By The Rt.
Rev. Douglas Fisher
Grace Church
– An Episcopal Community in the Southern Berkshires
(context:
St. James Church of Great Barrington and St. George’s Church of Lee merged to
form Grace Church. The church buildings were closed and the new community meets
in the large reception hall of a pub at Crissey Farm. Bishop Fisher lives five
miles from this new church.)
It is so
good to be here with you today and to celebrate liturgy with my neighbors.
Often bishops begin their sermons with greetings from their home. A couple of
weeks ago I was with Bishop Daniel Sarfo in St. John’s of Williamstown. He
began by saying “Greetings from Ghana.” When our Presiding Bishop, Katherine
Jefferts-Shori, preaches throughout the world, she says “Greetings from the
United States of America.” I stand before you today and say “Greetings from the
other side of Guido’s Food Market.”
Last week
you celebrated the 250th Anniversary of St James. I heard it was a
glorious celebration. I am sorry I could not be with you but I was at our
Cathedral, being “seated.” Part of that wonderful, traditional service is
banging on the door with the crozier, asking to be let in. I’m really happy
they allowed me through the doors and I invite you to come to our great and
holy Cathedral and see the dents I put in that door.
When I was
ordained a priest on May 17, 1980, after the ordination and before the
reception I stopped in to see an elderly priest who was dying. I prayed with him
and then asked him what advice he had for me as a young priest starting out. He
said, “Doug, love the people, just love the people.”
Your rector,
Francie Hills, loves the people of this church. She is doing what Father Basil
told me to do those many years ago. Let’s tell her how much we love her.
(applause)
I have known
for a long time what story I would use in this sermon. Here it is. My youngest daughter’s name is Grace. When
she was three years old and we were at St. Peter’s in Peekskill, whenever she
would hear the word “grace” in the liturgy, she would shout out “Hey, that’s my
name!” You would be amazed how many times we say “grace” in our service. One
time the Fisher family was going to an Anglican convent of cloistered nuns
(yes, there is such a thing in our Church). A friend of mine was being
installed as chaplain. We told our children this was not like St. Peter’s. We
had to be really quiet.
As soon as
we entered the convent chapel, the kids understood this was not like St.
Peter’s. It was a time to be quiet. The service went along fine and then the
word “grace” was said. I thought “ok, here it comes.” But Gracie stayed quiet.
She just tugged on my sleeve so I would look at her. And then she silently
lifted her hand, thumb up, and pointed to herself.
I am going
to come back to that image. Store it in your soul.
In today’s
gospel we have what some theologians call the most important line in the whole
bible. (A great advantage to preaching every week in a different place is that
I can say “today’s gospel has the most important line in the whole bible” every
week and get away with it.) Here it is: In the 15th year of the
reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod
was ruler of Galilee, and Lysanius ruler of Abilene, and Caiaphas the High
Priest, the word of God came to a man named John, son of Zechariah, in the
wilderness.”
Why is that
the most important line in the whole Bible? Because it tells us our story of
faith is not make-believe. It is the opposite of “once upon a time.” It is not
“in a galaxy far away.” It is not a fantasy. In this time and in this place,
when Tiberius was Emperor and Pilate governor of Judea and Herod ruled Galilee,
the word of God came to a man named John who had a dad named Zechariah and it
happened in the wilderness.” You can’t get much more precise than that. Our
faith is not an abstraction. It is God working with us in the real world.
There are
other important dimensions of this passage. Notice the Word of God did not come
to the Emperor or the Governor or the King or the High Priest (their equivalent
of a Bishop). It did not come to the Royal Palace or the place of political
power or the Temple. It came to a man with no titles (John), and it came in the
wilderness – a real place and a place that symbolized confusion and chaos and
dislocation. The Word of God is wild and free. It can arrive anywhere – in the
wilderness of the year 30 or maybe in the reception room of a pub in Great
Barrington in the 21st Century.
One of my
spiritual heroes is Thomas Merton. Merton was a Roman Catholic monk and social
activist who died 44 years ago tomorrow while visiting a Buddhist Monastery in
Thailand. After many years in the monastery of Gethsemane Kentucky he went to
Louisville for a doctor’s appointment. And here is what happened in his words:
“In
Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping
district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved these
people. That they were mine and I theirs. It is a glorious destiny to be a
member of the human race…there is no way of telling them that they are walking
around shining like the sun.
“I suddenly
saw the beauty of their hearts, the depth of their hearts where neither sin nor
desire nor self knowledge can reach, the core of their reality. The person that
each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could see themselves as they really
are. If only they could see each other that way all the time. There would be no
more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed.”
The word of
God came to Thomas Merton. And it was not in church. It was not in the
monastery. It was on the corner of 4th and Walnut in Louisville.
There are a
number of churches in our great diocese who are suffering under the burden of
church buildings they cannot afford. Their mission is being blocked by
maintaining buildings. They don’t know what to do. We are all looking at the
new Grace Church – the merger of St James and St George’s- praying together in
a building that is not a church. And we are looking – does the Word of God come
there? You are a new model. We are all praying for you and hoping for you and
looking to you for a new way of being church.
Here’s
another story, borrowed from other preachers. There was a Sunday School class
where every Sunday the teacher would end the class in this way: she would
invite the class to do the old hand prayer of “here is the church and here is
the steeple, open the doors and here are all the people.” (acts this out) On this Sunday there was a visitor –a little boy
with only one hand. The teacher did not know that and went into her invitation
for the usual ending. The girl sitting next to the boy with one hand saw
immediately his feeling of discomfort and isolation. She reached over to him
with a hand and grabbing his said “let’s be church together.”
Someday you
might be with a person without a church. With great courage and breaking from
your Episcopal sense of holding back, say to that person “I know of another
dimension to life. My life has been changed by faith, by knowing I am not alone
in a meaningless universe. I am held by a God who gives me life. Let’s be
church together. Let’s be Grace Church together.”
And when
that person says “where is this Grace Church? Where is the steeple?” Just lift
your hand with thumb up and point to yourself. Amen.
