Year C, Proper 21
1 Tim. 6:6-19, Luke 16:19-31 The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church September 25, 2022 Throughout its over 2,000-year history, the Church has often been very concerned about how its members behave in the bedroom. That’s an understatement, of course. Far more often, in the Scriptures anyway, do we hear concern about how Christians should approach their relationship with material possessions. “Money is the root of all evil”. Sounds like what we heard in our second lesson today, right? Not quite. “The love of money is the root of all evil?” Still not right. The text actually says, “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.” There are plenty of roots of evil out there, and it isn’t money itself that is problematic. Evils abound from loving money. [1] Paul is urging Timothy to be content, to pursue godliness, and beware of things that may stand in the way of that goal, whether it be money or sex or something else. While 1 Timothy 6:10 is perhaps one of the most misquoted passages of scripture, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus is misrepresented frequently as well. It is often said that the rich man was the villain in this story simply for being rich. This isn’t actually true. In this story, the rich man dresses and feasts lavishly while a poor hungry man is suffering horribly at the gate of his home. Lazarus, the poor man, is sick and hungry and hopes to catch scraps of food fallen from the rich man’s table. Both men die as we all do, no matter our station in life. As Paul said, “we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it.”[2] The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham in heaven. The rich man also died and was buried, unlike the poor man, as he had the means to pay for a proper burial. The rich man is damned, apparently for letting Lazarus starve. Neither of these passages is saying that being rich means you’ll go to hell. In fact, in the epistle this is explicit. Paul says, “As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of the life that really is life.” From a purely economic perspective, I don’t think I’m “rich” according to the standards of the society in which we live, but if I’m honest, I’ve more identified with the rich man in this story than the poor man throughout my life. For example, I was privileged enough to have never purchased a car on my own until the age of 31. One cold, winter Sunday morning, as I was driving to Mass, I got t-boned by someone who inadvertently ran a red light on the south side of the Plaza, and my car was slammed into what was then Crate and Barrel. Needless to say, I needed a new car, and as I began to car shop, I quickly began to feel uncomfortable with the types of car that were catching my eye. I had moved up in the ranks at the bank and could afford a nicer car than the simple, basic models I’d driven up to then. How nice is too nice? The rich man’s purple clothing was extremely expensive as it was necessary to crush 10,000 shellfish to produce a single gram of the purple dye needed to make them.[3] Beyond asking the question of what I felt like I could afford, at what point would I cross the line and buy a car that was as extravagant as the rich man’s purple robes? I ended up buy the more expensive car. I didn’t need that fancy of a car, but it wasn’t terribly more expensive than a more sensible choice would have been. In hindsight, I don’t think that God was nearly as concerned with which car I purchased as I was. Rather than trying to determine the line between simple enjoyment and decadence, perhaps we should ask ourselves, “In what way am I doing good? How am I being rich in good works, generous, and ready to share? Am I trying to store up treasures for myself treasures here on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, or am I being generous and sharing and thus storing up the treasure of a good foundation for the future so that I can take hold of the life that really is life? How can I be increasingly generous with the riches with which God has entrusted me?” A second way in which this parable is misinterpreted is when it is depicted as being about the afterlife. Despite the fact that nearly all of the hymns I chose for today’s liturgy are about heaven, I don’t think this parable is primarily about the afterlife. It’s about how we act here and now. The love of money is tempting, but be content. No, beyond content, be generous. Love your neighbor as yourself, but more than that, love your enemy! Maybe, after all, my instinct to choose hymns about heaven wasn’t so off base. Maybe the imagery and the tunes of the hope of heaven will energize us, and through them God will give us the strength to build the heavenly city the Church holds as almost a dream, whose laws are love, whose crown is servanthood, and where the sun that shines is God’s grace for human good. In its dazzling beauty, the heavenly city’s splendor bids us seize the whole of life and build its glory here.[4] Dear friends, fight the good fight of the faith! Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called! Set your hopes not on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment! [1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-26-3/commentary-on-1-timothy-66-19-4 [2] 1 Timothy 6:7 [3] Keener, Craig, ed. New Cultural Backgrounds Study Bible. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2019, 1799. [4] Much of this paragraph is a paraphrase of the last two verses of hymn 583 in the Hymnal 1982, “O holy city, seen of John,” by Walter Russell Bowie. Requiem for Queen Elizabeth II
1 Corinthians 15:19-26, 53-58 The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church September 24, 2022 Last Monday morning, along with many of you, and indeed much of the world, I woke up early to watch the state funeral of Queen Elizabeth II. Much has been said of the glorious Anglican liturgy, the music, the pageantry, the transcendence of it all. As someone who is privileged to experience all of that here in this place, albeit on a smaller scale, that’s not what struck me. It was the normality of it all. Normal, in the sense that it was a Christian funeral in a Christian church for a Christian soul. Last Monday, she was referred to as “our sister” four times. In the funeral of a queen, watched by more people around the world than any other event in human history, we are reminded that in Christ, no matter our station in life, we are sisters and brothers, one of another. We all share one mortal fate, and one eternal hope: the death and resurrection of our Lord, and our Brother, Jesus Christ.[1] Today, we pray for the repose of the soul of a baptized Christian, a member of the household of God. Baptism is the great leveler of human equality. In the waters of baptism, the rich man is born again, just as the poor man. He who has sinned greatly throughout an entire lifetime is welcomed into the family, just as the baby who doesn’t yet know right from wrong. In the waters of baptism, the future bishop is forgiven of her sins and reborn in the Holy Spirit in precisely the same way the future sanitation worker is. Likewise, all of us leave this world in the same way. Death awaits us all. When we die, the Church commends each of us to Almighty God as a brother or sister, and and commits his or her body to their final resting place; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In the epistle lesson, St. Paul says that this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality.[2] Indeed, that is what we do at our baptism, and each and everyday thereafter as we “put on” our baptism anew in private prayer, and in the confession and absolution of our sins, and the reception of the body and blood of Our Lord at Holy Communion again and again. This was the pattern of life our sister Elizabeth lived, something so beautifully seen in her annual Christmas broadcasts. During a moment of grief this week, it hit me that Christmas morning will not ever be the same. For the past five years, after the mystery and glory of the Midnight Mass in this space and a few hours of sleep, I so look forward to arriving here in the wee hours to join Fr. Sean in preparing for the simple Low Mass of Christmas morning. We arrive in time to prepare and then settle into the sacristy at 9:00 sharp to watch the Queen’s Christmas message on my phone. And we inevitably encounter the Christian paradox – that, at the last day, the last shall be first and the first last – the humble and meek shall be exalted and the rich shall be sent away empty - an anointed monarch – arguably the most recognized person in the world - proclaims her faith in One who, quote, “lived obscurely for most of his life, and never travelled far. He was maligned and rejected by many, though he had done no wrong. And yet, billions of people now follow his teaching and find in him the guiding light for their lives. I am one of them,” she said, “because Christ’s example helps me see the value of doing small things with great love, whoever does them and whatever they themselves believe.”[3] Christmas morn may not be the same again, but we do not grieve as others do who have no hope.[4] With our sister Elizabeth, we are all heirs, through hope, of God’s everlasting kingdom. In Christ’s resurrection, we, too, have hope that at the last, when all things are gathered up in Christ, we may with her, enjoy the fulness of God’s promises and be given new bodies, free of blemish and the effects of age, and full of life and immortality. When the Queen died, the first words the new king heard were, “The Queen is dead. Long live the King.” This Christmas morn, rest assured that Fr. Sean and I will be watching the King’s Christmas message in the sacristy at 9:00 sharp. Two ordinary priests from Kansas City will be looking to an anointed monarch in a far off land whose lineage stretches back 1,000 years to be reminded that God’s throne shall never, like earth’s proud empires, pass away,[5] and God’s kingdom stands and grows forever until all his creatures proclaim, “To him who sits upon the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might for ever and ever.”[6] Amen. [1] Mark Broadway’s Facebook post: https://www.facebook.com/mark.broadway.182/posts/pfbid02CxHW9KbYVAaUjZsrYxjzb5Y88SM8J1x4NSVWDSEx6gHCgPaWLYPLzE9M8coorNSKl [2] 1 Corinthians 15:53 [3] https://www.royal.uk/christmas-broadcast-2016 [4] 1 Thess 4:13 [5] Hymn 24, The Hymnal 1982, John Ellerton (1826-1893) [6] Revelation 5:13 Proper 19, Year C – Luke 15:1-10
The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church September 11, 2022 When I was a kid, my music and television habits were heavily influenced by my parents. I grew up listening to Chicago, Led Zepplin, the Doors, Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles, and the like. And I grew up watching movies like Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, and Arthur, and TV series like Married with Children, and my favorite, Cheers. This show is about a bar in Boston called Cheers where folks gather to unwind and interact with friends. Its theme song is famous not only because of the catchy tune, but because it names a longing that every person has: Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came. You want to be where you can see our troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name. That’s the kind of place Cheers was in this show. A place where people could be real and share food and drink with others, no matter their station in life. In today’s gospel reading, it’s not difficult to imagine Jesus in such a place, eating and drinking with anyone, much to the chagrin of the proper and pure. St. Luke tells us that that Jesus is eating and drinking with “tax collectors and sinners” while the “Pharisees and scribes” are grumbling about the fact that he welcomes – that he even seeks out these sinners.[1] In response to their grumbling, he tells the Pharisees and scribes three parables, two of which we heard today. The first is the parable of the lost sheep. He asks these religious leaders, “Which of you would leave the ninety-nine sheep in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” I’m a city boy and have no experience with sheep, but this shepherd doesn’t sound very responsible to me. What about the 99 sheep left in the wilderness? Who will take care of them? These are questions I’m sure the Pharisees asked themselves upon hearing this parable, but perhaps like the Pharisees, I was initially as dense as they were. The utter ridiculousness of what the shepherd does is an important part of the story. He is so focused on the lost sheep that he not only throws caution to the wind, he risks his livelihood by leaving his flock unattended. And when he finds the lost sheep, he lays it on his shoulders and comes home rejoicing and calling in all the neighbors and friends to throw a huge party to celebrate the one who was lost and is now found. He ends by telling them, “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” The second parable is similar. Instead of a shepherd, Jesus talks of a woman with 10 silver coins. What woman, were she to lose one of them, doesn’t light a lamp, or sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? And then once she finds it, what woman wouldn’t call her friends and neighbors together and have a party in celebration for find it? He ends this story like the first by saying, “there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” I’ve often heard this passage preached like this: you and I are sinners, and Jesus cares so much for sinners that he relentlessly seeks us and rejoices when we are finally found. We should therefore repent and return to the Lord. While that’s not a bad sermon for another day, Jesus didn’t direct these parables to the sinners and tax collectors. These parables were addressed to the religious leaders of the day – the Pharisees and scribes. Jesus isn’t trying to get them to identify themselves as one who is lost and needs to be found. Jesus is trying to get them to learn to rejoice! Both of these parables end by calling friends and neighbors together to rejoice and celebrate. Jesus’s focus isn’t on the lost that are found by God, it’s on the rejoicing that happens when the lost one is found! When the religious people of the day grumble about Jesus eating with tax collectors and sinners – when they grumble about Jesus’s radical hospitality – he responds by telling them that they should celebrate when God goes after the sinner who is lost and rescues them. Yes, salvation is about being rescued, but it’s even more about being drawn into the eternal party. When you see Jesus seeking the lost, when you see him dining with the worst of the worst, the appropriate response isn’t grumbling or jealousy or judging – it’s rejoicing! That’s what repentance looks like for the Pharisees and scribes as well as for you and me: when we see God seeking someone who doesn’t wear the right clothes, or hold the same political views as we do, or that causes us in any way to label them as an “other” – as someone over in “that group” when God seeks them out and finds them, we are called to turn from judgement and grumbling to radical hospitality at a fabulous party! This past week, after over seventy-years on the throne, the Queen died. I am intentionally resisting my natural urge to spend more time on how that has affected me and saving it for the Solemn Requiem for her, the date and time of which will be announced soon. But as she was literally one of the most recognizable person in the world, you know that she was had a deep, Christian faith, and embodied duty, steadfastness, and dignity. Friday, I received news that a fellow priest, Adam Ngyren, died suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 35. You all met then-Deacon Adam as he was deacon of the Mass for David Wilcox’s wedding this past May, and then served as deacon at this service the next morning. He was ordained priest just a few weeks later. In fact, Adam was David roommate for two years at seminary – please keep David and Zach in your prayers, if you would. Adam was always open about the fact that he was in recovery and regularly attended Narcotics Anonymous meetings, and if you think I have a potty mouth, you didn’t spend more than 30 seconds with Adam. He was quirky and rough around the edges. Many in Adam’s situation would consider the Queen as a notorious sinner due to her wealth, privilege, and connections with empire and colonialism. Many in the upper crusts of society would view someone like Adam from a blue-collar background who struggles with addiction as a notorious sinner, writing them off as the Pharisees did the tax collectors in Jesus’ day. While both deaths have affected me in very different ways, I am greatly consoled by the thought of Adam lining up on his way to heaven alongside Elizabeth, a foulmouthed vegan-electrician-turned-priest alongside the Defender of the Faith, both sheep of God’s old fold, lambs of his own flock, notorious sinners of his own redeeming, both headed to the party of all parties, the heavenly banquet. Throughout his life, Jesus was repeatedly criticized for spending time with notorious sinners and outcasts. He’s inviting us today to join him by spending time doing the same. To eat and drink with those around us in our lives, perhaps in a context like Cheers. We have a deep longing to spend time with others who know us…a place where everybody knows our name. A place where we feel welcome. Nowhere in this text or elsewhere in Luke’s gospel do we see Jesus commenting on the sinners’ behavior. He eats and celebrates with them. He identifies with them and genuinely cares for them. Yes, he rejoices all the more when the sinner repents, but his love and care for them doesn’t depend on them repenting. For the Pharisees and for all of us, the question is, “Who are you ready to party with?” If the answer is “I don’t party,” or “I don’t party with those people,” then we’ve missed the point entirely.[2] Friends, God is inviting us today to join in the eternal party…to practice generous hospitality with people from every walk of life both here at St. Mary’s and beyond, whether they be prince or pauper or somewhere in between. And he’s inviting us to rejoice with the angels and archangels and with all the company of heaven every time he finds someone who is lost. [1] David Lyon Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word. Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 68. [2] Ibid 72. Proper 18, Year C – Philemon 1-21
The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church September 4, 2022 In Matthew chapter 17, Jesus says, "If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. And nothing will be impossible for you.” Some take this to mean that if God doesn’t answer your prayers, you don’t have enough faith. In Luke 12, Jesus says, "And everyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but anyone who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven." Does this mean that if you “blaspheme against the Holy Spirit,” whatever that means, you have no chance of being reconciled to God? In 1 Corinthians 6, Paul says, "Do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived! Fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, sodomites, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, revilers, robbers-- none of these will inherit the kingdom of God." I remember stealing a rubber stamp off of my teacher’s desk in kindergarten. This passage must mean that I won’t make it to heaven. And those who get drunk – it’s obvious what this means for them. Lastly, hear these words from Paul in 1 Cor. 14: "The women should keep silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be subordinate, as even the law says." Sorry to break it to you, Bishop Diane… It has been common throughout history for believers to use passages of Scripture, usually taken out of context, to support their own belief system. Some even use Scripture to reinforce their own power over an entire group of people as a way of excluding others from being able to receive the love and the grace of God. The second lesson this morning is from the book of Philemon, a passage of Scripture that was commonly used to justify slavery. Paul writes this letter from prison where he encounters a slave by the name of Onesimus who had, at this point, converted to the Christian faith under his influence while in prison. The traditional interpretation of this text is that Paul is asking his friend Philemon to receive Onesimus back as a slave, and forgive him whatever transgressions he had committed. And this interpretation was used throughout the centuries to justify slavery. Paul addresses this letter not only to Philemon, Apphia (A-phia) and Archippus, but to the entire congregation of the church that meets in one of their homes. He uses plural pronouns when he greets everyone at the beginning of the letter, but switches to singular pronouns for the majority of the letter and appears to be speaking directly to Philemon. He says, “Though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet, I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love...I am appealing to you for my child Onesimus.” Paul speaks diplomatically in order to try to persuade Philemon to come to his own conclusion, rather than Paul forcing him to do it, even though he had the authority to do so. Think back through your life, and think about who your favorite boss or teacher or priest was. The one you respected the most – the one you wanted to be like. The person you’re thinking of was probably like Paul: he or she didn’t lead by issuing edicts from on high, but instead, encouraged you and taught you and gave you the freedom to make your own decisions, even if that resulted in failure. Paul could have ordered Philemon to do what he wanted him to do, but he instead showered Philemon and the others with thanksgiving and blessings and encouragement, and then made his argument to try to persuade Philemon to make the right choice. What exactly is Paul asking Philemon to do? In verse 13, he says, “I wanted to keep him with me, so that he might be of service to me in your place during my imprisonment for the gospel, but I preferred to do nothing without your consent, in order that your good deed might be voluntary and not something forced. Perhaps this is the reason that he was separated from you for awhile, so that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother.” Perhaps Paul is asking Philemon not to receive Onesimus back as a slave, but to receive him as a Christian brother, free from the bonds of slavery. Although he’s asking Philemon to voluntarily commit this good deed, he isn’t shy in doing so. In verse 22, just after the last verse we heard in the reading, Paul says, “One more thing – prepare a guest room for me, for I am hoping through your prayers to be restored to you.” He’s hinting to Philemon, and to the entire congregation, that he will be following up to see how this ends up shaking out! Watch out, I’ll be checking in personally to see what you decide to do! The letter to Philemon is more than a “diplomatic coup” on the part of St. Paul,[1] it’s his attempt to use loving, thoughtful language to urge two individuals who fall under his pastoral charge and authority who are at serious odds not only to be reconciled to each other, but also to model the new life in Christ to which all baptized Christians are called. Reconciliation between Onesimus and Philemon means that their entire relationship would change. The standards of the society of the day won’t cut it. Last week, we heard Jesus say, “Indeed, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.” The Christian life is one in which the standards of society are completely turned upside down. The slave is set free and welcomed as a brother, a fellow member of the family. The Gospel teaches us that through our baptism, we are all welcomed equally no matter our rank, or income level, race, sexual orientation, moral decisions, or legal status. At our baptism, when we are received into the household of God, we are no longer defined by any of those labels, but instead as brothers and sisters – equal members of the family. Our identity is no longer found in human labels and categories, but instead our identity is found in the love of Christ. In other words, we find our identity in the One who loves us and adopts us as beloved children. Paul says elsewhere, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of [us] are one in Christ Jesus.”[2] What good news of joy and liberation for you and me! And yet, as we heard in today’s gospel lesson, this Christian way of life doesn’t come without a cost. Jesus says that whoever comes to him without hating their family members cannot be his disciple, and the same with whoever does not take up his cross and follow him. In this passage, there isn’t ambiguity or an opportunity for “alternate interpretations.” This particular passage is very clear in its question: are you in, or are you out? Jesus, in this passage, has no time for games or compromise. If you’re going to embark on seriously engaging with the Christian faith, be prepared to pay the price. Not only the price of an hour-and-a-half of your time on Sunday mornings or a sincere and generous financial pledge – that’s all challenging enough – but the price of wholehearted devotion to a cause so compelling that it will demand your whole life.[3] No matter how literally we take Jesus when he says to hate our family, carry our cross, and sell our possessions, God is calling us today to die to ourselves and live for Him. He’s calling us to make the choice that we made (or that was made on our behalf) at our baptism today and every day. Week after week, day after day, we put on our baptism anew, if you will, and as we do, we build spiritual habits over time that can break our perceived need to acquire more things, our petty jealousies, our demeaning stereotypes of each other, our prejudices and hatreds. Moment by moment, with each small choice to follow Christ, God transforms us little by little into Christ’s likeness…into the image of God seen fully in our forebears Adam and Eve before sin and death came into the world. And as that happens, we begin to see others the way Christ does. Rather than judging people by their rank, income level, skin color, sexual orientation, or even bad moral decisions, we begin to see them as brothers and sisters in the family of God that bear the same image and likeness of God as we do. “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of [us] are one in Christ Jesus.”[4] Thanks be to God. Amen. [1] David Lyon Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word. Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 41. [2] Galatians 3:28 [3] From a sermon preached by Richard B. Hays at Duke Divinity School on August 31, 2010. http://divinity.duke.edu/sites/divinity.duke.edu/files/documents/news/2010-09-02-hays-sermon.pdf [4] Galatians 3:28 St. Mary the Virgin
August 21, 2022 Luke 1:39-56 The Rev’d Charles W. Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church The summer of 2006, I walked into St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church in Mission, Kansas for the first time. I was 26 years old, and quickly joined a group that Mother Lisa Senuta had started for young people called “God and Guinness.” We did something similar here before the pandemic that we called “Spirituality untapped.” Not long after I arrived, I learned that she was planning a short retreat for the group at Conception Abbey, a Benedictine monastery about an hour-and-a-half north of here. Once you pass St. Joe and get off of the interstate, it’s all farmland and rolling hills. I’ll never forget the first time I saw the old abbey church. You’re driving along, see the beginnings of a small village, and come to the top of a hill and it is as if someone has taken a medieval cathedral from Europe and dropped it in a field in the middle-of-nowhere Missouri. It is breathtakingly beautiful, but it looks just as out of place there now as it did in 1873 when the monks came over from Switzerland. I think that many people have a similar experience the first time they visit St. Mary’s, especially on a feast day like this one with the intense choral singing and unfamiliar hymns and lots of Latin. Everything about this building and the music and the rich words of the liturgy exude beauty and wonder and awe, but when you’re not used to it, it seems just as out of place in 2022 as that old abbey church did when I rounded the top of the hill in rural Missouri. Perhaps the most poignant way we see this phenomenon at St. Mary’s is in our devotion to our Blessed Mother, seen in its fulness for all to behold on today’s great feast! But let me be clear. We do not worship Mary.[1] In fact, no Christian group on the planet believes that Mary should be worshipped – not the Roman Catholics, nor the Eastern Orthodox, nor us. We worship God alone, and we honor the saints. From at least the 5th century, the language the Church has used about this is latria, the worship due God alone, and dulia, the honor given to the saints. Theologians insist that the difference between the two is not about degree, but rather of kind, with dulia and latria being as far apart as are the creature and the Creator.[2] We adore God, and we venerate the heroes of the faith who have gone before. A third term used to describe the veneration of Mary is hyperdulia, which just means lots and lots of dulia. As we heard from Luke’s gospel, all Christians for all time will honor and venerate the Virgin Mary, for she prophesied that “all generations will call me blessed.” And that is what we are doing today, proclaiming with her cousin Elizabeth, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.”[3] We call her blessed not because she’s somehow inherently worthy of being honored in this way, but because when confronted with the preposterous news, received by the message of an angel, that she will conceive in her womb the Son of God who will reign over the house of Jacob forever, she said yes.[4] Despite the way she’s often depicted in Christian art, her “yes” wasn’t meek and mild. She bravely said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord, let it be with me according to your word.” And then she sings the song we heard in today’s gospel reading, the Magnificat, and it is clear that this young, teenage woman whom the angel greets with “Hail, full of grace”…she knows that everything that is happening to her is by God’s grace alone. In the face of this news that will change her life forever, she sings a song of praise in which she announces that God’s kingdom will begin to be fulfilled with its upside-down value system where the mighty are cast down from their thrones and the lowly are exalted. This kingdom of God, into which Christians are baptized, feels foreign to us, just as a newcomer to St. Mary’s might feel with all of the signs of the cross and sitting and kneeling and genuflecting, and it will not stop feeling off somehow on this side of the veil. And that’s how it is supposed to be. Until the Last Day, it is never going to feel 100% normal to think that God exalts the humble and meek and casts down the mighty from their thrones, as everything about the value system of this world screams the opposite. It all feels less foreign to me than it did when I first started the journey. When I round the top of the hill and see the old abbey church, I’m still struck by its beauty, but it no longer feels out of place. It feels as if it is exactly where it is supposed to be, with the monks working and praying as God has called them to do. Likewise, Marian devotion doesn’t feel as foreign to me as it did back in my Southern Baptist days. I feel like I’ve gotten to know Mary as my mother, in a sense, and it no longer feels strange to ask for her prayers, or to venerate her as “more honorable than the Cherubim and more glorious without compare than the Seraphim.”[5] And in terms of the wider kingdom of God and its crazy value system, this Johnson County boy no longer dreads working with our houseless guests who knock on the office door day in and day out, but rather feel grateful that I have the opportunity to give them something to eat and drink. Last Sunday, after the reception in the parish hall, a remnant group of folks went out to lunch. There were 14 of us at Harry’s Country Club at the Rivermarket, and as Mary Day was the following week, it came up in conversation. Two parishioners – one next to me, and the other across the table – said that Mary Day was the anniversary of their first visit to St. Mary’s, and that they’ve been here ever since. I thought about it, and remembered that my first day at St. Mary’s as a priest was this day five years ago. [I don’t mean to frighten those of you who are visiting for the first time!] As this is the fifth time I’ve given a sermon on this day, I went to see where the bodies were buried and re-read the first four. The first was about how I came to be Mamma’s boy (Mamma, as in the Blessed Mother). The second was about how Mary’s assumption into heaven is a foretaste of the promise of the resurrection of our bodies. The third, just days after Dcn. Gerry died from COVID, was about identifying with Mary’s sorrows, and last year’s was essentially a rework of an old Advent sermon I preached somewhere else because at that point in the pandemic, I was depressed and could hardly bear coming up with a new sermon. This year, I am energized. Over the past few months, my calendar has been peppered with coffee and lunch appointments with both newcomers to St. Mary’s and existing parishioners who want to get more involved, and I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was to walk into complete mayhem in the parish hall the other day to see Dcn. Lynda and three of our dedicated parishioners putting together blessing bags with food and hygiene items for our houseless friends. If you are new to St. Mary’s, I ask you to consider coming back again soon and often! It is not an exaggeration or cliché to say that all are welcome in this place, no matter your station in life. If you have been absent more than present as of late and are home for the feast, please consider reengaging with your community of faith. And if you’ve been here every Sunday, or even 5-times-per-week for daily Mass, I ask you to commit to praying for those who are new and reengaging and do what you can to love and support them and all who have come to call St. Mary’s our spiritual home. At the Offertory, we will sing an old, Anglo-Catholic hymn from the Victorian era that we don’t sing often enough – “Ye who claim the faith of Jesus.” For better or for worse, the compilers of the Hymnal 1982 replaced a few of the verses with deep and rich Marian theology with a paraphrase of Mary’s song from today’s gospel reading. When I discovered the missing verses and their content, I was annoyed at the change, but the new final verse has grown on me. In it we join Mary in her hymn of praise, including her prophecy of the inbreaking of God’s kingdom where the first shall be last and the last shall be first. Frankly, I can’t think of a more fitting thing for a community of faith under the patronage of the Blessed Mother to sing. As we join Mary in magnifying the Lord and rejoicing in God our Savior, let us renew our commitment to this community of faith as we seek to spread the good news of God’s kingdom in both word and action. Let us join with all generations in calling Mary blessed, rejoicing that through her, God fulfilled the promise he made to our ancestors in faith and sent a Savior. And let us give thanks that that Savior came to save the lowly, the outcast, the sinner, even you and me. Amen. [1] The English word worship has been used for both latria and dulia, making the difference important in English, but in modern-day time, the word worship is used almost exclusively for latria. [2] https://www.newadvent.org/cathen/05188b.htm [3] Luke 1:42 using the traditional translation of the “Hail Mary.” [4] V. 33. [5] From the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. Pentecost X – Proper 15 – Year C
Hebrews 11:29-12:3 St. Mary’s Episcopal Church The Rev’d Charles Everson August 14, 2022 You don’t see it as often these days, but my grandmother Trula Everson kept photo albums scattered throughout her house. Until she died when I was 20, it was not uncommon to see an occasional new photo album appear, but you would never see one go away. As a child, I remember sitting in her lap, asking questions about who is who. She’d point out the various family members and how I was related to them, adding in commentary about what she remembered about their profession, family life, what she knew about their character, pointing out if someone was super rich, poor, and so on. This is sort of what the author of the book of Hebrews is doing in chapter 11. He helps us remember those in the family of faith who have gone before. Remember those who passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land. Remember Rahab the prostitute who welcomed the spies. Remember those who marched around Jericho, resulting in the walls falling. Remember Sampson and Daniel who shut the mouths of lions. Remember those who won strength out of weakness like Gideon and Ester. Remember those who were torched, mocked, scourged, and tormented.[1] This photo album of our spiritual ancestors reveals something profound about faith, which he earlier describes as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not yet seen”. Faith isn’t a guarantee that you’ll have what we think of as a “good life.” Some of our spiritual ancestors were tortured, suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. Those who have a deep faith are not more likely to have more money or things or power or good looks than those who have no faith. Faith does not give us a free ticket out of pain and suffering in this life. Said another way, the theology that wealth and prosperity and blessings come as a result of having enough faith or doing enough good things is simply not biblical. For some, faith results in victory, and for others, faith results in suffering. “Yet all these”, says the author of Hebrews, “though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better….”[2] Before the “something better” is revealed, we hear a verse that Baptist teenagers like I was taught to memorize in Sunday School. I’ll read it in its entirety, and then explain why it has always given me anxiety. “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses…[3] There’s so much good stuff there, but despite the fact that I enjoy jogging (as in light jogging), perseverance, in that context, is not my strong suit. At the age of 42, I have a long history of trying to run longer distances, not persevering, then feeling guilty about my inadequacy and lack of endurance. Not a fun cycle to be reminded of. Over the years, I’ve become convinced that this passage is not intended to evoke feelings of guilt. The witnesses might be referring to fans in a stadium at the beginning or end of a race, or they might be referring to early martyrs who had died for their faith. Either way, it’s a wonderfully encouraging vision of our fellow Christians supporting us and cheering us on, giving us courage and hope that we can indeed persevere in running the race that is set before us. What is the end goal of the race? Where are we headed? The author of Hebrews finishes his photo album of our spiritual ancestors with a brilliant climax, the most important ancestor of all: Jesus Christ. In a moment, we will sing a paraphrase of this text in the Offertory hymn. “Behold, a Witness nobler still, who trod affliction’s path: Jesus, the author, finisher, rewarder of our faith.” The message of this passage isn’t how my wounded psyche used to interpret it: “Have faith, do good, try not to screw up but feel guilty when you – and hopefully you’ll get to heaven one day.” The message is that whether we win the battle or suffer a defeating loss, no matter our lot, Jesus is the beginning and the end. He is indeed “something better” – the prize above all measure that we receive at the end of the race after having constantly fixed our gaze on him, and he accompanies us along the way, giving us his own self as food for the journey to persevere when we inevitably encounter both feast and famine. Jesus takes our woefully incomplete faith and makes it whole.[4] I no longer get anxious when I hear this passage, because rather than despair and guilt, I think we’re meant to be encouraged. But even more so with chapter 12, verse 3, which both the Baptist Sunday School teachers and the lectionary compilers unfortunately fail to include: “Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart.”[5] Dear friends, consider Jesus, both when you have doubts, and when your faith is strong. Consider Jesus, when the whole world seems to be against you, and when you’ve won the greatest victory of your life. Consider Jesus, when your faith leads you through the Red Sea to dry land, and when you feel like you’re drowning and ready to throw in the towel. Consider Jesus, when your faith is in shambles and you have nothing left to hold on to, and when you experience the greatest spiritual high you’ve ever had. Consider Jesus, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart. Amen. [1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-20-3/commentary-on-hebrews-1129-122 [2] Heb. 11: 39-40, NRSV. [3] Heb 12:1, NRSV. [4] Working Preacher. [5] Heb 12:3, NRSV Joseph of Arimathea The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church August 1, 2022 Today, we commemorate Joseph of Arimathea. All that we know of him comes from the narratives of the burial of Jesus in the Gospels. Though John speaks of Joseph as a secret disciple of our Lord, and associates him with Nicodemus, another member of the Jewish Sanhedrin who was drawn to Jesus, we know nothing of any further activity of these men in the early Christian community. Later, however, legends developed about their leadership in the Church. One of the more enduring is the story of Joseph’s coming to the ancient Church of Glastonbury in southwest England and bringing with him the Holy Grail, the cup used at the Last Supper which Joseph had used to catch some of Christ’s blood at his crucifixion. According to the Arthurian legends dating to the 13th century, Joseph died in England, and his eldest son Josephus became the island’s spiritual leader while his younger son Galahad took charge of secular duties. Before he died, Josephus passed the Grail to his nephew Alan and his descendants. Galahad’s grandson, named Galahad after him, is the one we know as Sir Galahad the Chaste. Galahad was said to be the greatest knight ever, and his virginity is often seen to be the key to his perfection. In other words, he’s the perfect knight because he’s a virgin. Galahad can defeat any enemy who comes before him, and even at an extremely young age, surpasses his father, in terms of strength, chivalry, and ability. Galahad receives the Perilous Seat at the Round Table, which is destined to belong to the greatest knight, who would be the one to end the Grail quests; if anyone else tried to sit there, they would find themselves in peril. Galahad is the only knight who can draw the Sword in the Stone as he is the only knight worthy enough. Let’s be clear. This is a lovely story, but it is lore, and we have no written documentation of it before the 13th century. But it is holy lore. One of the more recent scholarly works on the Holy Grail, written by Richard Barber, argues that the Grail legend is connected to the introduction of "more ceremony and mysticism" surrounding the sacrament of the Eucharist in the High Middle Ages, proposing that the first Grail stories may have been connected to the "renewal in this traditional sacrament".[1] That leads us to this stained-glass window right over here of the likely fictional figure of St. Galahad the Chaste. If you haven’t seen it, please come up and take a peek after Mass. It was given by Fr. Edwin Merrill in 1921 and dedicated to a Ralph Albert Parker, and “old college chum”. Fr. Merrill was rector of St. Mary’s from 1918-1953 (35 years!), and his portrait at a much later age is right back there. After completing his first year of seminary at the age of 27, like many young people do, he and Mr. Parker traveled on foot throughout Western Europe for about five months. Mr. Parker later married and Merrill of course finished seminary and was ordained priest. In 1919, the year after Fr. Merrill arrived here, Mr. Parker died of typhoid fever at the age of 32, leaving a widow and one-year-old daughter. Fr. Merrill was the last “bachelor priest” of St. Mary’s. A story has developed over the years that Fr. Merrill and Mr. Parker were lovers, but let’s be clear. This is a lovely story, but it is lore. But I think it is holy lore. What we know is that they went to college together and were friends, and that they were so close that Parker’s death in 1919 spurred Fr. Merrill to commission this window, with Sir Galahad gazing at the enter of the altar where I will elevate the chalice in a moment. The inscription at the bottom says, “I, Galahad, have seen the Holy Grail. Let us press forward.” Joseph of Arimathea probably never visited England during his lifetime. But the holy lore that developed over a thousand years after his death is ever present here at St. Mary’s. As we receive communion today, consecrated upon the same altar where Fr. Edwin Merrill celebrated Mass literally thousands of times, let us give thanks for his friendship with Ralph Albert Parker, no matter the precise nature of their relationship. For the fruits of that relationship continue to remind all who see this window that the bravest knight in all of Christendom has found the true Grail, the prize beyond all measure. That prize is nothing other than Jesus Christ in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar. Amen. [1] Barber, Richard. The Holy Grail: Imagination and Belief. Harvard University Press, 2004. Pentecost VI, Proper 11, Year C
St. Mary’s Episcopal Church The Rev’d Charles Everson Colossians 1:15-28 Born in 1980, I’ve seen a whole lot of technological advancement in my lifetime. From Atari to personal computers to cell phones to 3D printing – I can’t imagine where the world is going to be when I’m 80 years old in the year 2060, God willing, of course. I can’t remember a single one of these advancements causing much of an emotional reaction, but this past week, when the first images from the James Webb Space Telescope were released, Jay and I piped the images from the computer onto the big screen, and we sat there and cried. They were so beautiful! Jay said, “I can’t imagine how anyone could look at these images and believe that humanity is the only sentient life in the universe.” I said, “I can see that. I can’t imagine how anyone could look at these images and not believe in God.” I can’t. It is unfathomable to me that the distant galaxies and star-forming regions we beheld appeared as they were over 13 billion years ago. During those awe-inspiring moments, this verse from Psalm 19 came to my mind, “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handy-work.”[1] Using the strongest language about the divinity of Christ in all of Scripture, the early Christian hymn we heard from Paul’s letter to the Church at Colossae declares that in Jesus, “all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers.” There was never a time – even 13 billion years ago – that Jesus didn’t exist. “All things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” From the subatomic forces in every single molecule and atom in your body to the Carina Nebula where stars are born – Christ is present even there, holding all things together. But I imagine that the early Christians didn’t have the stars above in their heavenly courses in mind when they sang this hymn. They lived in a world in which the Roman Emperor ruled supreme, subjugating the various people groups he conquered, including the Jews and the early Christians who lived in Palestine. Scholars believe the letter to the Colossians was written around the same time as the Great Jewish Revolt of 66 AD when the Jews rebelled against their Roman overlords. This hymn, seen in that light, is subversive, even seditious. In a world in which images of Caesar were everywhere, Jesus is “the image of the invisible God.” In an imperial mythology in which the emperor is considered all but divine by virtue of his lineage, Christ is “the first born of all creation.” In a culture in which the emperor’s preeminence is embedded in socio-economic, political, and military structures, these Christians dared to cry out in song that “all things in heaven and on earth were created…through him and for him.” Even thrones, dominions, rulers, and powers are subject to his rule. Because of his bodily resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ is the one who will come to “have first place in everything.”[2] This reminds me of some of the hymns that enslaved black people sang that weren’t exactly what they appeared to be. “Wade in the water, children” told people how to escape in a way that the Master’s bloodhounds can’t pick up your scent. Wear black, said another verse, to escape detection. “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” told slaves to find Ripley, Ohio, where a “band of angels” would bring a “sweet chariot” to carry them across the dangerous Ohio River to their freedom.[3] In a society that allows white people to own black people, Christ is the true Master who brings freedom and liberation to the captive! In an empire that views the emperor as the head of the body-politic, these early followers of Jesus sang that Christ “is the head of the body, the church.” Just as Jesus replaces Caesar, so does the church replace the empire. In our day, there are many things that hold us captive, but perhaps nothing holds so many who call themselves Christian in this country captive than white Christian nationalism. I’m not talking about patriotism, or love of country, but rather the view that Christian and American identities are somehow one and the same. Christian nationalists believe that the tenants of their version of the Christian faith should influence both our national identity and public policy, even for those who don’t hold that same faith. This view is almost exclusively held by white people, and is deeply embedded in American society, expressing itself in everything from the seemingly innocuous “In God we Trust” on our money to a violent insurrection at the US Capitol Building. We should definitely love and pray for our country, but Christian identity transcends all ethnic and cultural claims and practices. We are Christian before we’re American, and the two are not the same thing. The Church embraces “every creature under heaven”[4] including “Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, and free.”[5] It includes those who identify as American, Canadian, El Salvadorian, black, white, brown, gay, straight, men, women, trans, rich, and poor, even when the law of the land excludes and marginalizes them. Jesus Christ, “the firstborn of all creation, is the head of the body, the church” – a church that transcends all human divisions. Through Christ, “God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.” The early Christians in Colossae needed to be reconciled with God because they were “estranged and hostile in mind, doing evil things,” Paul says. This indictment of their sinfulness isn’t unique to the Colossians, of course, but applies to all of humanity, including you and me. We are all sinners in need of reconciliation with God. This reconciliation isn’t forced by political leaders with the fear of being crucified on a cross as it was in the Roman Empire, nor is it brought about by Christians attempting to impose it on citizens of this country who hold different religious views. It is accomplished through Jesus’s fleshly body, the firstborn of the dead – through being buried with him in baptism and being raised to newness of life in his resurrection. Having reconciled us in his fleshly body, Jesus now presents us to the Father “holy and blameless and irreproachable…provided that [we] continue securely established and steadfast in the faith…”[6] What does it mean to “continue securely established and steadfast in the faith?” Paul fleshes this out in the next chapter which we will hear next Sunday[7], but Paul’s desire that the Church continue in allegiance to Christ is the motivation for this letter.[8] Eternal salvation is not a thing that happens once-for-all when you ask Jesus to enter your heart and forgive you your sins, it’s the result of an ongoing, day-after-day journey of faith that begins with baptism and ends with the death of our bodies. Day by day, we struggle with the old self that died in baptism, and when that old self haunts us and we let us win, we turn back to Jesus, confess our sins, receive his pardon and peace, and continue onward on our way toward “the hope promised by the gospel we have heard, which has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven.” Creature means all the elements of creation, not only human beings.[9] From the subatomic forces in every single molecule and atom in your body to the Carina Nebula where stars are born – Christ is present even there, holding all things together. The early Church sang their subversive, even seditious hymn that proclaimed allegiance to Jesus over Caesar, and Church over Empire. Like the hymns sung by enslaved black people before the Civil War in this country, this hymn wasn’t what it appeared to be. The hymn that we will sing in a moment just before the consecration of the elements, the Sanctus, “Holy, holy, holy” also isn’t what it appears to be. Even though we’re singing it in 2022 in Kansas City in this place, we are joining with the Angels and Archangels, and all the company of heaven in singing their everlasting hymn before God’s throne. In the Eucharistic sacrifice, time as we know it stands still as earth and heaven are joined, and we are transported to that green hill called Calvary, and Calvary is brought here. When we receive our Lord into our bodies, our sins are forgiven, our union with Christ and the Church is strengthened, our loyalties are confirmed, and we experience a foretaste of the heavenly banquet which is our nourishment in eternal life.[10] The Church invites us to come to this altar, no matter what is holding us captive, laying aside our earthly allegiances to king and country, to renew our allegiance to the firstborn of all creation, the head of the church, and the author of our salvation. We marvel at the beauty of the distant galaxies and star-forming regions he created so many billions of years ago, and we behold him in the beauty of the simple creatures of bread and wine. Let us come and receive the One who reconciles us to God us with his own body and blood, receiving the grace we need to “continue securely established and steadfast in the faith.” Amen. [1] Psalm 19:1, Coverdale translation. [2] Brian Walsh: https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-16-3/commentary-on-colossians-115-28-2. [3] https://religionnews.com/2005/08/03/commentary-the-subversive-power-of-spirituals-and-faith/ [4] Col. 1:28 [5] Col. 3:11. [6] Col. 1:23 [7] Col. 2:6-20. [8] Michael D. Coogan, Marc Zvi Brettler, Carol A. Newsom, and Pheme Perkins, The New Oxford Annotated Bible: New Revised Standard Version : With the Apocrypha : An Ecumenical Study Bible. 4th ed. (Oxford, United Kingdom: Oxford UP, 2010), 2069. [9] Amy-Jill Levine and Zvi Marc Brettler, eds. The Jewish Annotated New Testament: New Revised Standard Version Bible Translation. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2017, 411. [10] 1979 BCP 860. Feast of the Dedication
The Rev’d Charles Everson July 10, 2022 St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Throughout the week, I often find myself accompanying someone into this building who has never been here before. Sometimes it’s a vendor, sometimes it’s a visiting organist, sometimes it’s a Episcopalian from another parish coming to the noon Mass. Usually, we walk in through the parish hall and come in right over here, but I’ve learned to make it a point to pay attention to the person’s face. No matter their religious beliefs or socio-economic status, there is a look of awe and wonder on their face. No matter what their duties may be that day, they always take a few moments to take in the beauty of what they see. And sometimes, the person’s facial expression begins to look almost uncomfortable as if the building is too ornate, or too extravagant. Why do so many Christians around the world decide to spend the money and resources on such structures rather than worshipping in plain, inexpensive spaces? In order to answer that question, we must look to the One that St. Peter called “a living stone” in our second lesson, and specifically to the doctrine that the Church calls the “incarnation.” There are many controversies and disagreements amongst Christians, but belief in the incarnation isn’t usually one of them at this point in history. According to the Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, the doctrine of the incarnation affirms that the eternal Son of God took flesh from his human mother and that the historical person of Jesus Christ is both fully God and fully human. This means that God didn’t temporarily appear in human form, but asserts an abiding union in the Person of Christ of Godhead and manhood without the integrity or permanence of either being impaired. It also assigns the beginnings of this union to a definitive date in human history.[1] Using back-of-the-napkin math, I calculate that 97.48% of Christians worldwide belong to a church that affirms the traditional understanding of the incarnation. It is the doctrine of the incarnation that lays the theological groundwork for the sacraments of the Church. From about age 11 to age 22, I was Southern Baptist, and was taught that normal way to commune intimately with God by having what they called “a quiet time,” meaning time by yourself in a room with a Bible, praying and studying the Word. Yes, they believe that God inhabits the praises of his people and is present by the Spirit in public worship, but the quiet time was the most important thing to grow deeper in the faith and get closer to God. I was taught that God’s grace invisibly washes away your sin when you ask Jesus to come into your heart. My freshman year in college, much to my Baptist religion professors’ chagrin, I began reading the Church Fathers – the earliest Christian theologians whose writings we still have – and I became aware that practically all Christians in the 1500 years leading up to the Protestant Reformation believed that the grace of God is primarily communicated to humanity via the Sacraments of the Church, most importantly in Holy Baptism and the Holy Eucharist. And I subsequently learned that the vast majority of Christians alive today believe that too! Yes, private prayer is important, but the incarnation of God did not stop or disappear when Jesus ascended into heaven. Jesus didn’t die to save our souls, he died to save all of creation, our bodies included. And thanks be to God, Jesus he kept his promise to be with us always, even unto the end of the ages, when he sent the Holy Spirit on Pentecost Day who continues to breathe life into the Church by the Word of God preached and Sacraments duly and rightly administered. And this brings us to today’s feast. We are celebrating the dedication and consecration of this building. The earliest church buildings were not formally set apart with any particular liturgical rite, but rather, the consecration of the building seems to have consisted of the first celebration of the Eucharist within the building (a consecration by use, if you will). As with most of the liturgies of the Church, special and impressive rites developed in both the East and the West over time, and while the celebration of the Eucharist always remained the central and essential element of the rites, there were elaborate processions, the asperging of the church with holy water, and the anointing of the altar with chrism oil. As early as the fourth century, the dedication of the church began to be commemorated annually in many places.[2] Our building was dedicated by Bishop Atwill on June 17, 1888, but it wasn’t formally consecrated until June 19, 1938 – 50 years later. And this is because the building was completed during a strange time between 1868 and 1979 when The Episcopal Church had broken from Tradition and required that all church property be mortgage-free before it is consecrated. Milder dedication rites were developed for use when the building was complete, but since 1979, we’ve been back to a single dedication and consecration service when the building begins to be used regardless of any debt. Here's the story about the debt. This building was completed in 1887, and when the congregation first moved in, it was known by all that the church was built on the bank of a buried creek. But it wasn’t discovered until the tower was erected that it had been constructed too close to the underground spring which fed the old creek. The water from the spring began to undermine the tower’s foundation, causing it to lean dangerously. Rather than sue the architect, a fellow Episcopalian, the Vestry decided to borrow $12,000, rebuild the tower, and finish the building. $12,000 sounds like no big deal today, but it took the congregation 50 years to pay it off, which is when the building was finally consecrated by Bishop Spencer on June 19, 1938. For over 134 years, the Holy Eucharist has been celebrated in this building most days of the year. The incarnation of God in Jesus Christ that began with Mary’s Annunciation continues to this day on the altars handed down to us by our forebears. We continue to come down this aisle (and the one in St. George’s Chapel) to receive the Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation and continue to encounter the One that St. Peter called “a living stone” in this place day after day, week after week. Yes, God can be found in the beauty of nature. We can pray from anywhere in the known universe and commune with God. But we firmly believe in the incarnation of Jesus Christ, and that Jesus keeps his promise to be with us, even to the end of the age. We believe this so deeply, so strongly, that we build buildings that reflect the heights and the riches and the beauty of that faith. The beauty and wonder that we see and hear in this place is physical, and it should find its spiritual counterpart in our hearts. We see here the finished product of stone, wood, brick, wrought iron, and marble; so too our lives should reveal the extravagance of God’s grace that we’ve received here time and time again.[3] This point was brought home in my heart on April 19, 2019, a day you might remember – a day I’ve talked about a few times in sermons. On that day, the world watched in horror as Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris burned. I was confirmed at Notre Dame, and it represents the heart of Christianity in France, so it was a rather emotional moment for me. During the fire, Fr. Fournier, the chaplain of the Paris Fire Brigade, risked his life to go into the burning cathedral to rescue the relic believed to be the Crown of Thorns Jesus wore at his crucifixion, but more importantly, to rescue the Blessed Sacrament – the consecrated bread reserved in the tabernacle above the altar. In the subsequent days, some were surprised – even shocked – that so many people showed such deep emotion for a building made by human hands when so many people are suffering in the world. Some have decried the amount of money needed to rebuild it. And some, I’m sure, have thought that it’s ridiculous for a man to risk his life to save a piece of bread. The Archbishop of Paris said put it this way in a sermon shortly after the fire: "We must ask why Notre Dame was constructed. Why this human genius? Because they could have done something functional. It's far more than functional. And why? Because what is honored there is absolutely splendid, that's what we believe. And if you want to ask the real question, what jewel is this jewel box for? It's not for the Crown of Thorns. It's for a piece of bread. It's astonishing. How can one construct such a work of art for a piece of bread? That piece of bread is the Body of Christ. And that endures. Nobody will ever be able to destroy it." Dear friends, we are all stewards of this glorious building. It is not worthy of our worship, and our faith would not be in vain if a tornado were to destroy it. We are stewards of this work of human hands that serves as a jewel box for the One who is the living stone – the One who came not only to save our souls, but also our bodies – the One who loved us so much that he died to set us free – the One who stoops to this altar day after day and feeds us with his very self. The beauty and wonder that we see and hear in this place is physical, and may it find its spiritual counterpart in our hearts. We see here the finished product of stone, wood, brick, wrought iron, and marble; may our lives reveal the extravagance of God’s grace that we’ve received in this place time and time again. In the words of Joshua our forbear, “How awesome is this place! It is none other than the house of God, and the gate of heaven.”[4] [1] F. L. Cross and Elizabeth A. Livingstone, eds., The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 872., altered slightly by me. [2] Marion Hatchett, Commentary on the American Prayer Book, Seabury Press, New York: 1980, 540-543. [3] Origen, Homily 9 on Joshua the Son of Nun 1-2: SC 71 244-246 as quoted in J. Robert Wright’s “Readings for the Daily Office from the Early Church”, Church Pension Fund, New York: 1991, slightly altered by me. [4] Paraphrase of Genesis 28:17, NRSV. Trinity Sunday, Year C June 12, 2022 St. Mary’s Episcopal Church The Rev’d Charles Everson This August will make five years since I arrived at St. Mary’s. As you can imagine, I’m often called upon to give tours of this beautiful space, and each time I do, I discover something new – something fresh – some hidden gem waiting to be rediscovered. It is an understatement to say that the tours I give today are completely different than those of five years ago. Yes, the focus is still on the amazing windows and swooping arches – the breathtaking high altar under which is buried our former rector Fr. Henry David Jardine, but I generally start tours now with an invitation to be on the lookout throughout the tour for a symbol that is hidden in plain sight all over this church: the fleur-de-lys. Despite the deceptive name in French which means “flower of the lily,” this is a symbol of the three petals of an iris. It has a long history within heraldry, most famously as the emblem of the kings of France, and thus in our own day, all things French. Going back to 14th century France, the three petals of the iris are said to represent the three persons of the Holy Trinity – the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And the band on the bottom that binds them together symbolizes the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God. The tradition says that without Mary, you cannot understand the Trinity since it was she who bore the Son. And that is where I want to explore the Holy Trinity with you today. Today’s feast is the only feast in the church year dedicated to a doctrine, rather than a saint or an event in Jesus’s life. And being a complex doctrine that defies our ability to comprehend, the rector often asks a seminarian or associate priest or deacon to preach, mainly for the thrill of chiding him or her for preaching heresy. As I learned this practice on the other side when I was a seminarian, it’s an ecclesiastical hazing ritual I’ve played on several including Fr. Sean and David Wilcox but, decided that this year, I’d take one for the team. But rather than subject myself to charges of heresy by using one of the well-known-yet-flawed analogies about the Trinity, I’d like to take a different approach and explore this relationship that Mary has with God the Holy Trinity. Lumen gentium, one of the principal documents of the Second Vatican Council, puts it this way: Mary "is endowed with the high office and dignity of the Mother of the Son of God, and therefore she is also the beloved daughter of the Father and the temple of the Holy Spirit.”[1] In the Annunciation, the angel Gabriel announces that despite being a virgin, she will bear a Son whose kingdom shall know no end, and Mary responds in humble submission, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”[2] So total – so complete is her submission to God’s will that it mirrors Christ’s own self-denial in the Garden of Gethsemane: “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.”[3] Mary invites us to follow her lead and surrender our whole selves to the will of the Father. The result of her submission to the Father is Mary’s union with the Spirit. Her “let it be with me according to your word” resulted in God taking flesh within her, meaning she received the Spirit into the deepest parts of her being. To be united to the Spirit we must follow the model of Mary and receive God into the inner most parts of ourselves. Her union with the Spirit leads to Mary’s cooperation with Jesus in His mission of freedom and redemption. In giving birth to Jesus, Mary is mystically participating in His mission, bringing Him to the world. This continues in the Visitation, where she brings the unborn Jesus to sanctify John the Baptist in the womb. Her relationship with Jesus as mother cooperating in His mission continues throughout His ministry, from wedding feast at Cana to the cross on that green hill outside the city wall. If we are to follow Mary to Jesus then we must take the same approach of sharing in His mission—even, or rather especially, if it brings us all the way to the cross. [4] Perhaps today’s feast isn’t so much about either the doctrine of the Holy Trinity or the fear of missing the doctrinal mark than it is an invitation to relationship. In Mary’s relationship as daughter of the Father, spouse of the Holy Spirit, and mother of Christ, we too are invited into a deeper relationship with God by submitting to the Father, uniting with the Spirit, and spreading the Good News of Jesus Christ. The Trinity is about relationship, but statistically speaking, many of us have had a dysfunctional relationship with a parent, and especially with our fathers. It is natural to be turned off to the idea of God as Father if you have had a father who was distant and rarely present or who abused you in some way. In Mary, the Church gives us a mother who is decidedly not divine, but rather, as the very first disciple of her Son, does nothing but point us to God. In her complete submission to the Father, her spousal union with the Spirit, and her joining in spreading the Good News of her Son, we are given a model of discipleship – all in the person of a loving mother. The three petals on that ancient fleur-de-lys emblem are bound together in love by the band that represents the Mother of God, the same Mother of God who continues to point us to the one, holy, and undivided Trinity. Mary invites us today to enter more deeply into relationship with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, modeling for us total submission, total union, total embrace of God’s mission. As we continue in the service with Holy Communion, we are invited to approach this great Sacrament, having submitted to the will of God the Father, to further our spiritual union with the Spirit by receiving Jesus into our bodies, not into the womb as Mary did, but as heavenly food, giving us the grace we need to go out into the world and share about God’s redeeming love. As you come forward for communion, I invite you, as I do when I’m giving a tour of the church, to be on the lookout for the fleur-de-lys, and I’ll even give you a hint where you might see one. Look down just as you come up these stairs, and on the top of the Marian emblem on the floor, you’ll see the three petals bound together by a small band at the bottom. You’ll walk right on past that small band into the fullness of the flower and ultimately find yourself at the altar, the very gate of heaven and receive the fullness of the Most Holy Trinity into the very depths of your being. Mary invites us to do this not as individuals, but as those who have been grafted into her Son’s body the Church by baptism. We approach God together, as spiritual siblings of one family, and as part of this parish family under the patronage of Mary. As we leave this place nourished by this heavenly food, may we share God’s love with all who will listen, and invite them to join us in relationship with the one, holy, and undivided Trinity here at St. Mary’s Church. Amen. [1] https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19641121_lumen-gentium_en.html, #53. [2] Luke 1:38 (NRSV) [3] Luke 22:42 (NRSV) [4] I’m grateful to Stephen Beale’s sermon which is the source for much of this paragraph: https://catholicexchange.com/mary-shows-us-how-to-live-in-communion-with-the-trinity/. |
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To the Glory of God and in honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary
St. Mary's is a parish of the Diocese of West Missouri, The Episcopal Church, and the Anglican Communion.
Address1307 Holmes Street
Kansas City, Missouri 64106 |
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