Isaiah 60:1-6
Ephesians 3:1-12
Psalm 72:1-7,10-14
Matthew 2:1-12
Pilgrimage, Arrival, Epiphany
All kings shall bow down before him, *
and all the nations do him service.
For he shall deliver the poor who cries out in distress, *
and the oppressed who has no helper.
--Psalm 72: 11-12
The faith story that we Christians live by, the story of our community, and of our God is ultimately one of pilgrimage; of journeying from one place to another, and allowing something new, something amazing and unexpected to come out of the most simple, mundane, routine surroundings. In the stories that we tell on this day of the church year, the Epiphany, we mark the transition from the Christmas season that we have been wrapped up in, the celebration of the gift of Christ’s incarnation through his birth into humanity, to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and the work of bringing about the Kingdom of God here on earth. The first story of which, is the arrival of wise ones who have come unexpectedly from a foreign land, and from a different, non-Jewish religious background, to recognize the arrival of one who would be called the king of the Jews, the Messiah, Immanuel, God-with-us. Their arrival comes after a long journey – one that leads them to witness something so simple, so common, so plain as the birth of yet another child into the world, and yet, it is a birth that was foretold by prophets, one marked by a unique constellation in the sky, one that fulfills for us the cry, “Come thou long expected Jesus, born a child and yet a king.”
My own story of pilgrimage is one that caught me by surprise. It is from a time in my life when I stood on the precipice of great change – as one season of my life was coming to an end, and something new was on the horizon. The day after I graduated from high school, several very good friends, and I travelled to Washington D.C. We were members of a group history project that had won 1st place in our state competition and would now be competing at the National History Day competition. We were traveling with more than 40 high school students, parents and teachers, which, if you’ve ever traveled with a large group, you can imagine the kind of stress that might accompany such a trip. But still, it was my first chance to go to Washington D.C., and I was very proud of our team’s accomplishment and looked forward to the national contest ahead.
Now, you may be surprised to know this, but as a young teenager I was not particularly “proud to be an American.” I was concerned with dangers of extreme patriotism and the horrors that war was still considered a necessary evil in my lifetime. I was extremely concerned with the environment and was an active environmentalist at my school. And most of all, strong in my faith in a loving creator God, I struggled with the lack of compassion that my fellow Christian Americans would express toward members of our community – the fact that discrimination against women, minorities and the gay and lesbian members of our society was considered a norm, something that could not be overcome, and was simply a fact of life. I hated the feeling of hypocrisy that came with recitation of the words “One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all,” when there were so many times that it felt more truthful to recognize that there was only “liberty and justice for some.” I never expected that a visit to the nation’s capital would have an effect on me. Or that it would provide such a “significant moral insight” as a planned spiritual pilgrimage is intended to bring about.
Our group spent a few days touring the monuments and the various places of pilgrimage that our Nation’s capital provides. We met our state Senator, Paul Wellstone, toured the capital building, viewed the Constitution, visited the National Museum of American History, and finally, after days of walking, snapping pictures, riding on buses and getting a little Washington D.C.’d out… we came to the Lincoln Memorial.
It was evening, and lights were turning on as the sky quickly darkened. I was only with a small number of our larger group, and the monument, for the moment was not overwhelmed with too many people. If you haven’t been there yourself, you must also try to understand just how high the stone marble stretches above your head. The interior ceiling of the monument is 99 feet tall, and the Lincoln statue that sits on a large pedestal is 19 feet tall (so as not to be dwarfed by its majestic surroundings.) The inscription above Lincoln’s head reads: “In this temple, as in the hearts of the people for whom he saved the Union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined forever.”
“In this temple…” this sacred place where people who believe in the words liberty and justice for all have come again and again over the years to make their voices heard, to let their presence be known, to participate in the necessity of standing up for what they believe to be right, and true, this was a place that spoke to my heart, and unearthed a deep, unrealized hope and optimism for all the possibilities this nation is capable of achieving in the world around me. It served as a reminder that as a citizen, born of this nation, I too am called to act.
I had never felt so much patriotism and such a deep connection between my heritage as an American citizen and my call to act as a faithful Christian, as I did standing at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial. I stood there imagining the number of Americans who have made a pilgrimage to that place over the years striving for civil rights, for equal opportunity and justice in the eyes of the law, and of the country we live in.
Millions of people taking a stand for what they believe in, and striving to call our nation to set a path of righteousness. People from all walks of life, making their way to bear witness to the hopes and desires that inspire a nation to act. I found myself as one among many, on a pilgrimage that I didn’t even know I was called to be a part of. Yet, there I was, in this historic place looking back with awe at our nation’s history, and looking forward with eyes wide open in hopes of seeing a world changed for the better in my future.
At that moment I had an epiphany experience, a deep insight as a result of something that had become as normal and anticipated as going to see yet another monument. My journey as a high school student had come to a close, and my anticipated entrance into adulthood as an 18 year old with the privilege of voting in that years’ election, was about to begin. And something new and fresh was awakened in me – a sense of my faith being bound to my actions as a citizen of this nation, and a deep abiding hope that in my lifetime I would see true change in the world around me by being a part of building up of God’s kingdom.
More than 10 years have passed since that day. Our nation still struggles with war, violence, environmental health, and issues related to discrimination. And yet, we have come so far once again. On January 20, 2009, Americans from all walks of life will make pilgrimage to be witnesses to the inauguration of the 44th president of the United States of America, Barack Hussein Obama in the same year as Abraham Lincoln’s 200th birthday. All politics aside, one cannot look upon these historical events in our nation’s history, without a deep hope that we as a people, as a nation, under God have entered into a new world. And my hope holds strong that God being in the midst of this shift is calling upon each of us to do our part as kingdom builders.
As a priest I am called to preach the equality of all God’s children in the name of Christ Jesus. As an Episcopalian I am called to strive for justice and freedom for all people. As an American I am called to believe that liberty and justice for all is a possibility and a value of this nation. My unexpected pilgrimage ignited in me the hope that my faith, and my citizenship could work hand in hand to strive to bring about the wonder of God’s kingdom, and the hope for God’s people in this world.
Paul’s words to the Ephesians speak to the Gentiles – those who have not yet come to know as deep a faith in Christ, and yet they speak filled with hope that they too will known through the work of the church the richness and the wisdom of God’s presence in the world by coming to know Christ.
The wise ones, too, whose pilgrimage brought them to Bethlehem to pay homage to a newborn child, one who would be a shepherd to the people to Israel, whose life’s work they would not see in their lifetime; their place in the story is one the reminds us that the Christ-child came, not for us alone, but for the whole world.
And as we enter the year 2009, our journey, and our pilgrimage of faith continues – as a people of God, as a nation striving to live into new things, as individuals seeking solace, pardon, strength and renewal through our journey to the holy table that is set for us here. May your journey to that table be one that opens you up to the possibility that God will meet you in the most unexpected, mundane, simple places. May it reveal to you the depth of Christ’s love, so that as your pilgrimage continues, you may be ignited to stand up and do your part to be about the work of building God’s kingdom. Amen.
Delivered by The Rev. Mary Catherine Enockson
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour
Monday, January 5, 2009
Christmas Eve Message 2008 (Children's Sermon)
Christmas II, RCL
Isaiah 62:6-12
Titus 3:4-7
Psalm 97
Listening to stories and telling stories – these are some of my favorite parts of going to church. They are also one of the very best parts of the season of Advent and getting ready for Christmas. Telling stories is such an important part of our tradition as Christians that we do it every time we gather for worship. Tonight I’m going to share a story that many of you might recognize – and you might think it’s surprising to hear it in church, but I think it has a lot to say to us.
Once there was a little boy who did not have a lot of friends. He knew lots of kids at school, but he was kind of awkward and shy, and sometimes the kids teased him, calling him a “blockhead.” One Christmas one of the kids at school said that he should be the one to pick out the Christmas tree for the class. This little boy thought, “Me? You want me to do this? If I’m going to do this, then I better do it right!” So the little boy went to pick out a tree. And he looked at trees big and tall, shiny and sparkly, trees with all different sorts of branches, and when he found the very perfect one he brought it show all the kids.
But the tree that this little boy had picked out – well, it was a pretty sad looking tree. Just putting one ornament on it and it wilted almost to the ground. When the kids at school saw this they teased the little boy, and made the tree droop even more. The little boy decided to give up and took his little tree home with him.
Then, after he left, something unexpected happened. Someone told a story, about a little baby being born, and how this strange and unexpected birth story brought much rejoicing and singing, because that baby was born for the mere purpose of loving all people in the whole world – no matter who they were, that little tiny baby had enough love for everyone. When the other kids from the class heard that story, they began to think about the joy that such a tiny baby was able to bring into the world… and they started to think that maybe that tiny little unimpressive tree wasn’t so bad after all. So they decided to welcome it, to love it, to celebrate its arrival. And when they did this, something beautiful happened – the people were transformed and the tree revealed its true beauty.
One story takes place inside of another. In the middle of the story of this little boy – the story of a birth announcement was re-told – of a tiny baby came into the world over 2,000 years ago. A child wrapped only in rags, born in the humblest of places – a manger, a barn, a baby, born to an unmarried couple, Joseph and Mary.
And yet, others came to see this child – shepherds were called upon to witness this humble birth, angels and heavenly hosts sang songs to the glory of God, something truly amazing happened.
And today we adorn our churches, sing songs, make special foods, gather for stories and gift giving – so that we too can be a part of that story, so that we can pass it on to our children, and our friends, and those who need to be reminded, that the simplest, most unexpected story, can ignite a passion and a love in people that can change the world.
A little boy loves a tree and shares it with his friends, and those friends are changed – they feel that love and decide to give it back, and new life grows: there in their hearts and in the world around them.
This Christmas, as you gather and tell your stories – listen for the places where something new has come from something old; where something or someone has been transformed – rarely does it happen alone, or without something deep inside igniting a passion to respond to the world with a heart of love.
Think of your own stories as they relate to those of our ancestors, the people of the Bible who have all been there before, and been through the same kinds of difficulties and the same kinds of joys that we face live with in our world today.
Love one another, love God, and know that your story matters. Know that God is there, and that Christ’s love for each of his children – the children that gather at our feet, and the children that we are in our hearts, can be broken open, and live our lives as the gifts of love that we are to the world. And don’t forget to tell the story. Amen.
Delivered by The Rev. Mary Catherine Enockson
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour,
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
2 Advent, RCL, Year B
Isaiah 40:1-11
Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13
2 Peter 3:8-15a
Mark 1:1-8
“Prepare ye, the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”
These words have been my facebook status for the past week, along with an invitation into a blessed Advent. The words did not come from a casual glance at the lectionary readings upon which I am preaching, on this, the 2nd Sunday of Advent. But rather they came from a place inside of me that awakens when the season of Advent begins – the “liturgical bone in my body” if you will, that reminds me to pay attention, to keep watch, to remember that a season of preparation has begun.
Doing the groundwork. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing when we say that as a church, as a people, we observe the season of Advent. It’s not just that we are fussy about the color of ribbons we put on our wreaths (though we are – notice the purple ribbons on your ways out – no red until Christmas!) It’s not that we are humbugs by abstaining from offering “Merry Christmases” so early in December – opting for a plea of ‘happy Advent,” to which some politely nod, and then walk away shaking their heads, and it’s not so strange that even at the end of ChristmasVille, a weekend event filled with the fantasy of Santa hats, and gingerbread men, that we invite the community to join us for a service of Advent Lessons and Carols (tonight at 6 p.m.).
What’s important about our traditional season of Advent is that we don’t just jump to the wonder and joy of gifts and goodies intended to be feasted upon on during the twelve days of Christmas: December 25 through January 6th. It’s the fact that we have expectations to fulfill before we get there. We have ground to cover, we have a path to follow – we have work to do. Because no matter how generous we have been, and will be in our gift-giving, cookie-making, and holiday shopping for loved ones, there are still children and adults who will be hungry on December 26th. There are still families, and orphans, who will have to live with the devastating realities of HIV/AIDS and other diseases. There are still those who will mourn, those who will be alone, those who will not know the gift of God’s deep and abiding love. We still have ground to cover. We still have preparations to make. There is more to December than the grand and beautiful celebration that is scheduled to take place at the end of it. There is the season of Advent that reminds us to be about the business of following God’s call, and doing the work of God’s hands in the world around us.
This week I learned the story of a family in
This story teaches me that Advent, and that seasons of preparation in our lives, can happen at any time. But only if we’re paying attention, only if we’re open to hearing God’s call, and saying “Yes, I will follow, I will seek your path, I will look expectantly to a new day, new joys, new possibilities.”
In my own life I am well practiced at this work of listening for God, discerning with God, asking the questions and faithfully responding to the possibility that God might be doing a new thing in me and the communities around me. I have followed God’s call into ministry, to seminary, and to
Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.
Just as John was called upon to proclaim to the people – I challenge you to hear these words, and mark your Advent journey with their decree:
Prepare ye the way of the Lord.
The season of Advent is here – and we are called to a journey that includes prayer, reflection, listening, and responding to God’s call on our lives. To follow in the path, we must seek it out – we must discern where God is calling us, what new things God is inviting us into as we prepare to celebrate the anniversary of Jesus’ entrance into the world.
What are you doing to make room in your lives for Christ’s invitation to be loved, and love others in response? Though we live in a context that seems incredibly focused on one day of gift-giving, and feasting, we, as Christians are called to open ourselves to the possibility of new life, new light, to resurrection in our own lives, every day that we proclaim Jesus as Lord and Savior.
As we continue in this season of Advent, I invite you into the work of preparation – of making room for the new things that Christ has in store for you, for others whose lives will be touched by yours, and for the whole world that is in need of the gift and hope of resurrection. Amen.
Delivered by The Rev. Mary Catherine Enockson
Sunday, December 7, 2008
The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, Rock Hill, SC.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Proper 27, Year A, RCL
Good Morning. I had looked forward to greeting you all this morning from the pulpit in the church – but as you can see we find ourselves back in the wilderness, but at least now these are familiar surroundings. Because the floors of our newly restored church were not properly sealed, they were damaged in our first days back in the church. Our zeal and excitement at getting back into our old and beloved worship space has given us a perfect example of the importance of being fully prepared when the time comes to face our maker.
This morning we hear two very striking statements about the importance of being prepared to face God, and our own life’s work at the end of the age. In the Episcopal Church we are not known for preaching on the end times much – and I am not going to give you a recap of the popular christian fictions novels of the Left Behind series – the ones that describe in detail visions from Revelation and the ultimate battle between good and evil. But I do want to talk with you about the messages these scripture passages have for us, and how we might be better prepared at the end of our times here on earth to face the day of the Lord.
From The Book of Amos, we hear an excerpt of one of the lesser prophets as he speaks to the people of the nation of
Amos is reminding the people of
“Alas for you who desire the day of the Lord!” he calls out. “Is not the day of the Lord darkness, not light, and gloom with no brightness in it?”
The people have not done their task, and therefore, the day of the Lord is not something to look forward to with excitement, but rather as those who must face a teacher with no homework in hand, a missed deadline, a question that they should know the answer to, they find themselves coming up short. They are not prepared for such a day.
“Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them…Take away from me the noise of your songs… but let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever flowing stream.”
This righteousness Amos speaks of? What of that? It is defined as that quality of life-giving relationship with others in community that gives rise to justice. It is when individuals feel connected to the needs of others present in their community – and whether they are related to them or not, or know them or not, they reach out a hand and share what resources they have so that that person may know the love of a God in whose eyes all people are created equal and are deserving of at least the basic means of life.
Today’s Gospel takes us down a related road in line with Matthean themes: do one’s own good works, dedicate one’s life to Jesus, and be prepared for the end time.
In this parable we are introduced to characters that are wise, and characters that are foolish. The wise women are those who are prepared to wait for any length of time for the expected bridegroom. They are wise because they know that sometimes the road is difficult and it can take longer than expected to get from one place to another. They have made provisions for their lamps so that when the bridegrooms arrive their lamps will shine a bright light of welcome.
The foolish, however, prepared their lamps based on an assumed arrival time. And as the evening wore on, and the bridegroom was delayed, oil in their lamps burned down. All of the bridesmaids fell asleep, five slept with no concern or anxiety, for they had done the necessary preparation that allowed them to sleep soundly, awaiting the bridegroom’s return. But the foolish maids, also drowsy discovered that in the late hour their lamps would no longer burn to provide the welcome. In their scramble to complete the task they missed the entrance of the bridegroom, and their opportunity to enter in to the wedding banquet.
The kingdom of heaven is like this? Some will be left out in the dark and the cold?
Some will be forced to worship in the fellowship hall and not in the newly restored beautiful church?
This is not a parable about haves and have nots, or about those who are good enough, or not good enough to get into heaven – but rather it is about those have lived a life in a way that prepares them for the moment of truth, the time of reconciling the life you have lived, the person you have been, with the mandate that has been given through your call to discipleship, your commitment to your baptismal vows, your life as a faithful witness of Christ to the world.
Some of us are baptized into the Christian community early in life and the values and expectations are passed on from parent and Godparent to child at the earliest ages. Others encounter the depth of God’s abundant love later in life and are transformed by it, taking on the call of discipleship as adults, and faithfully taking on the challenges and the duties that go along with the commandments to love God and love your neighbor. But many of us live into our call to be faithful Christians on winding and meandering paths. Paths that ask really important, and difficult and worthy questions, sometimes leading to deeper wisdom, and other times leaving us to wonder, what foolishness is all of this?
From Matthew’s gospel we gather that the wise and the foolish share the same outward appearances. You cannot tell by looking at the 10 bridesmaids which are foolish and which are wise – they all are dressed properly and carry the right tools. But it is the ones who are committed and faithful to the task of awaiting the arrival of the bridegroom that are prepared for his arrival. In our call as faithful Christians, we share baptism as the common marking of our faith. But baptism alone does not guarantee our entrance into the banquet. It is not a magic moment that results in protection – but rather, the mark of a path that we must undertake, an active life of seeking the good, doing what is right, and pursuing justice for all – the same justice Amos spoke of to Israel.
In our experience as a Christian community, the urgency of the coming of the kingdom has dissipated over the centuries. And yet, we may be closer to that day than any generation before us. We have tasks set before us that could be accomplished if we do our homework. If we respond to God’s call to justice.
Justice is described in the New Interpreter’s Bible commentary as: the establishment of the right, and of the person in the right, through fair legal procedures in accordance with the will of the Lord.
In our day, in our time we have systems in place that attempt to provide justice to those in need – fair wages so that workers can support themselves and their families, protective services for children who have been neglected and abused, community centers that seek to provide stable structures in the lives of young people who don’t know that stability in their own homes… and yet, these issues persist in our community and in the lives of Americans and individuals around the world. Hunger, child mortality, disease, pollution, hopelessness… we may not be doing a much better job at this than the generations that have gone before us. And we too will be called to face our maker, to face the day of the Lord.
Who in this community is served by the gift of your time, your talent, your treasure? How are you seeking not only to pray that the needs of others be met, but to ensure that hands, and hearts strive for that justice for all of God’s people? Where does your daily vocation, livelihood, recreation lead you as a minister – as one who serves as Christ’s hands and feet in this world? I call you a minister because we are reminded by virtue of our baptism we are all called ministers of the church. In our Outline of Faith, found on page 855 of the prayer book, the question is asked: Q. What is the ministry of the laity?
The answer follow:
A. The ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be and, according to the gifts given them, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world.
We too have an assignment; we have our work to do in the world. How might Amos applaud or critique us for our work as a community? Where might we as the community of the
Delivered by The Rev. Mary Catherine Enockson
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, Rock Hill, SC.
Monday, September 8, 2008
17 Pentecost, Year A, RCL
Proper 18
Ezekiel 33:7-11
Psalm 119:33-40
Romans 13:8-14
Matthew 18:15-20
Good Morning. It is wonderful to see SOOO many of you here today. It’s the beginning of a new year (a new school year, a new program year.) Many of us have been far and near over the summer months, but today is a high holy day in the life of the church year – it’s the first day of Sunday school! And many among us who have been away have found their way back to this gathering place. I’m glad you’re all here. Welcome.
September marks the cultural end of summertime, and the return to “normal life,” back to the school year, back to business as usual, and that means coming back to church – getting back into the routine of seeing friends and family on Sunday morning and re-forming this community that we call the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour. Welcome home.
It is a cultural truth that summer vacation often includes taking a break from church. I am not naming this with the intention to make you feel bad for missing a Sunday here and there. I know as well as you all that many of you have had family to visit, weddings to attend, and rest-time and vacation/Sabbath that you have needed to take for yourselves and your families. I’ve had Sundays when I’ve been away too, and for many of those I am grateful – both for the opportunity to rest and learn from other places. Being away also means enjoying that wonderful feeling of returning home, returning to the familiar. It feels good to come into a place and be greeted by familiar faces, and a setting where you know your place, you know your way around, you know where you are going. Welcome back.
But of course, as this community re-gathers, re-forms, we are still in a bit of a wilderness – we are still worshipping here in the hall, and so those long memories of the way we do things around here, the way we’ve always done it, have been shaken up, and set aside for awhile as we continue looking forward to the completion of our church’s building restoration, renewal and return. [We welcome your call please hold.]
And of course, as some of you have been gone and have now returned – there have been other changes in the community – new faces can be seen at coffee hour as people new to Rock Hill, or the Episcopal Church, or to the Christian faith have joined us along the way, both those who have found us over the summer, and over the years: new babies, new students, new families, new companions who have gathered here with us today – and those who will find us in the coming months and years. The church is after all an institution made for those who are not yet members. Welcome to this community – it is newly re-formed today – because you are here, and we’re glad you’re here with us.
As a community it is important to remember that gathering is what we do – it is who we are. Though we go out in many different directions, experiencing the world in as many ways as we are in number, we remain connected in this place, through this tradition, through the relationships that are woven together in the fabric of our life together. We gather with purpose : to worship God, to giving thanks for our lives and all of creation, to share stories from scripture and our lives, to invite and welcome others into our fold, to grow together through the years as we laugh, give birth to new things, and weep and say goodbye. We gather to share meals – some that nourishes our bodies, others that nourish our souls. We are a diverse community, but there is one light that gathers us in – that draws us close to one another and to God and that which is at the center of our life together is Christ.
In our Gospel for today we are reminded of the fact that even in Christian community, there is, inevitably, conflict. As in your own family lives, as in your office, as your school hallways, as in traffic jams, there are tiny annoyances and great hurts that separate us from one another, from our community and from God. How do we live in peaceful community together when one has been wronged by the other? How do I pretend that what separates me from you can be ignored? The truth is – it cannot. The truth is we do and we will hurt one another, whether it’s intentional, accidental, thoughtless, or premeditated. We are absolutely capable and in all likelihood going to hurt others and be hurt by others in this community.
When a hurt has been perpetrated we will react. Just as when a hurt or injustice has taken place on a large scale and entire communities are motivated to respond, so will we on the most intimate level in one way or another respond to a hurt that has been done to us. And when it happens close to home, in our church home, that is the worst kind. But if we believe in community, and we believe that Christ is at the center of our community – then truly we have consolation in that. The Gospel describes a method of conflict resolution – one that is not easy – one that takes time and honesty. One that takes both sides listening to one another – and remembering that despite all that separates us from one another it is Christ’s love for all of that unites us still.
As we re-gather and re-form as a community, we have the opportunity to meet one another, to listen to one another, to hear where we have been, and to see how we have grown and changed. Who will we be as a community? How will we move forward together in this new year as we embrace the challenges that will face our community? And how will we forgive ourselves and one another for the conflicts of the past? You are here – and that is the first step – you are here, and we are glad, because we cannot be this community without you. And showing up – facing the questions, facing the challenges: that is the first step in resolving conflict and moving forward.
Allowing others to hear your heart, your need, your hurt, your hope, that is the second step – sharing who you are with those around you and asking for their help to stand and face the unknown – standing together to face that which separates you from your neighbor. How else will conflict be resolved if it is never brought into the light?
Finally, as a community gathered, the church at large is called to embrace both the one who has been hurt and the one who has brought that hurt to the other. Being a community – being this people gathered means being present to both parties, and living as witnesses to Christ’s love all sinners. When the community answers this call it acts as the body of Christ.
This does mean that we are called to judge one another as to who is right or wrong – but rather to allow both sides the space to be loved so that they might willingly face what they are accountable for. Alone it is hard not to feel justified – self-righteous. But in a community that seeks to be whole, neither side should be left alone. For it is in our time gathered that Christ’s presence dwells in our community, and its actions. It is in our actions of faithful worship, of returning and welcoming one another, of embracing and listening to one another in times of conflict and in times of celebration that we live into our call to faithful, Christ centered community.
You are here: welcome.
We are here: together.
Christ is with us.
In times of peace, in times of conflict, in times of wilderness and waiting, in times of return to the old and growing into the new: See each other, hear each other, embrace each other, for when we are gathered in community, Christ is with us. Amen.
Ezekiel 33:7-11
Psalm 119:33-40
Romans 13:8-14
Matthew 18:15-20
Good Morning. It is wonderful to see SOOO many of you here today. It’s the beginning of a new year (a new school year, a new program year.) Many of us have been far and near over the summer months, but today is a high holy day in the life of the church year – it’s the first day of Sunday school! And many among us who have been away have found their way back to this gathering place. I’m glad you’re all here. Welcome.
September marks the cultural end of summertime, and the return to “normal life,” back to the school year, back to business as usual, and that means coming back to church – getting back into the routine of seeing friends and family on Sunday morning and re-forming this community that we call the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour. Welcome home.
It is a cultural truth that summer vacation often includes taking a break from church. I am not naming this with the intention to make you feel bad for missing a Sunday here and there. I know as well as you all that many of you have had family to visit, weddings to attend, and rest-time and vacation/Sabbath that you have needed to take for yourselves and your families. I’ve had Sundays when I’ve been away too, and for many of those I am grateful – both for the opportunity to rest and learn from other places. Being away also means enjoying that wonderful feeling of returning home, returning to the familiar. It feels good to come into a place and be greeted by familiar faces, and a setting where you know your place, you know your way around, you know where you are going. Welcome back.
But of course, as this community re-gathers, re-forms, we are still in a bit of a wilderness – we are still worshipping here in the hall, and so those long memories of the way we do things around here, the way we’ve always done it, have been shaken up, and set aside for awhile as we continue looking forward to the completion of our church’s building restoration, renewal and return. [We welcome your call please hold.]
And of course, as some of you have been gone and have now returned – there have been other changes in the community – new faces can be seen at coffee hour as people new to Rock Hill, or the Episcopal Church, or to the Christian faith have joined us along the way, both those who have found us over the summer, and over the years: new babies, new students, new families, new companions who have gathered here with us today – and those who will find us in the coming months and years. The church is after all an institution made for those who are not yet members. Welcome to this community – it is newly re-formed today – because you are here, and we’re glad you’re here with us.
As a community it is important to remember that gathering is what we do – it is who we are. Though we go out in many different directions, experiencing the world in as many ways as we are in number, we remain connected in this place, through this tradition, through the relationships that are woven together in the fabric of our life together. We gather with purpose : to worship God, to giving thanks for our lives and all of creation, to share stories from scripture and our lives, to invite and welcome others into our fold, to grow together through the years as we laugh, give birth to new things, and weep and say goodbye. We gather to share meals – some that nourishes our bodies, others that nourish our souls. We are a diverse community, but there is one light that gathers us in – that draws us close to one another and to God and that which is at the center of our life together is Christ.
In our Gospel for today we are reminded of the fact that even in Christian community, there is, inevitably, conflict. As in your own family lives, as in your office, as your school hallways, as in traffic jams, there are tiny annoyances and great hurts that separate us from one another, from our community and from God. How do we live in peaceful community together when one has been wronged by the other? How do I pretend that what separates me from you can be ignored? The truth is – it cannot. The truth is we do and we will hurt one another, whether it’s intentional, accidental, thoughtless, or premeditated. We are absolutely capable and in all likelihood going to hurt others and be hurt by others in this community.
When a hurt has been perpetrated we will react. Just as when a hurt or injustice has taken place on a large scale and entire communities are motivated to respond, so will we on the most intimate level in one way or another respond to a hurt that has been done to us. And when it happens close to home, in our church home, that is the worst kind. But if we believe in community, and we believe that Christ is at the center of our community – then truly we have consolation in that. The Gospel describes a method of conflict resolution – one that is not easy – one that takes time and honesty. One that takes both sides listening to one another – and remembering that despite all that separates us from one another it is Christ’s love for all of that unites us still.
As we re-gather and re-form as a community, we have the opportunity to meet one another, to listen to one another, to hear where we have been, and to see how we have grown and changed. Who will we be as a community? How will we move forward together in this new year as we embrace the challenges that will face our community? And how will we forgive ourselves and one another for the conflicts of the past? You are here – and that is the first step – you are here, and we are glad, because we cannot be this community without you. And showing up – facing the questions, facing the challenges: that is the first step in resolving conflict and moving forward.
Allowing others to hear your heart, your need, your hurt, your hope, that is the second step – sharing who you are with those around you and asking for their help to stand and face the unknown – standing together to face that which separates you from your neighbor. How else will conflict be resolved if it is never brought into the light?
Finally, as a community gathered, the church at large is called to embrace both the one who has been hurt and the one who has brought that hurt to the other. Being a community – being this people gathered means being present to both parties, and living as witnesses to Christ’s love all sinners. When the community answers this call it acts as the body of Christ.
This does mean that we are called to judge one another as to who is right or wrong – but rather to allow both sides the space to be loved so that they might willingly face what they are accountable for. Alone it is hard not to feel justified – self-righteous. But in a community that seeks to be whole, neither side should be left alone. For it is in our time gathered that Christ’s presence dwells in our community, and its actions. It is in our actions of faithful worship, of returning and welcoming one another, of embracing and listening to one another in times of conflict and in times of celebration that we live into our call to faithful, Christ centered community.
You are here: welcome.
We are here: together.
Christ is with us.
In times of peace, in times of conflict, in times of wilderness and waiting, in times of return to the old and growing into the new: See each other, hear each other, embrace each other, for when we are gathered in community, Christ is with us. Amen.
Delivered by The Rev. Mary Catherine Enockson
Sunday, September 7, 2008, The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, Rock Hill, SC.
Sunday, September 7, 2008, The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, Rock Hill, SC.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
“God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’”
16 Pentecost
Proper 17, RCL, Year A
Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45c
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28
How many times do we come to church and hear stories of call? Hear stories of great men and women of the Bible who were called by God to act as leaders, as prophets, as care-givers, as companions. When we stand in the cloud of witnesses that is offered to us in scripture we learn the stories of those who are called to act and whose actions have led to their story being shared with the forthcoming generations. We hear these stories to teach us about call and to learn about what it means to follow.
Moses was called. Moses was given a pathway to ministry that would be long and hard, but would ultimately serve the purpose of release for the captives and delivery of the Israelites from their oppressors into the Promised Land. There were times in Moses’ story when the people grumbled and disagreed and even fell away from their faith and tested Moses and tested God, but ultimately Moses answered the call to be their leader – and followed God through the wilderness and ultimately delivered on God’s promise to those who followed him.
Moses was lucky, though. He was given a lot of very clear, very specific directions. Spend a little time perusing “The Book Exodus, and you’ll see what I mean. Moses was given the floor plans, the building specs, the costume and set designs, and a lot of cubits to keep track of. He was also given sign after sign to show the people that he truly was called by God to be their leader. He answered that call from God with “here I am.” And the rest is history.
Many of the call stories that we have from the Hebrew Bible are like this – we hear tell of a conversation with God, or an angel’s pronouncement that “you – yes you – are being called – being sent to do God’s work.” And we oft times learn of those persons’ initial reaction: fear (Fear not!), incredulity (this can’t really be happening, can it?), reluctance (not me Lord, you must have meant someone else), and ultimately acceptance (Here I am).
For me the story of Jonah often comes to mind – he was one of those who required a little more convincing than most that it was really him that God was looking towards to do some work! And I’d say that DESPITE the fact that he ended up in the belly of a very large fish in order to get him started on his path to ministry, Jonah did what he was called to do, and did it well. “Here I am Lord, covered in whale spit; I hope they listen to me - now that I’m here…” And of course, they did.
(At this point I shared a bit of my own story, speaking to the fact that as I arrived at seminary I felt a lot like Jonah in the belly of the whale. I was surrounded by barriers that I wasn’t ready to let go of, keeping me from truly arriving in the new community. It took time and patience with myself and with God before I was willing to step out of that whale that had gotten me to seminary, and to walk on my own two feet on solid ground, allowing myself to truly arrive, and really do what I was there to do.)
In our readings from Matthew these past several weeks we’ve had the chance to get to know Simon Peter, one who answered Jesus’ call to follow, to be a companion, to be a disciple.
In Peter, unlike Moses or Jonah, we see a more intimate picture of the combination of great faith, and of human frailty. It was Peter who stepped out on the water and attempted to greet the Lord – but fear overcame him, and he began to sink. And Peter, along with the other disciples who knew their resources were limited, was amazed to carry baskets of leftovers when Jesus fed the masses. It was Peter, whose proclamation of Jesus as Messiah, leading Jesus to proclaim that Peter would be the rock on which his church was to be built. And today we hear the story of Peter rebuking Jesus, and Peter, that “rock,” is called a stumbling block, for his response to hearing the hard words of Jesus’ impending trials. And for those of you who know the story well, you will remember that it is Peter who, on the night of Jesus trial denies knowing him, denies the one in whom he had so much faith.
Peter’s story is an important one, because it is a story of call, but also the struggle to follow that call. It is a story of great faith, and speaks the truth that great faith can sometimes falter. Peter was a good disciple – he was present, he was willing, he was constantly learning, and he didn’t always get it right, or live up to the kind of disciple he wanted to be. But he knew he was called, and he did all that was in his power to follow that call. After each challenge, each disappointment, each doubt, Peter persevered in his call to follow Jesus. He took up his cross and followed him.
We too are called. We too are a generation of Christ followers who gather here to hear the stories of our ancestors passed down to us, so that we might be led and hear our own call to follow.
“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”
Follow me. (Here I am.)
Moses had directions. Jonah had a whale. (I had a discernment committee.) Peter had Jesus. And we have the cloud of witnesses, a community of faith that has passed on these stories of call through centuries. We have many examples to learn from, and we have our own call to listen for. There is much work to be done here – and in this time of extremely fast communication and opportunity, there is great possibility of God’s good work being accomplished.
When have you, like Moses, said, "I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up."
When have you, like Jonah heard a call and tried to refuse it’s powerful effects on your life, only to learn that you really weren’t as in control of your destiny as you thought.
And when have you, like Peter, realized that you’ve made mistakes along the way – that you’ve tried to be faithful, but your own fear, your own frailty, your own need has separated you from the will of God?
To be a follower of Christ is not always easy – because it means sacrifice. It means being willing to give something up, in order to allow something new to take place. Take up your cross does mean being willing to die to something – but the promise of being a Christ follower is that where there is death, there is also resurrection. Where there is sacrifice a new thing will be given in return.
Listen for the call. Listen for the invitation to let go of things that keep you from following in the footsteps of the cloud of witnesses that have gone before you. And have faith that all that you need, and all that you are being called to be and to do will reward you in ways you never imagined. Here we are. Amen.
Proper 17, RCL, Year A
Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45c
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28
How many times do we come to church and hear stories of call? Hear stories of great men and women of the Bible who were called by God to act as leaders, as prophets, as care-givers, as companions. When we stand in the cloud of witnesses that is offered to us in scripture we learn the stories of those who are called to act and whose actions have led to their story being shared with the forthcoming generations. We hear these stories to teach us about call and to learn about what it means to follow.
Moses was called. Moses was given a pathway to ministry that would be long and hard, but would ultimately serve the purpose of release for the captives and delivery of the Israelites from their oppressors into the Promised Land. There were times in Moses’ story when the people grumbled and disagreed and even fell away from their faith and tested Moses and tested God, but ultimately Moses answered the call to be their leader – and followed God through the wilderness and ultimately delivered on God’s promise to those who followed him.
Moses was lucky, though. He was given a lot of very clear, very specific directions. Spend a little time perusing “The Book Exodus, and you’ll see what I mean. Moses was given the floor plans, the building specs, the costume and set designs, and a lot of cubits to keep track of. He was also given sign after sign to show the people that he truly was called by God to be their leader. He answered that call from God with “here I am.” And the rest is history.
Many of the call stories that we have from the Hebrew Bible are like this – we hear tell of a conversation with God, or an angel’s pronouncement that “you – yes you – are being called – being sent to do God’s work.” And we oft times learn of those persons’ initial reaction: fear (Fear not!), incredulity (this can’t really be happening, can it?), reluctance (not me Lord, you must have meant someone else), and ultimately acceptance (Here I am).
For me the story of Jonah often comes to mind – he was one of those who required a little more convincing than most that it was really him that God was looking towards to do some work! And I’d say that DESPITE the fact that he ended up in the belly of a very large fish in order to get him started on his path to ministry, Jonah did what he was called to do, and did it well. “Here I am Lord, covered in whale spit; I hope they listen to me - now that I’m here…” And of course, they did.
(At this point I shared a bit of my own story, speaking to the fact that as I arrived at seminary I felt a lot like Jonah in the belly of the whale. I was surrounded by barriers that I wasn’t ready to let go of, keeping me from truly arriving in the new community. It took time and patience with myself and with God before I was willing to step out of that whale that had gotten me to seminary, and to walk on my own two feet on solid ground, allowing myself to truly arrive, and really do what I was there to do.)
In our readings from Matthew these past several weeks we’ve had the chance to get to know Simon Peter, one who answered Jesus’ call to follow, to be a companion, to be a disciple.
In Peter, unlike Moses or Jonah, we see a more intimate picture of the combination of great faith, and of human frailty. It was Peter who stepped out on the water and attempted to greet the Lord – but fear overcame him, and he began to sink. And Peter, along with the other disciples who knew their resources were limited, was amazed to carry baskets of leftovers when Jesus fed the masses. It was Peter, whose proclamation of Jesus as Messiah, leading Jesus to proclaim that Peter would be the rock on which his church was to be built. And today we hear the story of Peter rebuking Jesus, and Peter, that “rock,” is called a stumbling block, for his response to hearing the hard words of Jesus’ impending trials. And for those of you who know the story well, you will remember that it is Peter who, on the night of Jesus trial denies knowing him, denies the one in whom he had so much faith.
Peter’s story is an important one, because it is a story of call, but also the struggle to follow that call. It is a story of great faith, and speaks the truth that great faith can sometimes falter. Peter was a good disciple – he was present, he was willing, he was constantly learning, and he didn’t always get it right, or live up to the kind of disciple he wanted to be. But he knew he was called, and he did all that was in his power to follow that call. After each challenge, each disappointment, each doubt, Peter persevered in his call to follow Jesus. He took up his cross and followed him.
We too are called. We too are a generation of Christ followers who gather here to hear the stories of our ancestors passed down to us, so that we might be led and hear our own call to follow.
“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”
Follow me. (Here I am.)
Moses had directions. Jonah had a whale. (I had a discernment committee.) Peter had Jesus. And we have the cloud of witnesses, a community of faith that has passed on these stories of call through centuries. We have many examples to learn from, and we have our own call to listen for. There is much work to be done here – and in this time of extremely fast communication and opportunity, there is great possibility of God’s good work being accomplished.
When have you, like Moses, said, "I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up."
When have you, like Jonah heard a call and tried to refuse it’s powerful effects on your life, only to learn that you really weren’t as in control of your destiny as you thought.
And when have you, like Peter, realized that you’ve made mistakes along the way – that you’ve tried to be faithful, but your own fear, your own frailty, your own need has separated you from the will of God?
To be a follower of Christ is not always easy – because it means sacrifice. It means being willing to give something up, in order to allow something new to take place. Take up your cross does mean being willing to die to something – but the promise of being a Christ follower is that where there is death, there is also resurrection. Where there is sacrifice a new thing will be given in return.
Listen for the call. Listen for the invitation to let go of things that keep you from following in the footsteps of the cloud of witnesses that have gone before you. And have faith that all that you need, and all that you are being called to be and to do will reward you in ways you never imagined. Here we are. Amen.
Delivered by The Rev. Mary Catherine Enockson
Sunday, August 31, 2008, The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, Rock Hill, SC.
Sunday, August 31, 2008, The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, Rock Hill, SC.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
I have a gospel to proclaim...
The Lessons Appointed for Saint Mary Magdalene
Judith 9:1,11-14
Psalm 42:1-72
Corinthians 5:14-18
John 20:11-18
It was unfinished.
We stayed there, fixed until the end,
women waiting for the body that we loved;
and then it was unfinished.
There was no time to cherish, cleanse, anoint;
no time to handle him with love,
no farewell.
Since then my hands have waited,
aching to touch even his deadness,
smoothe oil into bruises that no longer hurt,
offer his silent flesh my finished act of love.
The opening lines of this poem, titled, “They have taken away my Lord” by Janet Morley*, draws the reader immediately into the mourning and ritual that Mary of Magdala and her companions were jolted from early on the day they went to visit Jesus’ body in the tomb. This morning we remember Mary Magdalene whose saint day is July 22. In preparation for a baptism this morning, and in events throughout the week I have found Mary to be a worthy companion in the work of saying good-bye – and preaching a gospel of hope and resurrection in the face of death.
Facing the loss of a loved one is one of the burdens that we all have to bear at one time or another. In our physical, bodily nature we are not invincible – addiction, accident, suicide, violence, disease – our bodies are susceptible to failure, and finitude. And with the inevitability of our own death – we must face it each time we witness the loss of another. The ritual of saying good-bye is an important part of that. For Mary, as voiced by the poet, the momentary grief at the thought that this final act of love might have to go “unfinished” - was too much to bear.
Her assumption of course, was that some person had done this – some person had played a terrible prank, had taken a jeering attitude too far. Someone had stolen the body that she had come to anoint, and bid farewell to and this is cause to weep. And in the Gospel there are others there who heard her weeping, who heard her despair. The words were spoken to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”
In the words of the poet, she replies,
“They have taken away my Lord – where is his corpse?
Where is the body that is mine to greet?
He is not gone
I am not ready yet, I am not finished—
I cannot let him go
I am not whole.”
“I am not ready yet.” These are words that many of us can relate to when the time to say good-bye is upon us. Even when given the opportunity to prepare for death, even if we are in agreement that the fight is too much to bear anymore, even after an unexpected loss, where things seemed to have happened in a certain way for some cosmic reason – the human experience of having to say good-bye to those who have left us behind leaves in its wake sadness, mourning, loss. All that could have been, all that should have been, grieving those future events that will not be shared, realized awareness that what once was normal, will never be the same again. These realities we must face sooner or later, for they do not disappear – whether we are ready or not – we must let go, and we must persevere in the belief that wholeness is still there for us to seek.
The life and witness of Mary Magdalene at Jesus’ tomb that day is one of the reasons we believe in that wholeness – in its possibility, in its promise. Death is in fact the entry point into our life in Christ – as described in the words of our baptismal prayer: [Words that we will hear again as we participate in the baptism of Reagan Leigh, one of our newest members of the parish.]
“We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” From the Book of Common Prayer pg. 306
But Mary was not there the face the joy of resurrection – she was not there in anticipation of being greeted or recognized, or spoken to by the man she followed, the healer who had relieved her of the burdens she bore in life before he came along. No, she came to say goodbye – and as the story goes, her good-bye was interrupted by an unexpected greeting.
I have been a witness to the unexpected too. I met a man this week who is facing a terminal disease and who came to discuss his own memorial service – one that will likely take place in the next year. He is preparing himself and his family for a death that he knows will come – and to meet the need to say good-bye for those he will leave behind. In times like this I am thankful for gift of community – of baptism and of the hope of the resurrection. Again from our prayer book are these words:
“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.
The liturgy, therefore, is characterized by joy, in the certainty that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor 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.”
This joy, however, does not make human grief unchristian. The very love we have for each other in Christ brings deep sorrow when we are parted by death. Jesus himself wept at the grave of his friend. So, while we rejoice that one we love has entered into the nearer presence of our Lord, we sorrow in sympathy with those who mourn.”
From the Book of Common Prayer pg. 507
Saying good-bye, is a holy act – and it is one that, for the closest mourner does not take place in one day – it takes place over time, in the daily awareness of what is now missing. But the promise of the resurrection, the hope that we bear as a community that joins in Christ’s story through our baptism, and through our life together, is in our perseverance of that wholeness – our belief that even in saying good-bye – we have not lost the love that was present in relationship those we no longer see.
I have one last story that took me by surprise this week, and reflects the joy and wholeness that saying good-bye brings. If you listen to the National Public Radio station you may have heard some of your favorite newscasters and hosts giving tributes to a man you would otherwise never have known or heard of. Gary Smith was a doorman in a building that houses NPR. He had a way of greeting each person as they came and went – a greeting that let each person know that he saw them, that he cared – even if just for that instant, that they were passing by.
Why do I know this? Why did I hear of this person? Because in the wake of his death, the truth that his presence affected more lives than one might ever have expected was expressed again and again, by different hosts and members of the NPR staff. And the resounding story that was told of this man – was in many ways a tribute to a love he had for all people.
Hmm. A simple man, touching the lives of many through his love and compassion, and inspiring others to carry on his message, to carry on the love he embodied in his everyday living. Seems a familiar story. It brings me back to the close of the poem I began with – as Mary who came to say good-bye, and is faced with another opportunity to grasp on to the one she loved – instead she is told – do not hold onto me – go and tell the others. And so, like “Mary, I, have a gospel to proclaim.” Amen.
Delivered by The Rev. Mary Catherine Enockson
Sunday, July 20, 2008, The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, Rock Hill, SC.
*They have taken away my Lord
by Janet Morely
It was unfinished.
We stayed there, fixed until the end,
women waiting for the body that we loved;
and then it was unfinished.
There was no time to cherish, cleans, anoint;
no time to handle him with love,
no farewell.
Since then my hands have waited,
aching to touch even his deadness,
smoothe oil into bruises that no longer hurt,
offer his silent flesh my finished act of love.
I came early, as the darkness lifted,
to find the grave ripped open and his body gone;
container of my grief smashed, looted,
leaving my hands still empty.
I turned on the man who came:
“They have taken away my Lord – where is his corpse?
Where is the body that is mine to greet?
He is not gone
I am not ready yet, I am not finished—
I cannot let him go
I am not whole.”
And he spoke, no corpse,
and breathed, and offered me my name.
My hands rushed to grasp him;
to hold and hug and grip his body close;
to give myself again, to cling to him,
and lose my self in love.
“Don’t touch me now.”
I stopped, and waited, my rejected passion
hovering between us like some dying thing.
I, Mary, stood and grieved and then departed.
I have a gospel to proclaim.
Judith 9:1,11-14
Psalm 42:1-72
Corinthians 5:14-18
John 20:11-18
It was unfinished.
We stayed there, fixed until the end,
women waiting for the body that we loved;
and then it was unfinished.
There was no time to cherish, cleanse, anoint;
no time to handle him with love,
no farewell.
Since then my hands have waited,
aching to touch even his deadness,
smoothe oil into bruises that no longer hurt,
offer his silent flesh my finished act of love.
The opening lines of this poem, titled, “They have taken away my Lord” by Janet Morley*, draws the reader immediately into the mourning and ritual that Mary of Magdala and her companions were jolted from early on the day they went to visit Jesus’ body in the tomb. This morning we remember Mary Magdalene whose saint day is July 22. In preparation for a baptism this morning, and in events throughout the week I have found Mary to be a worthy companion in the work of saying good-bye – and preaching a gospel of hope and resurrection in the face of death.
Facing the loss of a loved one is one of the burdens that we all have to bear at one time or another. In our physical, bodily nature we are not invincible – addiction, accident, suicide, violence, disease – our bodies are susceptible to failure, and finitude. And with the inevitability of our own death – we must face it each time we witness the loss of another. The ritual of saying good-bye is an important part of that. For Mary, as voiced by the poet, the momentary grief at the thought that this final act of love might have to go “unfinished” - was too much to bear.
Her assumption of course, was that some person had done this – some person had played a terrible prank, had taken a jeering attitude too far. Someone had stolen the body that she had come to anoint, and bid farewell to and this is cause to weep. And in the Gospel there are others there who heard her weeping, who heard her despair. The words were spoken to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”
In the words of the poet, she replies,
“They have taken away my Lord – where is his corpse?
Where is the body that is mine to greet?
He is not gone
I am not ready yet, I am not finished—
I cannot let him go
I am not whole.”
“I am not ready yet.” These are words that many of us can relate to when the time to say good-bye is upon us. Even when given the opportunity to prepare for death, even if we are in agreement that the fight is too much to bear anymore, even after an unexpected loss, where things seemed to have happened in a certain way for some cosmic reason – the human experience of having to say good-bye to those who have left us behind leaves in its wake sadness, mourning, loss. All that could have been, all that should have been, grieving those future events that will not be shared, realized awareness that what once was normal, will never be the same again. These realities we must face sooner or later, for they do not disappear – whether we are ready or not – we must let go, and we must persevere in the belief that wholeness is still there for us to seek.
The life and witness of Mary Magdalene at Jesus’ tomb that day is one of the reasons we believe in that wholeness – in its possibility, in its promise. Death is in fact the entry point into our life in Christ – as described in the words of our baptismal prayer: [Words that we will hear again as we participate in the baptism of Reagan Leigh, one of our newest members of the parish.]
“We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” From the Book of Common Prayer pg. 306
But Mary was not there the face the joy of resurrection – she was not there in anticipation of being greeted or recognized, or spoken to by the man she followed, the healer who had relieved her of the burdens she bore in life before he came along. No, she came to say goodbye – and as the story goes, her good-bye was interrupted by an unexpected greeting.
I have been a witness to the unexpected too. I met a man this week who is facing a terminal disease and who came to discuss his own memorial service – one that will likely take place in the next year. He is preparing himself and his family for a death that he knows will come – and to meet the need to say good-bye for those he will leave behind. In times like this I am thankful for gift of community – of baptism and of the hope of the resurrection. Again from our prayer book are these words:
“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.
The liturgy, therefore, is characterized by joy, in the certainty that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor 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.”
This joy, however, does not make human grief unchristian. The very love we have for each other in Christ brings deep sorrow when we are parted by death. Jesus himself wept at the grave of his friend. So, while we rejoice that one we love has entered into the nearer presence of our Lord, we sorrow in sympathy with those who mourn.”
From the Book of Common Prayer pg. 507
Saying good-bye, is a holy act – and it is one that, for the closest mourner does not take place in one day – it takes place over time, in the daily awareness of what is now missing. But the promise of the resurrection, the hope that we bear as a community that joins in Christ’s story through our baptism, and through our life together, is in our perseverance of that wholeness – our belief that even in saying good-bye – we have not lost the love that was present in relationship those we no longer see.
I have one last story that took me by surprise this week, and reflects the joy and wholeness that saying good-bye brings. If you listen to the National Public Radio station you may have heard some of your favorite newscasters and hosts giving tributes to a man you would otherwise never have known or heard of. Gary Smith was a doorman in a building that houses NPR. He had a way of greeting each person as they came and went – a greeting that let each person know that he saw them, that he cared – even if just for that instant, that they were passing by.
Why do I know this? Why did I hear of this person? Because in the wake of his death, the truth that his presence affected more lives than one might ever have expected was expressed again and again, by different hosts and members of the NPR staff. And the resounding story that was told of this man – was in many ways a tribute to a love he had for all people.
Hmm. A simple man, touching the lives of many through his love and compassion, and inspiring others to carry on his message, to carry on the love he embodied in his everyday living. Seems a familiar story. It brings me back to the close of the poem I began with – as Mary who came to say good-bye, and is faced with another opportunity to grasp on to the one she loved – instead she is told – do not hold onto me – go and tell the others. And so, like “Mary, I, have a gospel to proclaim.” Amen.
Delivered by The Rev. Mary Catherine Enockson
Sunday, July 20, 2008, The Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, Rock Hill, SC.
*They have taken away my Lord
by Janet Morely
It was unfinished.
We stayed there, fixed until the end,
women waiting for the body that we loved;
and then it was unfinished.
There was no time to cherish, cleans, anoint;
no time to handle him with love,
no farewell.
Since then my hands have waited,
aching to touch even his deadness,
smoothe oil into bruises that no longer hurt,
offer his silent flesh my finished act of love.
I came early, as the darkness lifted,
to find the grave ripped open and his body gone;
container of my grief smashed, looted,
leaving my hands still empty.
I turned on the man who came:
“They have taken away my Lord – where is his corpse?
Where is the body that is mine to greet?
He is not gone
I am not ready yet, I am not finished—
I cannot let him go
I am not whole.”
And he spoke, no corpse,
and breathed, and offered me my name.
My hands rushed to grasp him;
to hold and hug and grip his body close;
to give myself again, to cling to him,
and lose my self in love.
“Don’t touch me now.”
I stopped, and waited, my rejected passion
hovering between us like some dying thing.
I, Mary, stood and grieved and then departed.
I have a gospel to proclaim.
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