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Sermon at The Church of
the Holy Apostles, New York City,
November 2, 2003, All
Saints' Sunday
by The Reverend William A. Greenlaw, Ph.D.
Ecclesiasticus 44:1-10, 13-14
Psalm 149
Revelation 7:2-4, 9-17
Matthew 5:1-12
“When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and
after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to
speak, and taught them…” And we are given the Beatitudes, that
wonderful group of sayings which describe and define what the
Christian life is supposed to be about, which portray perfection,
which give us the touchstone by which we measure our own
achievements. These are the ethics of the kingdom, the ethics of
Jesus: blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are those who
mourn; blessed are the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, the
peacemakers.
At least a part of me wants to
respond to those Beatitudes with a “good grief!” Another part of
me wants to respond with a “good God!” It would seem that on this
All Saints’ Sunday we have a set of hopelessly impossible and
perfectionistic, not to mention unrealistic, ethical propositions
on the one hand, and a whole lot of hoopla about those saints,
heroes and heroines of the faith who have made it in a big way, on
the other.
And all the while, it is not
clear just what all this has to do with the real world that
continues to tear itself apart—and I am speaking not only of the
secular world, but these days much of the ecclesiastical world as
well.
How many of us long, and I mean
deeply long to step back from the craziness that seems to define
every aspect of the times in which we live—and to find another way
for at least a part of our lives?
A part of that longing is
symbolized in that wonderful gem of Anglican hymnody, the
children’s All Saints hymn that plenty of us adult children also
like to sing: “I sing a song of the saints of God… and I
mean to be one too”—perhaps especially when we imagine ourselves
at tea, on the green, with a queen—of one sort or another—if not
exactly in being slain by that fierce wild beast.
We need to let go, to relax just
a bit, to find delight, a twinkle in the eye while enjoying
something patently absurd—and yet touching at the very same time.
Which is why I sometimes twist David’s arm to schedule that hymn
at least once in awhile.
“And I mean to be one too.” Or
do I? Or can I? Unfortunately, being a saint is quite different
from being the proper Anglican that hymn seems to bespeak. You
know the story of those religious folks discussing just how it
could be that they have found themselves in hell. All they could
come up with in their self-examination was this: The proper Jew
must have eaten too much pork. The proper pre-Vatican II Roman
Catholic must have had too much meat on Fridays. The Anglican had
a most difficult time imagining what it might have been—when
suddenly she remembered that terrible, very formal dinner with
very important people present—when she did something indescribably
egregious. This had to have been it! She had inadvertently eaten
her whole meal with her salad fork…
Now of course All Saints’ Day is
not about the trivial, even though, again, sometimes we need to
smile and lighten up and see through at least some of our
pretensions. All Saints is not about the trivial, but neither is
it about moral striving, per se… about squeezing out every
last drop of moral perfection or righteousness. The saint is not
akin to a weightlifter or bodybuilder, exercising rigorously and
endlessly, whose life is given over to squeezing out ever more
seeming perfection, perhaps even enough to morph into an actor,
maybe even into a governor!
So, what, finally, is All Saints’
Day really about? We might find a clue if we reflect that this
day is of one of four special baptismal days in our church
calendar, hence our procession to the font at the beginning of the
service. Baptism is about beginnings, not endings. But is that
not precisely the point?
To be reminded that we once said
“yes” to God, said “yes” to Christ, being cleansed and embraced as
Christ’s own, even to find ourselves again and again opened to the
wisdom and power of God in ways we had never known, never imagined
possible.
And to the extent we grasp that
something quite wonderful and transformative has happened
to us, then something else can happen as well. We just might be
freed to reflect something of who it is we are becoming, of who we
are as children of God and followers of Christ. In our experience
of that love flowing toward us, it is just possible that we can
reflect some of that love which can then even flow from us.
In that moment, we are free to be who we are, in an indicative,
descriptive mode where love and grace can flow—rather than an
imperative of squeezing blood out of a turnip, of pressing ever
harder when there just isn’t any juice left. It is really more
about being free to be signs of a different order, to give a
glimpse of a different set of sensibilities and values than the
ones the world and, indeed, sometimes even our church, would all
too often offer us.
These signs, these sensibilities
are poetic glimpses of the kingdom, glimpses of the eternal
breaking into the temporal, moments when we know that the sorry
realities and priorities of our modern world and even the larger
church and not the final word for us or for the world. Such signs
of God’s love flow out of our life in Christ, and they offer the
world and ourselves an alternative model of how life might be
lived. That is in fact what the Beatitudes are—they poetically
describe a different set of sensibilities which engender life.
Whether the signs we offer will
be embraced willingly and openly, or whether they are rejected
contemptuously or even violently is likely not ours to decide. We
need only to remain faithful to being who we are. In so doing,
there might even be some truth to the words of the song, “they
will know we are Christians by our love.”
Now I know that I have not been
very specific up to this point, but now I want to be very
specific. For this is a community that has had and still has a
fairly clear identity about who it is, what it stand for, and what
it wishes to be in this world in which we find ourselves. And on
this day, we not only celebrate All Saints’ Day in general, but we
recall that day 159 years ago yesterday, when those original Holy
Apostle-ites met together to formally establish this parish. The
resulting document they produced on that day is on the inside
cover of our bulletins today.
Consider what it took to imagine
erecting this magnificent building in what were then the “northern
sticks” of New York City—it was almost still farm country. Their
contemporaries must have thought them crazy, yet we would not be
here were it not for that hearty band so long ago. Their work
could not have been easy. Look around you at the beauty of this
place and remember and give thanks for them on this day—and
consider our responsibility to sustain this historic landmark and
to pass it on to those who come after us. None of us knows what
kind of a world there will be here in another 159 years, or even,
I might add, if there will be a recognizable world here. Yet it
would be incredibly arrogant of us to assume that this heritage
was ours to dissipate, and not to preserve it and hand it on to
those who will come after us.
I hasten to add that being
concerned about such things does not mean that one must be narrow
or conservative or unwilling to spend oneself. The past and
present legends of Holy Apostles suggest precisely the opposite.
Through 159 years, if this parish
has been anything at all, it has been again and again a sign of
God’s kingdom, a sign of a different set of priorities and
sensibilities than the world about it was ready to embrace at the
time.
To pick just a few examples, we
need to remember our involvement with the underground railroad,
protecting runaway slaves in the years before the Civil War. We
need to remember the Chinese Sunday School and literacy program in
the “yellow peril” days in the early 1900s. We need to remember
those who quite consciously made Holy Apostles an integrated
parish, open to all and welcoming all in a time when this was
hardly the norm. We need to remember the Holy Apostles Center, a
model half-way house for ex-offenders. There was the home for
troubled teenaged boys run by the Episcopal Mission Society in the
old rectory building. Holy Apostles was home to the national
Episcopal Peace fellowship in the days of the Vietnam War. We
were the initial home of the Negro Ensemble Company.
This parish was one of the first
to openly and explicitly embrace and welcome our gay
brothers and sisters into our fellowship. The Church of the
Beloved Disciple as well as Congregation Beth Simchat Torah
started here when they could meet nowhere else. We are blessed in
having CBST once more holding their Friday evening Shabbat
services here.
There are no fewer than six
persons from Holy Apostles, including Father Barry, who will be at
the consecration this afternoon in New Hampshire of Gene Robinson,
as the first openly gay bishop in the Anglican Communion.
But that consecration is hard to
imagine without an event that happened right here on January 10,
1977. Annette Ruark and Ellen Barrett were ordained priests here
on that night, just ten days after women could be legally ordained
in the Episcopal Church. But what made that evening even more
special was of course that Ellen Barrett was open about her being
a lesbian. And our beloved bishop, Paul Moore, made his famous
statement that he did not consider candor to be a bar to
ordination.
The press and TV stations and
demonstrators were here from all over. It was on one level a
total media circus, something we have since become much more
accustomed to. But that evening was also a powerful experience of
the Spirit’s presence. I was privileged to be one of the priests
who laid hands on Ellen Barrett’s head that evening. That
ordination nearly undid the diocese; our own bishop was persona
non grata in much of it. It caused great consternation in the
entire Episcopal Church. I believe that night was one of the
great moments of our history. We were simply expressing and
letting be the faith that was in us.
And then of course there is the
Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen, now in its 21st year. We
will serve our 5 millionth meal sometime early next year. This
parish is known quite literally around the world because of the
Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen—and the soup kitchen is a program of
this parish. It is a most astonishing work and witness—of simply
incarnating and proclaiming and living out the sense of love and
justice that all God’s children deserve—and that we are given
every Sunday as we gather here at the Holy Table.
I urge you give yourself to
volunteering at least once—of finding a way to make it happen—and
then see if you can stop at doing it just once. For the soup
kitchen gives life even to those who serve. It gives us a new
sense of being—and not just of doing good.
One final word about this place.
We may be most famous these days for the Holy Apostles Soup
Kitchen, but there is something else most extraordinary that
happens here—and that is our music. David Hurd is simply a
treasure, and we are immeasurably blessed in having him here. Our
choir goes from strength to strength, and on those special
occasions when we have instrumentalists here, Kurt Briggs is
especially to be thanked. That we should have such a magnificent
organ is a wonder. That this is such a singing congregation that
loves to sing and is not at all timid about it is simply
astonishing to countless visitors. Word is getting out of what
happens here musically.
I have a strong sense that we
will come to love the Holy Apostles Mass being premiered
today as much as we love David’s Intercession Mass. My
dream is that it will become as well-known and as much of a
resource to the larger church as is the Intercession Mass—and
that folks across our church will speak of the Holy Apostles
Mass as being inspired by the life of this famous parish and
our love of music—and where the Spirit is most assuredly present.
What a glorious and uplifting day this is!
For 159 years, this community
that is the Church of the Holy Apostles has tried to be faithful
to its calling, to the ministries God has called us to undertake,
to becoming, to being who we are, and reflecting that God-given
identity in all our life. And each one of us is called in our
individual lives as well. This is what All Saints’ Day is finally
about. For we are joined into that mystical body of all the
saints, called by God, and given our life.
My friends, there is no higher
calling than being a sign of Christ’s love and hope for a broken
and hurting world. Rather than the image of the weight-lifter
squeezing out that last bit of effort, wondering all the while
whether we can make it, I believe we are called to let be what is
and is becoming in and through and among us. That is how this
community and each member of it can live in a spirit of grace and
freedom and peace—even in the midst of a craziness that will
consume us if we lose sight of who—and whose—we are.
May God bless us and keep us now
and in all the days to come.
Amen.
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