15 Years a Priest!

June 12, 2019

Matthew 10.7-16

 + In our Gospel reading for tonight, we hear Jesus say, “I am sending you as sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”

I can say that scripture has definitely been a prophecy-fulfilled in my ministry. When I heard those words fifteen years ago last night, I may have had an idea of what Jesus meant. Fifteen year later, I can truly say I KNOW what Jesus meant.

I’ve been there, in the midst of those wolves. And if I have had any gift granted to me by God to survive, it has definitely been to be wise as a serpent and innocent as a dove.  Well, I don’t know how “innocent” I’ve been.  But I’ve tried really hard to be innocent as a dove.

Fifteen years ago, on that that hot night (and it WAS hot that night) I was impatient. I was biting at the bit. I was straining forward. That ordination couldn’t happen fast enough.

And when it did, it was something. It was unique. And it was wonderful. I truly experienced the Holy Spirit that night.

I have told you before how, when the Bishop laid hands on my head that night, I FELT the electricity of the Spirit in that moment. And I definitely felt something change in me.

At moments, it seems like it was just yesterday.  And at other moments, it seems like it was 100 years ago.

15 years of priestly ministry. You have heard me say it before. I will say it again a hundred times I’m sure.

I love being a priest.

I  can say in all honesty that I was meant to be a priest. As sure as a shark is meant to hunt, or a fish to swim, I was meant to be a priest. It was almost like it was programmed into me.

Now saying that, I’m not saying I have been a perfect priest. I was never called to be a perfect priest.  Nor even at times, have I been a particular good priest.

I have failed.

I have tripped up.

I have stumbled.

I have made many, many mistakes.

But even then, even with all the mistakes I’ve made, it’s all right. It’s all good. Still, it hasn’t been easy.  

I remember twenty years ago, when I told the first Episcopal priest I too wanted to be an Episcopal priest, he leaned back in his chair, put his fingers to his chin and shook his head.

“It’s never going to happen,” he said.

And I thought then, that was it.

All right. 

The door was closed and that was that.

And if that priest had had his way, it would’ve ended there.

Actually, let’s face it: the odds were against me. Because of who I am and what I am, I really can’t imagine now how I made it through and was ordained.

And there were people who said I shouldn’t have been ordained.

There were people who said I had no right to stand at the altar.

Sadly for them, they did not get their way.

Nor really did I.

God did.

Some priests have been able to fly under the radar. Not me. Which is not always a good thing.

Being a priest like me means being a target. A big target. For better or for worse.

But it helped that I did not go into this as some doe-eyed, naïve PollyAnna.  I was prepared for all this vocation would give me—both good and bad. I knew and was prepared for all of those things.

Fifteen years ago I thought I knew what it meant to be “broken.” I know now what it means to be broken.  And I have served many broken people.

But I was also prepared for the good things, as much as anyone can be prepared for such things in their lives.

In these fifteen years I’ve known the beauty of grace and friendship. I knew what it was, in those moments, to see God breaking through in wonderful and incredible ways.

I also realized that all that spiritual training I had—clinging to the Holy Eucharist and the discipline of the Daily Offices of Morning and Evening Prayer—could truly sustain one spiritually when the Devil takes you by throat and shakes you.  The Holy Eucharist and the Daily Office have been my buoys.  They have been the buoys through the hard times. They have been the buoys when my father died and then when my mother died.  They have helped me when I have felt so utterly alone in this world. They helped me keep my head above water.

So, yes, I am the scarred veteran priest.

But I stand before you as priest who can still hold my head up and say, without one qualm, without one doubt, without hesitation: I am so happy to be a priest.

I am!

I really am!

I’m going to close tonight with the prayer I had printed on my worship booklet back then. It was a prayer I adapted from a prayer by one of my all-time heroes, Michael Ramsey, Archbishop of Canterbury. I can say that this has been a prayer that has been answered in ways I never knew prayers could be answered. This is a prayer that is a very clear warning to everyone: be careful sometimes what you pray for. 

It might actually be answered.

I close with this prayer I prayed fifteen years ago last night. And tonight, I can say that prayer has been answered. Again and again in my life. And for that, I am truly grateful.

Let us pray.

                                                                                   

Holy God, the years have fallen away—one by one—

only to reveal this one shining moment.

It lies here before me as a precious gift I neither asked for nor deserved.

And yet, here it is. Here it is in its beauty, more precious than any other gift.     

Only one thing I ask: take my heart and break it.

Break it not as I would like it to be broken, but as you would.

And because it is you who are breaking it, how can I be  afraid,

for your hands are the hands I have felt all my life at my back and on my face, supporting me, comforting me and guiding me

to the places you wanted me to be.

Your hands  are safety and in them, I am safe.

Take my heart and where you have broken it, fill it with joy—

not the joy I want for myself, but the joy you want for me.

Fill my heart with a burning joy and let its fire burn away

everything dead or dying within me.

Let my heart burn with a joy I cannot imagine

and can only vaguely comprehend.

It’s time, Lord, and I am ready.

See! I am ready to be your priest.

Pentecost

June 9, 2019

 Acts 2.1-21

+ In case you might not have guessed, today—Pentecost Sunday—is an important day in the life of the Church. Important like Christmas and Easter are important.

Today, we commemorate the end of the Easter season today, which is important.   At the end of Mass today, we will process the Paschal Candle back to its place in the Baptistery, where it will stand by the baptismal font until next year.  Back in April, we processed the Paschal Candle in at the Easter Vigil. So, this is a fitting end to the season.

It’s been a good Easter season.  And it’s sad to see it go.

But, of course, most importantly, we commemorate today  the descent of the Holy Spirit on those first followers of Jesus.  What’s surprising is that, as important as this day is, there still is not a whole lot of writers who write about the Holy Spirit.

In fact, one of the best writers I’ve found who writes the best about the Holy Spirit, isn’t even a Christian. The Vietnamese Zen Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has some very powerful things to say about the Holy Spirit and his belief that there is a connection between the Holy Spirit and the Zen concept of mindfulness.

Another writer that I admire greatly wrote a wonderful book about the Holy Spirit.  The late great Episcopal writer, Phyllis Tickle, wrote a wonderful book called The Age of the Spirit; How the Ghost of an Ancient Controversy is Shaping the Church.  In an interview she gave while promoting that book, Tickle said this:

“…we’re seeing a need to experience the Spirit everyday and a belief in the accessibility of the Spirit. Most Christians 100 years ago would have prayed to Jesus. Today, people are actually praying to the Spirit with regularity. So, there is greater engagement with the Spirit in a way that would not have been true in years past.”

That may be true. But I think many Christians still don’t quite “get” the Holy Spirit.

As you probably notice, Christians think A LOT about Jesus.  Which is very good!  BUT….although they think VERY much about Jesus, and pray to Jesus a lot, there isn’t always a lot of following of Jesus. There isn’t a lot of being Jesus in the world. And that isn’t just sad or unfortunate. That is detrimental to the Church as a whole.

Sadly, the Holy Spirit just doesn’t capture the imagination of most Christians like Jesus does.  After all, the Spirit is usually depicted as a dove. Not an exciting symbol for most people.

But, let me tell you, the Holy Spirit is VERY important.  Vitally important.  

Essential.

In fact, the Spirit is probably that one aspect of God that we experience in our own lives more than any other aspect of God.  Every time we feel God’s  Presence in our life, every time we feel a sense of the Holy, that is the Spirit. And everything we do as a Church is done in the Spirit of God.

Even here in the Holy Eucharist, when we partake of the Bread and the Wine, we are partaking in the Spirit of God.  We actually call down the Spirit in this Eucharist.

15 years ago this coming Tuesday, I was ordained to the Priesthood. On that day, the Bishop laid hands upon my had and prayed this prayer:

Therefore, Father, through Jesus Christ your Son, give your Holy Spirit to Jamie; fill him with grace and power, and make him a priest in your Church.

And let me tell you: I felt the Spirit at the moment very powerfully!  In fact, it was one of the most amazing moments of my life! Most importantly the Spirit works in other amazing ways in the Church.

Whenever anyone asks me. What is the secret of our success here at St. Stephen’s? How has your congregation grown and become so vital and alive? What do I say?  I always say: The Holy Spirit.

It is God’s living Spirit that is responsible for growth and vitality and holiness. It the Spirit that many of us feel when we enter this church and gather together. It is that wonderful kind of disconcerting energy we feel in the air, that reaches right down into us and grabs us in our core. THAT is the Spirit.

So, see, the Spirit is very active in our lives.  And by being active in life, we know that God is active in our lives.

Today we are reminded of how the Holy Spirit continues to move in our lives.  We are reminded that the Holy Spirit is in the collective Church.  And in us, as individuals.   And that moving of the Holy Spirit within us, has changed us and made us a wonderful force of good and love in the world. I think most of us—I hope most of us—have felt this moving of the Holy Spirit within us as some point.  

Still, even if we haven’t, when it comes to the Holy Spirit, we all find ourselves grasping and struggling to define who and what the Spirit is in our lives.    The Spirit can be elusive and strange and sometimes we might have a hard time wrapping our minds around the Spirit.

But it is clear from the words of Jesus before he ascends back into heaven what the role of the Spirit is:   Although Jesus might no longer be with us physically as he was when he walked with the disciples, God’s spirit that was in Jesus will always remain with us.   Jesus will leave—we will not be able to touch him and feel him and listen to his human voice again.   But God is leaving something amazing in Jesus’ place.

And this is not just some nice, pleasant gift. It is a gift that makes us live up to our full potential as lovers of God.

In a sense what happens with the Descent of God’s Spirit upon us is the fact that we now have the potential to be prophets, as you’ve heard me say many, many times. The same Spirit which spoke to Ezekiel, which spoke to Isaiah, which spoke to Jeremiah, which spoke to Moses, also can now speak to us and be revealed to us just as it spoke and was revealed to those prophets from the Hebrew Scripture.

That is who the Spirit is in our midst. The Spirit we celebrate today—and hopefully every day—is truly the Spirit of the God that came to us and continues to come to us—first to those prophets in our Hebrew past, then in the Word who is Jesus and finally in that rushing wind and in that rain of burning flames. It is through this Spirit that we come to know God in ways we might never have before.

The Spirit is God with us NOW.

Right here.

Right now.

Always.

So, how do we know the Spirit is working in our lives?   Well, as Jesus said, we know the tree by its fruit.   In our case, we know the Spirit best through the fruits God’s Spirit gives us.    It was on the feast of Pentecost in Jewish culture on which the first fruit were offered to God.   In fact, today is the feast of Shavuot, which is wheat harvest in Israel.

In a sense, what happens on our Pentecost, is God returning those fruits to us.  On the feast of Pentecost, we celebrate the fruits the Spirit of God gives to us and we can be thankful for them.    The Spirit comes to us and manifests itself to us in the fruits given to us by the Spirit.

But, we must not let the Holy Spirit do all the work. It is important that we actually DO the work the Holy Spirit gives us. We must cultivate those fruits of the Spirit.

Yes, we can pray for them. Yes, we can pray novenas and ask the Spirit to come and convict and convert us. But we have to be ready for that first.  We have to be doing the work already—we have to be out there, getting the ground ready for those fruits first.

But unless we work to make fertile ground in which those fruits grow and flourish, we are not doing OUR part.

The Spirit works with us, not for us. We can’t manipulate the Spirit. We can’t force the Spirit to do anything—especially  what we want that Spirit to do.  We can’t control that Spirit any more than we can control the wind.  We have to do part of the work ourselves.  This is the way the Spirit works.

Our job as followers of Jesus is to be open to God’s Spirit, the same way he was open to God’s Spirit, just the way his mother Mary was open to God’s Spirit, just the way those first followers in that upper room were open to God’s Spirit.  Our job is to allow the Spirit to be present and to do what the Spirit does.

For us collectively here at St. Stephen’s, we’ve been doing that all along. How do we know that? Well, just take a look at our fruits. Take a look at the fruits of the Holy Spirit flourishing here at St. Stephen’s. And when we do, let’s not be critical, let’s not be proud, let’s not say to ourselves, “well, of course.”

Rather, let us be thankful to the Spirit of God with us, to the Spirit who dwells with us here.  And let us continue to welcome that Spirit into our midst to continue to the work begun here. 

So, this week of Pentecost, let us look for the gifts of the Spirit in our lives and in those around us.   Let us open ourselves to God’s Spirit and let it flow through us like a caressing wind.    And let us remember the true message of the Spirit to all of us—whenever it seems like God is distant or nonexistent, that is when God’s Spirit might possibly be closest of all, dwelling within us, being breathed unto as it was those first disciples.   

On this feast of Pentecost—this feast of the fruits of God—let us feel the Holy Spirit move within us and let us give thanks to God for all the many fruits of the Spirit in our lives.

 Let us pray.

Come Holy Spirit: come as the wind and cleanse; come as the fire and burn; convict, convert, consecrate the lives of the members of St. Stephen’s, to our great good and your greater glory. Let us know your Presence here and let the gift of your fruits flourish in our midst. Amen.

The Requiem Mass for Jacque Stockman

Jacque Stockman

St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church

Fargo, North Dakota

Wednesday, June 5, 2019

It a true honor to officiate at this service for Jacque. As some of you know, I actually knew Jacque for many years. He was my father’s attorney for many years. And I remember well going with my father as a kid to Jacque’s office.

As I’ve heard from many people and as I knew myself: There was only one Jacque Stockman. And the world is just a bit different now that he is no longer in it.

What I admired most about Jacque is that he was truly an advocate to my father when my father needed an advocate in his life.  And because he was, not only my father admired him, but I did too. He made a difference in my father’s life. And, without a doubt, he made a difference in many other people’s lives as well. And that is the important thing to remember today as we remember Jacque.

Being an advocate is not just something one does. It is truly a vocation, in the best sense of that word. A vocation is a calling. It is more than just a job. It is more than what one does. It is something one is. And I believe being an advocate for others is often a journey down the road less traveled.

It is a hard job. It is often a very thankless job. It is very difficult at times. It is often a journey into uncharted territory at times. There are times when one wonders why one even did it. There are times when one wonders if what one is doing is really even making a difference.  There were no doubt times when one might even regret it (and that’s all right).

But the fact remains: advocating for others makes all the difference.  It may take years and years before anyone appreciates the difference a an advocate makes. But it does matter. And what they do outlives them.

Their legacy is justice and rightness! How incredible is that? And what a legacy!

 Just think for one moment about all the lives that were affected by Jacque Stockman.  I hope Jacque knew this in his life. I hope Jacque was able to appreciate it and be thankful for it.

As you may know, Jacque was a long time member of 1^st Lutheran Church here in Fargo. Then, in March of 2017, he transferred his membership here to St. Stephen’s. He liked the feeling here—it reminded him, he said, of the little Lutheran he knew as a kid.

I knew well what it meant to be Jacque’s priest.  I knew, fairly well, his beliefs (or lack thereof)  I knew he was an atheist, which of course did not bother me in the least. In fact, I respected him for them, which I know he appreciated.

The last time I talked to Jacque (the second to the last time I saw him), he had just endured a particularly difficult bout of pneumonia. But there he was, sitting up in bed, and when I entered the room he smiled genuinely at me.  He was happy to see me And as we talked, he talked fondly of my father. And that meant so much to me.

If my father was there that day, or even here today, he would say to Jacque: Thank you. Thank you for all you did. And that is also what all those people for whom Jacque Stockman was an advocate will say.

Yes, it is a sad day today for those of us who knew and cared for Jacque. But we do have our consolations today. Our consolation today is that all that was good in him, all that was talented and charming and full of life in him—all of that is not lost today. It is here, with us, who remember him and cared for him and respected him. It is there in those for whom he was an advocate.

And, for those of who have faith in God and in a life that is beyond this life, we take consolation that all of that goodness now dwells in a place free from pain and hardship.  The consolation we can take away from today is that, all of the difficult things in Jacque’s life are over for him.   He is now, in this moment, fully and completely himself.  He is whole in this moment.

In his later years, Jacque came to greatly appreciate Judaism.  I have too.  So, in a few moments, we will pray the Kaddish, the traditional Jewish prayer of mourning, for Jacque and in honor of his interest in Judaism.  I think it very appropriate to do so in this service in which we do give thanks for Jacque and all he was to us.  

After all, Jacque chose the right path. Those of us who are gathered together today can attest to that fact.

So, let us be thankful that he did make the right choice in his life.  It did make all the difference.  Amen.

7 Easter

The Sunday after the Ascension

June 2, 2019

Revelation 22.12-13, 16-17, 20-21

+ This past Wednesday evening, we celebrated the Eve of the feast of the Ascension.  Now, for most of us, this just isn’t that big of a feastday for us.

In fact, I don’t know a whole lot of Christians who, quite honestly, even give the Ascension a second thought.  Some of us might look at the Ascension as a kind of anticlimactic event.  

The Resurrection has already occurred on Easter morning.   That of course is the big event.  

The Ascension comes as it does after Jesus has appeared to his disciples and has proved to them that he wasn’t simply a ghost,  but was actually resurrected in his body. In comparison to Easter, the Ascension is a quiet event.  

The resurrected Jesus simply leads his followers out to Bethany and, then, quietly, he is taken up by God into heaven.   And that’s it.

There are no angels, no trumpet blasts.

There is no thunder or lightning.

He just goes. And that’s that.

So, why is the Ascension so important to us?  Well, it’s important on two levels.

One, on a practical level, we recognize the fact that, at the Ascension, this is where our work begins.   This is when our work as followers of Jesus begins.  We, at this point, become the Presence of Jesus now in the world.  This is where we are now compelled to go out now and actually do the work Jesus has left for us to do.

Those apostles who are left gazing up at  Jesus don’t just simple linger there, wringing their hands, wondering what has just happened. Well, actually, yes, that’s exactly what they do. They fiddle their thumbs and stumble around.  For a while anyway. But eventually, with a BIG prompting from the Holy Spirit, they get going. They go out and start doing what they are meant to do. But we’re going to talk about that NEXT Sunday on the feast of Pentecost.

For now, we’re here, with them, watching Jesus being taken up, out of their midst.  For now, we know Jesus is taken out of our midst and is seated at the right hand of God.  Again, this is the point in which we become the presence of Christ in this world.

Now, I love the Feast of the Ascension!  What I love about the feast is that it is more than just going out to do Jesus’ work.  Which brings us to our second point.

Again and again, as we see in the life of Jesus, it isn’t just about Jesus. Our job is not simply to observe Jesus and bask quietly in his holiness.  It’s about us too.

When we hear the fantastic stories of Jesus birth’ at Christmas, we can look at them as simply fantastic. They are wonderful stories that happened then and there, to him.  

Or…we could see them for what they are for us. We could see it our birth story as well.

God worked in the life of Mary and Joseph and God’s own Son was born. But it should remind us that God worked in our birth as well. Well. Maybe not with angels and shepherds. But God worked in our lives even from the beginning, as God did in the life of Jesus.

With Jesus, born as he was, with God’s special light and care upon him, we too were born.  Jesus’ birth became our birth.  At  Easter too, we could simply bask in the glorious mystery of Jesus’ resurrection from the tomb.

But the story doesn’t really mean anything to us until we see ourselves being resurrected with him. His resurrection is our resurrection as well. God, who raised Jesus, will raise us as well.

Well, the same thing happened last Thursday.  Jesus’s ascension is our ascension as well. What God does for Jesus, God does for us too.  That’s incredibly important to understand!

We are not simply followers of Jesus. We are sharers with Jesus in all that happens to him.  And that is incredibly wonderful! The event of the Incarnation is a reminder that in much the same way God is incarnate in Jesus so God is incarnate in us as well.

So, regarding the Ascension, it is important for us to look at what happened and see it not only with Jesus’ eyes, but our eyes as well.  Yes, we are rooted to this earth, to creation. We are children of this world.

But we are also children of the next world as well. We are children of heaven too.  Jesus tells us in our reading from Revelation today:

“See, I am coming soon; my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone’s work.”

Our reward, as children of Heaven, is with the One who says,

“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”

What the ascension reminds us is that we are inheritors of heaven too.  We, like Jesus, will one day ascend like him, beyond this world.  We will be taken up and be with God, just as Jesus is with God. In fact, our whole life here is a slow, steady ascension toward God. We are moving, incrementally, upward toward God.

This is our journey.

And as we do, as we recognize that we are moving upward, slowly ascending, like Jesus, to that place in which we ultimately belong, we should be feeling what Jesus no doubt felt as he ascended.

Joy.

Happiness.

Exultation.

When we are happy—when we are joyful—we often use the word soar.  Our hearts soar with happiness.  When we are full of joy and happiness we imagine ourselves floating upward.  In a sense, when we are happy or in love or any of those other wonderful things, we, in a sense, ascend.

Conversely, when we are depressed we plunge.

We fall.

We go down.  

So this whole idea of ascension—of going “up”—is important.  Jesus, in his joy, went up toward God.  And we, in our joy, are, at this very moment, following that path.

We have followed Jesus through his entire journey so far. We have followed him from his birth, through his ministry, to his cross. We have followed him to his descent into hell and through his resurrection from the tomb. And now, we are following him on his ascension.  And it is joyful and glorious.  

And just when we think God has provided just what we need for this journey, we find one more truly amazing gift to us.  Next week, an event will happen that will show us that Jesus remains with us in an even more extraordinary way.  On that day—Pentecost Sunday—God’s Spirit will descend upon us and remain with us always.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.  For now, we must simply face the fact that it all does fall into place.   All that following of Jesus is now really starting to pay off.  We know now—fully and completely—that God will never leave us alone.  In what seems like defeat, there is amazing resurrection, and ascension.  In what seemed like being stuck to an earth that often feels sick and desolate, we are now soar.

So, today, and this week, as we remember and rejoice in the Ascension, as we prepare for the Holy Spirit’s descent, let our hearts ascend with Jesus.  Let them soar upward in joy at the fact that God is still with us. Let us be filled with joy that God’s Spirit dwells within us and can never be taken from us.  

As we heard in our reading from Revelation today:

“Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.”

Let us take this gift of the water of life.

Let us rise up, saying: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!”

Let us rise up, in joy.

Let it rise up in us and sing through us to those around us we are called to  serve. Amen. 

6 Easter

Rogation Sunday +++

The Blessing of the Lifelong Covenant of Donna Clark and Daniel Wolford+++

May 26, 2019

John 14:23-29

+ This past week in the Fargo Forum there was a fascinating article about what is now called “Green Burial.”

Green Burial, for those who didn’t read the article, is a simplification of the burial procedures in the U.S.

It bypasses the more traditional aspects of burial that include embalming, metal, sealer caskets,  vaults and grave liners, etc.

It even by passes cremation.

It is a directed burial in the ground of a body wrapped in a shroud or placed in a wicker casket.

“Green Burial” is not something unique to many of us here at St. Stephen’s.

I know that several of you are  planning a “Green Burial.”

I like the concept of these “Green Burials.”

Though I am, of course, a major proponent of cremation, which, despite the article, actually does not emit that much pollution into the sky (Most crematories have updated cremation ovens that actually only release very little emissions into the air).

I like the idea of the return of our remains directly to the earth—truly a ashes to ashes, dust to dust way of doing it.

In fact, I even read a book about Green Burial from a completely Christian (actually eastern Orthodox)  perspective, called Christian Ending, which is essentially a handbook on Christian Burial.

But we, in our own Episcopal manner, have been performing a kind of green burial right here at St. Stephen’s.

5 years ago today—on Sunday, May 26, 2014—we did something special at our Rogation Blessing.

On that Sunday five years ago we dedicated our Memorial Garden.

And now, look!

Thanks to Sandy Holbrook and the gardening committee and all the people who have worked for that garden and all that beautiful landscaping that was done there, it has become a place of beauty.

And in these five years, our memorial garden has become a place of rest for seven people—and a place of consolation for countless others.

Most of those people have had their ashes buried directly into the earth, without an urn or another container.

The exceptions are those abandoned urns we’ve buried—we have kept them in their urns so that should family members want to claim them and disinter them later, they can do so.

Now I don’t think I’m overestimating it when I say it has also become a place of mercy.

We of course have laid people to rest there who had no other place to rest, who were rejected or forgotten.

Why? Why do we do that?

Because that is what we do as Christians.

In our Christian tradition, mercy plays heavily into what we do.

And as a result, there have been, since the early Church, a series of what have been called corporal acts of mercy.

I’ve talked about this many times before.

These corporal acts of mercy are:

• To feed the hungry;
• To give drink to the thirsty;
• To clothe the naked;
• To harbor the harborless;
• To visit the sick;
• To ransom the captive;
• To bury the dead.

We at St. Stephen’s, in the ministry we do as followers of Jesus, have done most of those well.

Including that last one. 

Burying the dead is a corporate act of mercy.

And, it’s appropriate we are discussing things like mercy and love on this Sunday, Rogation Sunday, the Sunday before the Ascension of Jesus.

In our Gospel reading for today we find Jesus explaining that although he is about to depart from his followers—this coming Thursday we celebrate the feast of Jesus’ Ascension to heaven—he will not leave them alone.

They will be left with the Advocate—the Spirit of Truth.

The Holy Spirit.

He prefaces all of this with those words that quickly get swallowed up by the comments on the Spirit, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”

And just to remind everyone, that command is, of course, “to love.”

To love God.

And to love our neighbors as ourselves.

This is what it means to be the Church.

To love.

To serve.

To be merciful.

To be Christ to those who need Christ.

To be a Christ of love and compassion and acceptance.

Without boundaries.

Without discrimination.

Because that is who Christ is to us.

When we forget to be Christ to others, when we fail to do this, we fail to do mercy.

We are doing so this morning.

We are living into our ministry of mercy to others.

Today is, as I’ve said, Rogation Sunday.

Rogation comes from the Latin word “Rogare” which means “to ask.”

In our Gospel reading today we hear Jesus saying to us,  

 “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate…”

From a very simple perspective, the thing we are asking today, on this Rogation Sunday, is to be faithful followers of Jesus, thorough our works and acts of mercy.

Now for some of us, this whole idea of Rogation Sunday and the procession that we will soon be making outside at the conclusion of our Eucharist this morning might seem a bit too much.

 The fact is, it is something, very much like burying the dead on the church grounds.

Our memorial garden—this visible sign of the final corporal act of mercy—is a part of this Rogation celebration.

This is where we do our blessing.

We process there and bless the earth and the land there.

We ask God’s blessings on the growth not only of crops and fields.

We also thank God today for the growth of our congregation.

We are thanking God for the acts of mercy and grace done to each of us.

And we are asking God to continue to make us Christ to those who need Christ.

We are thanking God especially for all the graces in our lives.

Grace is especially is something we celebrate on Rogation Sunday.

And grace is something I always preach at weddings.

Let’s see if you can remember my definition of grace.

I know Daniel will remember this definition.

Grace, in my very simple opinion, is a gift we receive from God that we don’t ask for.

In fact it is often something we receive from God that we may not even known how to ask for.

At most weddings I do, I mention that grace is what we celebrate.

Well, today we celebrate grace with this service of blessing on the lifelong committed relationship of Donna and Daniel.

I stress that is NOT a wedding—at least not in the tradition sense.

There is no marriage license.

The vows are a bit different.

Neither Donna nor Daniel will lose any benefits they would have as divorced or single people.

According to the task force responsible for this brand new liturgy in the Episcopal Church, they defined it in this way:

“’The Blessing of a Lifelong Relationship,’ is intended for couples who desire to formalize their monogamous, unconditional and lifelong relationships that are ‘something different than a marriage in that [they do] not include the merging of property, finances or other legal encumbrances.’”

So, like a wedding, but not quite a wedding.

But what they do get today is blessing.

God’s blessing on their relationship.

Our blessing on the love they have for each other.

And we all get to be reminded of the fact that God’s grace still works in our midst in wonderful and beautiful ways.

It is a recognition of the grace of God in this love—in the fact that this love they have for each other is an unexpected gift from God to them.

This is how God works sometimes in our lives.

Just when we think we have given up on something—love or a relationship or whatever—God surprises us.

God has certainly surprised Donna and Daniel with the love they have found for each other.

And we should celebrate that!

In what we thought was our barrenness, God produces a fertile and beautiful garden.

In what we thought was a kind of death, we find a vibrant and beautiful life.

That is what we celebrate today in the blessing of the relationship of Donna and Daniel.

It is appropriate to do on this Rogation Sunday—this Sunday in which we ask God’s blessings on us, on the growth in our lives, and on the renewal in our lives.

As  we process out at the end of the Eucharist today, I ask you to look around the memorial garden.

I ask you to look at the names on the stones there.

We know some of them.

Others of them we will never know on this side of veil.

I ask you as you walk about to thank God for them.

I ask you today to thank God for the growth God has granted us at St. Stephen’s.

I ask you to thank God for the love in Donna and Daniels’ lives.

And I ask that you remember Jesus’ call to us, to love God and to keep that  commandment of love and mercy.

This is more than just sweet, religious talk.

It is a challenge and a true calling to live out this love in radical ways.

It is a challenge to be merciful.

As we process, as we walk together, let us pay attention to this world around us.

Let us ponder the causes and the effects of what it means to be inter-related—to be dependent upon on each to some extent, as we are on this earth.

We do need each other.

And we do need each other’s love.

And mercy.

We do need that radical love that Jesus commands us to have.

With that love, we will truly love our neighbors as ourselves.

We will show mercy to them.

Let this procession today truly be a "living walking" as George Herbert put it.

But let our whole lives as Christians be also a “living walk,” a mindful walk, a walk in which we see the world around with eyes of love and respect and justice and care.

And, most importantly, with eyes of mercy.

Amen.