Eighth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 11
Romans 8:18-25 Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43 The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Church Last week, we heard what is commonly called the Parable of the Sower, and this week, we hear the Parable of the Weeds, or the Parable of the Tares as the King James puts it. Despite having attended a fairly rural, Texas high school whose biggest student club was the Future Farmers of America, I’m a Johnson County boy at heart and don’t know a thing about farming. Thankfully, others have written about some of the farming issues involved in this parable which begins with Jesus saying that the kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field, but while everyone was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. The weeds here are thought to be a specific plant called bearded darnel. This plant looks identical to wheat above ground, but below, it wraps itself around the wheat, intertwining itself into the root system, taking away nutrients and moisture from the wheat. It is a deceptive little plant. Rather than producing seeds that are nutritious like wheat, darnel seeds are toxic to humans and cause anything from hallucination to death. In Jesus’ time, sowing darnel in a field for the purposes of revenge was illegal, meaning it must have happened often enough to warrant such a law! In this parable, Jesus uses this noxious weed to illustrate evil. “An enemy” intentionally sowed these weeds among the wheat. When the farmhands discover this, they propose to the farmer that they go and gather the weeds. Like me, these farmhands weren’t up-to-speed on their horticulture. If they had been, they’d have known that doing so would result in the wheat coming out of the ground at the same time, destroying the crop. All too often, you and I become preoccupied with who is in and who is out. Like the farmhands, we think that we have what it takes spiritually, mentally, emotionally to separate the wheat from the tares. But as in the parable, trying to separate the wheat from the darnel hurts both plants. This phenomenon also happens in the Church today when we try to separate the “real Christians” from those who have a different stance than we do on a particular issue. In trying to weed out those who are impure, or even the heretic, we do damage to the faithful as well. Beyond the church, our world is full of dichotomies, and it seems increasingly so, perhaps especially in politics. What is the solution to this tendency to divide the world in two? The farmer instructs the farmhands to let both the wheat and the tares grow together until the harvest when all will be revealed. For at the harvest, the wheat and darnel bloom differently, and it becomes obvious which is which. And even then, it won’t be up to us to decide who is in and who is out. Jesus tells us in the second part of the reading that the Son of Man will send his angels to do this work. Then, and now, it is our job to trust that God will sort through the wheat and the tares in a way that only God can do. No matter how similar they look, no matter how intertwined the root systems are, God will send his angels with the appropriate knowledge and skill to separate the tares out without damaging the wheat. While this parable is explicitly about the kingdom of heaven and thus the “last things”, I can’t help but think that my own life is often like the farmer’s infested field, with weeds and wheat intertwined in my heart, soul, and mind. Paul said it this way: “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”[1] When someone begins to come to private confession regularly for the first time, it usually only takes two or three confessions before he or she says to me something like, “Father, I keep confessing the same sins over and over. Is that normal?” Yes. Yes, it is. All of us are plagued with the temptation to commit specific sins over the courses of our lives, each of us influenced by both nature and nurture, and no matter how holy we become, it’s unlikely that our pet sins will change over time. Usually the next question is, “Since I keep confessing the same sins, why am I confessing them over and over again?” Not to force an analogy into this parable, but perhaps the grace the penitent receives from God through absolution is like the water and nutrients the plants in the field receive for sustenance. When we repent from our sins and intend to amend our lives, we only do so by God’s grace. While we can’t stop sinning completely on this side of the veil, we certainly can learn to trust God more and more in the midst of the sin and chaos in our hearts and in this world, holding fast to the hope that at the Last Day, God will send the reaper to bring in the harvest. We hold fast today to that hope – the hope that the weeds will one day be uprooted and destroyed. As St. Paul said in the second reading, all of creation waits “in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” We wait for it with patience, letting both the wheat and the tares grow together, trusting that no matter what the Enemy sows around us, God will fulfill our hope of a bountiful harvest at the Last Day. [1] Romans 7:15b
Proper 10, Year A
Matthew 13:1-9,18-23 July 16, 2023 The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Some folks like a preacher to have a good amount of poetry in his or her sermon. They think poetically, and thus want the preacher to make them think and consider what is being said. Other folks are the opposite. They ask for something different out of sermons – cut the crap and tell me what to do. In today’s parable, we get both. We get the poetic and allegoric language in the first part, and then for once, Jesus actually explains what the parable means in the second part. First, let’s take a look at the figure of the sower.[1] In this parable, the sower isn’t identified except that he or she is the one who spreads the good news. Some believe that Jesus intended for us to see the sower as him. Others believe that the sower represents a missionary, you know, like the kind of missionary that earns their living spreading the good news overseas. Others believe that the sower represents the priesthood. In any case, the sower is one who spreads the good news. It could be Jesus, it could be me or newly ordained Fr. David, it could be you. Note that the sower doesn’t know in advance what is beneath the soil’s surface – where the ground is hard, where the soil is shallow, or where the weeds are already growing. The sower doesn’t know the quality of the soil before throwing out the seed. In fact, the sower would miss the point entirely if he or she were to waste time trying to figure out what is beneath the soil’s surface, or the quality of the soil itself. The point is that the sower is to sow. If the sower is doing his or her job, then the seed is scattered all over the place. And simply by sowing, it is certain that some of the seeds will result in grain. This is good news for you and for me! It isn’t up to us to figure out the scientific qualities of the soil, or become experts in the process of proper germination. It’s not up to us to know the conditions of other people’s hearts. It’s our job to throw out the seed and spread the Good News of Jesus Christ in both word and deed. But this parable isn’t just about the sower. It’s also about the soil. In looking at the four types of soil Jesus describes, we continue in the journey of discipleship we talked about last week. Remember – being a disciple is about being one who learns from Jesus how to live by listening intently and responding. By relying on the nourishment and refreshment we receive from Jesus at the altar rail week after week. In looking at the four types of soil, we learn from Jesus what the necessary conditions are for fruitful discipleship.[2] First, the hardened soil on the path. In this case, the seed is thrown on the hardened soil on the path and is snatched up right away by the birds. This is because the person who hears the word doesn’t understand it. Without understanding, the word finds no place to implant, and the Evil One who is always close by snatches away the potential of faith.[3] In order to understand, one must desire to understand. If you hear the Word and have no desire to understand what it means in your own life, it will be snatched up by the birds right away. But if you’re attitude is attentive, and you earnestly desire to understand the Word of God in your own life, the birds might just stay away. I’ve gone through phases in my life when I was super-attentive to the voice of God, and other times when I was distracted and closed off. And usually, when I was closed off, I wasn’t consciously aware of it. Looking back, the key to being attentive to understand God’s Word is quietness and silence. Some monks and nuns make it a point to spend an entire hour or more per day in complete silence and contemplation. You and I would rarely be able to make that happen, but we can spend intentional moments of our lives in silence, listening to the voice of God, seeking to understand what He may be trying to say to us. We can and should take a few minutes each day. If you’re a morning person like me, it might be while you’re drinking your second cup of coffee. It might be at your lunch break at work, or just before bed. The important thing to remember is that these intentional moments of silence provide the space needed to begin understanding what the Word of God means in your life. The desire to understand isn’t enough in and of itself. The one who is super excited at what they hear is like the seed that falls on rocky ground. Such a person only endures for a brief moment, but when trouble comes, he or she immediately falls away. This trouble can come in the form of opposition of some kind, whether it be opposition to God’s Word in your life or in a broader context. Say you feel that you hear God speaking to you in some way or another, and ultimately become very excited about joining a ministry here at St. Mary’s. But as you begin to go down the road of joining forces with others to do this new work, you see quickly that there is a personality conflict with one of the other team members. Instead of working through it, you quickly decide that it’s not worth the trouble. Maybe the seed fell on rocky ground. You were so excited to serve God in this way, but then encountered opposition and allowed your enthusiasm to fade. Jesus is telling us here is that we need to take that initial joy and enthusiasm we feel when we hear God’s Word in our lives, and see it through despite any opposition. The third type of soil contains thorns. The seed that falls among the thorns doesn’t grow because the thorns choke the grain quickly before it has a chance to grow. Jesus explains that this represents those who fall to temptation, and you don’t need me to explain temptation and what it feels like to fall to it. As followers of Jesus, we are called to resist temptation, and when we fail to resist and instead fall into sin, we are called to receive God’s forgiveness, turn away from the sin, and by the grace of God resist the temptation the next time it comes around. As disciples of Jesus, we are called to listen intently to God’s voice, wherever it may be found, and to respond. We do so by listening to God’s voice in silence and contemplation. We do our best, by God’s help, to persist in the face of opposition and allow our initial joy to be seen through to completion. And when we fail to persist, and fail to resist temptation, we receive God’s forgiveness and resist the temptation by the grace of God the next time it comes around. And throughout it all, like the sower, we spread the good news, liberally and without regard for the quality of soil where the seed is being thrown. Some will be receptive to the message we are called to speak, and some will not. Some will respond with great joy and enthusiasm, but will not persist in faithful practice and will eventually fall away. Yet we are reassured today that if we persevere, by God’s help, even against the odds, what we do matters. What we say and how we embody the gospel of Jesus Christ in practice will in fact usher in God’s kingdom here on earth. Regardless of the obvious fruit or lack thereof, we are assured that at least some of the seed will fall on good soil, and those who hear and understand will indeed bear much fruit with a bountiful harvest. Amen. [1] Much of this sermon comes from David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville (Ky.): Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 236-240. [2] Ibid [3] Ibid 238.
Proper 9, Year A
Matthew 11:25-30 July 9, 2023 The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Two weeks ago, our gospel lesson from Matthew included some difficult sayings from Jesus like “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” And “I have come to set a man against his father, and daughter against her mother.” This week, we hear Jesus say, “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy burden, and I will give you rest.” Sounds like two different people talking, but both are in fact statements that Jesus made as part of the same discourse. In both of these passages, Jesus is inviting us to a life of discipleship. Discipleship means “to learn”, and thus disciples of Jesus are called to learn from Jesus how to live. As part of discipleship, we are called to be obedient to our Lord, but not in the way we typically think of obedience – for instance a medieval serf being obedient to his Lord. Rather, Christian obedience is to listen intently, and to respond, not only to those who are supposed to have authority over us, but also to the voices of our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. The call to discipleship is a call to radical obedience – a call to listen to the voice of God, wherever it may be found, and to respond. Unhesitating obedience to Christ often results in divisions within families and friendships. When Jesus says “Take my yoke and learn from me”, he’s using a word that has the same root as “disciple”, which means “learner.” He’s not asking us to learn from him academically or merely spiritually, he’s asking us to take up a way of life. This way of life – this life of discipleship – is not easy. The stakes are high. A disciple loves the Lord with all of his or her heart, soul and body. Living this life of discipleship means we have to give up some things that we want, and instead put love of God and neighbor ahead of our own desires. But in doing so, we are given rest, or using the King James translation, “I will refresh you.” When I hear the word rest, I think of sitting down in a recliner and putting my feet up after a long, exhausting day. Refreshment makes me think of how it feels to open up a cold beer on a warm, sunny afternoon after having worked in the yard for a few hours. The Greek word “rest” can refer to several things including Sabbath rest, the rest of death, or rest from war when Israel’s enemies have been subdued. But more importantly, the idea of “rest” functions as an image of salvation, of what will be when the world is finally ordered according to God’s purposes and enjoys its full and complete Sabbath. In promising us “rest,” Jesus promises life under God’s reign in the new world that he is bringing.[1] This is the “rest” we pray for when we pray “thy kingdom come” in the Lord’s Prayer – it’s not just a “rest” that will come when we get to heaven, but “rest” right here, right now. This kingdom we’re praying for isn’t about humans being snatched up from earth to heaven. It’s not about eternal rest from human life that we achieve when we break on through to the other side. It’s rather the holy city, the New Jerusalem, coming down from heaven to earth. When God’s kingdom comes – when we receive this “rest” from Jesus – God’s space and ours are finally married and integrated at last.[2] “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy burden, and I will give you rest,” Jesus says. Jesus is calling us to come to him. To take up his yoke upon us and learn from him. To be his disciple. Rather than a call to imitate a good man who lived on earth 2,000 years ago and has left us all alone, we are called to be his disciple by relying on the ongoing presence of Jesus in the world today. Thank God, Jesus did not leave us Comfortless when he ascended into heaven! By the power of the Holy Spirit, bread and wine will be blessed and consecrated to be for us the Body and Blood of Jesus, the holy food and drink of new and unending life in him. And then we will come forward and devoutly kneeling, receive the refreshment that he offers us in the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation. We will receive a rest more profound and more complete than we possibly could by putting up our feet after a long, exhausting day, or by opening up a cold beer on a warm, summer afternoon. In the Eucharist, God’s heavenly kingdom breaks into our earthly world and nourishes us with the rest and refreshment that only Jesus can offer. In the Eucharist, heaven kisses earth. And it is only after we are fed with this heavenly food and drink that we are sent out into the world so that we may “continue in that holy fellowship, and do all such good works as he has prepared for us to walk in.” “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy burden, and I will give you rest.” [1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=970 [2] N. T. Wright, The Lord and His Prayer (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2014), 24.
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
Text: Matthew 10:16-33 Sean C. Kim St. Mary’s Episcopal Church 25 June 2023 Do not be afraid. Jesus speaks these words to his disciples three times in our Gospel reading from Matthew today. Some of you may have heard that this phrase or its variant “fear not” is found 365 times in the Bible, one for each day of the year. If you look online, you’ll find a lively debate about whether there are exactly 365 references or a lesser number. Among the different claims, I’ve seen anywhere from around 100 to 365. Part of the reason why it’s difficult to get an accurate count has to do with the translation from Hebrew and Greek, as well as the different meanings of our word “fear.” Lucky for us, we have a resident Biblical expert, my Hebrew and Greek teacher, Richard Liantonio, who is our subdeacon today. So, maybe we should put him to work. Let’s have him go through the Bible, count the number of times “do not be afraid” occurs, and settle the debate once and for all. Richard, can you get on that right away, please? However many times “do not be afraid” occurs in the Bible, what is clear is that it is central to God’s message to us. In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks the words, “do not be afraid,” as he gets ready to send his disciples into the world to proclaim the Gospel, in the so-called “mission discourse.” He warns them of the trials and tribulations to come: “they will hand you over to councils and flog you in their synagogues, and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me…” (Matthew 10:18). And, Jesus further warns, their commitment to Christ may even cause division and strife in their families: “Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death; and you will be hated by all because of my name” (Matthew 10:21-22). I don’t know about you, but if I had been one of the disciples and heard these dire warnings, I might have had second thoughts at this point about staying with Jesus. Who wants to be beaten, humiliated, hated? Who wants to cause conflict in their families? But in the midst of the fears the disciples must have been experiencing, Jesus tells them, “Do not be afraid.” I doubt that Jesus saying these words, even three times, erased the disciples’ fears. We know that when Jesus was later arrested, tortured, and killed, most of them fled rather than face the persecution that Jesus had foretold. But that isn’t the end of the story. In the end, they came back and courageously endured the persecution, and most of them died a martyr’s death. They overcame their fears. Moreover, their apostolic witness has inspired countless others through the centuries to do the same for the sake of Our Lord Jesus Christ. While I was preparing the sermon, it dawned on me that today, June 25, is the anniversary of the outbreak of the Korean War. In 1950, on a sunny Sunday morning such as today, North Korea launched a surprise attack on the South. President Harry Truman – of Independence, Missouri – sent United States and United Nations forces to help the South Koreans defend themselves. My parents were children at the time, and they joined their families in the long line of refugees fleeing the carnage and destruction. Among the bare essentials that my maternal grandmother packed was the Bible. She was, however, afraid that if she were to get caught by the communist North Korean troops, she might have to pay the price for the Bible with her life. And, sure enough, during their long journey, they were apprehended by North Korean troops. One soldier held a bayonet to her neck as the others rummaged through their belongings for food and valuables. Fortunately, they missed the Bible. As I recall my family’s war stories, I cannot begin to fathom their fears during the war – my grandmother’s fear of being caught with the Bible, the fear of hunger and starvation, the fear of poverty, the fear of injury, the fear of death. When I think about my own fears today, they pale in comparison with what my parents and grandparents experienced in the Korean War. They pale in comparison with the trials and tribulations suffered by the disciples and the early church. But my fears are no less real, and I have to deal with them every day. What are your fears? Perhaps you’re afraid of losing your job? Are you afraid of relapsing into substance abuse? Are you afraid of getting sick? Are you afraid of getting old? Are you afraid of dying alone? As for my fears, I think some of you already know one of my biggest fears – the fear of change. I shared with you a few weeks ago that I may be moving. Well, that’s still up in the air. And recently some changes – and potential changes – in my work life have suddenly surfaced. This is turning out to be quite the eventful summer, a season of major transitions, stirring up a host of uncertainties and anxieties. But in the midst of all our fears, we remember Jesus’ words, “do not be afraid.” And we find the courage and strength to work through our fears because we are not alone. We have the help and support of family, friends, our faith community. Above all, we have God’s love and care. We read in today’s Gospel: “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:29-31). As you know, we have Bible study based on the lectionary each week before this service. Today, I heard the most powerful and beautiful testimony about how these verses transformed a life. During the discussion, I also remembered Ethel Water’s classic, “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” God cares for us in a way that we can never fully appreciate. We are never alone. God is always with us, granting us strength and guidance. Every Sunday, before our 10 o’clock service, the clergy, altar party, and choir gather in the chapel to pray the Office of Preparation. Among our prayers is Psalm 43, and the most striking verse for me in that psalm is verse 5: “Why art thou so heavy, O my soul, and why art thou so disquieted within me?” “Why art thou so heavy, O my soul, and why art thou so disquieted within me?” For me, this moment provides an opportunity to name the things that burden my heart and mind – my fears and anxieties, my sins and transgressions – and to lay them at Jesus’ feet. The words, “why art thou so heavy, O my soul,” call me to purge myself of the things that stand between me and God. Dear friends, Our Lord Jesus invites us to come to him and lay all our burdens down. In this sacred hour of worship, as we offer up our prayers and supplications, we find relief and refuge from our daily cares and worries. And as we receive the Body and Blood of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament, we are nourished, refreshed, and renewed. And when the service is ended and we go back into the world, we will carry within us no less than the presence of God, empowering us to face whatever comes our way with courage and strength. God is with us. God cares for us. Do not be afraid.
Feast of the Dedication
June 18, 2023 The Rev’d Charles W. Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Friday afternoon, I jumped in my little Honda Civic and drove almost 3 hours southeast of here for the installation of Fr. Isaac Petty as rector of St. James Episcopal Church in Springfield. Many of you know Fr. Isaac as St. Mary’s was his sponsoring parish. I got settled at the hotel, and then Fr. Chas Marks and I headed over to St. James. When I have the rare treat of attending a church service with music other than at St. Mary’s, the very first thing I do is grab the bulletin and look at the hymns. Yes, the liturgy and the Scripture readings and the names of the ministers are arguably more important, but I’m just being honest with you – the first thing I look at are the hymns. And I immediately noticed that the hymns Fr. Isaac chose for the service were all hymns we sing regularly at St. Mary’s (with one unfortunate exception – he had to throw in a Nazarene tune from his upbringing!). The preacher was Deacon David Wilcox, also a son of St. Mary’s, and it wasn’t even a minute into the sermon that he got teary-eyed and choked up, something Isaac did later when he knelt down in the middle of the church and devoted himself to God and to God’s service as rector of St. James. I, of course, had been crying off and on throughout the service, and as I surreptitiously tried to wipe tears away at one point, it hit me – good God, they learned to be teary-eyed during the liturgy from their rector. Later in the service, we finished singing the rousing hymn at the Offertory. I put my leaflet down, and looked up to behold Bishop Diane flanked by Fr. Isaac and Deacon David and a few others, and I became overwhelmed with the gravity of what I was witnessing, particularly in light of the recent actions of my former denomination the Southern Baptist Convention in which they expelled churches with female pastors: a female successor of the apostles, flanked by two openly gay clerics, in the Bible Belt in a church full of Christians singing the praises of Jesus Christ. Not just any female bishop, but my bishop with whom I have grown quite close; not just any gay clerics, but two that were raised up by St. Mary’s – in this building – in this community of faith – my friends. St. Mary’s has raised up a proportionally large numbers of folks for ordained ministry in its 169 years of existence, but this phenomenon is even more acute with the laity. I informally went through the list of those who have joined St. Mary’s since I arrived nearly six years ago and counted those I knew had moved away from Kansas City: 17 just off the top of my head – there are probably more. Like Isaac and David, they too were formed in this place, in this community of faith. Like us, they experienced the breathtaking beauty of this building, and the breathtaking love and welcome of this congregation. They saw that, as the book of Genesis reads and as the cantor sang earlier, “O, how awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven!”[1] During the reception after Isaac’s installation, I had a chance to talk with Fr. John Biggs. Fr. Biggs is 86 years old and recently celebrated the 60th anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood. He immediately asked me about St. Mary’s is doing, and after awhile, he told me of a memory of a conversation he had with Fr. David McCallum, 11th rector of St. Mary’s from 1962-1967. He giggled and said that Fr. McCallum called this place “Mad Mary’s” because there was always so much going on around here, though I suspect he also meant to say what I’ve said about this place for years: you have to be a little crazy to be a part of St. Mary’s (me included!). It was during Fr. McCallum’s tenure that we came close to being razed to the ground. In 1963, the city plans for what is now I-670 placed St. Mary’s right in the middle of the freeway. Fr. McCallum and Bishop Welles began negotiations with the Missouri Department of Transportation, but they had a hard time convincing them to spare the building given that it was, well, falling apart. Like St. Mary’s has been throughout most of its history, the congregation lived hand-to-mouth and couldn’t begin to afford the necessary repairs. Two prominent parishioners from Grace and Holy Trinity Cathedral - James M. Kemper, Sr., and James M. Kemper, Junior, of Commerce Bank – stepped in and helped. The Kemper family and the diocese worked out an arrangement with MDOT that changed the route of the new freeway past the church rather than through it, provided that the entire exterior of the church be tuck pointed, and the ridiculously expensive slate roof of both the church and the bell tower be replaced, all of which happened due to the generosity of the Kemper family, primarily from the David Woods Kemper Foundation. Like me and you, and the myriad upon myriad of those who have encountered this building and this community of faith, Fr. McCallum, Bishop Welles, and Kemper family saw it for what it is: “O, how awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven!” It seems that I wasn’t the first rector of St. Mary’s to be afflicted with becoming emotionally overwhelmed from time to time. Fr. McCallum apparently wanted nothing other to serve as a missionary in Nicaragua with the Order of the Holy Cross, but was prevented from doing so due to concerns about his ill health. After serving as rector of St. Mary’s for five years, the superior of the order finally relented and allowed him to serve as a missionary to the indigenous peoples of Nicaragua. While en route, Fr. McCallum wrote a love letter of sorts to the people of St. Mary’s, which Fr. Brinkman, his successor, read out loud at all the masses during the week in which it arrived. In it, he says, “My years with you have been happy and delightful ones. To avoid virtually breaking down, I have not been able to say all that is in my heart. I hope this note…can somehow express the depth of my caring and gratitude…for having had the privilege of serving with what will always be the finest congregation in the Church. The most precious thing of all to me – a single person starting on a new and unknown venture – is the certain knowledge that in such friends, I do indeed have a home and family. One could not even ask for as much as you have given. I pray the best for “Mad Mary’s” as I know will be the case. Fondly and gratefully, David McCallum.” Fr. McCallum served as a missionary in Nicaragua for the next 26 years before retiring to his native Wisconsin. As I realized anew on Friday evening at Fr. Isaac’s installation, the influence of St. Mary’s Church goes far beyond these four old walls. Today’s feast recalls the dedication and consecration of this glorious building… the building which houses…all of us. Today is not really about the building, it’s about each and every one of us and the mission of the Church in this place. We give our heartfelt thanks to God for this gem of a building in the heart of Kansas City, but even more than this building, we give thanks to God for giving us his son Jesus Christ for our redemption; for grafting us into his body through the waters of baptism; for bringing us to this beautiful community of faith; and for continuing to feed us with his Christ’s body and blood at this altar. May this holy food and drink give us the strength and courage to take the love we’ve experienced at Mad Mary’s out into world, and tell all who listen, “O, how awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven!” [1] Genesis 22:17, 22; this is the Introit for the Feast of the Dedication. Corpus Christi
St. Mary’s Church The Rev’d Charles Everson June 11, 2023 Despite having entered the “green season” after Pentecost, commonly called Ordinary time, two Mondays ago, we are still wearing white on Sundays! Last week, we celebrated Trinity Sunday, and this week we celebrate with great joy the feast of the Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ, commonly called Corpus Christi. After the 40 days of Easter and the 12 days of Ascensiontide, we’ve been feasting for so long it feels extravagant – almost overindulgent. Today’s feast has its origins in the High Middle Ages. Observed in England from 1318, this feast quickly became very popular among the lay people. Throughout the 14th and 15th centuries, Corpus Christi guilds comprised of lay people (not clerics) were founded to organize elaborate Eucharistic processions in both small villages and large cities. [If you’ve never experienced a Eucharistic procession and have no idea what I’m talking about, you’ll have the chance to do so at the end of today’s Mass, though because of the rain, it will be a much more muted indoor procession.] These processions consisted of elaborate ceremonial and huge amounts of money were spent on banners, garlands, lights, and flowers. They were also civic events at which prominent members of society put their piety on display for all to see. These celebrations also became the principal occasions for the performance of cycles of devotional and didactic plays on the theme of salvation history, which in some places involved virtually the whole community.[1] Why all the fuss? The heart of the Eucharistic procession, is, well, the Eucharist. A piece of consecrated bread is put in a glass container inside of a ridiculously extravagant silver or golden vessel called a monstrance so that everyone can gaze upon it and worship what they see. And then after the procession concludes, the priest blessed the people with the monstrance, or more specifically, with what it contains – the body of our Lord – in a ceremony called Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. Why gaze upon the consecrated bread rather than eat it? Beyond pointing out that the two are not mutually exclusive, as is evident at this Mass when we will do both, because taking the consecrated host in procession through the area around the Church is a way of insisting that Jesus is not only present in this world spiritually, but also physically. This isn’t to say that the Lord’s human body is present in today’s world as his body ascended into heaven on Ascension Day. Rather, Eucharistic adoration proclaims that we believe that Jesus is not only spiritually present here on earth, but is present in the physical elements of the bread and wine of Holy Communion. In other words, he actually meant what he said: “This is my body” and “this is my blood.” He actually kept the promise he made to his church when he said, “I will not leave you comfortless.” By the power of the Holy Spirit, and through the hands of a simple priest, the extravagant love of God is made present to us today not only spiritually, but tangibly, on this and every Christian altar throughout the world. We rightly and routinely eat and drink of the Lord’s body and blood as he commanded, but the extravagance of this feast rouses us out of our slumber and reminds us that the Incarnation of God – God’s taking on human flesh – remains a reality even in our own day. When these ceremonies came into being in the Middle Ages, lay people were required to come to Mass every Sunday and major feast, but were only allowed to receive communion a few times a year. At nearly all masses, the clergy would receive communion, but not the lay people. The average Christian’s Eucharistic piety was not about receiving the body and blood of Christ for his or her redemption, it was all about gazing upon it – when the priest elevated the host and the chalice during the Eucharistic prayer, and at moments when the sacrament was exposed in a monstrance, as we will behold in a moment. It isn’t surprising, then, the lay people cherished the feast of Corpus Christi, nor is it surprising that the Reformers objected to the excesses of Eucharistic adoration and insisted on a return to the origins of this rite which consists of all the faithful – cleric and lay - eating and drinking, just as the Lord commanded. Thankfully, the faithful have been encouraged to receive communion regularly – even daily – since the beginning of the 20th century, and for my part, I’m thankful that Eucharistic adoration has also made a revival, at least in some corners of the Church. For in gazing upon the Lord as he is made known to us in the breaking of the bread, with all of the ceremonial and ritual extravagance and grandeur the Church can offer, we acknowledge that Jesus Christ has not left us nor forsaken us. He is here with us, in the midst of our troubles and our joys, binding up our wounds, and little by little, restoring us to the fulness of the image of God in which we were created. Eucharistic adoration at a time when the bread of heaven and cup of salvation was being withheld from the faithful! What cruelty! It was as if the clergy were taunting the faithful with the Sacrament! Look, here it is, but you can’t have any! No, the balance we have here at St. Mary’s is just right – almost daily mass where all of God’s faithful people can receive the Sacrament regularly, and Eucharistic adoration on this great feast and a few other times throughout the year, reminding all of us of the lavishness and extravagance of God’s love for us – that he really did not leave us nor forsake us. All of this was beautifully summarized by St. Thomas Aquinas, the author of most of today’s liturgical texts, during a sermon he preached on this day. “O precious and wonderful banquet that brings us salvation and contains all sweetness! Could anything be of more intrinsic value? Under the old law it was the flesh of calves and goats that was offered, but here Christ himself, the true God, is set before us as our food. What could be more wonderful than this? No other sacrament has greater healing power; through it, sins are purged away, virtues are increased, and the soul is enriched with an abundance of every spiritual gift. It is offered in the Church for the living and the dead, so that what was instituted for the salvation of all may be for the benefit of all. Yet, in the end, no one can fully express the sweetness of this sacrament, in which spiritual delight is tasted at its very source, and in which we renew the memory of that surpassing love for us which Christ revealed in his passion. “It was to impress the vastness of this love more firmly upon the hearts of the faithful that our Lord instituted this sacrament at the Last Supper. As he was about to leave the world to go to the Father, after celebrating the Passover with his disciples, he left it as a perpetual memorial of his passion. It was the fulfillment of ancient figures and the greatest of all his miracles, while for those who were to experience the sorrow of his departure, it was destined to be a unique and abiding consolation."[2] May Jesus Christ in the most holy Sacrament of the Altar be our abiding consolation, this day and evermore. Amen. [1] Much of this paragraph comes from Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, pp. 43-44. [2] St. Thomas Aquinas, Opusculum 57, in festo Corporis Christi, lectures 1-4. Trinity Sunday St. Mary’s Episcopal Church Fr. Charles Everson June 4, 2023 When I’m talking with seminarians about preaching, I often repeat what a now-retired bishop once told me. A good preacher preaches about two things: Jesus and 10 minutes. The second thing I say is that you can preach one of two things: you can preach one of the biblical texts assigned for the day, or preach the feast. What I mean by that is that there are some seasons and feasts in the church’s calendar that need to be explained, and this is certainly one of them. Trinity Sunday is sort of a hinge day in the liturgical calendar of the Western Church. The first six months of the church calendar has been action packed: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension, Pentecost. We’ve walked with Jesus from his birth to his death, resurrection, and ascension, and last week, we celebrated the gift of the breath of new life breathed by our Lord – the Holy Spirit. Now, as we enter into the long Season after Pentecost, we stand back from all of the action and explore the meaning of the word god itself. And yet, I doubt many of us will leave church this morning with a better intellectual grasp of the Most Holy Trinity. Those whose academic discipline is theology, no matter how faithful and smart they may be, cannot make the notion of one God in three persons any less mysterious. Just ask any of the many preachers throughout history who have inadvertently committed heresy by using a flawed analogy. For example, water is often used to describe the Trinity in that H2O is still water whether it’s liquid, frozen, or steam. The problem is that it implies that God changes forms or modes depending on the situation, but does not exist as three persons at the same time – a heresy called modalism. Rather than risk falling into heresy, I’m going to take a tried-and-true approach and talk about the Trinity using a symbol. Last year, I talked about the fleur-de-lys and Mary’s relationship with the three persons of the Trinity, and this year I’m going back to my favorite window in this church: the Scutum fideli, the Shield of the Trinity. You have to stand in the far back corner of the church to see it as it’s way up in the corner on the other side. You can see a copy of it on the front of your service leaflet. The Shield of the Trinity shows us that the Father, Son and Holy Spirit are all fully God by linking each of the outer circles – Pater, Filius, Spiritus Sanctus – to the center circle, Deus – “God” with the three connecting lines in which is written “est” meaning “IS”. Hence, the Father IS fully God, the Son IS fully God and the Holy Spirit IS fully God. The outer lines connecting the Three have written in them “non est” – “IS NOT”. Hence, the Father IS NOT the Son or the Holy Spirit, the Son IS NOT the Father or the Holy Spirit and the Holy Spirit IS NOT the Father or the Son. Each Person in the Godhead is each fully and completely God, one not more so than the other. But they are also distinct from one another. This image shows us that the Trinity is all about relationship. God the Father is with the Son who is with the Spirit who is with the Father, self-communicating, self-giving, self-receiving. When we profess belief in the Trinity, we affirm that it is of the essence of God to be in relationship.[1] Not only a relationship, but many relationships, beginning with the communion of the three Persons within the Godhead, and expanding to the relationship between God and all of creation.[2] How does this beautiful connectedness of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit manifest itself to us? St. John says in chapter 3 of his gospel, “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”[3] The Son of God was eternally begotten of the Father and made incarnate by the Holy Spirit because of love. The loving relationship that exists between the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit isn’t meant to be merely observed from afar, the way we gaze upon this beautiful stained-glass window. The perfect state of loving communion between the three Persons of the Godhead is made known to you and me in the person of Jesus Christ, true God and true man. To use traditional theological language, God is not only transcendent, but also imminent. The God that St. Athanasius called “incomprehensible” in his creed wants to be intimately involved in our everyday lives. On Trinity Sunday, we aren’t just grappling with an abstract, theological idea. Rather, we are celebrating the relationship of self-sacrificial love that begins with the perfect communion of the three Persons within the Godhead and expands to the relationship between God and humankind both in and beyond time.[4] In a moment, we will go unto the altar of God…the altar where God the Father communicates his love to us by giving us the precious gift of his Son by the power of the Holy Spirit via the hands of a human priest. We are invited to bring ourselves, our souls and bodies, just as we are, to intimately encounter the God of the universe in a moment when we are somehow transported outside of time into God’s wider existence. As we kneel at the rail and receive the Almighty into our very selves, something happens. You’ve heard the expression, “You are what you eat.” The more and more we encounter God’s grace, the more and more we are transformed into the image of the One who created us…the One who humbled himself to share in our humanity, that we might come to share in His Divinity. St. Paul says, “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.”[5] Despite the fact that the doctrine of the Holy Trinity is difficult if not impossible to comprehend, on this great feast, in the words of the opening prayer, we “acknowledge the glory of the eternal Trinity, and in the power of the Divine Majesty…[we] worship the Unity.” The mystery of exactly what happens to the bread and wine at communion, and how it happens, is as much an inexplicable mystery as the doctrine of the Holy Trinity. And yet, it is perhaps at the rail as we intimately receive the body and blood of our Lord that the mystery makes the most sense. 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), 47. [2] Full Homely Divinity. https://tinyurl.com/2jnz9hsa [3] John 3:16. [4] Full Homely Divinity. [5] 2 Cor 3:17-18.
Pentecost
Text: John 20:19-23 Sean C. Kim St. Mary’s Episcopal Church 28 May, 2023 The first time I saw a person die was at my father’s deathbed 14 years ago. In the final moments of his life, Dad was blessed to be surrounded by family and friends. We were at North Kansas City Hospital, standing around his bed and sharing memories, when I noticed that he stopped breathing. Unlike Hollywood depictions that mark the moment of death with great drama, there was very little drama when Dad died. There were some muffled sobs but mostly silence. Part of it was the culture of my family. We don’t show emotion in public. But it wasn’t just that. What struck me most about my father’s death was that he simply stopped breathing. It was so peaceful, almost unnoticeable. Breath is life. We draw our last breath when we die. This is not just a biological fact; there’s some fascinating theology behind the connection between breath and life. In the account of Creation in Genesis, we read “the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being” (Genesis 2:7). It was the breath of God that gave life to Adam and birth to the human race. In today’s Gospel from John, we have another story of breath and life. Following Jesus’ crucifixion, the disciples are in hiding for fear of their lives. It is Sunday, two days after Jesus’ death. Earlier in the day, they had heard a strange story from Mary Magdalene about seeing Jesus alive at the tomb. The disciples are confused. And then suddenly Jesus appears to them in the room. He stands in their midst and greets them: “Peace be with you.” He then shows them his hands and his side. This account of Jesus’ first post-resurrection appearance to the disciples concludes with his breathing on them and saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit” (John 20:19-23). This is a direct recalling of the Genesis story of Creation. Just as God breathed life into Adam, now Jesus breathes new life – a life of the Spirit – into his disciples. The Holy Spirit’s descent in John’s Gospel, sometimes called “the Johannine Pentecost,” is not as well-known as the account in the Book of Acts. We are more familiar with the Holy Spirit coming to the disciples and other followers with the sound of rushing wind, tongues of fire, and speaking in tongues (Acts 2:1-11). So, the disciples seem to have received a double dose of the Holy Spirit, the first time when Jesus appeared to them on the day of his resurrection, as recounted in John’s Gospel, and the second, after his ascension, in the Book of Acts. What about for us here today? When and how did we receive the Holy Spirit? Unlike our Pentecostal and charismatic sisters and brothers, we Episcopalians and other mainline Protestants don’t talk a lot about the Holy Spirit. Of the Three Persons of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit seems the most difficult to grasp – mysterious and elusive. But the Holy Spirit is an integral part of our theology, liturgy, and daily walk of faith. Indeed, the Holy Spirit dwells in all of us who call Jesus Lord and Savior. It is in the waters of baptism that the Holy Spirit comes to us. Just as the disciples received the Holy Spirit when Jesus breathed on them, we receive the Holy Spirit, the breath of God, when we are baptized. This is reflected in our liturgy. Some of you may have noticed that at our Easter Vigil a few weeks ago, during the blessing of the water in the baptismal font, Fr. Charles blew on the water. This ancient practice of ritual blowing represents our belief in the presence of the Holy Spirit, the breath of God, in the waters of baptism. I have heard that in the Orthodox Church, the priest actually blows on the face of the baptismal candidate, an even more direct allusion to Jesus breathing the Holy Spirit on his disciples. When we receive the Holy Spirit in baptism, our lives are changed forever. In the waters of baptism, we die to our old selves, and we rise to new life. We commit to live no longer for ourselves but for God and neighbor. We vow to love and serve, and to lead faithful and holy lives. As disciples of Jesus, we try to follow his teachings and the model that he has set for us. But we know how difficult all this can be in the face of the many struggles and temptations that come our way. Fr. Larry Parrish, our Priest Associate, and his wife, Mary, are not here with us today, so I’m going to talk about them. I’ve noticed that when Fr. Larry celebrates Mass during the weekdays, he does something different at the dismissal. While most priests and deacons will say, “go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” Fr. Larry, on the other hand, will say, “by the power of the Holy Spirit, go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” And I recently found out, this past week in fact at a committee meeting, that it is Mary who has persuaded Fr. Larry to do this. In my conversations with Fr. Larry and Mary over the years, I have learned a lot from their robust theology of the Holy Spirit, rare for Episcopalians – their previous Methodist background may something to do with it. Fr. Larry and Mary have taught me that all our efforts to love and serve, and to be faithful and holy are in vain if we think we can do them on our own. Even with all the hard work and spiritual disciplines, we will never be satisfied. We are doomed to failure. It is only through the power of the Holy Spirit, dwelling in us, that we can overcome the challenges and obstacles. The Holy Spirit is the source of our strength, wisdom, and guidance. The Holy Spirit is no less than the life-giving breath of God in our lives. We cannot live without the Holy Spirit. On this Feast of Pentecost, we commemorate the descent of the Holy Spirit on the disciples. Pentecost is the birth of the Church. Filled with the Holy Spirit, the apostles went out into the world to proclaim the Gospel and establish the Church’s foundations. In our baptism, we, too, have received the Holy Spirit, and we are called to continue the work that the apostles have begun. So, dear sisters and brothers, by the power of the Holy Spirit, go in peace to love and serve the Lord. 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. |
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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.
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