I thought I’d begin this morning by sharing a little about
the Episcopal City Mission’s Annual Dinner on Tuesday evening last week. Several of us from Emmanuel attended: Eric
Dannenberg, Tim Green, Bill Hausrath, Mo Pollman, Lynn Peterson, and I. The ECM dinner is one of the biggest events
in the diocese, besides diocesan convention.
We don’t vote on anything, but instead visit, enjoy a little wine and
cheese, and then sit down for dinner and hear a speaker. This year’s it was Richard Parker of
Harvard’s Kennedy School. His talk was
entitled “Does the world still need the Episcopal Church?” But really it was more focused on what’s
distinctive about the Episcopal Church and how we all should be more active in
promoting it.
Parker noted that 57% of the signers of Declaration of
Independence were Episcopalian. 30% of
the Supreme Court’s justices have been.
And more U.S. presidents have been Episcopalian than any other
denomination: 26%, despite the fact that we are less than 2% of the
population. Franklin Roosevelt, our
longest serving president, was Episcopalian, and in fact, was senior warden of
his parish in Hyde Park, NY the whole 12 years that he was in the White
House. Roosevelt even interrupted
cabinet meetings to take calls from his rector. I was sitting next to our Senior Warden Eric Dannenberg and said,
“That’s a lot to live up to, isn’t it?”
Now, given that FDR was warden while saving the world from the Great
Depression and Hitler, I don’t want to hear anyone say they are too busy if I
should call upon you!
Since the ECM dinner, I have been thinking a lot about what
it means to be Episcopalian today. Some
of you have been Episcopalian your whole life, or at least for a very long
time, while others are newer to the tradition.
I joined the Episcopal Church in college, attracted by two factors—which
may at first seem contradictory. One
is the church’s historical tradition, the liturgy, the beautiful buildings, the
sense that the faith we embrace and share is ancient. But at the same time, we are open to new insights, we try to be
inclusive of all people, and strive for justice and peace. I actually don’t think that these factors
are contradictory, holding a traditional, even ancient faith, while believing
in justice and inclusiveness, but some might.
As you know, some of my experiences in the Episcopal Church
(and also the Anglican Church of Canada) have been in large, impressive
churches, like the cathedral in Minneapolis, or some grand places in
Toronto. Trinity Church, Copley Square,
Church of the Epiphany in Winchester, or Christ Church in Cambridge, might be
local equivalents. But, these grand
places, with high cathedral ceilings, flying buttresses, and large budgets are
not typical of the Episcopal Church.
Parishes like Emmanuel are much more common.
In fact, 68% of Episcopal parishes have fewer than 100
people in attendance on Sundays. The
median Sunday attendance is 65 people.
Emmanuel’s average attendance in 2011 was 81. So, we are actually a bit bigger than the national average. Not that we should be complacent—there’s
always room for more, and we are somewhat less than average for the Diocese of
Massachusetts—but it doesn’t hurt to remember where we fit into the bigger
picture.
Now, the reasons that our parishes tend to be on the smaller
side are many. Some of them are
historic—a professor of mine said that it was because Episcopalians were too
loaded down with fancy vestments, carved altars, and holy hardware like silver
chalices and brass thuribles—so we didn’t do a very good job of moving beyond
the East Coast. We’re more clustered in
places like New England, New York, and Virginia. But we also haven’t been as good at evangelism as others, we’re
too shy or reserved about our faith.
And often, as around here, it’s because there are Episcopal churches in
every town so none of them are especially big.
But, sometimes I think our modest size may be by
design. That’s what I’ve concluded is
the case for Emmanuel. Just look at our
building. It only seats about 130
people, 160 maximum. Those who
established Emmanuel must not have intended for us to be very big. It took 11 years before they were able to
cobble together enough money for even a very modest building. When they finally built the church, it must
have seemed that even a church this big was wishful thinking.
But they did eventually grow, and in 1900 when they decided
to relocate from Water Street to the Common, they could have used that opportunity
to build something grander—more like the Congregational, Baptist, or
Universalist churches nearby, churches that make a statement. But they
didn’t. They loved this little church
so much that they lifted it up off its foundation and moved it to where we are
now.
It seems that our founders’ vision was never that Emmanuel
would be a rival to the big churches in Boston, Cambridge, and Brookline, or
even the bigger churches in Wakefield, the churches with grand buildings and
flying buttresses and big budgets. But
rather, that we would be an intimate parish, the New England equivalent of the
small, English country church, maybe even a bit like on the Vicar of Dibly TV
series, where we all know each other, and care about each other, and do good
things together, maybe not in a big splashy way, but honestly and sincerely.
And, you know, when Jesus compared the kingdom of God to a mustard
seed, as in today’s gospel, he was reminding the disciples that there’s nothing
wrong in being small, even in being insignificant by the standards of the
world. Jesus was encouraging them and
reminding them that God can and does use even the smallest of seeds, even the
smallest group of people, to make the kingdom of God grow and flourish. It doesn’t take a lot. Even 12 scraggly, gaff-prone apostles are
plenty.
That’s a nice, image isn’t it, that Jesus uses in his parable--the tiny mustard seed that becomes a growing tree, with birds
resting in its branches? But, as nice
as it sounds, the parable of the mustard seed is also challenging--both to
Jesus’ disciples in the first century and also to us today. Because, you see, mustard seeds were not
only small, they were also pesky, like weeds really, and they would grow out of
control. A farmer wouldn’t want them
around, for fear that they would choke out all of the more desirable vegetation. The biblical scholar John Dominic Crossan
has written of this parable:
The point… is not just that the mustard plant starts as a
proverbially small seed and grows into a shrub of three or four feet, or even
higher, it is that it tends to take over where it is not wanted, that it tends
to get out of control, and that it tends to attract birds… where they are not
particularly desired. And that, said Jesus, was what the Kingdom was like: not
like the mighty cedar of Lebanon and not quite like a common weed, [but more]
like a pungent shrub with dangerous takeover properties. Something you would
want in only small and carefully controlled doses -- if you could control it.
So, in telling this parable, Jesus seems to be saying that
even though the kingdom starts out small, it will take over, it will be hard to
control, it will transform the world.
And you know what, I think that’s what we are called to be like as
well. Earlier I spoke of the
significant people who were Episcopalian: the signers of the Declaration of
Independence, presidents of the United States, supreme court justices, people of power and
influence. That is our history and our
legacy and we can be proud of it. But
Episcopalians are also people on the outside of power. We are people
working to transform society into something more just, more equitable,
something that less resembles grand cathedrals and more resembles the kingdom
of God: where the hungry are fed, the sorrowful are comforted, God’s creation
is preserved and protected, and all people, whoever they are, wherever they
come from, are included within the embrace of God’s love and care.
In fact, that’s exactly what the Diocese’s TogetherNow
campaign is helping us to accomplish. By
combining our gifts, of whatever size, even the size of the tiniest mustard seed, they can
grow into something that has the power to transform lives, beyond what we are
be able to do alone. Some funds will support
ministries in other parts of the world; some will help parishes, like Emmanuel,
to be kinder to the environment through Green Grants; some will support the
Barbara C. Harris Camp and provide rest, recreation, and faith instruction to
children and youth; some will go toward training young adults in how to be
transformational leaders themselves. And yes, some will go to the Cathedral—transforming
it from the historic church of the diocese into a house of prayer for all
people, where anyone and everyone is welcome, whoever they are, wherever they
come from.
That’s the gospel of the Episcopal Church today, just as it
was the gospel of Jesus’ first disciples.
And, you know, maybe that’s why we are small, as compared with other
denominations. Because the gospel we
share can be hard to hear, because it challenges power and assumptions. Because we don’t always offer easy answers
or black and white rules for how to live. But what we
do offer, what we do believe, is that together, like the tiny mustard seed, we
have the power to transform society, or at least our small corner of it, into
something that more closely resembles the Kingdom of God.
To whom be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell
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