Sermons by Bishop Paul V. Marshall
Sermon at the Eucharist of the 125th Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Bethlehem
Bishop Paul V. Marshall
December 6, 1996Is. 2:2-4; Eph. 2:13-22; Luke 10:1-9
It is difficult to express how wonderful it feels to be here tonight as for the first time the diocese gathers with me to do what we are to do first and foremost: to be the church, proclaiming the word of God, and celebrating the sacraments of the New Covenant. From this center flows our community life, our care of the needy, our insistence on justice for the oppressed, and our explicit witness to the Lordship of Jesus Christ. It is also a pleasure to thank the rector and people of St. Stephen's, as well as the choir, musicians, and all those who worked to make this liturgy so beautiful and powerful.
Tomorrow I shall have some personal observations on the many very real joys (and the occasional woes) of being a baby bishop to share with. Tonight, however, I would like simply to reflect with you on the scriptures that we have just heard.
In Woody Allen's film, Mighty Aphrodite, there is a scene where his character discovers that the birth mother of his adopted son is prostitute, and not at all an elegant one. In trying to get to know her, in order to assure himself that his son has potential, Allen asks the woman an endless string of questions. Finally he asks, do you have any religion? She answers, and PLEASE don't laugh at this, "No, my parents were Episcopalians." Now Allen was taking a cheap shot at Mia Farrow here, as Ms. Farrow and her children are fairly faithful in attendance at Saint Mark's in Bridgewater, CT. What concerns me is that for the joke to work, there has to be a common perception of the Episcopal Church as a slightly decadent collection of people who want the veneer of very chic, very tasteful religion, on Sunday, but who live the rest of the week as though they had never heard or uttered the name of Jesus Christ except when exceptionally angry.
You and I know that this perception is not true of most Episcopalians, and it is definitely not funny. Each of us shows up in church on Sunday, each of us has sloshed our way through the weather to be together here today, because we know that Jesus Christ is the power of God for a salvation that touches every aspect of our life, transforming our experience into what the epistle calls a dwelling place for God. Why do we tolerate the enormous amount of kidding (or worse) that goes on about our church? I'm not sure I've heard a convincing answer, so perhaps we all may want to think about that overnight.
The scriptures before us tonight have a certain urgency that leaves no room for a church to be satisfied with being quaint, campy, or clubby. For starting with the Old Testament lesson, we discover that the stakes are really quite high, that the question is not less than but also a great deal more than getting the children some moral training. God's prophet says that the goal is for all the people of the world to come together, and having learned the wisdom of God, to beat their swords into plowshares, to study war no more. Unity, wisdom, and peace are Gods gift for what is often a disordered, foolish and violent world.
In the Epistle lesson, the language of human hostility and division reaches every sentence. What can break down the wall of hostility -- a marvelous phrase -- what can break down the wall of hostility that divides people from each other, is the reconciling love of God made known in the Cross of Christ. The basic operating principles of the church are not founded in an 18th-century concept of the rights of land-owning white males, or the rights of anybody at all, but in the sweaty, blood-drenched love of God for the world. From that love, by that love, we are, St. Paul says, made parts of the household -- and the house -- of God. He sees us, founded on Christ, joined into a structure, the living temple of the Living God. The seemingly impractical dream of Isaiah is provided with its ways and means in the ministry of Jesus Christ, the son of God. THAT is what we have to share with the world still divided, still hostile and mistrusting, still studying war for all that it is worth.
This is where the true inclusivity of Christianity can be seen. Everyone, absolutely everyone of us, and everyone in the world, is welcome to the feet of Jesus, and, as the savior put it in his very first sermon, absolutely everyone is invited to repent and believe the gospel. Everyone is invited to turn from the things, actions, or beliefs that defile their life, to discover that God awaits their return as surely as the Prodigal Son was welcomed, and really believe that God wants to give them identity, forgiveness, security, and peace. We are asked to believe that the angels rejoice in heaven at that kind of repentance. And we know that repentance and growth are not a once-in-a-lifetime event, but a process of renewal that continues as we grow into the full stature of maturity in Christ.
In the entertainment world, there are people called roadies, members of a team that gets the site ready for the stars to walk on and do their act. The gospel lesson shows us Jesus appointing seventy roadies, the advance team who were to go ahead of him to get every town he intended to visit in shape to receive him. I feel a bumper sticker coming on. I will resist the urge, however, simply saying that perhaps our own sense of the importance of how we act and what we say would change if we thought of ourselves as Roadies of Redemption. Advent is a wonderful time to think of ourselves as people preparing the way for Jesus to come to town.
When we think of ourselves as Jesus' roadies, that sometimes dull job we go to, with sometimes boring people, changes into a place to bring the peace we know in Christ. The sometimes difficult task of loving, forgiving, and worshipping next to people who see things very differently than do we, takes on new significance. There is no one who cannot help to make their space ready for Christ -- there are no unimportant lives if we share our time and space with God.
The sacrament we celebrate here today is often called the sacrament of unity. We share the act of sacrifice, as we offer praise and thanksgiving to God for our creation and redemption. We share the meal where Christ gives himself to each individual in a way that also gathers us together like grains of wheat gathered into a single loaf. That's the easy part, in a sense. As Christian writers since the second century have reminded us, however, we are what we eat. The bread is broken, the wine is poured out, for the life of the world. What Woody Allen might find interesting to know, is that after we share this meal, we don't sit back, burp a little, and drift off into an after dinner nap. No, we pray, Send us into the world to DO the work you have given us to do, with gladness and singleness of heart. We say those words because we know that we have received a great treasure, whose value we only know when we share it. So, let's open our hearts a bit wider, please, to the words of our collect today:
"O God of all the nations of the earth: Remember the multitudes who have been created in your image but have not known the redeeming work of our Savior Jesus Christ; and grant that, by the prayers and labors of your holy Church, they may be brought to know and worship you as you have been revealed in your Son; who lives and reigns with you the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. AMEN."
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