Growing into the Full Stature of Christ: A Sermon on Ten Years of Ministry

In reflecting on the power, authority, and call given us in baptism St Paul writes: “The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.”

There’s a lot packed into that one rather long sentence. St. Paul really liked long, run-on sentences. But I love that passage because it recognizes that we each have our own role to play in the unfolding work and life of God’s kingdom. It recognizes that we each have our own unique gifts—bestowed on us in baptism—for bringing God’s kingdom to life. And that our role is to enliven and strengthen the Body of Christ. So that we all grow, together, into the full stature of Christ.

Isn’t that something? Paul actually believes that together, as a community of baptized people, we have the ability, the power, and the call to grow into full stature of Christ. In other words, we—as a community of faith, transformed in baptism—are Christ for the world. That what Paul means when he says that Christ ascended to fill all things. Everything that Jesus was didn’t stop or disappear 2,000 years ago—but instead was passed on to those who believe in him and follow him. All the love, all the healing, all the teaching, the building of community—it was all passed on to us.

Now, of course, none of us is Jesus individually. Individually, we could never be who he was, who he is. I know I can’t be. I mess up way too often. I think about myself too much. And so far, I haven’t figured out how to turn water into wine or feed 5000 people with five loaves of bread and two fish. But together, as a body, as his body, we are Jesus’ on-going life.

It’s an awesome call, responsibility, and gift—one that I don’t think we appreciate or understand often or fully enough. But in fact, that’s what Paul and the whole of the New Testament is trying to convey. They are trying to get us to believe that we are who God has empowered us to be, in baptism, and nourished by the sacrament of Holy Communion— the bread of life that is Christ himself.  

If you are on our email list, or perhaps on Facebook, you will have seen my mention of the fact that August 1 marked my tenth anniversary as Rector of Emmanuel Episcopal Church. Ten years. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. I was just 35 when I started—ordained for 4 years. I had more of a Canadian accent then. I was definitely thinner. And if the photos we have of that time are any indication--such as the one in the parish hall--I had a lot less unauthorized gray hair then. But I don’t totally blame it on you all. Not totally.

But you know, I wasn’t the only one who looked a little different. So did the church. Back then, in August of 2008, the exterior of the church and rectory sported a lot of peeling paint. And the inside, well, the walls were all white—or mostly white. They had last painted been in 1980 when Olga Packard was Senior Warden. I think it was done as part of the 100^th anniversary celebration. There was a very large hole in the ceiling—with paint and plaster that regularly fluttered down, like the Holy Spirit, so that the altar guild had to vacuum each Sunday before services. Of course, we had the old lights—examples of which you can still see in the Main Street Narthex. And most notably, there were choir stalls where the altar is now, with a wall of wood in the front separating the choir and chancel from the congregation. The change in chancel and altar arrangement was not uncontroversial. As many of you will recall, it’s something the congregation studied at various points going back to the 1990s when the Rev. Steve Ayres was rector.

In fact, our beloved late sexton Gus Surette once told me a story about the altar set up. He said that one week in the 1990s Steve Ayres asked him to help move the choir stalls out so that the space would be open and an altar could be set up, in much the way it is now. Gus warned him that it wouldn’t go well, but Steve persisted. The next Monday, after church that weekend, he told Gus he’d better put it all back.

15 years later, we were more ready, after study, consultation, and trial. We were helped, especially, by the vocal support of beloved parishioners who had devoted their lives to the ministry and well-being of this parish—Bill Hausrath and Cindy Cook. Cindy, unfortunately, didn’t have the opportunity to see the final product. She died several months before the project started. But she requested that any donations in her memory go toward the chancel renovation fund. I think Cindy’s support and vision, more than anything, led us to make this significant and, I think, beautiful adaptation. So when you see it, you should think of her.

And in a way, that’s really appropriate. Over the last couple weeks, I’ve visited the parish archives in search of some details on our endowment funds. To do so I had to read a lot of old vestry minutes. And in them, from the 1970s, I found the notation for the time that Cindy was first licensed to serve as a Eucharistic Minister and Lay Reader. It happened around the time that women were first being ordained in the Episcopal Church—which I spoke about in my sermon last week. I don’t think Emmanuel was quite ready for women priests, yet. But the Rev. John Thorp and others saw the wisdom in expanding the liturgical and sacramental ministries of the parish beyond men.

And so, they chose Cindy Cook—the first woman authorized to administer the chalice and lead Morning Prayer in this parish. I don’t know that she thought of herself as a trail blazer—Wallie could tell us for sure—but she was, in her own dedicated kind of way. Among the greatest honors of these last years was the opportunity to share in ministry with Cindy—at the altar, in homes and nursing homes, and then, finally, in her own hospital room on her last days. Being there with Wallie and Cindy and their daughter Debbie on Cindy’s last day is a memory and experience that I will hold and cherish always.

Indeed, being invited to share in those holiest of moments at the end of life has been an experience beyond words really—with Lorraine Topple and Dorothy Dale, Midge Roberts and Barbara Smith, Cindy Cook and Bill Hausrath, Bob Elkins and Joyce Elliott, Bob Bent and Olga Packard. So many saints. So many giants of this parish. I sincerely wish each of them were still here with us in the usual, physical way. But I also wouldn’t trade those sacred, holy moments of being with them as God drew near for anything. And even now, they are models to us—each in a different and unique way--for how to live and how to love, how to serve and truly be the Body of Christ as Paul calls us to be. They show us through the example of their lives how we can grow into the full stature of Christ.

In keeping with this morning’s epistle, I should offer a reflection or two about ministry at earlier stages of life, too, in baptism. Parishioners have sometimes said that I come into my own during baptisms. And it’s kind of true. In part because I just love holding all those babies. I don’t have kids of my own, so it’s my chance to get some baby time (without all the responsibility of parenthood, of course). But it’s also the opportunity to celebrate the fullness of God’s love and blessing—in as exuberant a way as we Episcopalians can manage. Every now and then I’ll look out on a Sunday morning and think—I baptized Tess and Nicholas, Nic and Gianna, Henry, Abel and Ivy. And also Wendy and Hugo, and David and Morgan Peterson.

I didn’t baptize Sean and Steve DiGiambattista—Bishop Shaw did those baptisms in 2013, on his last visit to Emmanuel. That was the most remarkable day—as the bishop sat on the floor with the kids by the font, as he invited them to bless the water with him (something I’ve done ever since), and then shared with us his reflections on his life of faith as he lived with brain cancer. I learned so much about the power of prayer and faith that day. Faith and prayer didn’t cure Bishop Shaw’s cancer—he died about 10 months after his visit with us. But they enabled him to face each new day with courage and with hope. We were so blessed by him that November day. I was so blessed to share that day with him. He, too, by his words and witness and example helped us to grow into full stature of Christ.

Totally different, but equally powerful, was the Easter Vigil in 2016, when our new Bishop Alan Gates joined us. It was just his second Easter in our diocese and he chose to spend it with us—I am still astounded by that, when he could have been at Trinity Church in Copley Square, Church of the Advent, or Emmanuel Church on Newbury Street. On Facebook Michael Jewer wrote that that service was one of the most powerful he had ever experienced anywhere. What I loved about it, especially, were the several parishioners who chose that occasion to be confirmed and received—empowering and emboldening them for lives of ministry.

Normally confirmations are focused on youth (which is always fantastic) and usually held in the front of a church, but these were in the back, at the font, by candlelight—connecting the confirmations and receptions to the power and call of baptism. It was beyond sacred and holy as we all as a community, as the Body of Christ, prayed for God’s spirit to stir up and burn in the hearts of parishioners who are already leaders in the church--Eric and Audra, Sue and Wendy, Lisa and Melanie. They demonstrated for us that whatever our stage in life we can deepen and grow in our relationship with God, we can reach the full stature of Christ.

There’s so much more than could and should be said—reflections on fantastic adult education Bible studies and amazing parties. Reformation 500 with the Mad Bavarians and the choir hosted Oktoberfest was just beyond fabulous. So many parishioners came out and supported my mom and Jerry when they were married here in 2011, giving them a proper wedding celebration despite their semi-elopement. Somehow in there I completed my PhD dissertation—that was five years ago already. You’ve endured countless Star Wars, Minnesota and Sweden references in sermons. To say nothing of lutefisk. And even in the last few months you have provided me with a beautiful new home.

These have been extraordinary years. A decade of life and love. More loss than seems fair sometimes. And so much joy. So much discipleship. So much God—here with us and in us, guiding us and helping us to be his Body, his life, in the world. And through it all, God has been helping us to do just as St Paul says: to grow into the measure of the full stature of Christ. That’s our call and our goal: yesterday, today, and all the days to come. And so, as we have said for the last decade: Come and grow with us.

To God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell, PhD