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SERMONS
The
Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost
November 16, 2003
Some
people thrive on change. They love the new and the different. They
are the adventurers; they are the pioneers. And then there are the
rest of us. Most people do not like much change. We are reassured
by tradition. We are comforted by routine. We like to get up at
the same time every morning. We have the same thing for breakfast.
Our days and weeks have a pattern to them.
For
those of us who do not relish change or notoriety, these last few
months have been a time of high anxiety. The actions of our recent
General Convention and the consecration two weeks ago of gene Robinson
as bishop of New Hampshire have placed our church in the news in
a frequently unfavorable light.
Such
change causes anxiety. We are comforted by knowing who we are and
our place in the communities of which we are parts. Too much change
brings all of that into question.
In
our anxiety we look for someone who will make things right. We seek
someone who will fix things. Someone who will reassure us and tell
us who we are and what our place is in the world around us.
The
community for which Mark wrote his account of the gospel was also
anxious. In Palestine the Jews are in revolt against Roman authority
and Roman armies are moving toward Jerusalem. In Rome itself the
emperor Nero has blamed the Christian community for the Great Fire.
Christians are being arrested and executed.
In
the midst of their peril and their anxiety Jesus gives them this
advice: "Flee to the mountains." Mountains hold a special significance
for Mark. Mountains are where Jesus goes to pray. Again and again
through the gospel, as the pressure builds, Jesus withdraws. He
goes to the mountains. He spends time with God. Then he returns
with new clarity, new purpose. He returns with strength to proclaim
the good news of the kingdom of God.
Mark's
advice is good advice for us also. Our security does not lie in
institutions or in tradition. Our security lies ultimately in only
one place; in the Lord. Here is the rock that is not moved by the
swiftly changing world.
Concerning
our recent controversies Father John-Julian, the founder of the
Anglican Order of Julian of Norwich, writes:
All
the arguing and all the debating and all the brickbat throwing
is quite beside the point. I guarantee to you that the survival
of the Episcopal Church has nothing to do with the decisions made
by the General Convention, or the AAC, or the Global South, or
the Archbishop of Canterbury. While the Internet simmers, and
the listserve boils, and the Primates pontificate, and the attorneys
plot, back home and around the world there are millions of quiet
people gathering at all hours, literally around the clock, before
the altars, or muttering their lonely way through the daily Offices
in a dark little church, or spending wasted hours in silent prayer.
And those people hold open the doors of heaven, and it is they
who give God a foothold in the world - and that is ALL that is
needed.
What
in the world do percentages and growth curves and parish classifications
have to do with that? Numerical growth is not "success" for the
Body of Christ. It has probably never been healthier than when
it numbered only twelve (and what a dysfunctional bunch they were!).
Mission - if it is viewed (as most frequently it is) only as institutional
growth, is an irrelevance. Faithfulness is the clue to mission
- faithful lives and faithful loves.
In
the early 1950's there was a young priest assigned to two mission
stations in northern Minnesota. One of those stations was in a
tiny town of 200+ population, and the entire Episcopal congregation
there was made up of one family, numbering five. The town owned
a Community Church building which was available for the services
of any church or denomination, and that is where the Episcopal
services were held. The priest was there faithfully every single
Sunday and major Holy Day for Eucharist - through the rain and
hail and snow and ice of northern Minnesota. He had been traveling
there every Sunday for almost a year when it came to be Easter
Day, and as he drove up to the church, he was surprised to see
a crowd in front of the building. The part-time mayor of the town
approached him and said, "Reverend, we have watched you all year
through, coming down here through the worst weather and at the
most difficult times to hold a service for just this one family.
And the entire town has talked it over and we've decided that
we all want to join you and become Episcopalians."
Tell
me about "how far our decline has to continue before ECUSA loses
its organizational and institutional viability." Tell me about
the Episcopal Church's organizational dysfunction. Tell me about
shrinking congregations and reduced budgets and dire predictions
and all ubiquitous nay-saying. Tell me about all that, and then
please excuse me, I have to get back to the chapel for daily Eucharist
and the Offices.
Our
existence and our future rest in the hand of God. God who created
us. God who sustains us. God who loves us enough to die for us.
When the world becomes too much for us, we too can flee to the mountains.
We can return to the Lord. He will give us the strength to live
in courage and confidence in an anxious and changing world.
John-Julian
closes his reflections on the present state of our life by saying,
"Before I go [back to the chapel], let me give you an absolutely
solid gold, guaranteed assurance that you can bank on: [As Julian
of Norwich said,] "All shall be well; and all shall be well; and
all manner of thing shall be well."
David
Christian
The Chapel of the Cross
Madison, Mississippi
Proper
B
Daniel 12.1-13
Hebrews 10.31-39
Mark 13.14-23
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