The Rev’d Richard Gillespie Proctor

Christ the King Episcopal Church

Proper 15; 8/14/22

He’s disruptive and antagonistic. He’s divisive, and almost seems to enjoy stirring up his opponents. Perhaps most troublesome of all, he is dividing and breaking up families. Some love him. Some hate him. And because of the fact that he evokes such visceral emotions from so many people, it is nearly impossible to ignore him.

Such is the case with the Jesus we encounter in our Gospel lesson today. He’s not healing the sick, feeding the hungry, or blessing the children in today’s story. And he’s not bringing peace…he’s bringing fire…and division. Father against son and son against father; mother against daughter and daughter against mother. Even the in-laws get mentioned. You know…Good ole fashioned Christian family values.

I must say that I haven’t experienced the sort of division that Jesus was speaking of in today’s lesson. I was raised in a Christian household, and we all remain committed Christians to this day. And my extended family members on both sides are mostly committed Christians. In my family – and in my hometown, neighborhood, social circle growing up - following Jesus wasn’t abnormal…or risky…or countercultural. We asked people where they went to church not if they went to church. The Jesus and the Christianity that I grew up with didn’t feel divisive. Actually, it was quite the contrary. Dare I say that being a Christian was to be a part of the status quo.

And because of that reality for me, for most of my life, being a Christian didn’t require a whole lot from me. If there was ever division in the household, it was from my sister and me arguing with Mom and Dad about wanting to sleep in rather than go to church. But that is not the sort of division that Jesus was talking about. Nobody was being disowned or packing their bags and leaving over the matter.

But for better or worse, I think that the days of a household of multi-generational Christians are mostly behind us now. Statistics certainly confirm this statement. And because of this reality, we will more and more begin to hear nostalgic reflections on times past – the good ole days – when things were easier and better for Christians here in the United States. Times when there were full church parking lots and pews, robust attendance for children and youth program activities, and prayer in schools and over the intercom before high school football games.

But were these good ole days really good ole days? In some ways, yes. After all, what can be wrong with the Good News of Jesus Christ being heard and practiced by more people? But in some ways, I think that Christianity’s best days in the United States lie ahead of us. Christianity is now smaller, and is quickly losing its status as the cultural norm or status quo. It’s no longer embarrassing to be seen at Publix or the beach or the gym or the coffee shop on Sunday morning. But because of this reality, I think that Christianity is will become stronger, more meaningful, and more robust in its claim on our lives and the lives of those in our communities. Things that are chosen are always more meaningful than things that are coerced.

But because of this new dynamic – which is actually as old as the New Testament and pre-Constantinian Church, we will see and experience more familial divisions like Jesus mentioned in our lesson today. I am already seeing it with weddings and funerals, when part of the family wants a traditional church wedding or funeral, and the other part of the family doesn’t. And those who do not want to be married in a church - or to have their parents buried in a church - feel much more empowered to express that feeling now.

Don’t get me wrong. While I actually am ok with Christianity no longer being the default status quo, I never am happy when I hear of families being divided over religious disagreements. But what I am convinced of, and what gives me the hope and courage to persevere, is that when we are baptized, we are born into a new family, and we are given a new identity. When we are plunged into the waters of baptism, we die to our old selves, and rise up out of the waters as a new creation in Jesus Christ. When we baptize folks, we only say their first name– their Christian name – when we pour the water over their heads. This practice is very intentional, because their last name – their family name – is no longer their primary identifier. When I was baptized, my family name was no longer “Proctor.”

I became Richard, Child of God. My new family became the Church – and Jesus was my new head of the household. When we look at it this way, we can see how Christianity can indeed be divisive, and break families apart. In the earliest days of Christianity, to be baptized was to renounce one’s family name in lieu of their new Christian name. We’ve gotten away from that aspect of baptismal identity – largely for practical reasons. It’s harder for the IRS to track down Richard, Child of God than it is to track down Richard Proctor.

But as our society continues to change, we will see more and more divided families as it relates to the Church. It will become more difficult to be a Christian, because it will have to be a conscious choice that involves sacrifices. Perhaps in days past, people went to church on Sunday because there wasn’t anything else going on. If you wanted to see your friends and eat something, you had to go to church. We all know that that isn’t the case anymore. There is an abundance of other options for things to do on Sunday mornings. Those of you who are here today are here because you made a choice, and a sacrifice, to be here. You’ll have to go to Publix, the gym, the beach, Starbucks – or just sleep in - some other time.

I don’t mean to paint a bleak picture of the state of Christianity today. I actually feel quite the opposite. I believe that for the first time in a very, very long time, the Church has the opportunity to reclaim its roots as a holy and good alternative to the status quo. We can reclaim our pre-Constantinian mission of not being a religion of the state or government. To be a Christian will mean more, and thus have a greater impact on individuals who choose to be Christians, as well as a greater impact on the world. We will be smaller, but more impactful.

And as we grow smaller, we can rest assured that we are, as mentioned in the letter to the Hebrews, “surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.” Episcopal priest Martin Smith said it well when he wrote, “Loyalty to the reign of God means separation from relationships that would hold us back from participating in it, but it also integrates us into a new web of relationships that is rich beyond imagination. The writer [of Hebrews] names generations of prophets and martyrs who had suffered for God’s covenant, but this is no mere list of past figures. All these women and men are truly alive and gathered around us like the crowd in a stadium. They are our fans, on the edge of their seats cheering us on now that our turn has come in the relay race of faith.”

When our current and future circumstance is framed that way, I can’t help but to want to lace up my running shoes, and run the race with you. Thanks be to God that it is a relay race, where we don’t run alone. There are those faithful witnesses who ran before us, and those who will run after!

Today’s bulletin includes a handout entitled the Threefold Rule of Prayer, also known as the Benedictine Triangle. Many of you have heard me speak about this pattern of prayer before, whether it be in our Sunday Adult Forum or our Wednesday Noonday Prayer group on Zoom. You also may have seen it on the Prayer & Spiritual Formation section of our church website.

This pattern of prayer and the accompanying diagram is simultaneously ancient and contemporary. It is how Christians through the centuries and throughout the world have ordered their lives of prayer. And it was this threefold pattern of prayer that was the driving force in the development of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer. The primary emphases with the threefold pattern of prayer are balance and consistency.

If we want to lose weight, lower our cholesterol, and feel healthier, any personal trainer or fitness expert will tell us that the key is balance and consistency. A sensible diet and regular exercise that are achievable and sustainable over the long haul are how we will succeed. And the same goes for our lives of prayer. Consistency and balance are the key to success.

The longer I serve as a priest in the Church, the more convinced I become that the single-most important thing I am called to do is guide you in your lives of prayer – to invite and shepherd you into a deeper, more authentic relationship with God in Jesus Christ. That’s really my job in a nutshell. Like a personal trainer, dietician, or physician, I am called to promote healthy balance and consistency over trendy, quick-fix fads.

This hunger for a deeper, more authentic relationship with God that I find to be so prevalent in folks I encounter in my ministry as a priest is nothing new. It is simply the human condition… and has been since the dawn of time. This hunger for God was beautifully expressed when, in his Confessions, St. Augustine said, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.”  

If you struggle with knowing where or how to start when it comes to a healthy, balanced prayer life, you are in good company. One of Jesus’ very own disciples – a person who lived, traveled, and ministered with the Messiah himself - was struggling with the very same issue. 

In our gospel lesson today, after Jesus finished what was perhaps his own daily prayer routine, this disciple said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples." Jesus’ answer to his disciple ended up becoming one of the most well-known and oft-repeated prayers in the history of world. In this first part of Jesus’ response, he was offering an example of what one might say when they pray to their Father in Heaven. He was giving this disciple, and all who would follow, a prayer to pray when words escape us.

But in the second part of his response to the disciple, Jesus goes a step further than just offering an actual prayer to pray. He teaches the disciple to pray by offering a parable that illustrates what a life grounded in prayer might look like. The parable of the friend at midnight points to the fruit born out of bold, persistent, steadfast prayer. The man who knocked on his friend’s door late at night asking for three loaves of bread for a late-arriving guest is initially rebuffed by his understandably grumpy neighbor. And it is clear that when the sleepy man finally conceded and gave his neighbor what he asked for, his generosity was attributed to his neighbor’s persistence. The neighbor wouldn’t have received the blessing of bread if he hadn’t been steadfast, persistent, and even forceful in his request.

“Although God knows our needs before we ask, persistence strengthens our resolve and develops our openness to receive the blessings God has to give. Giving up easily shows no real concern for what one seeks.”[1] Jesus then follows the parable with some sage wisdom that illuminates the belief that “persistence strengthens our resolve and develops our openness to receive the blessings God has to give.” This wisdom isn’t as well-known as the Lord’s Prayer, but indeed consists of the most well-known of all of Jesus’ sayings - “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.”

These words from Jesus have received a good bit of pushback from folks who assert that this simply isn’t always true. And I think that we all can relate to doors that have never been opened for us… prayers that have seemingly gone unanswered. So, what do we do with this news that Jesus offers that seems too good to be true? It is important for us to remember the context in which these well-known sayings fall. Jesus says them immediately after telling the parable of the friend at midnight. I believe that “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you” is more about how we pray – and how often we pray - than a quick-fix reward we will get when we do.

The neighbor who asked his friend for bread at midnight didn’t receive his wish upon his first request. But he persisted in his asking, and ultimately, his wish was granted. Jesus is challenging his followers to ground our lives in persistent, steadfast prayer. When we soak ourselves in a life of prayer – not only when we need or want something right now, we will be drawn into an intimate relationship with God. This intimacy with God is exemplified by Jesus when, in the prayer that he taught his disciple, he refers to his Father in heaven as “Abba,” which is translated best as Daddy or Papa. And by instructing his disciple to address his prayer to Abba, Jesus was inviting this disciple into the same intimate familiarity with his Father in heaven.

And so it goes for us too. When the friend knocked on his neighbor’s door, his persistence paid off, but equally important, so did his relationship with that neighbor. Had he been a complete stranger, my guess is that he could have knocked all night but never received a response.    

Prayer was clearly an integral part of Jesus’ life and ministry, and when this disciple asked Jesus to teach him and the others how to pray, Jesus offered a tangible response – the Lord’s Prayer – as well as some sage wisdom on how one, in general, is to be grounded in a life of steadfast, persistent prayer.

The most practical advice I can give in terms of how we might be steadfast and persistent in our prayer life is to use this Threefold Rule of Prayer as a guide. As I mentioned before, this diagram is simply a way of giving us a visual model for what our Anglican tradition has already given us – the Book of Common Prayer.

Praying the Daily Office – Morning and Evening prayer – has had a profound impact on my spiritual life. In a week where one prays Morning and Evening Prayer every day and then attends the Holy Eucharist service on Sunday, one will have prayed the Lord’s Prayer 15 times that week. And one will have also prayed the Psalms and read the Hebrew scriptures that Jesus prayed and read, as well as the scriptures of the New Testament. One will have affirmed their faith twice a day through the recitation of the Apostles’ Creed, while also praying the collects that have been passed down through the generations, and prayed by the great cloud of witnesses who have gone before us. This sort of repetition ends up forming us in the same way that repetitive drills in sports or musical instruments form athletes and musicians. Just as the concert pianist forms an intimacy with her instrument, such is the case with our intimacy with God.

It is this steadfast, persistent, form of daily prayer and scripture reading that has drawn me closer to God and been the source of answered prayers in my life.

Another point of the triangle in the diagram points us to other ways to ground ourselves in daily prayer, namely reflection and personal devotions. There are Contemplative Prayer forms such as Centering Prayer, body prayers, walking prayer, praying with icons, and lectio divina. There are countless daily devotional resources like Forward Day by Day. The options are vast, and certainly not “one size fits all.” But what is critically important for us to strive for is creating a habit of prayer in our daily lives. This is the steadfast persistence and intimacy that Jesus is speaking of to his disciple in our lesson today.

As the Psalmist says in our Psalm for today, “When I called, you answered me; you increased my strength within me.” And such a commitment to prayer is what allows us, as our Collect for the Day says, “to pass through things temporal, that we lose not the things eternal.”  So, as we pass through this temporal life, let us do so grounded in steadfast, persistent prayer to our Father in heaven, who is up waiting with the light on.

[1] From Synthesis commentary on Proper,12, year C. 2019.

Our texts from Genesis and the gospel of St. Luke are both invitations for us to consider the biblical call to hospitality. And as our Sunday adult forum class has been learning this summer, it is not an accident that these texts are paired together on the same day. And the timing as it relates to our life in the Episcopal Church is indeed providential.

These lections come to us on the heels of our General Convention in Baltimore. If you go back and look, most every General Convention in recent memory has had resolutions proposed that dealt with, in some way or another, hospitality. How can we be more welcoming and inclusive? How might we make the Book of Common Prayer and the Hymnal more theologically, scripturally, and culturally diverse in its use of language and texts? How might we do a more faithful job of the Christian call to care for the poor, marginalized, and oppressed – both at home and abroad? How might we as Episcopalians do a better job of having our demographics better represent the communities in which we are located?

All of these questions – and the proposed resolutions that address them every three years– are an attempt for us to faithfully grapple with God’s call for us to love our neighbors as ourselves. A few decades ago, the Episcopal Church was so compelled to be more hospitable that our official slogan became “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You.”

Now don’t get me wrong - none of this is a bad thing. Resolutions, constitutional amendments, and even slogans are all a part of being a part of large, complex communities of people who hold to a common goal or purpose. It is true for countries, states, universities, and churches. And in this era of great decline in the mainline church, you will see us all responding with more intentional efforts towards being welcoming and hospitable. And again – I don’t think this is a bad thing.

But I also feel like there is no resolution or slogan or program that we can adopt in the Episcopal Church that will unilaterally turn our decline into growth. We will have to go deeper. All our efforts will always have to be grounded in our understanding of who God is, and who God is calling the Church to be.

In both of our texts today, it was God who was the visitor being offered hospitality. Of course, in the Genesis narrative, the narrator doesn’t identify the three mysterious visitors as being God. But Christian tradition has long associated this narrative with one of the first revelations of the Holy Trinity. The author of the Letter of the Hebrews draws reference to Abraham and Sarah’s encounter with these three visitors when he writes, “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”[1]

In Luke’s narrative, Jesus is the visitor at Mary and Martha’s home. In both cases, our hosts – Abraham and Sarah and Mary and Martha - pass the test. If they were in our midst, we’d immediately put them in charge of the hospitality committee at church!

But there are also differences between these two encounters. Mary and Martha knew who their visitor was, at least on some level. Abraham and Sarah did not. Mary and Martha were entertaining a close friend in their home. Abraham and Sarah were entertaining strangers in their midst. When we encounter stories about hospitality in the Bible, we get a whole myriad of scenarios. Jesus was sometimes the host, and sometimes the guest. He was sometimes breaking down religious and social barriers with his encounters, and sometimes he was with his own Tribe. Sometimes his hospitality was indiscriminate and broad – like when he fed the multitudes – and sometimes it was reserved for his innermost circle, like at the Last Supper. So, what are we as the Episcopal Church, we as Christ the King, or we as individuals to make of this incredibly diverse and complex scriptural call to hospitality?

I think perhaps the most important lesson to glean from our stories today is that our attempts at hospitality – on the legislative level and the personal level – are misguided if we assume that we are the ones who always have what is needed. We are misguided if, in our well-intentioned efforts to be good hosts - we assume that we are the only ones who have blessings to give. There is even a bit of condescension if we assume that we are the ones who are doing the inviting and including. Yes, Abraham and Sarah were generous hosts. Yes, they blessed their three mysterious guests with a home-cooked meal and hospitality. But as the story unfolds, who really had the power? Who was it that was able to bestow the shocking Good News of God’s blessing of fertility out of barrenness?

The story of Jesus, Mary, and Martha is a great illustration of how the lines can be blurred as to who is host and who is guest. Mary and Martha have invited Jesus to their home for dinner. When Martha scolds her sister Mary for not helping with the many tasks related to hosting a dinner, Jesus interjects and says, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her." It’s hard to argue with Jesus on this point. Mary indeed had chosen the better part. Though traditionally-speaking, Mary and Martha were these hosts that evening, Mary was able to become a guest at the feet of Jesus. She was able to recognize that the meal and hospitality they were offering were not the apex of the evening. Yes, like Abraham and Sarah did centuries before, they blessed Jesus with their hospitality. And when we offer hospitality – especially to strangers - we oftentimes can catch brief glimpses of the kingdom of heaven.

Yet Mary was somehow able to recognize and respond to the kingdom of heaven right there in front of her. She didn’t just get a brief glimpse of what the heavenly banquet. She was seated there at the feet of Jesus as the host, listening to and learning from him. In that moment she was able to recognize that he was the One who had come to serve his guests that evening. As it turns out, he – not she and Martha –was the host, with abundant blessings to offer.

So, as we in the Episcopal Church - and we at Christ the King – seek ways to be more welcoming and hospitable to our neighbors and guests, we will do well to remember that it is not just we who have blessings to offer. It is not we who have sole possession of the “welcome” that is then generously extended to others because we’re a “warm, welcoming, and friendly congregation.”

In a few moments, we will all come forward to partake in a foretaste of the heavenly banquet, where Jesus is the host, and we are the guests. We are the ones who have been graciously invited to Christ’s table by Christ himself, not because of who we are or what we’ve done but because of who Christ is what he has done for us on the cross. All of us – even I as the presider of the Eucharist - are guests here this morning. The blessings and hospitality are not ours to give; they are ours to humbly and graciously receive. Some come: taste and see that the Lord is good.

[1] Heb. 13:2, KJV

 Back when we moved to Jacksonville, Emily had to go before the St. Augustine Presbytery’s Commission on Ministry for an examination, which was part of the process for her being approved to serve as a minister there.  This is a common procedure for clergy to undergo when they move from one Presbytery or Diocese to another. Essentially, it is a way for the Diocesan or Presbyterial leadership to ensure that the newly hired clergyperson will play nicely with others. 

Now prior to her examination, Emily was sent a three-page list of questions that she would need to be prepared to answer in front of the committee. The questions were along the lines of "What distinctive elements of the Reformed faith would you describe as “essential,” and how do they impact your life and ministry?" and "What is the place of the sacraments in worship (in terms of both your theology of worship and the placement in the order of service)?"  

Great conversation starters. 

Well, long story short, Emily passed her examination, and she was allowed to keep the job she already had at Lakewood Presbyterian Church. 

Now when Jesus was faced with going before committees to answer tough questions, the stakes were usually a little bit higher, because it wasn’t his job that was on the line…it was his life. And when the Pharisees, the Temple authorities, or the Roman authorities were questioning him, they were usually attempting to trap him, or better yet, to see if he would trap himself by giving the “wrong” answer. They did this to Jesus because they didn’t trust him. Even though he was a devout Jew, they weren’t convinced that he was on the “right” side of things.

The tough question that Jesus is asked in today’s lesson is posed by a lawyer who employs the same strategy that these other folks used. It appears that he wasn’t truly longing for a deep conversation with Jesus about matters pertaining to eternal life. It appears that he was simply testing Jesus to see if he was one of them or not.   

When answering the lawyer about what one must do to inherit eternal life, Jesus turns the tables and responds with questions of his own: “What is written in the law?  What do you read there?” which was a good start. After all, with his conversation partner, if he stuck to the law, he’d probably be safe. So, the lawyer answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus agreed with the lawyer, and my guess is that he was hoping that that would be the end of the interrogation so that he could continue his journey towards Jerusalem.   

But the lawyer kept at it, and followed up with the question, “And who is my neighbor?” He likely had a list in his mind of who the acceptable neighbors were in those parts, and he wanted to see if Jesus’ list was the same. After all, you can tell a lot about somebody by looking at his or her list – they are easy ways for us to size one another up. And this lawyer doing just that - testing Jesus to see if he was one of them or not. If he could get Jesus to claim just one outsider to the Jewish community as a neighbor, he would have confirmed his suspicion. This guy Jesus is not “one of us.” 

But as usual, Jesus is a step ahead of his antagonists. This time, Jesus doesn’t respond with a list. He responds with a story. And as it turns out, this story is one of the best-known stories that Jesus ever told. Folks who have never even graced the door of a church know the story – or at least the premise of the story – of the Good Samaritan. And I think that it has stood the test of time because like any good teacher or therapist or spiritual director, Jesus invites his conversation partner out of the world of easy answers and into the world of narrative. Because with narrative, we as listeners have the opportunity to be invited into the story, and participate in the truths it may reveal, shocking though they may be. In this case, the shocking truth is that it ended up being a Samaritan – an outsider - who was the answer to the lawyer’s question, “Who is my neighbor?” But how would this truth have gone over if Jesus had simply responded to the lawyer’s question by saying, “Samaritans are our neighbors” without inviting the lawyer into a deeper narrative? I’m guessing not so well. 

So perhaps our primary takeaway from today’s lesson isn’t to go and do charitable deeds. Of course, compassion and mercy are essential to our callings as Christians. But eternal life is more profoundly complex than simply doing good deeds. Rather, I wonder if our “going and doing likewise” is more about entering into the world of narrative with other people and allowing ourselves to be transformed by these encounters. After an initial, rather testy exchange with the lawyer, Jesus decided to go deeper into the world of narrative, and the lawyer put himself in a position to be transformed by that encounter, which potentially changed his life forever. For us, going and doing likewise might involve allowing ourselves to be transformed by narratives – both in telling them and listening to them.   

Over the past few days, Episcopalians from all over – including our very own Deacon Ed - have been gathered in Baltimore for our triennial General Convention, where, among many things, we conduct the legislative business of the church. Sadly, due to the recent rise in Covid-19 numbers, the convention was significantly shortened, and what was determined to be the “non-essential” items on the agenda – including fellowship – were mostly removed.

A drawback to removing the time for fellowship at events like this is that we don’t have as many opportunities to discover who our fellow Episcopalian neighbors might be. The person who was on the floor proposing legislation that you vehemently disagree with remains just that – a person on the “other side” of an important issue. Opportunities for conversation, shared meals, and sharing our stories with one another are greatly reduced.

These days, we don’t have to go as shockingly far as Jesus does in today’s parable to make the same point. Samaritans and Jews were not of the same tribe so to speak. To suggest that they could be neighbors was scandalous. Today, our deeply ingrained divisions and suspicions are within our very own tribes. The United States is one obvious and worrisome example. And sadly, so is the Episcopal Church.

Perhaps one reason I have never wanted to attend General Convention is because of my fear of possibly learning that I don’t have as many neighbors in my tribe as I once thought. Might I have to come face-to-face with Episcopalians who I wouldn’t ordinarily see as my neighbor? Might my own assumptions and beliefs be challenged by my very own sisters and brothers in Christ in a way that makes me uncomfortable, or even angry?

In reading the reports coming out of General Convention, Episcopalians like you and I have been wrestling with the question of “who is my neighbor?” as well as, “How do our actions embody who we say our neighbors are?” How might this parable help a church that in many ways mirrors our country in terms of our divisions. How might this parable shape the thoughts and actions of us who are not in Baltimore at the General Convention? 

We are bound to encounter somebody this week with whom we disagree on a whole host of issues – whether it be from within the Episcopal Church and well beyond. Social Media is filled with bravado-filled one-liners from people on both sides of any hot-button issue. Will we allow ourselves to step away from our computers - where individual opinions rule the day - and enter into the much more nuanced, complex world of narrative with someone who we initially might not consider to be our neighbor? 

Usually, when you make yourself vulnerable enough to share these types of experiences, it opens the door for deeper, more transformative encounters with one another, and with God. 

The lawyer in our story today oftentimes gets a bad rap, and I gave him a hard time a little bit earlier. But I must hand it to him. When Jesus launched into his story about the Samaritan, the lawyer hung in there with him. And by the end, when Jesus followed the story with the question, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” the lawyer’s response revealed to Jesus and reveals to us the power of a good story. Let us go and do likewise.  

Fear is at the heart of today’s gospel lesson. The Gerasene townsfolk were afraid of the demon-possessed man. The demons were afraid of Jesus, and as it turns out, so were the townsfolk once they learned that it was Jesus who healed the man.

Power and control are also at the heart of today’s gospel lesson. The demons had power and control over the man they inhabited. The townsfolk tried to assert their power and control over the man by chaining him up outside of town among the tombs. Jesus showed his power and control over the demons – he showed the power of Good over Evil.

What immediately precedes today’s story in Luke’s gospel is the story of Jesus calming the storm when he and his disciples were in a boat crossing the Sea of Galilee. That too was a story about fear, power, and control.

Seized by their fear, the disciples woke up Jesus from his nap and exclaimed, “Master, Master, we are perishing!” And Luke tells us that Jesus “woke up and rebuked the wind and the raging waves; they ceased, and there was calm.” Jesus showed his fearful disciples that he had power over the forces of nature. After this remarkable event, his disciples wondered aloud to one another, “Who then is this, that he commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him?”

Immediately after this memorable boat ride, Jesus and his disciples land on shore and find themselves in Gentile territory – the country of the Gerasenes. Notably, this is the only time in Luke’s gospel when Jesus is ministering in territory that is primarily inhabited by Gentiles. So, in hearing today’s story, before Jesus and his disciples are confronted by the demon-possessed man, our radars should have been beeping the moment we learned that they were in Gentile territory. Something out of the ordinary was bound to happen.

And sure enough it does. A deranged man approached Jesus, dropped to his knees, and began shouting at the top of his lungs – “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me.” There is so much that can be said about this encounter – how did this Gentile know who Jesus was? How and why did he proclaim him to be the Son of the Most High God – something his own disciples had not yet done?

Soon we discover that it was the legion of demons who possessed this man who knew and were afraid of Jesus. This is the moment that we are clued into the fact that we are witnessing spiritual warfare – a battle between cosmic Good and cosmic Evil. And in the midst of this cosmic battle, fear abounds. I imagine that the disciples were afraid, though the story doesn’t say that. The demons were most definitely afraid of the superior power of Jesus. They were afraid of being sent out of the man they inhabited and back into the abyss – the bottomless pit reserved for God’s enemies that we hear about in the book of Revelation. Traditional lore says that demons are destroyed by drowning. So, in this strange encounter, we learn that the demons would prefer to be destroyed by drowning than to reside in the bottomless pit of the abyss.  

Fear is what landed the Gerasene demoniac in the outskirts of town, shackled and living among the dead, in a place of graves and tombs. The townsfolk were afraid of this deranged, unruly, naked man. One could hardly blame them. So, they did what people do when they believe someone isn’t safe or useful to have around – they put them away and sometimes even lock them up. The townsfolk were able to at least control and contain the evil that resided in this man. They knew where the evil was located, and though they had no power over evil, they felt like they could at least keep it away from them and contained.

And this is how communities through the centuries have learned to deal with evil forces – we seek to isolate and control evil, so that we don’t have to confront it on a regular basis. And by focusing on isolating and controlling the demon-possessed man, the Gerasene people would know that they were safe because evil was elsewhere - residing in that man on the outskirts of town, amid the graves and tombs.

When we put what we perceive to be evil “away” – whether it be in prisons, mental hospitals, the other side of the tracks, the outskirts of town – we feel safer. That is simply our human nature.

We also tend to deflect evil by recognizing it in others – whether it be the Russians, Iranians, gun owners, gun control advocates, pro-life advocates, pro-choice advocates, Republicans, Democrats…the list goes on. Those other people have evil within them. If we can just identify them, we’ll more likely be able to isolate and control them; and though evil will still exist – it will exist elsewhere and within others. Not in our neighborhoods and not within ourselves or our tribe. We can at least be a little bit safer and happier here in our safe, homogenous, evil-free bubble.

But this story reveals something even deeper about our human tendencies. Not only are we afraid of Evil, but we are also afraid of Good. Who can blame the Gerasene townsfolk for being afraid of the deranged, naked, demon-possessed man? But when they “came out to see what happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid.” I can understand if they had been angry – after all, they were pig farmers, and they just lost a few thousand of their pigs because of Jesus. But the gospel tells us that they were afraid.

It appears that this power that Jesus displayed was completely unsettling for them. Their identified patient; their scapegoat; the village lunatic had been healed. Good had triumphed over Evil. Now what? Upon whom will our negative attention be focused? Who will we blame? Who will we cast out? Jesus’ miraculous display of power – the Power of Good no less – was too unsettling for the Gerasene townsfolk. So, they “asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear.” Rather than asking Jesus the healer, Jesus the force for Good, Jesus, the Son of the Most High God to remain with them, rather than sitting at his feet alongside the healed man, they asked him to leave.

Dare I say that we are as afraid of Good as we are Evil? Dare I say that since we know that we cannot control ultimate Good or ultimate Evil, that we’d just assume keep both away from us so we can maintain our sense of control? Are we afraid to join Jesus in the battle against Evil, because he – not we – would be the Commander-in-Chief? As our Commander-in-Chief, wouldn’t Jesus ask us to go places, do things, and be around people who make us afraid? Might the battle he asks us to fight not be the type of battle we’re looking for?

Just this past week, we were thrown into a fit of grief, horror, confusion, and yes - fear – as we heard the horrific news of a shooting at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Birmingham. Three beloved St. Stephen’s parishioners – Bart Rainey, Sarah Yeager, and Jane Pounds - were shot and killed at a “Boomer Potluck” in their parish hall. In the realm of spiritual warfare, Evil seemed to have had its way last Thursday evening. Nobody can explain why this happened. No motive has been discovered. The man who committed this crime is 70 years old and had attended St. Stephen’s in the past. At this point, we can’t call it a hate crime, or a crime motivated by some specific axe to grind with people or mission of St. Stephen’s.

When abortion clinics are attacked by Pro-Life advocates, we understand the motive. When mosques or synagogues or churches are attacked by extremists of other religions, we understand the motive. When blacks are killed by white supremacists, we understand the motive. And when these sorts of horrific crimes happen, particularly if an assault rifle or some illegal weapon is used, the grief quickly shifts to mobilization amongst the political and publics spheres to try to pass laws and raise awareness related to the issue. We can channel our fear and anger towards doing something to try to fix the problem – pass a law, elect someone, blame someone...anything and anyone that will assuage our fear and make us feel safer. Anything to help us feel like we can control the source of our fear.

But this tragedy at St. Stephen’s – at least until we have more information – doesn’t fit into any of those boxes. So, all we have left to blame is pure, unadulterated Evil, and its effect on the man who murdered our sisters and brother in Christ. Yes, like the Gerasene townsfolk in our Gospel lesson today, we will put this man away so that he cannot harm anyone else. And that is a necessary thing. But when the legal justice system puts him away, we are still left with first and foremost, our deep, profound grief. His being in prison will not heal the grief of those who have been devastated by this senseless tragedy. The immediate and extended community of St. Stephen’s will undergo the long, sacred journey of healing together. And the Good Lord will be their shepherd every step of the way.

We must remember that the perpetrator being locked up in prison will not fix the problem of Evil. Only Jesus, Son of the Most High God has the power to conquer Evil. And that of course is the Good News we proclaim as Christians – that in the resurrection cosmic Good has shown that it is more powerful than cosmic Evil. We know Who has Ultimate Power and Ultimate Control, and that is what allows our waiting for Christ to come again to be grounded in hope, not despair.

As Christians, our grief is grounded in hope. Our anger is grounded in hope. Our fear is grounded in hope. But we can’t manufacture hope. Hope is a gift given to us by God, even when all evidence in the present moment may seem to point to a lack of hope. The blessing of Christian community is that we hope for one another; we are not left to try to hope on our own.

And as we await the ultimate consummation of creation, when Evil will be vanquished once and for all, we do so trusting and believing that the God who “commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him,” is the one who has ultimate power and control. The God who casts out demons, and the God who was raised Jesus from the dead is the one who has ultimate power and control. And this God of ultimate power and control is the same God who will cast away our grief, anger, and fear and enfold us in the embrace of his never-ending, ever-present love.

For those of you who have attended various adult formation classes since I have been here at Christ the King, you might remember the Latin phrase that I seem to frequently mention: Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi - which means the law of prayer shapes the law of belief. Or put another way, the way we pray shapes the way we believe. 

This truism is very Anglican, so much so that if I were doing one of my elevator sermons in response to the question, “What does it mean to be Episcopalian?” I might respond by simply saying “Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi…the way we pray shapes the way we believe.”

And I believe that Trinity Sunday is the perfect time to talk about how our praying shapes our believing. But whether it is Trinity Sunday or not, week in and week out, the opening segment of worship prior to the scripture readings and sermon contains language that is very consciously Trinitarian. Cumbersome and overly formulaic? Some might say so. But this is intentional.

Those who have compiled the various editions of the Book of Common Prayer, beginning with the first one back in 1549, held to the firm belief that our praying shapes our believing. And keep in mind that the Book of Common Prayer was and still is intended to be used daily, not just once a week. So, for those of us who use the Prayer Book to guide our daily prayer life are getting a daily dose, not a weekly dose, of Christian doctrine. By using the Book of Common Prayer, we are, in the purest sense of the word, actually being indoctrinated through our liturgy day in and day out, or week in and week out. In other words, when we pray, we are learning the doctrine of the Church. If we speak, pray, worship, and sing a certain way and by using certain language, it will begin to shape how we believe, and hopefully, in turn, how we act. 

So, the question that arises in the midst of all of this “information” I’m sharing with you is “So what?” The cynic in us might even say, “Who cares?  I just come to church to hear an encouraging or inspiring word, take communion, and be around my family and friends. I could care less about doctrine, or how Trinitarian our language is.”

But I think that using Trinitarian language for God in our liturgy isn’t only about reminding us that the God we worship is one God in three persons, unified while also being diverse. I think that using what some people may find to be overly formal or formulaic language in worship is actually a means for teaching us the value of viewing God – in all of God’s diversity – with a deep sense of awe and reverence.  And using Trinitarian language to speak to and about God is just one of the many ways that our worship reminds us that God is a sacred, awesome mystery to Whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from Whom no secrets are hid. That being the case, if our worship conditions us to hold God in the deepest regard, shouldn’t we do the same for one another?

When I was in seminary in Atlanta, I attended a service at St. Philip’s Cathedral that had a profound impact on my understanding of worship.  The service was held on All Saints’ Day, and it was a requiem mass for the homeless people who had died in Atlanta in the previous year. This service had become a tradition for the Cathedral and for the homeless community in Atlanta for some time. 

As the service began, I was unpleasantly surprised at what came next.  When the smell of incense filled the air, the organist began the opening bars of the processional hymn, and the army of vergers, acolytes, thurifers, lectors, choir members, and clergy processed down the aisle, it would have seemed that the Queen of England was in town for a visit. And quite frankly I thought that all this pomp and circumstance was inappropriate for a service honoring the homeless. Why did the Cathedral have to go so over the top with their high church, Anglican worship on this occasion? The homeless men and women who had packed the pews of the Cathedral that evening most likely weren’t Episcopalians, and even if they were, they weren’t this kind of Episcopalian. Why couldn’t the Cathedral staff have been a little more sensitive to who their congregation would be that evening, and choose the music and liturgy to fit that occasion a little better? What’s with all the incense, chanting, kneeling, standing, and choral anthems? Would homeless people relate to all of this, or would they simply feel like outsiders?

Well, as it turns out, this requiem mass is the event of the year for the homeless community in Atlanta. The ones who come every year to pay tribute to their fallen brothers and sisters of the street love this service.  And the reason they love it is because the Cathedral is doing everything in their power to make it a big deal. They are cutting no corners, holding nothing back, and giving the homeless community their absolute very best.  It was as if the Queen of England was in town. But she wasn’t. All of this hoopla was first and foremost for God, but it was also for the homeless men, women, and children of Atlanta, and it communicated to them that they mattered. 

And it also communicated to me, and to the others who were also there that the homeless among us mattered. How dare I think that they wouldn’t appreciate all the finest that the Cathedral had to offer. I underestimated them, perhaps because deep down it was difficult for me to see them as being created in God’s own image. But God is a diverse God, and God’s creation is a diverse creation. Those members of the Cathedral who participated in this service every year got the message. The liturgy didn’t need to be dumbed down for the homeless. The homeless folks were created in God’s very own image, and they deserved the same respect that God does. I learned a lesson that evening, and it was the worship that taught it to me. Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi: our prayer shapes our belief.

So, to riff on this axiom at bit, perhaps we could say our actions shape our believing as well. In other words, if we make a habit out of acting, treating, or speaking to people a certain way, perhaps we just might come to believe that they are worth the respect we are showing them. And the same goes for how we worship. Oftentimes, our prayers precede our belief, and they shape our belief. If we believe this to be true, then how we pray is critically important. Not that it matters to God. I really don’t think God cares how we dress, sing, or pray on Sunday mornings, or any day for that matter. But I think it matters to us. The language we use is for us, not for God. If our hymns, songs, and prayers are trite, shallow, and dumbed down, God won’t become that way, but we run the risk of our image of God becoming that way. 

As we continue with worship after the sermon today, the formal, formulaic nature of our liturgy will continue. Keep an eye and ear out for how we speak about God, and what we do with our bodies when we are speaking to and about God. 

When I was growing up, my parents used to always make me stand up when an adult entered the room, no matter who they were. It used to drive me crazy, but mom and dad believed that if I showed them respect with the posture of my body, my mind might actually follow. Our actions can shape our belief.  So, when we say the Nicene Creed and pray the prayers that follow, those of us who are able will stand up, even if we would rather remain seated.  But just as our prayer shapes our belief, so do our actions, and so does our posture. For those of us who are able to stand, if we were to remain seated when we recited the Creed or prayed the Prayers of the People or the Great Thanksgiving, what truth would that communicate? Would our relaxed posture eventually shape what we believe about the God to whom we are praying? 

The good news in all of this is that as much as we may come to believe in and adore God through the disciplined practice of daily and weekly prayer and worship, that God already loves us more than we can imagine. God will always love us no matter how we worship Him. Remember, our liturgy shapes us, not God. 

And today, as we stand and kneel before God, and speak and sing to God with holy reverence, let us do so with the knowledge that God revered us so much that he sent His only begotten Son to live with and die for each and every one of us. And by the power of the Holy Spirit, may we see, speak to, and treat God and one another with a deep, holy awe, reverence, and respect. Amen.

Now what? I think this is an appropriate question for us to ask today. For James and Avery, the parents of the world’s soon to be newest Christian, the questions become, “Now we have taken the initial step of having Evelyn baptized, how do we continue this process of responding to the grace that Evelyn has received? What does “life after baptism” look like for her and for us? What, if anything has changed?” Confirmation won’t be for another 12-13 years. So now what?

Thankfully, our Holy Scriptures are filled with “Now what” moments for us to ponder. In my opinion, the ultimate “now what” moment comes on the day that we now call “Holy Saturday” - the day after Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried. All the disciples and loyal followers of Jesus were surely wondering what to do now that Jesus, who they believed was the Messiah, was now dead and buried in a tomb.

Well God’s answer to the Holy Saturday “now what” was a resounding “Here’s what!” when he resurrected Jesus from the dead.

Then ten days ago we celebrated the Feast of the Ascension, where the resurrected Jesus is swept up into heaven and the disciples are left standing alone and once again once again asking, you guessed it – “now what?” And just as Easter is God’s answer to the awkward “in between” space of Holy Saturday, I think Pentecost in God’s answer to the awkward “in between” space of Ascensiontide. God’s answer to the disciples who felt alone and aimless after Jesus took his seat at the right hand of his Father in heaven was to breathe his Holy Spirit upon them like tongues of fire. On the Day of Pentecost, God sent the disciples a resounding, “Here’s what!” to their gloomy “now what” refrain. But the “here’s what” answer that God gave to the disciples wasn’t just the roaring wind and tongues of fire. It was the promise that the Holy Spirit would be their Advocate and their Holy Comforter until the end of the ages. To me, that is the true miracle of Pentecost – the promise from God that we will never be alone - the promise that God the Father and God the Son, through the Holy Spirit, is always with us.

When I baptize Evelyn in a few moments, I will place the sign of the cross on her forehead with holy oil, and I will say that Evelyn is “sealed by Holy Spirit in baptism, and marked as Christ’s own forever.”  This is an outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace that through the power of the Holy Spirit, Evelyn will never be alone; she will always be claimed by God.

But as we celebrate the grafting of Evelyn into the Body of Christ and God’s gift of the Holy Spirit on that first Pentecost, we find ourselves in the midst of national and international crisis. Recent mass shootings have plunged us into despair, anger, fear, and political division. Inflation, gas prices, the recent rise of covid cases, and continued political division and hostility, climate crisis, and the war between Russia and Ukraine all continue to make us feel more anxious and less stable.

Some might have a hard time feeling excited for the future of young people like Evelyn, being brought up in such a climate as this. When I find myself feeling cynical, depressed, and lacking in hope, I try to remind myself of at least two things  First, this isn’t the first time in the history of the world that there has been terrible suffering, disease, war, and division. The “good ole days” feel more and more like that the further removed we become from the past. The bottom line is that ever since the Fall in the Garden of Eden, we human beings have continued to make a mess of things. There has never been an era in the history of the world where humankind has fully realized our potential as God’s creation. When we remind ourselves of the reality of the human predicament of Sin, we can recognize that the problems we face in the world today are first and foremost a spiritual issue. We live East of Eden, and we are under the power of Sin. In just a few moments, on behalf of their daughter Evelyn, James and Avery will publicly renounce this very Evil that I am speaking of.

In light of this reality, the second thing I try to remind myself when I am despairing is that God has given us an answer to all of these problems and issues. God has answered our cry of “now what are we to do about this mess we have made” with the life, death, and resurrection of his son, Jesus Christ. God becoming incarnate in Jesus Christ wasn’t an easy-fix solution to the problem of sin, death, and evil. We still suffer from and participate in the effects of the Fall. But in Christ, God showed us the way, the truth, and the life. God gave us God’s very own self as the answer to Sin, death, and evil.

And when Jesus ascended into heaven, his followers were once again asking, “Now what?” as in, “now what are we to do without Jesus here to guide us?” And once again, God had a response, and continues to respond to our endless questions, anxieties, and problems not so much with a “here’s what” but rather, with a “Here’s Whom!” As I already mentioned, the first “Here’s whom” was Jesus Christ. And the second “here’s whom” is God’s Holy Spirit - the Advocate, the Holy Comforter, who accompanies us wherever we go and whatever crisis we find ourselves in. In just a few moments, Evelyn will receive the mark of the Holy Spirit on her forehead, proclaiming that she is sealed by the Holy Spirt in baptism, and marked as Christ’s own forever. This mark will not make her perfect, nor will it mean that she will not struggle or suffer. But it will serve as a reminder for her as to Who she is and Whose she is. If all Christians could faithfully and courageously live in to that radical Good News that we are Christ’s own forever, and I think we’d have a lot less problems in the world today.

On this magnificent day – this day where we celebrate God’s sending of the Holy Spirit to accompany God’s people until the end of the ages; this day where we welcome the newest member of our church through the sacrament of Holy Baptism; let us remember God’s remarkable answer to the refrain of “now whats” that he constantly hears. Let us remember that though Jesus ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father, we are not left alone to fend for ourselves. God’s Holy Spirit - the Advocate, the Holy Comforter – is ever present and here to celebrate with us when we are joyful, hold us when we are grieving, to guide us when we are waking, and to guard us when we are sleeping. And if you ask me, that is the best answer we could ever receive.

For those of you who have been around here a while, you’ll know that I am always encouraging us to recognize the liturgical season that we are in, and to, from there, try to draw a connection between the collect of the day, scripture lessons, hymns, and sermon. How are they all connected? Is there a thread that runs through them all? In other words, what we are doing here this morning isn’t just a random selection of texts or themes. So, when I approach our scripture lessons today in preparation for my sermon, the first question I ask is, “How is this an Easter text?” or “What does this text have to do with the Easter themes of resurrection from the dead, or new life, or new beginnings?”

When put through that filter, the text that jumped out at me today was our reading from the Acts of the Apostles. It’s not that difficult to discern why the story of Peter bringing Dorcas back to life is given to us during the season of Easter. Dorcas was dead; and then she was alive.

But we must be careful not to say that Dorcas was resurrected from the dead in the same manner that Jesus was. Peter’s raising Dorcas from the dead was the same sort of miracle that Jesus performed when he raised Lazarus from the dead, as well as the synagogue leader’s daughter, Talitha. When they were raised, they had their same bodies as before. They were not in their resurrection bodies. And Dorcas, Lazarus, and Talitha all died again.

When Jesus was raised from the dead, he was in his fully transformed, resurrection body. He could appear and disappear. He could walk through walls and doors. And he did not die again. And such will be the case for us on the day of the resurrection of the dead. We will all be raised in fully transformed, resurrection bodies. And death will have no more dominion over us.

So, with all of that being said, what are we to make of Peter’s raising Dorcas from the dead? If she was not resurrected, how and why is this an Easter text?

In the Acts of the Apostles, this story comes immediately after the story of the conversion of Saul. When put back-to-back, the stories both show how, through the power of God, dead people can be made alive again. In Saul’s case, he was spiritually dead, as he was doing all he could do to stop the spread of this new movement within Judaism known as “The Way.” He persecuted Jesus by persecuting his followers. But while he was on the road to Damascus, on the way to persecute more Christians, Jesus appeared to him. And that was what led Saul to be completely transformed, so much so that he received an entirely new name. Saul was dead, and Paul was alive. This is an Easter story indeed.

And the story we have today, which comes immediately after Paul’s remarkable conversion story, is also an Easter story. But the new life that we hear about in this story actually happens before Peter raises Dorcas from the dead. The text says that “Dorcas was devoted to good works and acts of charity,” and when Peter arrived on the scene, “All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them.”

Whether or not Dorcas herself was a widow remains unknown, but Christian tradition holds that she was. Basil of Caesarea refers to Dorcas as an example in his Morals (rule 74): "That a widow who enjoys sufficiently robust health should spend her life in works of zeal and solicitude, keeping in mind the words of the Apostle and the example of Dorcas."

So, what this means is that Dorcas, after she became a widow, devoted her life to acts of charity, in this case, sewing clothing for the needy. And she apparently had developed such a good reputation that when she died, two men were sent to the nearby town of Lydda to find Peter and ask for his pastoral presence.

Of course, the penultimate Easter moment in this story is when Peter raises Dorcas from the dead. But new life had already sprung in Dorcas. She apparently came out of the other side of her grief from the death of her husband and found solace in her relationship with the other widows of their Christian community. And together, those widows found new life in their friendship with one another, and they found new life in their acts of charity for their community. Their grief had been sanctified and transformed into new a life through a new vocation.

When Peter raised Dorcas from the dead, I think that he was, among many things, honoring her vocation, as well as the vocation of the community of widows there in Joppa. They themselves had come through the other side of grief and hopelessness. And they were now helping others do the same. And that was and is holy work indeed. It is Easter work.

I saw this very same sort of work happening here at Christ the King this week and we prepared for Tim Harbeson’s funeral yesterday. All day Friday and Saturday, the church, kitchen, and parish hall were abuzz with people – mostly women – working to make the funeral and reception a holy and glorious feast for Buffy, Lark, their family, and our community. It wasn’t lost on me that some of the women who were working so hard are widows themselves. They know first-hand how difficult it is to be going through what Buffy is going through right now. And they showed up to help us all work through our grief. These women at Christ the King are following in the footsteps of Dorcas and her companions. They are continuing the ancient Christian tradition of caring for those in need. And I couldn’t be more proud to be the priest at a parish that takes seriously the love and care for those who are grieving.

So yesterday was an Easter moment indeed. And today is too. All around us, we are seeing life and love emerge out of death. We are seeing and experiencing new beginnings, new vocations, and new life. May we continue to follow the example of Dorcas and her companions, faithfully, selflessly, and courageously loving and serving our sisters and brothers in Christ.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude…It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Tim Harbeson was, among many things, patient and kind. And he, among many things, beared, believed, hoped, and endured many things in his 57 years of life. And he did so with grace, humility, and a subtle sense of humor.

After we learned that his cancer diagnosis was terminal, Tim and I had a conversation that I will never forget – and it was right outside here under the covered driveway. In the midst of our conversation about his prognosis, I asked Tim if he was afraid to die. As most of you know, Tim was a soft-spoken, mild-mannered person. But when he responded to this question, he spoke with a confidence that was unmistakable. He smiled, looked me right in the eye, and said, “No. I think death with be a beautiful thing.” Spoken like a true artist, who could turn dead pieces of driftwood into beautiful things. And spoken like a true Christian – “death will be a beautiful thing.”

Tim had a depth to his faith that recognized the sacred beauty of passing from this life to the next, entering into God’s ever-present light, love, and glory. Perhaps he imagined the journey through the valley of the shadow of death that we read about in Psalm 23. Can’t you just see Tim and the good shepherd, Jesus, strolling together through a lush, green valley? I don’t think I ever saw Tim walk like he was in a hurry. He always seemed to be content with the pace he was keeping. That’s how I imagine him walking with Jesus as they journeyed together to meet his Father in heaven.

Tim took his time to die a good, holy, and peaceful death. He approached his journey towards death as a sacred one, to be hallowed and respected. But I don’t want to over-sentimentalize the last year of Tim’s life. He suffered terribly from the effects of his cancer, as well as from the effects of the treatment of his cancer. It was painful and difficult to endure for Tim, as well as for Buffy, and Lark. Nobody deserves to suffer the way Tim, Buffy, and Lark have suffered this past year. It is sad, and it can even make us angry. It just doesn’t seem fair or just when someone suffers in this way. All of that being said, I believe with all of my being that when Tim’s time came to transition to life everlasting, he was spiritually ready for the journey. And he was no longer suffering. And he believed that death is a beautiful thing.

Our reading from the Wisdom of Solomon says, “In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died, and their departure was thought to be a disaster, and their going from us to be a destruction; but they are at peace. For in the sight of others they were punished, their hope is full of immortality.” Some of us may not yet be at peace with the death of our beloved brother and friend Tim – his departure to us is still a disaster. And that is to be expected. But I truly believe that Tim is at peace.

You’ll notice the theme of love and joy running through the scripture lessons and hymns that Buffy chose for our service today. This emphasis on love and joy isn’t to sugar-coat the pangs of grief that death brings to us. By reading these lessons and singing these hymns, we aren’t putting our heads in the sand and pretending that we aren’t sad. Jesus himself wept at the grave of Lazarus. Grief is a healthy, faithful response to death.

But as Christians, our grief is grounded in and lovingly held by something and someone deeper, wider, and bigger than our own feelings or circumstances, or even our own lives here on earth. As we grieve, we do so standing on our belief that

“None of us liveth to himself,

And no man dieth to himself.

For if we live, we live unto the Lord;

And if we die, we die unto the Lord.

Whether we live, therefore, or die, we are the Lord’s.”

Indeed, as Tim so wisely and faithfully proclaimed, “I’m not afraid of death. I think it will be a beautiful thing.”

As I mentioned before, it never seemed to me like Tim was in a hurry. I always noticed this about Tim because I am just the opposite. I feel like I’m always in a hurry. I have a lot to learn from Tim in that regard. Among many things, Tim embodied the patient love that the Apostle Paul wrote about in his letter that we read from today. Tim was so patient that he waited until almost the last day of his life to give Buffy the best gift he had ever given her. He had been mostly unconscious in the last days of his life. But in the middle of the night, he emerged from unconsciousness and began to say to Buffy over and over, “I love you, I love you. I love you so much.”  He just kept on saying it – over and over. I love you. I love you. Those are the last words that Tim said to Buffy.

As we sang in our opening hymn today, “Thou our Father, Christ our brother: all who live in love are thine; teach us how to love each other, lift us to the joy divine.” Tim Harbeson lived in love, and he is God’s own child, in whom God is well pleased. God taught him how to love, and grounded in that love, Tim has now been lifted to the joy divine.

Today’s lesson from the Gospel of John is one of my favorites on many levels. First of all, I love that Peter seems to be so discombobulated. He was fishing with no clothes on – who does that? But then when he recognized Jesus on the shore, he put on all of his clothes and then dove in the water to swim to shore. It seems to me that if he insisted on taking off his clothes, it would be to swim, not to fish.

But given the recent events of his life – who could blame Peter for being a bit disoriented? Another thing that I find interesting about this story is that apparently, after Peter and his friends had seen the risen Christ not once but twice, they still weren’t sure what to make of the situation. When they saw him last, he blessed them with his peace, breathed his Holy Spirit upon them and empowered them to go out and forgive the sins of others. So, what did Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, James, John, and two of the others do? They went fishing.

Now, perhaps they were simply hungry, and they needed to eat. Or maybe they felt like they needed some money for their apostolic journey, so they figured they’d catch and sell a bunch of fish. Who knows. But it amuses me to think that those seven disciples, after seeing the risen Christ, went fishing. And Peter did so without any clothes on.

When Jesus appeared on the shore, he already knew that they hadn’t caught a thing. So, he called out to them and invited them to try the other side of the boat. And that’s the other thing that I love about this story. Anybody who knows anything about fishing with large nets knows that Jesus’ simple advice of “trying the other side of the boat” is nonsense. If they had been throwing their nets off the boat all night, and certainly not from the same location in the water, the issue with their lack of luck had nothing to do with which side of the boat they were casting from. But this story really isn’t about fishing. The miracle of this story isn’t about Jesus helping them catch a bunch of fish after a long drought. This story is much more profound than that. I believe that the point of this story has to do with discerning our call to follow Jesus, and how we might live out that call in our daily lives.

Pastorally speaking, I think that the issue that I am presented with the most is vocational calling. What am I called to do? Who am I called to be? Where am I called to be? With whom am I called to be? These important questions come  from folks of all ages and walks of life. Vocational discernment doesn’t end with retirement. It is a lifelong journey. Some of us are even given the opportunity to discern how we or those we love will die – whether or not we will aggressively treat an illness or continue life support.

Many of us are at a point in our lives where we are like Peter and those other six disciples – fishing off one side of the boat and not catching a thing. We are stuck, yet we don’t know what else to do. We must remember that these guys were professional fisherman prior to being called by Jesus. Fishing is what they knew. It was their livelihood and their vocation. But that was prior to their three-year journey with Jesus. When Jesus breathed his Holy Spirit on them and sent them out on a mission of forgiveness and reconciliation, he didn’t intend for them to go back to their old way of doing things. They had a new mission and a new purpose in life. They had a new identity as followers of Christ. In our story today, it appears that Jesus had come to remind them of their mission. Once they had a shared meal on the seashore together, Jesus gives Peter a threefold command - feed my lambs, tend to my sheep, and feed my sheep. In other words, your vocational calling is no longer fishing for fish, but fishing for people.

Today, it is not as clear for us as it was for those disciples. Jesus hasn’t physically appeared to us in the same way that he appeared to them. But we are still called to follow Christ in all that we do. But this can be a terribly difficult thing to do. Following Christ isn’t just about being a member of a church, attending church on Sundays, or identifying as a Christian. It is about a unique way of being in this world. And this way of being in the world can be lived out in a myriad of professions, geographical locations, churches, and relationships.

On Friday, May 20, we will have a newcomer dinner and orientation here at the Christ the King. We will recognize with joy and gratitude those who, over the past couple of years – have become a part of our church family. And we will also use that time to tell the story of Christ the King through the years, and explore ways how we can go deeper in our relationship together. Some of you may have started coming here two or three years ago, but still feel like a newcomer. A lot of that has to do with covid – since for almost two years we were unable to have fellowship and gatherings here at the church.

But similar to our gospel lesson today, there is a thread that runs deeper than the presenting storyline. The newcomers among us have prayerfully discerned that at this point in their journey of faith, this is the place where they feel that God is calling them to be, and we are the people with whom they feel God is calling them to connect. But it is also a good time for all of us to pay attention to where we are on our journey of faith. We can draw inspiration from the newcomers in our midst – they had the courage to prayerfully listen to God’s call for them to make a change, whether it was geographical, denominational, or social. Where and how might God be calling each of us to make some sort of change in our lives so that we can more authentically and faithfully live out our calling as followers of Christ? Do any of us need to try casting our nets on the other side of the boat?

My prayer is that all of us will listen for Christ’s voice – his invitation to cast our nets on the other side of the boat. Or for some of us, as was the case with the disciples, the call might be for us to leave the boat entirely. We must remember that ultimately, the call is to follow Christ’s call for us to follow him. If we faithfully respond to Christ’s call for us, our other decisions will fall into place with God’s blessing.