per month, breaking bread with friends and family alike. Fast forward three years, and we seem to share a meal with friends less frequently than before. I was talking with one of our parishioners the other day, and she too commented on this phenomenon and how isolating and lonely it is. It seems to be a common experience for single and married people alike. Of course all of this began with an abrupt and sudden upheaval of the world that resulted in not only the isolation and loneliness that has lingered so long, but despair. But even the darkest despair we may have felt during that first year of the pandemic can’t have been as deep as the despair felt by the two disciples in the gospel lesson we heard today. On the afternoon of the first Easter Day, these two disciples are walking on the road to Emmaus from Jerusalem, the place where they witnessed the torture and execution of Jesus, the one they hoped would redeem Israel from all of her troubles. They heard that some women had claimed that an angel told them he was alive, but these two aren’t buying it. They are sad, confused, and full of despair. As they are talking and discussing the fateful events they witnessed, Jesus shows up, but for some reason, their eyes are kept from recognizing him. He asks what they’re talking about, and they respond by telling him about their shattered expectations. Jesus then begins to teach the two travelers and explain to them how the crazy events they had experienced were the fulfillment of the scriptures of old. They still aren’t convinced, but when Jesus tries to leave and head another direction, the two disciples urge him strongly to stay with them. Even though they still don’t recognize him, his preaching and teaching from the scriptures apparently have had enough impact on them that they want to spend more time with him. When they sit down at the table, he takes bread, blesses and breaks it, and gives it to them, and suddenly their eyes are opened! They realize that the man standing before them is the one in whom they placed all their hope. The women who experienced the vision with the angel weren’t insane after all. He is risen indeed! Jesus finally makes himself known to them in the breaking of the bread. Now don’t mishear me. As a priest, my duties include preaching and teaching the scriptures as I’m doing right now, and that certainly has its place. But preaching and teaching only reach so far into the depths of one’s being. From about age 11 to age 24, I was Southern Baptist, and was taught that the normal way to commune intimately with God is by having what is called “a quiet time,” time by yourself in a room with a Bible, praying and studying the scriptures. Also important was being in corporate worship and listening to sermons much lengthier than the one you’re enduring right. For me, anyway, there was something missing that I couldn’t quite put my finger on… …until one day that when walked into an historic church Paris, France. I was living in Paris and working as a Baptist missionary, and I sang in a university choir that allowed anyone to try out and join. My first concert with them was in the 13th century church called St. Etienne du Mont, St. Stephen of the Mount. We sang a choral Mass setting – I forget the composer – in this amazingly gorgeous and historic church that was served by Maurice and Marie-Madeline Durufle as staff musicians for many years, and it dawned on me that we were singing a Mass setting in a church in which the Mass had been celebrated daily for at least 475 years (with a slight pause at the French Revolution). I had seen their service times on the way in, and decided to attend their simple daily Mass the next morning at 8:30 a.m., and it was at that service that I literally recognized the Lord in the breaking of the bread. When Fr. Stéphane elevated the consecrated communion bread for all to behold, my eyes were opened, and I recognized Jesus and knew what it was I had been missing. Part of what hit me that day is that salvation isn’t merely a spiritual redemption of our hearts, it’s almost a physical redemption of our bodies. God’s grace is more than a feeling, and thank God, because sometimes I wondered whether the funny feeling right here is the voice of God or indigestion. God’s grace is more than a feeling, and God sent Jesus to redeem our whole selves – heart, soul, mind, and body. He doesn’t only share his love grace with us by intangible means like quiet prayer and reflection, but perhaps even more importantly by tangible fruit of the earth and work of human hands, the simple creatures of bread and wine. God didn’t send his son to redeem us as a disembodied spirit, but as a human being with flesh and blood and bones. He doesn’t send his Holy Spirit to us and leave us wondering whether the voice we’re hearing is the voice of God or a ghost; he has given us the sacraments of the church – especially Baptism and Communion – as “a sure and certain means” by which we receive God’s inward and spiritual grace. As soon as their eyes were opened, the first thing the disciples did – the same hour, they got up and found their friends to joyfully tell them that the Lord has risen indeed and that he has been made known to them in the breaking of the bread. This sharing of the faith, sometimes called evangelism, conjures up images of street preachers with megaphones and door-to-door missionaries in foreign countries. But evangelism at its best is the natural sharing of the faith with those you already know and have a relationship with. While it should be intentional, evangelism should not be judg-y or pushy or disrespectful. When we encounter God in our lives – through prayer, through the hug of a friend, through the scriptures preached and taught, and through the bread and wine of Holy Communion – it’s natural to want to share the joy of that encounter with others in word and deed. And this leads us to the blessing of the new shrine of St. Luke “the Evangelist.” When this parish church began in 1854, we were called St. Luke's. The Vestry voted to change out name to St. Mary's nearly twenty years later to avail itself of the provision in Mary Ann Troost's will that a plot of land at 13th and Holmes be given to an Episcopal parish called St. Mary's. If you've ever been here on St. Luke's Day in October, you've heard me do my best to keep the stories of our forbears alive - the key people, some of the events, and the spirit of reckless abandon in which the clergy and people spread the gospel in the fledgling "Town of Kansas" (now Kansas City) following the example of St. Luke the Evangelist. St. Luke, the apostle who is traditionally known to have written the gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles, was a companion of St. Paul on some of his missionary journeys, and he was also a physician who used his medical skills to heal people’s bodies as well as their souls. As you’ll see in the details of the icon itself, Luke is also honored as patron of artists. According to tradition, he was the first person to paint an icon of the Blessed Virgin Mary which he is holding. We return to our roots today by dedicating this new shrine which invites us to connect with the apostolic witness of St. Luke and his writings, inspires us by his example of evangelism and healing and artistic beauty, and invites us to ask for his prayers and protection. Dear friends, as we break bread together in a moment, let us ask the Lord to open the eyes of our faith. You may have heard the scriptures preached and taught throughout your life and you mentally assent to belief in Jesus, and yet something seems missing. You may recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread as you have for the past several decades of your life. You may think the whole resurrection of Jesus is a load of hogwash. No matter how isolated or lonely or full of despair you may feel, no matter how your hopes may have been crushed, like the two travelers on the road to Emmaus, you are invited to recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread. We break bread not in isolation, but in community with one another. And here at St. Mary’s Church, we affirm that God meets you where you are, no matter where you are in your journey, no matter your station in life. At St. Mary’s, we have services every day, and I end up celebrating the Eucharist 2-3 times a week. Twenty years later, it is quite common for me to elevate the consecrated bread and be taken back to that time when I was a Baptist missionary in Paris at the age of 23…when I first recognized Jesus in the breaking of the bread. As we break bread together today, may you and I behold Jesus in all his redeeming work. Amen. Easter Day
Matthew 28:1-10, Acts 10:34-43 Fr. Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church April 9, 2023 On many Sundays throughout the year, it would be commonplace for the average person to come to church not knowing what the theme of the liturgy will be. Today is not one of those days. On Easter Day, we know what to expect. On this day, we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead – body, blood, soul and divinity. We hear the story of Mary Magdalene and the other Mary at the tomb of Jesus. An angel appears dramatically like lightning, rolls away the stone, and proclaims that Jesus has been raised from the day as he said. Faced with the angel and the revealing of the empty tomb, the guards were terrified. The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid.” Then, Jesus greets them– body, blood, soul and divinity. The two women take hold of his feet with their hands and worship him. He says, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.” Mary Magdalene and the other Mary didn’t show up at the tomb and encounter what they expected to see, nor were they anticipating what would happen on their way to tell the others what they had seen. In the epistle lesson from the book of Acts, we heard a post-resurrection sermon preached by St. Peter just after the dramatic conversion of the Roman centurion Cornelius. (Cornelius is a Gentile but worships the God of the Hebrews.) As he is saying his evening prayers, he experiences something he certainly wasn’t expecting to experience. Cornelius has a vision in which an angel instructs him to go and call for Peter, who is an observant Jew. While Cornelius’ men are on their way to him, Peter has a bizarre vision in which a voice tells him to kill and eat animals considered profane under Jewish dietary law. He is shocked and doesn’t know what to make of this. Cornelius’ men show up, and Peter accompanies them to meet Cornelius who had gathered his family and friends. Peter acknowledges to the group that as a Jew, he isn’t lawfully permitted to mingle with Gentiles, but because God has shown him that he shouldn’t call anyone profane or unclean, he agrees to come to see him. He asks Cornelius, “Now may I ask why you sent for me?” Peter is beginning to get the message but isn’t quite there yet. Cornelius describes his vision, and as we heard in verse 34, the light finally clicks with Peter and he understands what God is trying to say to him. He says, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” This past week, on social media, I came across a meme which consists of images of Jesus washing various peoples’ feet, including Joe Biden, Donald Trump, a gay man, a prisoner, a Ukrainian mother and child, a young black man, an exhausted nurse, an orphaned toddler, a police officer, Pope Francis, and a young woman ignoring Jesus and focusing on her phone. It is a grouping of images that is designed to trigger each of us in some way or another. While the message seems easy enough to understand – Jesus shows no impartiality and is the servant of all – I began to see people saving and reposting the images but having first deleted the images of Jesus washing the feet of those they don’t like. Oh, the irony. Like Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, Peter was stubborn, and it took more than God’s still, soft voice in his ear to cause the scales to fall from his eyes and realize that Jesus’ resurrection from the dead truly means that “God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” Fearing God and doing right echo the ancient Jewish summary of the law: the first and greatest commandment is to love God and the second is to love your neighbor as yourself. In the resurrected Christ, the old law has been fulfilled. The old boundaries that separated ancient Israel and her neighbors that once were important were destroyed when Christ was raised from the dead. We are often like Mary Magdalene, the other Mary, and Peter. When we perceive that God is leading us somewhere that is unexpected and uncomfortable, we are terrified, and because of our fear, we cannot hear the message God wants us to hear. Despite God’s impartiality being a part of the DNA of the Christian faith from the very beginning, we Christians, as a whole, are not known for freely and authentically accepting those who are different than we are into our faith communities primarily, in my opinion, because of fear. Fear of impurity, fear of how we’ll be perceived by others, fear of the hard work that is required to be in relationship with someone who makes us uncomfortable. At Easter, we hear the Scripture readings and sing the hymns and see the beautiful flowers we expect to see. We celebrate Christ’s resurrection with all the joy we can muster in the beauty of holiness, with the finest music, with all of the expected things. But of all the things we do this morning, the most awesome and terrifying is coming face to face with our resurrected Lord in the bread and wine of Holy Communion. The same Jesus who rose from the dead on that first Easter Day is the same Jesus - body, blood, soul and divinity – who meets us at this altar in the simple creatures of bread and wine. We kneel at the altar rail next to someone who looks and dresses and perhaps smells differently than we do; someone who, no matter their station in life, God loves with no partiality. We all kneel at the same rail and encounter the same risen Christ, and we all eat and drink that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood.[1] Dear friends, as we encounter our risen Lord at this altar, let us heed the words of the angels: do not be afraid. And as we come face to face with those who are different than we are in the most triggering way, here in church and out in the world, let us remember that “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all are one in Christ Jesus.”[2] Thanks be to God, we have nothing to fear – even death itself – for Christ is risen! Alleluia! [1] Prayer of Humble Access, 1928 BCP. [2] Galatians 3:28, NRSV. The Easter Sermon of John Chrysostom
(circa 400 AD) Are there any who are devout lovers of God? Let them enjoy this beautiful bright festival! Are there any who are grateful servants? Let them rejoice and enter into the joy of their Lord! Are there any weary with fasting? Let them now receive their wages! If any have toiled from the first hour, let them receive their due reward; If any have come after the third hour, let him with gratitude join in the Feast! And he that arrived after the sixth hour, let him not doubt; for he too shall sustain no loss. And if any delayed until the ninth hour, let him not hesitate; but let him come too. And he who arrived only at the eleventh hour, let him not be afraid by reason of his delay. For the Lord is gracious and receives the last even as the first. He gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour, as well as to him that toiled from the first. To this one He gives, and upon another He bestows. He accepts the works as He greets the endeavor. The deed He honors and the intention He commends. Let us all enter into the joy of the Lord! First and last alike receive your reward; rich and poor, rejoice together! Sober and slothful, celebrate the day! You that have kept the fast, and you that have not, rejoice today for the Table is richly laden! Feast royally on it, the calf is a fatted one. Let no one go away hungry. Partake, all, of the cup of faith. Enjoy all the riches of His goodness! Let no one grieve at his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one mourn that he has fallen again and again; for forgiveness has risen from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Death of our Savior has set us free. He has destroyed it by enduring it. He destroyed Hell when He descended into it. He put it into an uproar even as it tasted of His flesh. Isaiah foretold this when he said, "You, O Hell, have been troubled by encountering Him below." Hell was in an uproar because it was done away with. It was in an uproar because it is mocked. It was in an uproar, for it is destroyed. It is in an uproar, for it is annihilated. It is in an uproar, for it is now made captive. Hell took a body, and discovered God. It took earth, and encountered Heaven. It took what it saw, and was overcome by what it did not see. O death, where is thy sting? O Hell, where is thy victory? Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated! Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down! Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice! Christ is Risen, and life is liberated! Christ is Risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead; for Christ having risen from the dead, is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To Him be Glory and Power forever and ever. Amen! Good Friday
St. Mary’s Church The Rev’d Charles Everson John 18:1-19:30 Last night, we began the Sacred Triddum of Easter with the Mass of Maundy Thursday. The theme of yesterday’s celebration was Jesus’ institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper. The setting of the Last Supper in Matthew, Mark, and Luke is during great Jewish festival of the Passover which celebrates the Israelites’ escape from slavery in Egypt. In the synoptic gospels, the Passion and death of Christ happen after Passover. In the gospel of John, however, the Last Supper is not presented as a Passover meal, and the timeline is moved up a bit. The Last Supper happens on the night before he dies, and Christ’s passion and death are set during the Passover. Scholars debate the precise reason for this apparent chronological discrepancy, but in any case, in St. John’s gospel, Jesus dies during the sacrificing of the lambs in the temple.[1] As we heard in last night’s reading from the book of Exodus, at Passover, the Hebrews were to slaughter a lamb, smear some of its blood on the doorposts and lintels of their houses, and then eat the lamb. When God passed through the land to slay the first-born sons of the Egyptians, he would pass by the Israelites’ houses and spare their first-born sons, delivering them from death by the blood of the lamb. This sacrificing business was a bloody, gruesome affair. Last night, I had the privilege of singing in the choir, and during the reading of that passage from Exodus, when the stuff about the smearing of the blood and the way the lamb was to be roasted and eaten were described in gory detail, several of the choristers developed a slight look of disgust on their faces – well, disgust and maybe a little giggling. And yet here we are on Good Friday, face to face with the bloody, gruesome death of Our Savior. In his passion narrative, John gives two connections between Jesus’ death and the Passover. Right before his death on the cross, Our Lord says, “I am thirsty.” His friends put a sponge full of wine on a branch of hyssop and hold it to his mouth. The hyssop branch was readily available because hyssop was used at Passover to smear the blood of the Passover lamb on the lintel and doorposts of the Hebrews’ houses and was used ceremonially in the temple during Jesus’ day.[2] And just after the passage we heard, the solders broke the legs of the other two men crucified next to Jesus to speed up their death. But by the time they got to Jesus, they saw he was already dead and saw no need to break his legs. John explains that this occurred “so that the Scripture might be filled, “None of his bones shall be broken,””[3] a reference back to the Passover instructions not to break any of the Paschal Lamb’s bones. The parallel is poignant: Jesus hangs on the cross at the same time that the Paschal lambs are being slaughtered in the temple. Once a meal to connect the Hebrews to their covenant with God, Jesus made the Passover lamb into the sacrifice to end all sacrifices. Jesus’ death on the cross would accomplish once and for all what the blood of thousands of lambs could never do. Jesus was the perfect Passover lamb who ended the need for animal sacrifices and changed the meaning of the Passover itself.[4] While the Passover lamb itself was not for the atoning of sins, the sacrificial system of Judaism included the sin offerings of goats and lambs and bulls and doves. In these rituals, the life of the animal was given as a sacrifice to atone for the sins of the people. On that cross, by his blood, Jesus did away with the need for animal sacrifices. Jesus is truly the Lamb of God, the ultimate Passover sacrifice. The Church talks about the Eucharist as a bloodless sacrifice. Yes, we believe the consecrated wine is Christ’s precious blood, but none of us believe that we are drinking human blood. I think tawny port has a more pleasant taste than blood. But the sacrifice that Jesus made for us on the cross was a bloody, gruesome affair and involved real human flesh and blood. Why did God send his own son to die for us? Why the need for all this blood? While there are many atonement theories and just as many criticisms of each of them, there is no getting around the fact that the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross was a sacrificial atonement for our sins. The first bit of Eucharistic Prayer 1 in our prayer book sums up the whole affair quite nicely. The Celebrant prays, All glory be to thee, O Lord our God, for that thou didst create heaven and earth, and didst make us in thine own image; and, of thy tender mercy, didst give thine only Son Jesus Christ to take our nature upon him, and to suffer death upon the cross for our redemption. He made there a full and perfect sacrifice for the whole world; Just after Jesus received the wine on that branch of hyssop, recalling the blood of the Paschal Lamb on the lintel and doorposts at Passover, Jesus said, ““It is finished.” Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” Dear friend, Jesus is the Lamb of God who taketh away the sins of the world. We sing or say these words at Mass to signify the end of the consecration of the elements and that Christ is truly present in the consecrated bread and wine. In other words, “It is finished.” At every Eucharist, we celebrate the Passover anew in our own day and time, renewing our covenant with God, and continuing a perpetual memory of Jesus’s death on the cross for our sins. As we receive his body and blood into our own bodies, we renew our commitment to Jesus Christ as our Savior and Lord, who, in the words of our post-communion hymn, “died that we might be forgiven, he died to make us good, that we might go at last to heaven, saved by his precious blood.” Amen. [1] NRSV Cultural Backgrounds Study Bible, 1864. [2] Ibid 1869. [3] John 19:36. [4] https://www.episcopalchurch.org/sermon/christ-our-passover-good-friday-april-10-2020/ Maundy Thursday
Sean C. Kim St. Mary’s Episcopal Church 6 April 2023 The dysfunctional family bickering at the dinner table during Thanksgiving has, unfortunately, become a kind of American tradition, one to which many of us can probably relate. Today, in our Gospel reading from Luke, we see some dysfunction in Jesus’ family – his spiritual family, that is, his disciples. Gathered to celebrate the Feast of the Passover, the disciples exhibit some bad behavior. One of them, Judas, is about to betray his friend and master to the authorities. And the others are arguing with each other about who is the greatest among them. And all this in the context of the sacred moment when Jesus institutes the Sacrament of Holy Communion, the central act of Christian worship! The Gospels don’t paint a very favorable portrait of the disciples. In spite of all the time that they spend with Jesus and the friendship and intimacy that they enjoy with him, they often fail to understand his message. They just don’t seem to get it. And this isn’t the first time in the Gospel of Luke that they are arguing over who is number one. Earlier in the book, they had the same argument. Jesus responded back then by placing a little child next to him and telling the disciples, “Whoever welcomes this child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me; for the least among all of you is the greatest” (Luke 9:46-48). But the disciples obviously didn’t know what he meant because here they are again arguing over the very same issue of who is the greatest. So, Jesus repeats the message: “the greatest among you must become the youngest, and the leader like one who serves” (Luke 21:27). Jesus rejects the disciples’ desire for personal honor and status. That is the way the world thinks. Jesus presents a new and different way of life, one that is not motivated by greatness and glory for oneself but rather by humility and service for others. And this is the life that we are called to live as followers of Jesus. But, as we know, this is easier said than done. We live in a society in which the game of status seems inescapable. Whether it is the neighborhood we live in, the car that we drive, or the clothes that we wear, we display our status. Our jobs and professions have their hierarchies, and we work hard to rise up the ladder of promotion and authority. Even the Church is not immune from the competition for status. Have you heard the phrase “purple fever”? It refers to a priest – or perhaps even a seminarian – who does little to hide the fact that they want to become a bishop. Reining in our personal ambitions presents an extraordinary challenge for us. It goes against society. It goes against our human nature. For most of us, it will be a lifelong struggle. But we have help – divine help. Our Lord Jesus sets an example for us of humility and service for others. Today, immediately after the sermon, just as Jesus washed the feet of his disciples at the Last Supper, we, too, will wash each other’s feet. When the service is ended and we go out into the world, we will carry in our hearts a memory of this powerful symbolic act. And we will strive to live it out in our daily lives, serving in humility those with whom we live and work, as well as those for whom we pray: the aged and infirm, the widowed and orphans, the sick and the suffering, the poor and the oppressed, the unemployed and the destitute, the prisoners and captives. In the struggle to overcome ourselves and live for others, we also find help in the Holy Eucharist. As we receive Christ’s Body and Blood into our own bodies in the mystery of the Blessed Sacrament, we unite with him and become one with him. And His Presence in the Eucharist grants us the strength, the spiritual nourishment, to carry out his work in the world. In spite of all their faults and blunders, Jesus’ disciples eventually got it. They went on to embody the life of humble service that Jesus preached, and it is on their apostolic foundation that our faith rests. This evening, we join the disciples at the table that Jesus has prepared for us. We come to be fed with the holy food and drink of new and unending life. We come to be transformed that we might live no longer unto ourselves but for him who died for us and rose again, Jesus Christ Our Lord. Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday
Sean C. Kim St. Mary’s Episcopal Church 2 April 2023 Palm Sunday is one of the most festive celebrations of the church year. Waving palm branches, we process outside the church, and we have glorious music to accompany our worship. But today, you may have noticed on the service leaflet, is also called the Sunday of the Passion. Our Gospel reading from Matthew takes us through what will happen to Jesus the rest of this week – the Passion or the suffering of Jesus as he is arrested tried, and executed. During this holiest of weeks of the Christian faith, our liturgy invites us to enter and experience the drama of salvation that took place two thousand years ago. As we speak and reenact the events, we become the crowds. We become the disciples. Today, we join the crowds that welcome Jesus as he enters Jerusalem. The city is full of pilgrims who have come to observe Passover in the holy city. And the crowds are excited to see in person the famous preacher, healer, and miracle-worker. We read that some spread their cloaks on the road, others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road, and they shout, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” (Matthew 21:8). Through their words and actions, the crowds proclaim Jesus the king, the messiah, the fulfillment of prophecy. But then as we turn to our Gospel reading, there is a dramatic shift – no longer the joy and fanfare of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem but the sorrow and tragedy of His Passion and Death. We have a kind of preview of what will happen the rest of this week. What begins as a royal welcome for Jesus will end with his death on the cross as a criminal. And, through it all, we become part of the events that lead to Golgotha. On Thursday, we will join the disciples at the Last Supper when Jesus instituted the Sacrament of Holy Communion and when he washed the feet of his disciples. Then we will follow Jesus and the disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray and keep vigil in Jesus’ moment of agony as he prepares for the supreme sacrifice that he will make on the cross. It is in the garden where Jesus will be arrested. And what do his disciples do? One of them, Judas, who has betrayed him to the authorities, comes to identify him, and the rest of the disciples desert Jesus and flee into hiding for fear of their lives. And later Peter, one of the main disciples, denies even knowing Jesus. On Friday, we will join the crowds again. But their mood will have changed. When Jesus entered Jerusalem, they shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” Now, at the time of his trial before Pilate, they scream “Let him be crucified!” As our readings and liturgy lead us through these events, we are more than spectators. We may not have been physically there two thousand years ago, but we are no less part of the story of Jesus’ Passion and Death, for it is our sins and transgressions that put him on the cross. As we read in the book by the Prophet Isaiah: All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way And the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all (Isaiah 53:6) Like the disciples and the crowds, we, too, are guilty of betraying, denying, and abandoning Jesus. How many times have we, while calling him Lord and Savior, let our egos drive our actions? How many times have we conveniently hidden our Christian identity for the sake of acceptance by our peers? How many times have we failed to be faithful in our prayers and devotions? How many times have we disobeyed the command to love God and neighbor? During this Season of Lent, we have been reflecting on our sins. That does not stop with Holy Week. In fact, the reflection on our sins intensifies as we speak and reenact the acts of betrayal, denial, and abandonment. We lay bare the worst of what lurks deep in our hearts and minds. As human beings, all of us have a bit of Judas in us. All of us have a bit of Peter in us. All of us can be fickle like the crowds, quickly turning from love and adoration to hatred and violence. So, toward the end of this week, on Friday, we will join the crowds one final time, this time at the foot of the cross, to gaze upon the body of Jesus. At the foot of the cross, we will confront the paradox of our salvation. Jesus was condemned that we might be forgiven of our sins. Jesus died that we might have life. But, as we know, the story doesn’t end there. Death will not have the final word. For the rest of the week, as Jesus lies in the tomb, we will wait. We will wait for the promise of resurrection. |
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