Supposing Him to be the Gardener

Sermons, from the Canon to the Ordinary in the Episcopal Diocese of Northwestern Pennsylvania and the Episcopal Diocese of Western New York. Why call it Supposing Him to be the Gardener? Because Mary Magdalene, on the first Easter, was so distracted by her pain that she failed to notice the Divine in her midst. So do I. All the time. This title helps me remember that the Divine is everywhere--in the midst of deep pain as well as in profound joy. And everywhere in between.

Monday, November 21, 2022

MATTHEW TEMPLE HOMILY 2022

When I get high, I get high on speed. This opening lyric of Motley Crue’s hit Kickstart My Heart says so much about Matt: he loved the speed of dirt bikes and Harleys, he shared his heart with so many of you that I believe when he saw you, bowled with you, coached with you, grew up with you, watched Joe Montana play football with you, his heart---that muscle which gave him so much trouble his whole life-- was kick-started. Because for a man with a so-called weak heart, his was stronger than most.
It's what makes this death—a death that, in truth, wasn’t as surprising as it felt—so hard to accept. How does a heart that loved so well, a hearth that held and endured so much, stop? Well I am not sure it has stopped…sure it stopped beating in Matt’s body, but it hasn’t stopped in Krissy’s, it hasn’t stopped in Aunt Kathy’s or cousin Danny’s or yours or yours or yours. Matt’s heart beats on. Hold onto that.

On the last page of the bulletin for this morning (page 12) is a statement about the theology of death held by the Episcopal Church. In part it says
The liturgy for the dead is an Easter liturgy. It finds all its meaning in the resurrection. Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we, too, shall be raised.
We find all the meaning of life—even the end of our earthly life-- in the resurrection…that dwelling on the end is not our calling, but rather we dwell on the continuation of life. We live our lives fully. Knowing that when our earthly life has ended, our true life is simply changed. Somehow, as I was reflecting on this the other night while I wrote this homily, I thought it fit Matt. You see, I didn’t know Matt, bit in speaking with Kristen and Kathy they told me a lot about Matt and one story really stuck with me:
As Matt was weakening and the nurses were anxious to call Kristen, Matt kept telling them, “don’t worry, she will be here.” For Matt wasn’t concerned about what might not be, he simply believed in what was going to be: he knew Kris would be there and so why worry? This, folks is faith. Faith that things will be ok, faith that trusting that what has been –Kris’s devotion to her brother (and his to her) was something that he could count on. Always.
In today’s Gospel reading the apostle Thomas doubts that he will be able to find the way to eternal life, he pleads with Jesus—How can we know the way? Jesus replies, you know the way, because you know me and I am the way, the truth and the life. Jesus wasn’t stressed, he wasn’t worried. Thomas on the other hand was kind of freaking out. So this is what I say to you who really don’t know how to get through this life without Matt— how will you keep bowling? How will you talk football (you know, like how Joe Montana was the best to ever play the game), hear a Harley coming, watch Godiva the chocolate lab mis her Matt—how will you ever do this all without Matt?
You will. And you won’t. You will because this earthly life continues for you and somehow you will endure this loss and even find joy again.
And you won’t because Matt’s influence on you and the world around him did not die when that wondrous heart of his ceased to beat because in death life is not ended, but simply changed. His light and his life will not be forgotten, his quiet courage, his speaking of the truth, his protection of his baby sister, his love for his precious aunt, cousins and friends has not and will not die. Why? Because we are people of the resurrection, people of the Way the Truth and the Life.
Matthew William Temple, rest well good and faithful servant, those who love you will carry on, knowing that when needed you will, somehow and someway, kickstart them back into this life he loved so much. Rest well, Matt. Amen.

LAST EPIPHANY C 2022

EASTER 7C

   Our opening collect this morning reads, in part, “Do not leave us comfortless.”
The collect’s author is referring to this liminal time between Jesus’s ascension and the arrival of the Holy Spirit but perhaps that sentence means more than just this odd time in the church year.
   When children in school, worshippers at a social hour after church and shoppers in a grocery store all get shot because of the color of their skin, their immigration status or just because of the deranged darkness within the shooter’s soul, I’ll admit to wondering if Jesus has, in fact, left us comfortless.
But, of course, Jesus hasn’t, we’ve left ourselves comfortless by somehow accepting this craziness in our country.
By offering thoughts and prayers and then going back to business as usual. That’s not how change happens.
Change happens when people take risks, try something new, stand up for what they feel is right.
All Easter season we’ve been reading from the Acts of the Apostles—-Acts is the travelogue of the early church—Peter and Paul venturing out into the Roman Empire preaching the good news of Jesus and converting people, enflaming their hearts with this Good News. Their work wasn’t easy, lots of people thought they were nuts, others were annoyed at their blathering on about this so-called Messiah and still others wanted them killed for even mentioning that there could be a new way of looking at things, a different way.
The early church grew because of the passion of those early converts, people whose hearts were on fire for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, a gospel where the outsiders are brought in, the dismissed are acknowledged, the lonely are embraced. Where the powerful who will do anything to hold onto that power are put in their place, where the status quo is turned over like the tables of the money changers, where the guilty are forgiven and the lost are found. These early followers literally changed the world because of what they beleived and because of how they acted. They didn’t just talk about this gospel of love, they lived it, they Acted on it.
My friends, is this our Acts moment? I know there are some—maybe many—-of you who wish I would stop blatheirng on about the horror of gun violence, the intolerance of racial hate and the like. But I think that if I don’t keep saying these things we’ll miss our chance….our chance to defeat the darkness that currently enshrouds us. Our chance to act… to turn this country of darkness and hate into a country of light and love.
   A civilized country doesn’t stand by while gunmen kill school kids and teachers and yet we did just that 10 years ago at Sandy Hook and we’re doing it again in Uvale. A civilized country doesn’t stand by while people are murdered at the grocery store because of the color of their skin or in a church or synagogue or mosque because of how they worship God.
   On this Memorial Day weekend the flowers on the altar are given in memory of my Uncle Robert who was killed in the Battle of Anzio during WW2. He died protecting this country from hate and darkness.
Nearly 80 years later the hate and darkness isn’t something “over there,” it is something right here. What are we doing about it?
Jesus has not left us comfortless, he never will. It is time for us to pick up our faith and act on it outside of these doors, before it is too late.
We cannot let Uncle Robert’s death be in vain. Nor can we let Jesus’s death and resurrection be in vain either.
This must be our Acts moment…because if not us, who? If not, when?
Alleluia, Christ is Risen, the Lord is Risen Indeed. Alleluia.
Amen.

THE PRESENTATION 2022

+ Today we pause our observance of the adult Jesus’s burgeoning ministry and look back to 40 days after his birth—a commemoration called The Prsentation of the Infant Jesus at the Temple(which was this past Wednesday) also known as The Purification of the Virgin.Both things are true: 40 days after giving birth, a Jewish mother needed to bathe in the ritual waters of the temple to purify herself, allowing her to return to the daily life. And 40 days after the birth of a first son, he was to be presented to the Temple with a sacrifice of thanksgiving appropriate to one’s economic standing (in the case of the Holy family, two pigeons). On the occasion outlined by Luke in today’s gospel both things happen the purifying AND the presentation rituals. (This day is also referred to as Candlemas, but to get into that is far too much church trivia…)
   The scene is chaotic…at the Temple hundreds of people are making their offering. A poor family from Nazareth should have gone unnoticed, save for the demeaning stares that came from only being able to offer the smallest sacrifice allowed. Other than disdain, no one would pay the Holy Family any mind. And yet, in this story two faithful people do—they’re drawn to this baby.
   First on the scene is the old priest, Simeon. That day he was guided to the temple---it wasn’t his turn to serve at one of the altars and yet he was drawn, driven to be there by the Holy Spirit. The couple’s made their sacrifice, the purificating bath has been taken when this old priest comes toward them….why would a revered priest of the temple give two hoots about a poor family from the backwater town of Nazareth, offering their measly pigeons at the altar? They meant nothing to the economy of the temple and yet, here comes Simeon. Why? Because, as God often does, God uses the ordinary and the dismissed, the unremarkable and the outcast to shine God’s light in the world.
Simeon’s been waiting for messiah and, on this day, finds him in the arms of Mary. Filled with joy he sings his song of praise, known throughout Christendom as the Nunc Dimittis which, loosley translated means “Let me now depart.” This old priest has been waiting to see the salvation of the world arrive and now that he’s seen the Messiah, he’s at peace.
The song of Simeon is beautiful, the moment, poignant. We recite this song at our night-time services, Evening Prayer and Compline. Why? Because it’s in the peace of God’s love for us that we lay our heads down at night, knowing all things are well because God is among us.
   The second character that comes on the scene is the prophet Anna, daughter of Phanuel. Anna was married for seven years and then widowed. Clearly she didn’t have a son or a brother to care for her because she was living in the temple, alone, for YEARS (a woman without a man was literally nothing in Ancient Israel, relegated to a life of begging). Once Anna hears Simeon’s song she begins to proclaim the redemption of Jerusalem. No doubt dismissed by many, Anna realizes upon hearing Simeon’s words that all is not lost, for the Messiah is here and she announces this to all within earshot in the cacophanous Temple halls.
   The joy of knowing that all will indeed be well, buoyed Simeon and Anna as it should us, for wherever we find ourselves this morning—-in heartbreak, worry, fear, a deep ache for what was and is no longer—-whatever weighs on us today, there is Good News: fear not, for the Messiah is here, in our midst. Always. The healing of what lays heavy upon us is at hand—for our eyes have seen the Savior, here for all to see, freeing us to go on with life in peace as God has promised, through the coming teachings of that 40 day old baby held by Mary, worshipped by Simeon, praised by Anna, given to you and me. My eyes have seen the Savior, how about you?
Amen.

Proper 3c 2022

Yes Lord, I believe Proper 14C August 7, 2022

“Yes Lord, I believe.” A friend of mine always says this when he receives communion. It’s a compelling response to the sacrament.
“Yes Lord, I believe.” A powerful statement that stays with me for days after I hear it.
In the letter to the Hebrews we’re reminded of the great belief Abraham and Sarah exhibited when first called by God:
You remember the story, Abram and Sarai (their original names) were told to move from the home they knew to a new home, a place they did not know. And in that new place God promises them children. Even though they were far beyond child bearing years, God says, don’t worry, have faith, I will provide, giving you more descendants than stars in the sky. And God did.
The story of Abraham and Sarah offers a formula for our faith—- we believe, God provides.
When we are operating from a place of faith we believe even though everything we know tells us we shouldn’t. But God doesn’t operate according to our ways, God operates according to God’s way.
And God’s way? God’s way is the way of truth and light and love. It is the way of righteousness, it is the only way, it is The Way.
I think the example of Abraham and Sarah is one we all can benefit from. Abraham questioned, argued, debated, wondered, and Sarah? Well… Sarah laughed.
Questioning, arguing, wondering and laughing are all, I think, pleasing before the Lord, especially when such things lead us to believe.
Now belief isn’t some pie in the sky method of living, belief isn’t signing off on every single nuance of the Christian Faith, nor is it saying that you always accept every decision of the Episcopal Church, this diocesean partnership, the Genesee Deanery Project or even this congregation.
Belief is knowing, somewhere in your heart, in your soul, in your gut, that God is.
That Love exists, that peace is available and that through this God…One we can’t prove, we can’t describe and yet we can’t live without...all things are possible.
Belief takes what we profess in the creed and gives it skin and bones... it’s what we live everyday and it is (at least I hope it is) what we fall back on when things are rough, when we feel lost, lonely and afraid.
Belief is what we hold onto so that when we lose our way, our belief will hold onto us.
My friends, it is, as Jesus says in the gospel, “God’s good pleasure” to give us the kingdom. To give us everything, always and forever. Of course, God doesn’t always give us what we want, but God always gives us what we need.
All we have to do is believe.
So don’t worry whether your prayers are eloquent enough, if your faith is strong enough, just look at the stars expanding across the night sky and remember what God can do when we simply say, “yes, Lord, I believe.”

Amen.