 |
|
|
Now I realize this liturgy takes place near the beginning of a liturgical marathon for many of you, and attending this service required something of you, but I want you to know how much it means to me for you to be present here today. And I want you to know how important I believe these gatherings are in preserving our sense of community and collegiality. Today we come together in the midst of extraordinary changes taking place in the world around us. Abroad, our nation has reached an unprecedented level of military and economic power, and yet we are reminded daily of the limitations of this and all such secular powers. At home, great social, technological and political changes swirl around us and, placed as we are, in the center of our nation, the Episcopal Diocese of Kansas finds itself at the heart of it all. Greater racial, ethnic and cultural diversity challenges us in ways which both excite and frighten us. Increasingly we are aware that liturgically-minded Christians are actually counter-cultural. As members of the Anglican Communion, we struggle to understand what it means to be in communion with one another, even as we are discovering just how different the various contexts are in which we do our respective ministries. And, this struggle has a familiar face in recent events at Christ Church, Overland Park. I think there’s a tendency to believe that there has never been a time quite like this one. And yet, as students of Christian history, we know the faithful have never lived in a time which was not fraught with challenges and alive with possibilities. Bishop Alexander Garret of North Texas, writing at just about the time our diocese was founded, said he needed clergy who could, “ride like a cowboy, pray like a saint, preach like an apostle, and, having food and raiment, be content therein.” The challenges are still the same, although the ability to navigate a Mazda with a slipping clutch might be more useful than being able to ride like a cowboy. But basically, the challenges are still the same. We are always, always, always surrounded by great forces at work in the world. Some of these tensions make themselves known clearly, and some are far more subtle. Even here, in the exquisite beauty and calm of this great cathedral, there are enormous forces in dynamic struggle with one another. Do you see them? Can you sense them? To the unsuspecting, everything appears quiet and peaceful. Yet, the weight of the roof is bearing down upon the ceiling beams and that force is being spread out to the columns. The weight of the tower is bearing down upon the columns as they press downward against the foundation. The ground moves almost imperceptibly against the foundation and the foundation resists its subtle force all the while. The walls strain against iron reinforcement to spread to the sides and even the tiniest fragments of stained glass must be restrained by lead to keep them in their rightful places. Without these tensions and counter-balances, without these forces and restraints, we would not have the great beauty in which we now find such peace. We are always surrounded by great forces at work in the world, and the challenge is to recognize and respect them while keeping them from immobilizing us. The letter to the Ephesians appears to have originated as a general letter intended for a variety of churches. It certainly has applications for the church in our time. The author, probably a disciple of Paul, begins the passage we heard read by reminding his readers that there are a variety of roles to be played in the Body of Christ. “Some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers … to equip the saints for the work of ministry for the building up of the body of Christ.” Why is it that we tend to value the gifts we bring to ministry while diminishing the importance of the gifts others bring? It is clear to me that it will take the combination of every one of our gifts to properly meet the challenges God has given us. They are called “gifts for ministry” precisely because they are not of our own making. Sure, we can refine them and hone them, we can squander them, withhold them, maximize them, but does anyone here really believe they have created these gifts? We need the whole body, “joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped.” Let me say it evenly more plainly. We desperately need conservatives and liberals in this church, active in this diocese. We need Republicans, Democrats and Independents. We need traditionalists just as desperately as we need progressives. We need high and low churchmen and women. We need people who speak languages we do not yet understand. We need people of every orientation. We need people who love drums and electric guitars in worship, and we need people who believe the highest achievement in the musical arts, without a doubt, occurred during the Baroque period. We need this not because it is politically correct or a merely good thing to say. We need this because this is what Jesus had in mind when he commanded us to, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all nations…” Jesus didn’t say go where you feel comfortable. He didn’t say go where you think the people are just like you. He said, “Go and take it to everyone. Take it to Jews and Gentiles. Take it to Greeks and Romans, sinners and prophets, women and men. Take it to the physically challenged and those who are in perfect health. Take it to the slaves and to the free, to the rich and poor, young and old, tax collector and tax payer, Pharisees and Sadducees, Take it to everyone, everywhere, all the time, and to every place!" The author of Ephesians admonishes the church, “We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming. But speaking the truth in love we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ.” There is a lot of blowing doctrine about, and if you spend much time on certain web sites, you risk being blown completely off course. And it must be said that some of the communications being sent around on the Internet in these times are not the sort of thing most Christians would say to one another face to face. And so we need to be careful about how much energy we place in exercises which serve to break down the Body of Christ. Joanna Macy writes, “This is a dark time, filled with suffering and uncertainty. Like living cells in a larger body, it is natural that we feel the trauma of our world. So, don’t be afraid of the anguish you feel or the anger or the fear, for these responses arise from the depth of your caring and the truth of your interconnectedness with all beings. To suffer with is the literal meaning of compassion.” I believe that we, as ordained persons, don’t come to our compassion and prayer so much out of our innate piety as out of the realization that we’re desperately outmanned in the cosmic struggle between good and evil, and that we must be absolutely dependent upon God if we are to attempt this impossible task we’ve promised to do. And, yes, it is a promise. Our ordination vows are promises before God, and they are holy promises meant to be kept. Recent events in the life of the church prompt us to ask ourselves, “Are we independent agents serving under our own consciences, dependent upon our own feelings regarding God’s direction for our ministry? Or do we serve as ‘one under authority,’ part of an indissoluble family which holds one another accountable for the actions taken in the name of Christ?” So, does it seem like a long, long time ago since you promised you would do this thing, this indescribable, unspeakable thing which demands that you attempt to stand upright in the holy places while you feel the fires of the Spirit licking at all of your impurities and imperfections? Or does it seem like five minutes ago, and you still remember how weird that first collar felt hanging around your neck? Can you remember how strange and mysterious it felt to be treated with more respect than you deserved, and how frightening it was to feel as if more was expected from you than you could ever deliver on your own? What can compare to this vocation? What could possibly be its equal? What can compare to the joy of seeing darkened lives illumined by the light of Christ? What can compare to the grand privilege of serving at the invitation, not by any mere mortal, but extended by the One, True and Living God? If we are going to spend our lives in some manner, shouldn’t we pour out our lives for the best possible reasons and in the service of the highest possible good? If we are unable to escape this mortal world with our lives, shouldn’t we give them up in the service of the greatest thing we know? John Wesley said when he preached that he, “set [himself ] on fire and people came to see the flame.” If only those whom we serve could see that kind of fire in our hearts. I was reminded of Wesley’s quote when I came across this poem, entitled The Only Sermon, by Andrea Ayvazian. If we dug a huge grave miles wide, miles deep and buried every rifle, pistol, knife, bullet, bomb, bayonet if we jumped upon fleets of tanks and fighter jets with tool boxes, torches unwelded them dismantled them turned them into scrap metal if every light-skinned man in a silk tie said to every dark-skinned man in a turban I vow not to kill your children and heard the same vow in return if every elected leader agreed to stop lying if every child was fed as well as the racehorses bred to win derbies If every person with a second home gave it to a person with no home if every person who has enough said out loud I have enough if every person violent in the name of God were to find God we would grow silent, still for a moment, a lifetime we would hear infants nursing at the breast hummingbirds hovering in flight we would touch a canyon wall and feel the earth vibrate we would hear two lovers sigh across the ocean we would watch old wounds grow new flesh and jagged scars disappear as time was layered upon time we would slowly be ready to begin. So let us begin. Let us, earthen vessels though we are, begin again to bind the wounds of our people. Let us listen with compassion, teach with wisdom, preach with fire and make disciples of all nations. The harvest is plentiful, and the laborers are few. Amen.
|
©2004
Episcopal Diocese of Kansas. All rights reserved.
Problems with Site?
