Sermon, 2/23/25: Put your trust in the Lord and do good. (Psalm 37:3)

7 Epiphany

Ps. 1–12, 41–42; Genesis 45:3–11, 15; 1 Cor. 15:35–38, 42–50; Lk. 6:27–38

This morning, I begin my meditation with a citation from the psalm just recited.  “Put your trust in the Lord and do good.” (Vs. 3)  All of today’s lectionary are appropriate, that is, all guide my thinking in that which I next share with you.  However, this one verse from the psalm provides me with the basis of my mediation, which today I have divided into three related conversations.

In addition to offering you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ a priestly welcome to St. James, I extend as well a personal welcome.  Nature, in the shape of two consecutive weekend snowstorms, has deprived us of the celebration of the Holy Eucharist.  Although visually it would appear even today, presently, that we have decreased in number, I assure you that the faithfulness that individual parishioners have demonstrated has not weakened.  Illnesses in family and attention to other obligations, both private and institutional, have demanded absences at Mass.  

As your cleric, I remind you of a clear dictate found in Holy Scripture.  “Where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”  Therefore, remember, the church is not, in theological terms, a building.  A building, designated via shorthand as “church,” is merely an edifice where the true church gathers.  That welcome notwithstanding, it saddens me greatly to announce the passing, yesterday, Saturday, 22 February, of Nan Ryce, a long-term member of our congregation, at the age of 97.  As further information becomes available for our liturgical send-off of Nan, I shall most assuredly inform.

Part I
That brings me directly to the first of my three observations.  After two postponements, we meet today immediately after Eucharist as a parish to conduct the business of our parish.  This is known throughout the Episcopal Church as The Annual Meeting.  Your attendance is much desired, for you can hear and read firsthand via reports already submitted what your priest and vestry have undertaken in the year 2024 in your name.  As your cleric, I assure you that those members who serve as wardens and members of vestry have not been slackers.  These fellow parishioners occupy voluntary positions which demand physical, emotional and spiritual commitment. So, do please stay on, for ca. 45 minutes.

Part II.
This brings me to Roman II, our connection to the National Church.  The Episcopal Church of the United States is a branch of the world-wide Anglican Communion, of which the Archbishop of Canterbury, the occupier of the Seat of St. Augustine, sent 597 by the Pope to evangelize the English Isles, is the head.  The Archbishop of Canterbury serves as historical head, but has no jurisdictional authority in the several provinces of dioceses in their respective countries.  Our Book of Common Prayer, which contains the 39 Articles of Faith, is a tangible, physical emblem of our union as Anglicans, embellished by local traditions.

Nationally, as appropriate and befitting language and geography, each branch of the Anglican Church is left to exercise the commandments of Christ to Love God and to love Neighbor as self.  Hence, you might understand why I chose that one line from the psalm as my beginning, my jumping off point for my meditation today: “Put your trust in the Lord and do good.”  I try always, often with difficulty, to put God first.

Several weeks ago, the Bishop-Diocesan of Washington, in the National Cathedral, the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul, admonished the President of the United States to love justice and to do good.  That set off a flurry of exchanges.  But know this: Every bishop, every priest, every deacon of the Episcopal Church, at the time of ordination and/or consecration, makes a pledge not to nationality or a political party.  Rather, our pledge is a simple one: “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?”  “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” (BCP p. 305)

Since then and because of decisions enacted or authorized by the current President, the Episcopal Church of the United States of American, ECUSA, has joined with other faith communities, in order to legally restrain federal authorities from invading places of worship in their efforts to ferret out undocumented immigrants.  The federal government of the United States, acting on skin color, has granted itself the right to enter places of worship, in order to extend its search for undocumented individuals.  The Episcopal Church does not discriminate, at least not on paper, against anyone based on ethnic origin, place of birth, sexual orientation, social status. 

Bluntly stated, the Episcopal Church, through legal counsel, has declared that the federal government, giving itself the right to disrupt a religious service in search of undocumented individuals, stands in violation of the Constitution, pertaining to the right and freedom to worship.  Such action invokes fear in the minds of citizens and non-citizens alike.  Such actions inhibit attendance at a religious service.  This action by our government stands in violation of the Constitution, pertaining to freedom of worship.  I stand in union with the Episcopal Church of the United States of America.

Part III.
This brings me to the third section of my meditation, which is personal.  Spoiler alert: This is not where I make my confession about having a second slice of my favorite cake.  In fact, this section is about you personally and about me personally, namely, where is it, what is it, to which we turn when confronted with actions that appear to strike at the very core of that in which we believe? Where do we find the courage to act, or not to act, to speak out or to remain silent, which appears most useful in a given circumstance?  How do you personally determine which is the better approach to problem-solving?

I pose to you the same question which I have asked myself as I listened to the first lesson from the Book of Genesis appointed for today.  What would you have done, had you been Joseph, when he had standing before him those individuals—his very own brothers even—who had on more than one occasion sought his death?  Those whose very existence now depended on him?  (Egypt had full silos, whereas Israel had reached the point of starvation due to the drought!) Those whom he could have destroyed with a wave of his hand, or a nod of his head, without once revealing his own self to them?  Those are more than theoretical questions, even if we do not have to deal with the “Joseph vs. Brothers” relationships in our own lives.  The Joseph vs. Brothers relationship makes its appearance, in my thinking, in other forms.

In recent months, I have asked myself a very basic question: In what ways am I able, given my resources and contacts, to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves?  How am I able, as an individual who wears his collar backward and who lives still in relative physical safety, to let those in political offices understand that I feel compelled to speak for the less fortunate?  I ask myself also a related question: Have I overlooked, even reacted as “less than,” those whom I encounter on the street, in the supermarket, on the Red Line?  Has my facial expression, my rush to my next appointment denied their humanity, and thereby forgotten the ripple-effect of my behavior?

I close my meditation this morning with the analysis of St. Paul, which on the surface may appear as philosophical, something esoteric, but which is reality itself for people of faith: we are at once creatures of the earth, and representatives of the unseen God whom we worship and adore.  I quote Paul: “Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we will also bear the image of the man of heaven.”  And that dual life obligates us to speak out against every injustice.   Amen