Sermon

St. Philip's Episcopal Church, Durham, NC

June 15, 2008 - Proper 6 (A)

The Rev. M. Jonah Kendall

I think in this uncertain world of ours we need signs, things to hold onto, things to hang our hats on, to ground us and give us hope.

You may know that I met Caty because Caty’s mother was a classmate of mine in seminary.  And let’s just say…  I had ... to approach her … gingerly.  We would get together all the time, but I wanted to be real sure she was interested in me before I tipped my hand.  And so I was always looking for anything to encourage me.

I used to get these messages from her, real normal ones.  Something like, “Hey Jonah, it’s Caty.  Give me a call when you get in.”  Now I probably listened to that thing a hundred times trying to determine exactly how she said, “hey.”  Was it, “Hey?”  Or was it, “Hey?”

I think we all know something of this.  Maybe you’ve been in an interview where you’re playing that game.  You know, answering the questions while at the same time trying to determine if the interviewer was giving you any clues as to whether you were the one they wanted.  Or maybe after a medical test, a few days go by and you begin to reassure yourself by saying, “I haven’t heard anything yet.  If there was a problem, surely the doctor would have called right away.”

Now what I want to say is that this search for something to hold on to can be a difficult thing for us when we cannot find anything, especially when were suffering, or hurt in some way.  It can even have spiritual consequences, making us wonder whether there really is a God out there.

I once met a woman who had lost her husband and was in great distress.   She said that what was grieving her most wasn’t just that her husband had died, but that everyone around her seemed to be going on business as usual.  Whether it was because her friends didn’t want to impose, whether it was because they didn’t know what to say, or didn’t want to upset her, she didn’t know.  All she felt was a great chasm between her life and everyone else’s.  “I gotta say,” she said, “I’m really questioning God.  I’m thinking there’s just a big nothing out there.  I mean no one’s giving me anything.”

I think it was for this reason that Christ sent forth his disciples.  You see, first century Israel was a hard place.  It was a conquered nation.  This had great implications because the Israelites believed that Israel was God’s given land and that God literally dwelt there.  And so if the Romans could conquer it, did that mean that they had vanquished God?

The people were also for the most part poor and suffering.  Much like the folks we see around Urban Ministries (UMD).  And to make matters worse, their religious leaders – those whom God had raised up to remind them of God’s love – had largely abandoned them by withdrawing into the temple so to speak, being more interested in their own righteousness than sharing God’s good favor.

And so Christ sends forth his disciples to bring these lost people of Israel back towards God.  Christ offers them up as a tangible sign of the love of God that is still very much alive and with them.  He charges them to share mercy, compassion and grace so as to build up the people’s faith, hope, and love.  He sends them forth as a way to give the people of God something to hold on to.

Now, let me ground all this biblical imagery by giving you an analogy from the 20th century.  Anne Lamott in her book Blue Shoe recounts an extraordinary event that happened in Europe at the close of the Second World War.

Apparently, lost children wandered around until they were gathered at allied camps.  There, these children were fed and cared for while their families or new families were found to take them in.

In one camp, the children weren’t sleeping at night.  Their nerves were shot, and they could not get the images of death and destruction out of their minds.  Finally, a social worker discovered that if they were given a piece of bread to hold at night they would fall asleep.

The bread was not intended for eating, there was plenty of that when they were hungry.  This bread was bread of hope.  This bread was just to hold onto to reassure the children through the night that they were safe and that food and love would be awaiting them on the morrow.[1]

You see that’s what Christ sent his disciples for.  That’s the work of the church in the world.  We are to be the bread in the hands of the suffering and lost children of the world, giving them sleep and comfort as they can trust in the hope of a brighter day.

And that’s what we do when we feed someone at UMD.  That’s what we do when we pray for an inmate of the Durham County jail. That’s what we do when we visit the sick in the hospital, teach a child in the catechesis program, or even just welcome a stranger — we open up the eternal truth that we are all loved.  And that is, I think, why we feel so good when we do these things, why we sleep better at night and our lives take on deeper meaning and purpose, for they are apart of that great something out there called God.

In closing, I want to say two things.

First, this sermon isn’t for you, but for someone else.  I mean God loves you, but today Christ is calling us for the sake of someone else, someone lost, someone hurting.  For, you see, to be Christian means living a life that gives others something to hold onto.  And everything in this church, from the books in the pews, to the hymns we sing and prayers we say, the clergy here – yes, Maggie, this is what you got ordained for yesterday – and all the sacraments we share, they are all here to remind you that you have been called for the sake of others.

Look up for a moment.  Do you see it?  That’s no ceiling you’re looking at, but the hull of a great old ship turned upside down.  Yes, Cram knew what he was doing when he designed this church.  He used all the old symbolism.  That upside-down hull hanging over us is the love that God shall overturn the world.  That in God every tear shall be dried, the sick healed, the prisoners released, the sinful forgiven and, oh yes, the dead raised.

Christ turned the dark waters of death and confusion in baptism into the waters of new life.  And so we the baptized of St. Philip’s are the people of the upside-down sea.  We are called to be heralds of the love of God and to bring hope and promise to the world through our love.

Lastly, I want to ask something of you.  Now this may not be for all of you, but you will know if it is.  In the last couple of weeks, I have gotten to know a man who for 35 years sat at that organ.  And what has come clear to me in this time is that Kent Otto didn’t serve this church because he loved music, but because of his hope in the Resurrection.  And so when he sat himself down behind that console he saw himself as a disciple sent out to offer you, the parishioners of this parish, something to hold onto and build your faith, to give you comfort when you hurt, and joy in your celebrations and to inspire a hope in you for things to come.

Well, as I’m sure you all know, Kent was diagnosed with bladder cancer just after retiring from here last year.  Now he’s in hospice care.  And so in light of what he has sought to give you all throughout the years, I ask those of you for whom this is hitting home to consider giving him something now.

I ask you to consider really being the church today, to live into the story of our ancestors in the faith by taking a moment to visit Kent through a card.  You don’t have to say much.  Maybe just, “Kent, thank you for all you have done for us at St. Philip’s.  My thoughts and prayers are with you now.  God bless, your brother or sister in the Resurrection.”

In that way, you may just be his bread come down from heaven, his manna in the wilderness.  For you just might be giving him that one thing he may be longing for: affirmation of his hope of the great day to come.

In Christ’s name, Amen.

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