A resurrection people

A few years back, more now than they used to be, my grandfather died quite suddenly.

We had just been to my cousin’s rehearsal dinner and then afterwards he returned home.

At some point he began experiencing discomfort, he had trouble swallowing, he wasn’t well, he communicated this to my grandmother, my aunt was there too.

Shortly after he was gone.

The phone calls came.

In those very quick and slow moments I found myself in church at a funeral giving his eulogy and I had no answers.

I tried to speak words of comfort; maybe I did.

But what stood out most was the lack of knowing, the lack of understanding, the wanting him to be okay in a different and new way.

It was a wondering time.

Long walks and music played low in my headphones as I wanted a certain comfort for him and would think about things and the world of which my grandfather was no longer a part.

These days, these walks, these ruminations were made even more confusing because I was an atheist at the time and I had been for many years.

But always, death never made sense to me.

Perhaps it was my Christian upbringing that confused that skeptical part of the brain, the part that said when it is over, it’s over.

Perhaps the idea that our relationships with people we love, truly love deeply and completely, could just end in a snap did not quite make sense.

Perhaps my memory of those who had gone before me was but a representation of the eternal we all die into.

There were many walks, many wonderings and those walks and wonderings turned into wanderings; my atheism just wasn’t cutting it anymore.

And I also realized that those walks and wonderings took place alone.

So, I woke up one Sunday committed to looking past atheism and giving God a try again.

I woke up to the idea that I would begin looking for God.

I woke up committed to the idea that I would join a pilgrimage of one, I would tour the churches, synagogues, mosques, and temples of Southington, I would seek out God and try to understand, try to reconnect to God and God’s people.

On that first Sunday morning, I walked downtown and took a right.

I entered one of those beautiful white clapboard Congregational churches on the Southington green.

It was a fine service but didn’t really speak to me; it just wasn’t the right fit, I guess.

I walked home, still wondering.

The next Sunday, my pilgrimage continued.

Instead of taking a right on Main Street, I took a left.

I walked into the Episcopal Church, the church of my youth, the church that raised me, the church that felt like home for so many years growing up.

I entered into the narthex, I entered into the sanctuary, I found a seat in an empty pew towards the back, but not all the way back.

And then it happened.

The organ started with a hum and a blast and the congregation stood in unison, the choir led the song.

The prayers were familiar, the readings resonated from a deep place long thought forgotten but only laid dormant over the years.

The kneelers made that banging on the floor sound as they were put in position for the confession, the synchronized sound of the parish as we asked God to forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us stirred up the recollection of days long ago.

And as I stood for in line for communion, I realized I was no longer alone; as I took the bread I realized I was in the presence of God; as I drank the wine, I knew I was in the midst of a community worshiping God and serving each other.

And as we read the prayer after communion, as we were dismissed, and after I shook the priest’s hand, I knew.

I knew I was home.

My pilgrimage of Southington was over.

It lasted two weeks.

After a time at the church, I did not gain the answers, the absolute knowing of what happens when we die, of knowing that my grandparents are now frolicking in the eternal, perhaps they are in that great sleep before they rise, I do not know.

I know only I was part of a community.

A community with some folks who were so good at pastoral care, of walking beside the grieving.

I was forming relationships with folks dedicated to the vestry of keeping the place running, cleaning up the grounds in the Springtime, clearing the steps before services when the weather turned to snow.

I was lifted up by my fellow Eucharistic Ministers, by the children I helped teach in the J2A program.

There were many good folks serving many good ministries, fulfilling the role to where Christ called them.

There were many hands and many feet serving the body of Christ.

I am reminded of that place in this place for we all have roles to serve.

Some of us are called to serve our youth and do so fantastically.

Some of us are called to pastor the grieving and we walk with those who mourn.

Some of us are called to other things and we are all serving the body of Christ.

We are serving as Paul calls us to serve, not as the whole but as parts of the whole walking with each other and with God.

For St. Luke’s would not have survived to this point without all of you.

All of you who served in whatever ministry.

All of you who stop to worship God and Christ for a time on Sunday and throughout the week; we are fulfilling the word.

“Just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body--Jews or Greeks, slaves or free--and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.”

And to serve, we must give.

Friends, this is the uncomfortable part of the sermon, for we are now in stewardship season.

I do not especially like asking for pledges, especially during this time of worship and yet I must.

And we must respond.

In this coming week you will be receiving pledge cards in the mail asking that you give as you can to support the ministries of this parish, to support its continuing mission, to support each other in our various Christian journeys.

If you are currently pledging, I am so grateful for your gift and I kindly ask that you consider increasing that pledge.

If you do not pledge, I ask that you prayerfully consider doing so as that will help build our budget for this coming year.

And please know, that whatever God calls you to gift or tithe, I am so grateful for your faithful service to St. Luke’s.

In our gospel reading this morning we read about Christ reading the scripture and stating that he was the fulfilment of the words God gave to Isaiah.

Jesus was telling the people of the Temple that the spirit of the Lord was upon him; that he was anointed to bring the good news to the poor, proclaim the release of the captives and give sight to the blind; he would set the oppressed free and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

Christ closed the scroll telling us his role.

And behind those words was his knowing.

Having returned from the wilderness, Jesus knew.

He knew that he was the Son of God.

He knew his ministry would lift up thousands in his lifetime, even billions more after.

He knew his suffering.

He knew his passion.

He knew his prayer in the garden.

He knew he would rise again, his resurrection.

This is the Christ we follow.

The Christ who is both God and man.

The Christ who healed the sick, made the blind to see; lifted up the poor and set the prisoner free.

This is the Christ of miracles and this is the Christ of a triumphant entry into Jerusalem as the crowds laid palms at his feet.

This is also the Christ of Good Friday and the Christ who descended to the dead.

This is the Christ of resurrection and new life.

Friends, our life in this church has not always been easy.

We have not always gone from victory to victory and win to win.

Instead there are down periods.

There are periods without a priest, there are times muddling along Sunday to Sunday not always with a direction known to us.

This parish is in the midst of a pandemic.

And yet the story of St. Luke’s is not a Good Friday one but a confirmation that we are a resurrection people.

Yes, the path is not easy, but through our faith we have witnessed the death and rising of Jesus Christ.

Friends, we are a resurrection people!

Our story does not end with a fading away but a return to life; our story is one of miracles and overcoming; our story is one of a victory of life over death.

And so just as Christ knew his place and his role and proclaimed that he was the fulfilment of the word we can very much proclaim our place on this earth and beneath the heavens.

We are a caring church and we care for each other.

We are a giving church and we give to each other.

We are a resurrection church and know that our ministries and our parish will continue to serve each other and God.

And so friends, I ask you to give as you can, to carry on this sense of resurrection and optimism that we have been so blessed to experience through two centuries of ebb and flow, good times and bad.

Let our hands serve each other as the body of Christ.

Let our feet carry on the work God calls us to do.

For our role is passed down to us through scripture, the spirit of the Lord is upon us and Christ has anointed us as servants of God.

I thank you for your consideration; I thank you for your pledge.

Amen.