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 100th 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
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