christianity

Refreshed & Renewed through Baptismal Waters

St. Mark’s, Altadena banner at St. John’s Cathedral, Jan. 11, 2025.

A sermon for the First Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ, January 12, 2025. The scriptures are Isaiah 43:1-7, Acts 8:14-17, Luke 3:15-17, 21-22, and Psalm 29.

Christians have a complicated relationship with water. At the beginning of the creation story in Genesis, the watery void is darkness and chaos, but God’s Word brings light and life. In our day, the precariousness of water is hard to deny. We pray for more water in California. Our hearts break for those affected by the fires in Los Angeles. We pray for those who have lost their lives, their loved ones, their homes and possessions, their businesses, and their life as they knew it. Would that God rain down a steady, calm, beautiful rain to put out all the fires, to begin to bring healing, and to restore a balance in creation.

But at the same time, just days ago, too much water caused havoc and disaster in North Carolina Tennessee, and Georgia; and caused huge calamity in Valencia, Spain. There, the waters came too fast and too strong, overpowering everything in their path.

In our first reading, Isaiah hears God tell the people
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.

But how are the people of St. Mark’s Church, Altadena, where the church burned to the ground, hearing these words today?  How are the people of All Souls, Asheville, who are worshipping in another church because theirs is ruined by water, hearing these scriptures? 

Well, we can pray that they would especially hear the first part of God’s promise, that no matter what, God is with them, and we can pray that those in need would also feel the strength of our prayers and support.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” These words of God through Isaiah are similar to the words heard at the baptism of Jesus.

Water plays an equally precarious role in our spiritual lives. On one hand, it challenges. Saint Paul understands baptism as dying and rising again. He says, “We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” (Romans 6). This means that a life of faith will not always be easy. We don’t go from life to death and to new life without some effect, and at the very least, we will be getting wet. The challenges will come to us—whether they come through relationships, political changes, health crises, or disasters of nature, but the water of baptism strengthens us.

The water of baptism, once we receive it, replenishes itself within us, so that we can offer spiritual water, living water, to others. our baptism carries with it the command as well as the courtesy of offering water to others. At Holy Trinity we literally offer water at Saturday dinners. We offer water at receptions and coffee hours and whenever we welcome people. Especially in partnership with the wider Church, we offer water ever people thirst, in hospitals and soup kitchens; in prisons and parks; and in streets and schools.

But we also offer water spiritually, whenever and wherever we introduce others to Christ. We offer water when we simply help people learn that there IS a source of water, that there is a God of love, and that there is a God of forgiveness and compassion.

Jesus received water from John the Baptist. Jesus received water from the Samaritan woman. And he makes it clear that when we offer water to others in his name; it is as good as offering it to the Lord himself. As the heavens open in Luke’s Gospel, the Holy Spirit descends and the voice of God is heard, it must have seemed at first like a storm, like a great thunderstorm threatening rain and water. The heavens opened and water was given, but it came with a blessings.

Just as Jesus was baptized, we are baptized and we are sent into the world baptizing in the name of the Holy Trinity. Our baptism is where we are initially commissioned, and we live into that baptism, we live out that commission for the rest of our lives.

Yesterday, in Los Angeles, at St. John’s Cathedral, four people were ordained to the priesthood. A little like the ordinations in our diocese soon after 9/11, this service was a powerful gathering of God’s people—wounded and wondering, beaten down but unbroken—and it gave witness to the power of our faith.  Michael Mischler was one of those ordained, and he works at St. Mark’s Church, Altadena, which was completed burned by the fires last week. Some 40 parishioners from St. Marks attended the service to support Mark. Since the congregation’s processional banner perished in the fire, those processing to represent the church had nothing to carry.  And so, the children of the church made a colorful poster that they mounted to a processional pole. It said simply St. Mark’s Altadena, and included the symbol of St. Mark—the lion—strong, resourceful, and valiant.

This is the power of baptismal water—it renews. It enlivens. Even in the midst of death, it raises up. Even when they feel like they have no living water to offer, the Holy Spirit provides, and there’s water to share.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

The Prayer Book reminds us that “Holy Baptism is the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us members of Christ’s Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God.” (The Catechism, BCP page 858).

On this feast we give thank for the baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ, for his becoming like us that we might become more like him. And we give thanks for our own baptism, even as we look for more opportunities to live out our baptism and share the living water with others.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Verb Among Us

A sermon for the First Sunday after Christmas Day, December 29, 2024. The scriptures are Isaiah 61:10-62:3, Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7, John 1:1-18, and Psalm 147 or 147:13-21.


John of the Cross has poem in which he mediates on the Gospel we just heard. The poem is really an extended meditation on the Incarnation—what it means that God has come among us and God continues to move within us and around us as God-in-relationship, or as we say in shorthand, God as Holy Trinity.

John wrote in 17th century Spanish and the Bible he knew best was in Latin, so there is a lot of room for translation of his words.

The Latin phrase for the beginning of today’s Gospel is straightforward,

            In principio erat Verbum, et Verbum erat apud Deum,
            et Deus erat Verbum.

Typically this translates to what we heard this morning, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.

But instead of translating the Latin Verbum as palabra, Spanish for “word,” John includes some wiggle room, he writes, En el principio moraba el Verbo, y en Dios vivía …

My favorite English translation of John’s poem keeps this nuance and puts John’s poem like this:

In the beginning resided
the Verb, and it lived in God,
in whom it possessed its infinite happiness.

God was the Verb itself,
the beginning was spoken.
It lived in the beginning and it had no beginning.

It was the beginning itself;
That is why it lacked it;
The Verb is called Son, born from the beginning.

In the beginning resided
the Verb, and it lived in God,
in whom it possessed its infinite happiness.

I love John’s poem version of the Gospel of John because of its movement, its energy, and its life.

The Gospel is beautiful and central to the hearing of the Christmas message.  But it’s easy to hear it passively.  The Word WAS, Was, Is, …. My role is to receive.

And yet, we know from the live of Jesus that to receive without responding is to live without faith. The Letter to the Hebrews reminds us that faith is “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen.”  But faith is what moves us, it’s what animates us. Faith is what builds bridges and makes peace. Faith feeds and clothes and comforts.

The Word is a verb, and that Verb lives in us and moves us out of ourselves and into the world.

We see the activity of God’s Word at the beginning of time. Our Biblical account of creation happens by a word. In Genesis we read, “The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters. And God said, God said, “Let there be light.” And there was light. God said, Let there be this, and let there be that, and after each thing was created, God spoke a single word again: “Good,” God said, “It’s all very, very good.” The Word was busy, shaping and making and proclaiming and blessing.

When John speaks of the “Word,” the Greek term he uses is Logos, and Logos meant more than just a word, more even than all words put together. Way back in Greek philosophy, in the 3rd century BC, Heraclitus said that the Logos “governs all things.” And yet, the Logos is also present in the everyday. Later, the Stoics took up the idea of the Logos and used it to mean “the principle that orders the universe.” So when John uses Logos, or Word, he’s using a term that would have worked as a kind of hyperlink, culturally. To say that the Word was with God and the Word was God, and then to say that this Word, this ordering principle of the universe is completely summed up in Jesus of Nazareth, John is pulling together a lot of different ways of understanding the world.

The Word is a Verb when we allow Christ to be born in our lives. And that frees our bodies and loosens our tongues to be faithful.  So often our politicians and religious leaders offer words, but no actions.  As we end one year and begin another, it might be helpful for us to pray about the ways in which we do the same thing.

Are there ways in which we have offered words, but not acted in any way to follow up, or make the words come alive?  Are there words we’ve used, or thought, or prayed, or framed our lives with that have been mostly nouns, but could accomplish so much more if they were verbs?

The old prayers used in Salisbury, England give shape to words we might use, and so we can pray

God be in our hearts, and in our reaching;
God be in our hands and in our building,
God be in our feet and in our moving,
God be in our heads, and in our understanding;
God be our my eyes, and in our looking;
God be in our mouths
and in our speaking and in our acting.
Amen.

Helped out of a Ditch (of Sin)

A sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent, December 8, 2024. The scriptures are Baruch 5:1-9, Philippians 1:3-11, Luke 3:1-6, and Canticle 4 or 16.

Today’s scriptures ask us to prepare ourselves for the coming of God. They invite us to make ready, to allow God, in the words of Malachi, to “refine us like gold and silver, until we present offerings to the Lord in righteousness….until we are “pleasing to the Lord as in the days of old and as in former years. ” We are invited to a way of “repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” “Repent so that sins are forgiven.” All these words that sound familiar for the language of the church, but what do they really mean?

At some level, it’s all clear enough, probably. Just like when we were children, if we took something that didn’t belong to us, or hit a sibling or playmate, or acted out in some way, our parents taught us what it is like to say we’re sorry. The saying of “sorry” opened up a door to forgiveness, and a way to restore the relationship. We could play again with our friend. We could feel again the closeness and warmth of the love of the parent. But as we grow older, sin becomes a little more confusing sometimes.

How do we repent when we’re not even sure if we have sinned? How do we know if something is our fault, or the fault of someone or something beyond us? How do we know if God is listening, when we say we’re sorry? And what does forgiveness feel like?

In our culture, I think we’ve inherited a combination of attitudes around sin. Some would simply dismiss any talk of “sin” as something outdated and leftover from a time when the church used superstition and power to rule over the lives of the faithful. And so, a lot of people don’t really think much about sin, or reflect much on their part when things seem to go wrong.

But for people who are at some level involved with God, people who seek to be in relationship with God, people who want to follow the way of Jesus Christ, one of two attitudes toward sin often prevails. The first attitude toward sin is intensely personal. The belief is that God has shown us what God expects of us, through the 10 Commandments and other laws, through the life of Jesus Christ, through the preaching of the apostles, and through the teaching of the Church. So, when we break a rule, it’s my fault, it’s the fault of the individual. It’s my responsibility, then to approach God and ask for forgiveness.

This can happen through silent confession (me and God), or might happen through the church’s sacrament of reconciliation (whether using an old fashioned confessional, or sitting aside a priest in the chapel).

And yet, some have pointed out that there is no such thing as an individual Christian. To be a Christian is to be a person of faith in community, and so everything about the living out of our faith involves other people.

At the other extreme of attitudes toward sin is to view sin as primarily communal or social. When we see a tragedy on the news of a person who goes on a shooting rampage, such a view moves beyond the perpetrator to think about the societal forces that might have moved the person to do such an awful thing. One is unlikely to say the kind of thing that might have been said in other ages: “that person has a demon,” or “that person is evil.” But instead, we’re more likely to hear, “that person must have grown up in a bad family, and must not have had other options. They must have been driven to do such evil.”

How do we balance the two extremes—the one that only blames the individual with the one that gives quick and easy absolution to the individual and blames society?

Our scriptures give us a clue. John the Baptist quotes Isaiah by saying, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’” John, through Isaiah, shows us that sin is indeed personal, but it has communal effects. In the same way, when I repent and am restored to new fellowship with God, that also brings with it a restoration to right relationship with other people. It makes the way not only for justice, but it also makes the way for peace.

One of the best images for dealing with sin, for me, comes from the 14th century holy woman, Julian of Norwich (1342-1416). When she was 30 years old, Julian almost died from a fever or some other ailment, and while she was sick, she received a vision from God. She wrote down the vision, but continued to pray to God for more insight. Twenty years later, she wrote down an extended version of what she remembered and how the Holy Spirit helped her understand its meaning.

In a part of her vision, Julian is shown a great Lord who has a devoted servant. The Lord sends the servant off on some errand, and the servant is excited to do it. But then the servant falls into a ditch. And the servant “is greatly injured” as Julian writes.

[The servant] groans and moans and tosses about and writhes, but cannot rise to help himself in any way . . . And all this time his loving lord looks on him most tenderly . . .with great compassion and joy.” She explains that the servant “was diverted from looking on his lord, but his will was preserved in God’s sight. I saw the lord commend and approve him for his will, but he himself was blinded and hindered from knowing this will. And this is a great sorrow and a cruel suffering to him, for he neither sees clearly his loving lord, who is so meek and mild to him, nor does he truly see what he himself is in the sight of his loving lord.

We can probably identify with the moaning and tossing of the servant who has fallen. Sin can be painful. When we’ve fallen so low that we can’t see out, we feel cut off and alone. It can feel like death. But if we remember that God is watching, God is smiling at us, we can gain the encouragement to begin to try to get out of the ditch. We pray. We ask for help. We look for creative insight. Sometimes we need a boost, and we ask for others to help us. Sometimes, we simply need to do some climbing, get dirty, use our spiritual and physical muscles and simply get up and out. It is the work of spiritual discernment for us to learn to know what is needed to get out of the ditch. God gives us the church for help, the Bible for help, the saints and tradition, and God gives us one another.

The Collect for the Second Sunday of Advent has us ask God that we might be given the grace to heed the warnings of the prophets “and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer.”

May God help us not to be paralyzed by sin, and not to ignore sin that could make us stumble later on. But instead, may God help us believe the words of Jesus when he says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”  Jesus extends his hand to help us out, to pull us up, and to enable us to stand, walk, and run again.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Christ the King

A sermon for Christ the King Sunday, November 24, 2024. The scriptures are Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14, , Psalm 93, Revelation 1:4b-8, John 18:33-37.

Today we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King. It is a little like a New Year’s celebration in the church, since this day works as a kind of exclamation point to the church year. A new church year begins next Sunday with the First Sunday of Advent, as we slow down a bit, breathe deeply, and begin to think about what it means that God has come into the world in the flesh, as a little baby named Jesus.

But today is Christ the King and in the scripture readings there runs the steady theme of the Kingdom of God.

In the Book of Daniel there are some frightening images. There are fires and flames, beasts and burnings. There is conflict and warfare, but the end result is a kingdom, a kingdom that is glorious and everlasting and serves the Ancient of Days for ever.

The psalm invites us to sing the praises of the Lord God who is like a king. So mighty is our God that all creation rises up to praise him, people, nations, even the waters themselves lift up their voices.

The Revelation to John also celebrates the king as victor. While it gives hope to the scattered Christians being persecuted in the first century, it also describes a cosmic battle of good and evil, where the victory is so complete that even we, living much later, become royals. John gives glory, “To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood and made us a kingdom, priests to his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever.” This is a vision of victory that stretches to everyone, making us all kings and queens, princes and princesses, people created in the very image and likeness of God.

In the Gospel, Jesus explains to Pontius Pilate, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews; my kingdom is not from here.” “My kingdom is not from this world.”

From the calling of the disciples, through the healings and parables and teachings, even as they enter into Jerusalem for the celebration of the Passover, there is confusion over this kingdom of God as it pertains to Jesus. He explains his kingdom by what it is not, rather than by what it might be. When asked, Jesus gives simple images. The kingdom is like a mustard seed. The kingdom is a like the yeast used by a woman baking bread. The kingdom is like a pearl of great price. The kingdom is here, but it is not here.
How we perceive the kingdom of God will directly affect how we live out our lives in faith.

The Church over time has understood the kingdom of God in different ways. At some points, it has understood the kingdom of God as a goal for the here-and-now. The idea of Christendom, a civilization ruled by Christian kings, following Christian laws and fighting for Christian ideals allowed for and encouraged the crusades.

It has allowed for the persecution of Jews and Muslims and anyone perceived not to fit into the prevailing understanding of what it means to be “Christian.” There are, of course, still those who would have this nation be an overtly Christian one, with so-called Christian laws on the books, just like people in other places advocate for another religion’s laws to rule the day. But whenever people begin to try to create the kingdom of God in time, before long, the kingdom of God often seems to look a lot like us. It becomes a reflection of our own values and beliefs, and often the uglier side of those believes. However, the words of Jesus are clear: “My kingdom is not from this world.”

Others in the history of the Church have taken our Lord at his word and understood his kingdom as only having to do with heaven, far, far away. Therefore, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness in this world, simply need to wait: they’ll get their justice in the next life. But to believe that the kingdom of God only exists in heaven leaves us with little or no responsibility for the earth where we live.

But there is another view. Instead of the kingdom absolutely now or the kingdom way away in heaven, Christ calls us into a more unpredictable place, to live between the “already” and the “not-yet.” Wherever there are signs of justice and hope and faith, there is a breaking-in of the kingdom. But it’s partial, not yet fully realized.

The season of Advent will give us opportunity to explore this further as we look at what it means for Christ to have come into the world as a child, but also for us to look forward to his coming again in glory at the end of times.

So the kingdom, in some sense, is Christ himself. As he reveals himself, the kingdom unfolds. The kingdom of God spreads out as we receive Christ and come to know and love him and continue to embody his kingdom-goals in our lives. As Saint John realizes from the Revelation, “God has made us (with Christ in us) to be a kingdom.”

This kingdom is not of the world. It is a kingdom of reversals. Our Lady, herself, sang of this kingdom, “He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree. He has filled the hungry with good things; and the rich He has sent empty away.” To live with Christ as King is to live with an awareness of this reversal.

His is also a kingdom of welcome. When we read the Gospels it is a wild array of people who come to hear Jesus, who follow him, and who make him their Lord. Some are prostitutes, some are tax collectors, some widows, some soldiers; some are very rich, some are very poor, but they are unlikely to meet except in the presence of Christ. To live with Christ as King is to live in continual welcome of the outcast, of those who have nowhere else to go.

And finally, his is a kingdom of possibilities. To live with Christ as King is to live in expectation, to live in hope, and to live in faith. It is a kingdom of second chances, and third chances and fourth and fifth and sixth chances.

Especially on this day, we give thanks for Christ our King. And we give thanks that it is a kingdom that has been given to us, for us to extend to all of those who might believe. May we rejoice in this kingdom of reversals. May we open our doors to a kingdom of outcasts. And may we open our hearts to a kingdom of possibilities.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Healing and Faithfulness

As is my custom, on Annual Meeting Sundays, I offer the Rector’s Annual Report (of the previous year) within the context of the sermon. This year’s Annual Meeting on the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany, January 28, 2024 reflects on our life and ministry in 2023. The scripture readings are Deuteronomy 18:15-20, Psalm 111, 1 Corinthians 8:1-13, and Mark 1:21-28.

The terra cotta balustrade on the West Porch entrance to the Church, completed in 2023.

Rector’s Report for 2023

The scriptures for today can raise all kinds of questions for us. Among them, the first reading asks, “Who do we listen to?” The Epistle wonders, “What should we eat?” And the Gospel asks, “How do we respond when faced with what feel like demons or negative forces around us?” The scriptures work together to suggest that we listen deeply and closely to God. They suggest that we look to God for guidance, for direction, and especially for healing.

On this Annual Meeting Sunday, it’s this third aspect of God’s presence, healing, that I’m using as a lens for reflecting on our previous year together, the church and program year of 2023.

Last year, we continued to navigate the resurgence of Covid-19 and other viruses, but we did what we could to encourage and foster healing of mind, body, and spirit.

Healing through Worship and Programs
Every Sunday morning, Adam Koch and our choir have helped heal our souls. On Sunday nights, Calvyn du Toit and Joe Bullock have led our worship in beauty and style. I was especially grateful for Adam’s efforts and all those who sang in the summer volunteer choir, with between 20 and 30 people joining each month.

Thanks to Liz Poole, we resumed yoga in person, on Tuesdays, and each week, we’ve had between ten and twenty people come, most of them non-churchgoers.

Our programs have brought healing and equipped us to carry this sense into the community. We’ve done this through a variety of educational opportunities and especially through our summer Sunday morning meditation. Thanks again to Simone Crockett for guiding us in our centering prayer and meditation.

Last summer, Adam and I coordinated a new program we called, “Summer Sounds and Social.” At each of these hot summer nights, we felt God’s healing presence as we shared music, food, fellowship, and learning.

While I resist associating faithfulness with numbers, I am grateful that we are mostly back at pre-pandemic attendance in our worship services. Demographics shift, and some of our most loyal and faithful members have died or moved away, but we are excited to have new people finding us and making us their church home.

We were able to hear firsthand how Holy Trinity’s grant from the Global Mission Commission of the Diocese of New York is helping people in Iraq, when we had programs with SWIC (Standing with Iraqi Christians) and were able to provide hospitality and a dinner program with Father Jerjez and Mr. Kakrash from St. George’s Anglican Church, Baghdad.

Holy Trinity continued to be deepened through our friendship with St. Stephen’s, Rochester Row, our link parish in the Diocese of London. We shared a Lenten series on art and spirituality and co-hosted an online discussion of Artificial Intelligence and Theology. The Rev. Graham Buckle, vicar of St. Stephens, visited in the spring and parishioners from our parishes have visited each other.

Healing Spaces
I don’t think it’s too strong a term to speak of “healing” our building, and in this, we’ve been especially blessed by (“Dr.,” or perhaps “Miracle Worker”) Lu Paone and his team of “specialists.” They’ve detected leaks, repaired drains, averted electrical disasters, renewed spaces to allow income, and much more.

After a power outage zapped our old sound system, we were able to replace it last year. A former rector of mine used to say that the devil lived in the sound system at that church, and so, that sense, the sound system at Holy Trinity has been “healed,” and seems to be helping more people feel included in what we do, say, and sing.

Our columbarium addition was completed and installed last year, and it continues to allow for healing at the time of death, as the remains of loved ones are now able to rest nearby, here with friends, here with family.

Healing in the Community
The programs of Holy Trinity Neighborhood Center, Inc. offer healing every week through the Saturday Supper, regularly feeding between 85 and 100 people. Joe Lipuma and others have attracted new volunteers, and we continue to move closer to expanding programs we might offer from HTNC. I’m grateful to the HTNC Board and to our president David Liston, for all his energy and leadership.

The Thanksgiving Dinner preparation and delivery was again a great success, thanks to members and friends of Holy Trinity and St. Joseph’s: Pat Baker, Erlinda Brent, Lydia Colon, Gretchen Dolan, Mark Kushner, Jeff McCulley, Suzanne Julig, Beth Markey, Joe Lipuma, and Kristen Ursprung. Again, last year, we had a friendraising cookout that became a cook-in because of rain and featured live music by Nick Viest and his band.

Anyone who has volunteered in St. Christopher’s House basement kitchen has probably fought with the kitchen cabinets. A few of us have even been bruised or battered when one of the old steel cabinet doors fell off or one hurt a finger trying to open or close a drawer. But late last year, momentum shifted for a renovation.

A few years ago, a small gift was made and matched by the donor’s company. That money was set aside for future kitchen renovation. Last month, we learned that through the successful application of Christine du Toit, we received a grant from her company, the World Gold Council. That grant, to HTNC, was for $50,000 to be used for kitchen renovation, which means we now have $60,000 to update and renovate the kitchen. We can’t do everything, and we know that there are some obstacles we cannot overcome, short of several million—such as ventilation issues and accessibility—but we are excited about making significant improvements, and perhaps even attracting more funds for future work. Stay tuned for more information.

We continue to work closely with Health Advocates for older People, Inc., and stay in close contact with Search & Care. But our closest neighbor is obviously the Merricat’s Castle School and its parent organization, The Association to Benefit Children. They are not only our major tenants in the Mission House, but they are also friends and family. We congratulate Merricats on its 50th anniversary this year and continue to give thanks for our visions of community and the support of children and families.

Healing through Community and Collegiality
Community and collegiality offer their own healing, and again, in 2023, we have been blessed by the volunteer faithfulness of the Rev. Deacon Pam Tang, the Rev. Doug Ousley, and the Rev. Margie Tuttle.

I’m grateful to our vestry, especially Treasurer Christine du Toit, and Secretary Paul Chernick, and to the Wardens Chris Abelt and Jean Blazina. Completing terms or rotating off vestry were Scott Hess, Leona Fredericks, and Donald Schermerhorn. Thanks to Chris Abelt and Jean Geater for standing for reelection and to Christine for agreeing to be appointed treasurer, even though term limitations require she not be on vestry for one year.

We have a sharp Investment Committee led by Jean Geater. At least quarterly, Jean, Christine du Toit, Franny Eberhart, Tony Milbank, and Alden Prouty met to keep an eye on our investment advisors and portfolio management. Thanks to Alden, who has stepped off that committee. We also have a wise and careful Budget and Finance Committee. Each month Chris Abelt, Jeanne Blazina, Christine du Toit, Jean Geater, Carol Haley, Kate Hornstien, and I meet to take a close look at the numbers. With their help, we are careful with our resources and aim to improve our stewardship in whatever way we can.

In 2023, we grieved the loss of several beloved members and friends of the parish. We mourned the loss of Allison Hajnal, Stephen Kramer, Harry Martin, Slade Mills, and of course, the former rector of the parish, the Rev. Bert Draesel. At the end of February, we celebrated Bert with a full church, several bishops, his family, and much of his music. Later last year, Ada Draesel gave Holy Trinity Bert’s personal piano, which is now in Draesel Hall, continuing Bert’s legacy of creating community and healing through music. Later this year, we’ll move into the public phase of raising money to restore the bell tower and get the bells ringing again in Bert’s memory.

As we look towards the future, I pray that God’s healing presence will surprise us with that attitude found in today’s Gospel, so that we become amazed and ask one another, “What is THIS new thing God is doing?”

There’s already new healing on the horizon. The Rev. Margie Tuttle is going to help us pray, think, and reactivate a healing prayer ministry during our 11:00 AM worship service.

Over one thousand daffodils, courtesy of Simone Crockett and a bunch of volunteer planters, is expected to sprout this spring in our garden.

With new members and friends of the parish, special occasions and celebrations marking our 125th anniversary, and a new Bishop of New York, we look forward to the many ways in which we can continue to move with God’s Healing and Life-giving Spirit.

On occasions like the Annual Meeting, I’m inclined to quote the words of St. Lawrence the Deacon. In the 3rd century, as the Roman emperor was trying to take all the treasures of the church, Lawrence was summoned before the emperor. He demanded that Lawrence turn over the church’s wealth. Lawrence gestured to the people around him, all those who made up the church—rich and poor, healthy and unhealthy, and said to the emperor THESE are the church’s treasures. The church IS truly rich, far richer than the emperor.

In good years and bad years, we have each other. Thanks be to God for the previous year, and may God bless us as we move forward.
Amen.

Redeeming “Evangelism”

A sermon for the Third Sunday after the Epiphany, January 21, 2024. The scripture readings are Jonah 3:1-5, 10, Psalm 62:6-14, 1 Corinthians 7:29-31, and Mark 1:14-20.

I had a friend in college who loved to compete. Every minute he wasn’t in class he was playing basketball. He was also a devout Southern Baptist, considering going off to seminary after college. Had you asked anyone on our floor, he would have been “most likely to be a minister.”

Rick had a routine for Saturday mornings. He would drive to his hometown, about an hour away, round up a few kids from his youth group, go to a public park and play basketball. The idea was to start a pickup game and eventually draw in strangers. At some break in the game, Rick would begin to talk about the youth group, his church and his own faith in Jesus Christ. He would very casually invite any of the new kids just met to join them all for church the next day, to come and hear more about Jesus and God’s love for all people.

My friend would refer to this Saturday morning process as “winning people for Jesus.” In other words, if someone were introduced to the Christian faith in the process of hearing about Jesus, praying to God, reading a bit of scripture, and promising to pattern one’s life after the life of Jesus, then that person had been “won” to Christ.

Now, I fully understand if that sort of evangelism seems completely intrusive and makes your skin crawl. There have been times when I would have said that that sort of thing had to do with a completely different understanding of Christianity. While I have not ever, and can’t imagine ever, being called to “basketball evangelism,” there is something in my friend’s perspective that I admire and I think we can learn from. In the notion of “wining” people for God, there is a sense of urgency.

There’s an old preacher’s story about the devil and his generals trying to mount a new offensive on Christianity, to try to make Christians ineffective in the world. The generals all gather together and the first suggests and idea. “What if we try to convince Christians that there really is no God?”

“No,” says the devil. “That will never work, too many Christians already have a strong sense of God.” The next general stands up and says, “I have it. Let’s convince them that there really is no difference between good and evil, between right and wrong.” But the devil shakes his head again. “No,” he says, “too many already know the difference and think it’s important. We’ll have to think of something else.” Finally, the third general steps forward. “Sir,” he says, “my idea is a little subtle, but I wonder if we might encourage them to continue believing in God, encourage them to distinguish between good and evil, but we simply suggest to them that there’s no hurry in any of this. There’s no need to rush, no need to worry, no sense of urgency.”

I think there is some hurry, and there is a certain urgency– because too many people are being lost. I’m not talking about church statistics, nor am I worried about denominational statistics. I’m talking about something much larger—about losing more and more people to violence— violence in the streets, violence in the home. We lose too many people to addictions, addictions of habit or need. We lose people to lives lived in compulsion, those who are never happy no matter how many things they may buy; happy no matter how many places they have traveled; happy no matter how many people they have used.

There are just too many people living lives that seem to have no purpose, lives lived in a hopeless circle of meeting immediate needs but never making space to recall why it is we might work, in the first place.

Evangelism has to do with sharing our faith. It has to do with sharing good news. It has to do with sharing a bit of ourselves with other people, whether it involves saying something about Jesus Christ through words, through prayer, or through actions. Evangelism, at least as I see it, is a matter of winning and losing. It’s not about church growth or meeting the goals of the budget or putting people on committees—it’s often life and death. It’s about life lived as fully as possible.

In today’s Gospel, the urgency shines through. Jesus calls Simon Peter and the Andrew. These two brothers are busy fishing, casting their nets, making their livelihood. But Jesus makes another offer. He raises the stakes. “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Jesus calls James and John and invites them to drop what they’re doing, but even so, to use the skills they already have and apply them to a larger purpose. This new purpose will carry them into dangerous waters, indeed, as they are led into messy, untidy, uncontrollable and unpredictable places of faith.

We, too are called to “fish for people” or rather, we’re called upon to use whatever skills, abilities, or gifts we might have in order to help others know the love of God through Jesus Christ. We may be called to teach for people, to cook for people, to build for people, or to listen for people. Whatever it is we may do, in meeting Christ, we have the potential for our everyday work to become ministry and mission. In our teaching, in our cooking, in our building, in our talking and praying and listening, we offer Christ; we fish for people.

At Holy Trinity, we’re pretty good fishers, fishermen and fisherwomen. Some of our members, as individual fishers, are outrageously successful. But it seems that, as a church, our style has not been so much to go out on the high seas or the deep water, but rather to be a little like a lobster trap. If one should wander our way and come inside, then one finds we have quite a lot to offer.

For a few years, we’ve used a slogan on our website and elsewhere that simply says, “The Church of the Holy Trinity: To show and share the love of God.” That’s a great mission and a holy mission. But to what extent do we really do that?

Lobster traps work. But I wonder if, at some point, we aren’t called to respond to that sense of urgency, the urgency of the gospel and the urgency of our own world. What would it look like if we were to fish for people in new ways?

For some, if might look like inviting a neighbor to church some time. It might look like getting involved in a new mission project and bringing people from church with you. It might look like our forming new mission relationships with some of the new refugees who have come to New York City. Or maybe others who need friendship and support around us, or further away—in Central America, the Middle East or Africa. Fishing for people might look like our sitting at a table in our garden on a hot, summer Saturday, just offering water to people who go by. Fishing for people can involve mission and hospitality, evangelism and publicity, music and ministry in all shapes and forms.

Jesus has promised to be with us always. He has told us we should never fear. With hope, and faith and joy, let’s go fishing. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.