Sermon at The Church of
the Holy Apostles, New York City
July 27, 2008, The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Year A
The Reverend William A. Greenlaw, PhD, Rector
(Dr. Greenlaw's Last Sermon as XIII Rector of Holy Apostles)
Genesis 29:15-28
Psalm 105
Romans 8:26-39
Matthew 13:31-33,44-52
I don’t know about you, but Advent seems to me an eon
ago—and so much has both happened and not happened since that
time. It was actually in the middle of last November when
things crystallized for me, that I needed to step down from what
has been the joy of my life in so many ways.
Well, eight months later, after many ups and downs,
twists and turns, heights and depths, we are at the day that
inevitably had to come. And this is my last service in my
tenure as the Thirteenth Rector of the Church of the Holy
Apostles. And this is the day I cease being priest and pastor
to this community. For me, and I know for some of you, this day
is painful and wrenching, where there is sadness, and even
mourning. But, this is also a day of celebration and gratitude
for all that has been, and it is also a day of transition from
which there will soon be new beginnings and new hope and new
possibilities. And that is true not only for our beloved Church
of the Holy Apostles—but also for Jane and me.
In considering what I might say in my final
sermon as your rector, I of course first of all turned to our
lessons of the day. And, as so often happens, there was an
uncanny resonance in each one of them.
Our Revised Common Lectionary has given us a
whole series of lessons from Genesis this Pentecost season, and
we have heard some of the great stories where so much meaning
and tradition is ensconced. Today we have the story of Jacob
being so taken with Rachel, and working intently for seven years
for her father Laban, only to discover that after the marriage
had taken place and presumably consummated, he discovered in the
morning that it was Leah!
Our Tuesday evening Bible study considered at least
briefly just how Jacob could be so badly fooled in a situation
where one might have thought he would have noticed. In the end,
all we really know is that it was Leah. And Jacob had been had,
badly.
But Jacob slogs on for another seven years—and, as his
reward, he is given Rachel for his second wife. And then there
were two….
Now, a parenthetical aside: Jane, a lector for nearly
all her time at Holy Apostles, wanted to read one last time on
this day. And consider what she got—a story of hardworking
polygamy!
Well, you may be wondering just what all this has to do
with today—and it is just this. Jane has often made the
observation that for all the world, it seemed as if I were
“married” to Holy Apostles as much as I was to her. And there
is actually some truth in that, and it goes to the very heart of
what a rector, perhaps more than any other clergy, is in his or
her congregation. It is related to why it seems so natural to
refer to clergy as “Father” or “Mother,” for the sense of
relationship and responsibility and caring runs very deep. But
there is also that final responsibility for what happens here,
and, among other things, how we stay afloat. To say the least,
Holy Apostles has been a consuming passion.
When I became rector of Holy Apostles, some of us had a
vision of hope and possibility in the midst of considerable
chaos, tumultuous growth, and building what had been a small
struggling parish into nothing less than a major institution in
the church—with a colossal ministry that kept on growing.
For what seemed like seven years, we kept slogging,
trying to hold things together, to keep the bills paid, to grow
into the vision of hope and possibility. But just about the
time fulfillment was at hand, rather than the dream coming into
being, we woke up first in the loss of the church due to the
precarious plaster vaulting, and then we had our fire.
And so, the promise was deferred for what seemed like
seven more years of slogging, trying to deal with the
devastation, but even more the restoration of this place for
four long years while we were in exile at General Seminary.
Then we had our triumphal entry into our restored
buildings—followed by what seemed in retrospect more like a
shake-down cruise.
But finally, two or three years later, we seemed
actually to enter the promised land. And the last ten or twelve
years have been quite simply a dream for me. Consuming still,
of course, problems and issues still, of course. But also with
a new-found sense of community and relationship and oneness and
love in this crazy and wonderful and life-giving community that
is the Church of the Holy Apostles. Where we learned more than
ever before what a gift the diversity and inclusivity of this
place is. This parish has been overwhelmingly a haven of
tranquility, of harmony, of focusing on being who we are, who we
are called to be, what we are called to incarnate in the world.
And in this time, I have felt so close to so many of
you, so caught up in the rhythm of life—and chaos—that happens
here. It has been an unbelievable joy as well as well as at
times a crushing burden. It has been, as Jane says, something
of a marriage—a good marriage!
And that, my friends, is precisely why today seems so
difficult. It feels just a little bit like walking away from a
blissful and deep relationship and connection. Yet
relinquishing what I have loved so dearly needs to be. It needs
to be because what you need and deserve I can no longer give
with the energy and drive and vitality I both want to give and
also demand of myself.
And so, on this day all of us need permission to
grieve, if grief is what we are feeling, for it is natural and
human and comes out of the love that is so palpably present in
this place.
Turning to our epistle, as most of you are likely
aware, we have been working our way through Paul’s Letter to the
Romans since early June—and I need to tell you, in case you need
reminding, that this will go on all the way to September. We
all know that a whole lot of Paul is very time-bound, and
sometimes he makes us squirm and want to run the other way—if
not ditch him entirely.
But if there is one theological motif that has
underlain my preaching here from the very beginning, from which
everything else springs, it is Paul’s insistence on the primacy
of grace, of what we call justification by faith. Paul tells us
in so many ways that the love of God for us is paramount,
primary, there! And all we need to do is recognize it
and say yes to it—which in this world of ours we find so
terribly difficult. But on those occasions when we can “get
it,” so much else falls into place, and we are set free to do
more than we could have ever asked for or imagined.
The astonishing thing through my entire 37 years of
being a priest is that again and again, those who are strongest
and clearest in their faith, who know they are loved and
hallowed and treasured by God, are those who seem to have the
least, perhaps especially at the end of life—so often from AIDS,
but also from other causes. Or, persons in the midst of grief
or trauma, and also so many of our soup kitchen guests. And in
being present with such persons, my own faith is again and again
humbled.
If only we can hear it, Paul’s word for each one of us
today in all our ambiguities and uncertainties and even grief is
simply this: “If God is for us, who is against us? ….Who will
separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or
distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or
sword? ….No, in all these things we are more than conquerors
through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither
death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor any things present,
nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor
anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from
the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” All this is truly
“Good News.”
Finally, just a word about our gospel lesson: We are
given today not one but no fewer than five parables, the first
four being only a sentence long. But the first and certainly
the most famous of them is the parable of the mustard seed. If
we look at Holy Apostles over the last 25 years, can you think
of a more fitting parable? A little mustard seed—with a lot of
hope, a lot of faith, a lot of love, and a whole lot of
chutzpah. Who could have imagined in their wildest dreams
what we have become? That is most assuredly cause for
celebration and thanksgiving on this day.
But now, consider also where you are today, right now.
I want to tell you how moved I am at the hope and faith and love
I see in this place and in so many of you, individually, and of
what you bring to this place going forward. You have a vestry
and a search committee that have stepped up to the plate, who
have found energy and faith and time and hope going
forward. They are taking responsibility in a whole new way in
shaping the future, embracing what is to come.
My prayer is that one day you will look back at where
you are today and see Holy Apostles again as a mustard seed, as
a place that grows and develops and deepens in new and different
ways with a new rector in place. And I thank God that Mother
Liz, my beloved colleague and friend for the past nineteen
years, will be Interim Rector until that time. One of the
things I have done in my time here that makes me most proud is
to have called Mother Liz to come to Holy Apostles.
My friends, the future is open for Holy Apostles. All
you need do is keep faith, acknowledging that it is God’s work
that you are stewards of in this place, and that you are set
free ever and again to incarnate the love that you have been
given, and to work for justice for all God’s beloved children.
Finally, I want you also to know that life will go on
for Jane and me as well. One thing that causes a little fear
and trepidation in Jane is her realization that going forward I
will be married only to her. Now that’s going to be a real
adjustment for both of us! And while I am sure I will find
myself engaged in some very interesting things, you can believe
that I will strongly resist becoming wed to another
institution. From now on, if anything, it’s part time affairs
of limited duration!
For us, the future may be a little scary—just as it may
be for some of you. But we are confident we will find our way.
We have faith that God is not done with us yet. And finally,
and most importantly, that nothing, nothing at all, can separate
us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
May God bless this Church of the Holy Apostles, the
Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen, and each one of us now, and in all
the days to come, wherever our paths may take us. And thanks be
to God, from whom all blessings flow.
Amen.
.
