|
|
"A Tale of Two Churches"
The Rev. James Hamilton
April 19, 2009
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
Glen Ellyn, IL
God of the ages, fill us with your spirit so that we can speak
words of boldness, even when faced with foolishness, incredulity
and dark times. Amen.
Mary Magdalene had seen him earlier that day, mistaking him
for a gardener, for he was a real man of flesh and blood who
might be tending to the weeding, rather informal in his humanness.
She came rushing back to share the news. But the apostles must
have thought the news too good to be true. After all, if they
had believed her, why were they holed up in a room cowering
from the authorities? If they had believed her, they would be
barking it from every street corner, ‘our master Jesus
cannot be silenced by a religious gag order, our friend Jesus
cannot be stopped by a roman cross, our Messiah Jesus cannot
be held in an earthly tomb.’ If they had believed her,
they would know that the rules had already been changed. You
see, Mary’s news was the kind that couldn’t be held
in an upper room; it was the sort that seeped out and transformed
lives. So, they must have thought the news too good to be true.
Because there they were, sitting shiv'ah for a brother who was
not really dead.
The truth is they were stuck. They had backed a renegade rabbi,
but now he was gone and they were purposeless, broken, licking
their wounds. I bet a good portion were also ashamed, wracked
with survivor guilt. They had fled, they had denied him, and
one of their own had even betrayed him. But even now, they were
mourning in secret, they couldn’t find the bravery to
mourn in public, to claim their Jesus. Shiv’ah should
be public, shared, an open door to all who wish to join in the
mourning. But, they were secretive, insular holding on to their
Jesus through sorrow, like Mary tried to hold on to him in the
garden. They were a wounded congregation and their natural tendency
was to shut down communication with the outside world until
such time as they could find meaning again, a new direction.
Christ was not going to stand for that. That was not the church
He had been building. He needed to stage an intervention.
You know, this is my second to last sermon here at St. Mark’s,
at least in the normal preaching rota. And, as is appropriate
when someone is about to head off to a new city, calling, congregation,
I am looking back at my time with you, fondly. I am reminiscing
about how gracious you have all been to me and how lovely this
place has been for me to grow in my ministry (you have been
so generous to not only nurture me, but also to have recognized
the strong call of another priest in Katie, lifting her out
of her protracted process). But, most of all, in preparation
for this sermon, I have been reflecting on the place St. Mark’s
was when I first started worshipping here and what you have
become in a few short years.
My first Sunday here was the last for the Reverend Sheila Ferguson,
the interim rector right before George (for those of you who
have joined us since). I remember the love that you all showed
to her, love she reflected back. I was impressed with the hospitality
I felt and warmth of your welcome. But, I also remember a feeling
of shell-shock, a sort of community psychological preoccupation.
It wasn’t too long before I heard the story (or rather…stories)
of the break, friends fighting with friends, rebuking and name
calling, ugliness, sadness and finally family leaving family.
I realized very quickly that St. Mark’s was at a crossroads,
that you were poised to be either a resurrection story or a
cautionary tale. Much like that sad group of apostles in the
upper room, I bet that many of you looked at the road ahead
and thought it might just break you.
But look how far you have come, through the grace of God and
the power of the Spirit.
If you have noticed, the lectionary is without a Hebrew Bible
reading for today. Maybe one reason is that they think we deserve
a break from them after the marathon readings of the Easter
Vigil. But, the main reason is that this time between Easter
and Pentecost is an opportunity to remember, be inspired by,
and marvel at the community of the early church as reported
by Dr. Luke in the Acts of the Apostles. Listen to the difference
in the church in this story, how different it is from the story
of the upper room on Easter morning.
“Now the whole group of those who believed were of one
heart and soul…
They were living in that Pauline body metaphor, one body working
toward one goal.
…and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions,
but everything they owned was held in common.”
Kind of the ideal that communism never seemed to reach, maybe
because of that pesky problem of human nature and the struggle
for power at the expense of shared good.
“With great power the apostles gave their testimony to
the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon
them all.”
This is the portrait of the apostles barking the Gospel from
every street corner. This is what transformed and commissioned
apostles look like. So, they finally believed Mary’s story…it
only took Jesus walking through a closed door, eating fish,
showing his wounds, speaking to hundreds and the Pentecost to
catch them up with Mary’s proclamation of “Rabbouni!”
in the garden.
“There was not a needy person among them, for as many
as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds
of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet,
and it was distributed to each as any had need.”
I am sure that rector’s read this either wistfully, marveling
at a church without capital campaigns, or they just skip right
to the next story and see how quickly it went sour. (By the
way, read the story of Ananias and Sapphira right before filling
out your pledge cards next year…it is a nice spiritual
exercise).
Look at the difference between this group of apostles and the
one in John. Again, I see similarities here at St. Mark’s.
Under the leadership of many, some ordained but mostly laity,
St. Mark’s has re-established itself as a place of joy
and trust in community. There are many here who are unaware
of the past and only find a healthy, happy family to raise children,
ask challenging questions, praise God and grow in their faith.
You certainly have helped me to grow, find a voice and be bold.
In some ways it is impossible to trace back a moment of sea-change
in a group from battered to burgeoning. All I know is that Jesus,
like in that upper room, is the source of it.
So, there they were, beleaguered and unable to hear the joy
of a victory already won. The doors were locked and tight. The
group was retentive and stultified. Still, even in that barren
place, a miracle happened. Now, Jesus had used metaphors of
doors, choices, rebirth…all presuming action on the part
of the one being transformed. But here, Christ comes to the
apostles, not the other way around. Christ is not going to knock
or ask them to chase him to catch the prize in a game of salvific
cat and mouse. Christ just barges right in, disregarding the
rules of physics, matter or manners. He walks in and says, “Peace.”
Not, gotcha or get over it. Not, I rebuke you or I disown you.
He just walks in with an urgent message of peace. He identifies
himself, with the intimacy of his broken body and then commissions
them to do likewise. Walk into places of brokenness with an
urgent message of peace, identify yourself with the intimacy
of your brokenness and then send them to share the quiet power
of the good news to others.
Christ breathes them back to life, to purpose and to action.
The text says that he literally breathes on them. If you think
Maundy Thursday was awkward, what if we were charged to have
a breathing memorial service where we breathed on each other.
This is a precursor to the Holy Spirit, of course, but it is
also a memorial of the “Ruach” the breath of life
in creation that turned clay into humanity and Ezekiel and the
dry bones of Israel being breathed into life by God. The breathing
is a beginning of a new life, a new purpose. Isn’t it
interesting that it takes a once dead man to breathe on the
apostles for them, who are dead in spirit, to live again? Isn’t
it interesting that Jesus never rebukes them for being holed
up and not working for the kingdom. He never recounts the events
of denial and abandonment. Just as he does with Thomas later,
in that act of tender and gracious teaching, Christ never mistreats
those who would be the foundation of his Church. Instead, he
gives them the power to forgive. Not even a mandate to forgive…but
the power to forgive or retain. What a judgment-less mandate.
Go out and forgive, if you can, retain if you can’t…but
always spread peace.
Keep your faith, St. Mark’s. Keep being transformed.
Spread peace and, with time and the power of the Spirit, forgiveness
too. Be transformed not only by the power of the Gospel message,
but also by the tenderness with which Christ shares it, coming
to his beloved, sometimes misguided, disciples in the middle
of their grief and in the room where they are mourning. Being
with them, loving them during those times he has with them still.
You have come a long way, be bold and imagine what God has
in store for you next.
|
