Homily: Christian Traffic Signals, 5/17/20

Easter 6, 17 May 2020 A

Psalm 66:7 – 18; Acts 17:22 – 31; 1 Peter 3:13 – 22; John 14:15 – 21

And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying “This is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”  Luke 22:19 – 20

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.  John 15:12 – 13

And they (the newly baptized) devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Acts 2:42

As I was driving [to the church (i.e. to the building where we normally gather for corporate worship) on Tuesday of the week just ended, face masked per regulations even in the solitary confine of my automobile, many thoughts rushed through my mind].  Some interesting, but still odd, thoughts.  I was comforted by the emergence of the brilliant shades of green now visible after days of rain.  I felt the warm of the sun.  And then I thought of another reality.  At an hour when, just weeks ago, one would have had to negotiate vehicular traffic with extreme caution, the streets were virtually empty, and a drive [that] could take 25 to 45 minutes was reduced to 10.

I recalled gaining at the age of 16, now many decades ago, my learner’s permit and my driver’s license [shortly thereafter].  The philosopher in me caused me to recall what my first examiner had said at that time: ‘Young man, you probably think of your permit, and later your license, as a right. But you should think of it as a privilege granted to you by the City of St. Louis.  This privilege entitles you to drive not only in the city but in the state and, because of reciprocity (a word, as studious as I then was, I had to look up when I arrived home) to drive in any state in the United States.’  These are, of course, not his exact words but as I now recall them.

I learned what reciprocity means and that was not all.  In order to pass the written test for my learner’s permit, I had to learn the shapes and definition of regulatory signs, as well as know which carried the force of fines and other forms of punishment under law, and which, although legal, also allowed me discretion, depending on circumstance.  The learner’s manual displayed the octagonal “stop sign” and the electric traffic signal with its red, yellow, and green lights.  The double yellow line prohibited passing.  To obey them was mandatory.  Rectangular signs covered many regulations, some mandatory (speed limit), some advisory and cautionary (children at play).  It was my responsibility to inform myself of their meaning and significance.  In order to pass my driving test, the dreaded although much-anticipated road test, one thing above all other things I had to comprehend: SAFETY, writ large.  At all times I was to protect my own and that of others who were using the streets and roads.  On that occasion, which I passed with flying colors, my tester said: ‘Congratulations, son!  Remember: safety first.’

Surely you must think these were odd thoughts to occupy my thinking as I drove to and arrived at the building [that] houses what we call St. James Church, inasmuch as I [did not] violate en route [any] of the traffic regulations, wore my clergy uniform, and obeyed the additional mandate placed on all denizens of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts when in public.  Perhaps my sole violation on that morning was to deign to consider myself an essential person, embarked on essential business.  I needed to be in church.

As I sat that morning in the empty sanctuary, in a pew actually midway in an edifice that can easily seat 300 individuals with room to spare, [in] a place where I never sit because you have entrusted me with the privilege of presiding at Mass, at Eucharist, at The Last Supper, I realized that the sanctuary was not truly empty.  Yes, the altar, the lectern, the pulpit—all adorned with the seasonal covering—the empty stoup and the dry baptismal font, the side altar with its tabernacle for reserved Blessed Sacrament bare, the historic organ silent, the cross that hangs above the altar–they were all there where they have been for over a century.  So, no, the sanctuary was not empty.  But for me, these were merely physical things.

No, there was another reason why the physical building was not empty.  As I looked around at the stained glass windows, icons of adoration to apostles and saints [that were] given to the glory of God and in memory of loved ones, I could see in my mind’s eye others gone long before me who had sat in that sacred place, perhaps in the same pew.  Even devoid of any human presence other than my own, that sacred place known to us as St. James Church was not empty.  Our forebears, our predecessors and believers of another era in the Risen Christ, individuals most admittedly not known to me, but probably to some of you, gave real meaning to the words from the Letter to the Hebrews (12:1) “surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses” who, in their day, “looked to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith…and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”  They were there with me.

What took me to Broadway and Clarendon Avenue at Teele Square was a Pastoral Letter from our bishops, which you all will have received.  That communique informed us, as followers of the Risen Christ in the Diocese of Massachusetts, that we may not gather for in-person worship prior to 1 July 2020.  Our bishops, in consultation with the bishop of the Diocese of Western Massachusetts and others who give them counsel, address the rule, mandate, commandment [that] governs actions of those affiliated with the diocese who call themselves Christians: love God and love neighbor as self.  This we reaffirm in our Baptismal Vows, namely to respect the dignity of every human being, which, even in its most narrow interpretation means [to not] place others at risk.  I had the privilege of ordination, as well as the practicality of a key, to sit in our sacred place in order to ponder further our bishops’ revised mandate.

The bishops’ Pastoral Letter came as no surprise to me because, from family living overseas under the same pandemic, I could gauge developments in our Commonwealth and, months ago, could have voiced what has become for us here a reality that has resulted in a new hoped-for reopening date of our sanctuaries.

While sitting in the sacred space that is St. James Church, my mind wandered back to three verses from Holy Scripture, three verses [that] struck me as theological and ecclesiastical traffic signals.

And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying “This is my body which is given for you.  Do this in remembrance of me.”  Luke 22:19 – 20

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.  Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.  John 15:12 – 13

And they (the newly baptized) devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Acts 2:42

As people of faith, believers in and followers of the Risen Christ through our baptism, we have become heirs to a privilege, and with that privilege we have received from Christ several “rules and regulations,” the chief of which is to give praise, glory and honor to the Eternal One for Jesus Christ, God’s Messiah who gave his life for all humankind.  When we gather, whenever and wherever we gather, we see as our central act of devotion the Eucharist, the Mass, in which we carry out Christ’s mandate: “Do this in remembrance of me.”  It is in the fulfillment of this mandate that we enjoy the presence of the Risen Christ.  However, we are not allowed to stop there.  A further regulation takes us into the world and assists us in navigating our social traffic, our interaction with one another: “that you love one another as I have loved you.”  And we observe these mandates of the Christian road by devoting ourselves “to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking bread and the prayers.”

What drove me, what motivated me to drive to Broadway and Clarendon was, on the one side, to make certain that the church as a building still stood.  I had no reason to doubt that reality.  On the other side, and much more important to my belief (and I hope also to your own) was something far less tangible.  It was to contemplate what Paul teaches us in today’s first reading, which is none other than the teaching that led to the stoning of Stephen [that] Paul, then Saul, had sanctioned.  Now, after his conversion, Paul declares in Athens the following:

The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. (Acts 17:24 – 25)

The apostles’ teaching and fellowship included both the breaking of bread, which we continue in our spiritual communion, and in the prayers, which we can offer to God no matter our location and condition.  Biblical evidence is clear that prayer, in addition to or exclusive of the breaking of bread, is essential to the whole and a wholesome life of the believer.  Our Lord Jesus Christ did not forsake prayer, when the Temple in Jerusalem or a synagogue was not accessible.  A mountain top sufficed, or the Garden at Gethsemane.  Our prayers, as do our partaking of communion in person or in spirit, unite us with each other as a congregation as well as with those beyond our walls at Teele Square.  Our prayers remind us that we are ‘surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses,’ both those gone before as well as those companions now on the spiritual road that we travel, some of whom we have not yet met.  Our prayers point us to the One who is worthy at all times of our praise, thanksgiving, and honor.

Our Book of Common Prayer, which unites us throughout the world with likeminded believers, offers us, while absent one from the other, a guide by which we may maintain our union.  [I call to your attention these prayers under “Prayers and Thanksgiving.”]  But especially do I offer you two prayers [for your own reflection and meditation], one of which comes from our Hebrew sisters and brothers and one from our own Missal.  I find in them comfort, as we share in the hope of our bishops for a soon rejoining of our corporate worship:

Eternal One, You are our unfailing help.  Darkness does not conceal You from the eye of faith, nor do the forces of destruction obscure Your presence.  Above the fury of human evil and the blows of chance You abide, the Eternal God.  When pain and sorrow try our souls, grant us courage to meet them undismayed and with faith that does not waver.  Let not the tears that must come to every eye blind us to Your goodness.  Amen
(Chaim Stern. Gates of Prayer for Shabbat. CCAR Press. NY, NY. 1992)

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family, take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.
(Book of Common Prayer, pg. 815)

And Jesus said: They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.  John 14:21

AMEN