23 Pentcost

 

Stewardship Sunday

 November 13, 2022

 Malachi 4.1-2a; 2 Thessalonians 3.6-13; Luke 21.5-19

 + I don’t want to do this.

 Not today, on Stewardship Sunday.

 But…

 Let's go back for a moment.

 Let's go back in history.

 We’re not going to go far.

 In fact, it’s a very shorts trip.

 And, sadly, it’s not going to be a pleasant one.

 For a moment, let’s go back to…2020.

 We all remember it.

 It was a terrible time.

 In fact, it was truly one of the most terrible of times in our collective history.

 It was a time for the history books.

 And going back to 2020, let’s look at where we were here at St. Stephen’s.

 Here, even in the darkest days of the pandemic, we kept going on.

 Thanks to Livestreaming and a devoted core (or “pod” as we called it at the time) of Vestry, church members and staff we never missed a Sunday.

 We plugged away, even when it looked scary and uncertain.

The reason I want to take you back for a moment is this:

 Let’s now look at where we are now.

 It’s not perfect.

 But it’s certainly so much better.

 And for the first time, this past year, we were able to move away from the pandemic and all it’s difficulties.

 And where are we here at St. Stephen’s?

 And we are right back, for the most part, to where we were in 2019.

 Well, at least on a operating level.

 And the reason I’m bringing it up is because I don’t want us to take anything we have for granted.

 Today, as I said, is Stewardship Sunday.

 Today is the day in which we are asked to take a good, hard look at ourselves as members of St. Stephen’s.

 At who we are as this strange, unique, eclectic, eccentric congregation in a hidden, out-of-the-way back corner of Fargo.

 Stewardship time is a time for the mirror to be set up and for us to look deeply into it.

 And to realize that we are unique, and eccentric and eclectic.

 And vital.

 And alive.

 And, we’re survivors.

 And that we survived that ugly time in 2020.

 Let’s face it: there aren’t a whole lot of churches out there quite like St. Stephen’s. 

  We are an amazing place! I think we can say that.

 And Stewardship is a time to say one important thing:

 Thank you.

 Thank you, O God, for leading us here.

 Thank you, O God, for what you have done here.

 Thank you, O God, for your goodness to us here.

 Thank you, O God, for the refuge that we are to people who need a refuge.

 Thank you, O God, for bringing us through.

 And thank you, O God, for restoring us.

 Sometimes when we’re in the midst of it all, we don’t realize how amazing these things are.

 Sometimes we take it all for granted.

 But let’s not do that.

 Let’s not take for granted what has been happening here.

 It’s also not a time for us to become complacent.  

 There is still work to do.  

 There is still so much more ministry to do.

 What’s even more amazing is that you—the congregation, the ministers of St. Stephen’s—you have truly all stepped up to the plate.

  You have given of yourselves, of your time, of your talents, of your finances, of your very presence this past year.

 And that is amazing.

 And we ask you to do so again this coming year.

 As we look around at St. Stephen’s, I don’t think we fully realize what has been happening here.

 We need to know that we are more than these walls, than these pews, than these windows, than this tower and bell, than an organ, than this building.

 If we think following Jesus means safely ensconcing ourselves in this church building—and I seriously doubt anyone here this morning thinks that—then we are not really following Jesus.

 As we, who are members of St Stephen’s know, following Jesus, means following him out there—out in the field, out on the battlefield.

 It means being out there, being a presence out there, being a radical presence out there.

 It means shaking things up.

 It means speaking out—respectfully and in love.  

 It means being an example of a follower of Jesus in all we do outside these walls, as well as within.  

 It means giving people a new vision of what the Church really can be.

 Back in 2020, there were, as can be expected, prophets of doom.

 There were those so-called experts who were us telling this then:

 “This is the end of the Church.”

 “They’re never coming back.”

 That was something everyone seemed to saying at the time.

 “They’re never coming back.”

 We will never see anything like we did before the pandemic started, they told us.

 But as you know I scoff—and scoff loudly—at prophets of doom.

 I did then.

 And I do so even more confidently now.

Do you know why?

 Because, this year—this first real year after the pandemic, when things really started to feel normal again—when the prophets of doom predicted that churches would be dying off, this year, we welcomed 18 new members to this parish.

 18!

 And we were even welcoming new members in 2020.

 And in 2021

 But 18!

 That is an amazing thing!

 And we should be grateful—deeply grateful—for that growth.

 And if people ask why, I like to share stories like this.

 A few weeks ago, after one of our Wednesday night Masses, we were at supper and we were talking about the uniqueness of St. Stephen’s.

 And two of our new members both said, in different words, that this is the only congregation they knew in which they would be fully welcomed and included.

 And they had done their research.

 And we are more than that.

 We are more than inclusive.

 We also really do believe in God.

 We also really do worship a true and living God.

 We also really live that out in our lives and in the worship we do together.

 We definitely do that here!

 We need to be a church that is alive and breathing and moving and changing.

 Of course, because it is, our job has doubled.

 Of course we will continue on as we always have, doing what we’ve always done.

 We will to be who we need to be and do what needs to be done.

 We will continue to be a safe refuge for those people who have been hurt or alienated by the larger  Church.

 And there are plenty out there.

 People who are gay or lesbian or trans or who simply were hurt by the Church in any way.

 There are plenty here this morning that have been hurt by the Church.

 Which is why we are here!

 We realize that the words of this morning’s Gospel are made real in our lives.

 Looking in the mirror also means seeing ourselves for who we are.  

 The church of the future is made up of people who step up to the plate and say, “here I am, Lord. I am willing to do it.”

 We have our work cut out for us.  We do.

 There’s a lot of work to do.

 But, none of that is anything to fear.

 Jesus tells us not to be afraid.

 Nor should any of us.

 Not a hair of our head will perish to them, he tells us.

 As we look around here, we know—God is here.

 God is with us.

 That Spirit of our living, breathing God dwells with us.

 And God and God’s radical, all-inclusive love is being proclaimed in the message we carry within each of us.

 When we welcome people radically, when we embrace those no one else will embrace, when we love those who have been hated, when we are hated for loving those who are hated, we know that all we are doing is bringing the Kingdom of God not only closer, but we are birthing it right here in our midst.

 And we have nothing to fear, because, as Jesus says today, “I will give you words and wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict.”

 We are blessed, here at St. Stephen’s.

 And that is what we are thankful for today.

 Paul tells in in his   letter to the Thessalonians this morning: “do not be weary in doing what is right.”

 Those words are our battle cry for us here at St. Stephen’s.

 Those words are the motto for the Church we represent.

 Do not be weary in doing what is right.

 Yes, I know.

 We are weary at times.

 We are tired at times.

 We have done much work.

 And there is much work still to do.

 But we are doing the work God has given us to do.

 And we cannot be weary in that work, because we are sustained.

 We are held up.

 We are supported by that God who truly loves and supports us.

 But we must keep on doing so with love and humility and grace.

 St. Stephen’s is incredible place.

 We all know it.

 Others know it.

 God certainly knows it.

 So, let us be thankful.

 Let us continue our work—our ministries.

 Let us do the ministries we are called to do.

 Let give of our time, talent and resources.

 Because we can’t do any of it without all of those things.

 And as we do, as we revere God’s Holy Name, see what happens.

 The Prophet Malachi is right.

 For those of us who continue our work, who continue to revere God’s holy Name, on us that Sun of Righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings.

 Amen.

 

 

All Saints Sunday

 November 6, 2022

+ This past Tuesday was a very important day in the Church.

Capital C.

The wider, universal Church.

It was one of the really important feast days.

November 1 was All Saints Day.

It is the day in which we commemorate all the saints who now dwell with God in heaven.

It is a beautiful feast.

And we, here at St. Stephen’s, celebrated the eve of that day appropriately.

We celebrated the Eve of All Saints Day on Monday by celebrating a new saint—our own dear Holly Holden-Eklund.

We celebrated her life with a Burial Office that afternoon.

And on Wednesday, the Feast of All Souls, we celebrated our Annual Requiem Mass in which we remembered all of our departed loved ones, and afterward, we buried Holly’s ashes in our memorial garden.  

And it was beautiful and sad and bittersweet all at once.

We Episcopalians do these things well.

We do funerals well, we do commemorating our deceased loved ones well.

We celebrate the saints—those who are both well-known saints and those saints who might only be known to a few—very well as Episcopalians.

And when anyone from St. Stephen’s dies, or when anyone close to someone at St. Stephen’s dies, you will always receive an email with a request for prayer.

And the request for prayer will usually begin with these words:

“The prayers of St. Stephen’s are requested for the repose of the soul of …so-and-so.”

Occasionally, someone will ask me about that prayer request.

Someone will ask,

Why do we pray for the dead?

We do we pray for the repose of their souls?

After all, they’ve lived their lives in this world and wherever they’re going, they’re there long before a prayer request goes out.

The fact is, we DO pray for our dead.

We always have—as Anglicans and as Episcopalians.

You will hear us as Episcopalians make the petition for prayer when someone dies that you won’t hear in the Lutheran Church, or the Methodist Church or the Presbyterian Church.

Praying in such a way for people who have passed has always been a part of our Anglican tradition, and will continue to be a part of our tradition.

And I can tell you, I  like that idea of praying for those who have died.

But, I want to stress, that although we and Roman Catholics both pray for our dead,  we don’t pray for people have died for the same reasons Roman Catholics do.

In other words, we don’t pray to free them from purgatory, as though our prayers could somehow change God’s mind.

Rather, we pray for our deceased loved ones in the same way we pray for our living loved ones.

We pray for them to connect, through God, with them.

We pray to remember them and to wish them peace.

Still, that might not be good enough answer for some (and that’s all right).

So…let’s hear what the Book of Common Prayer says about it.

And, yes, the Book of Common Prayer does address this very issue directly.

I am going to have you pick up your Prayer Books and look in the back, to the Catechism.

There, on page 862 you get the very important question:

Why do we pray for the dead?

The answer (and it’s very good answer): “We pray for them, because we still hold them in our love, and because we trust that in God's presence those who have chosen to serve [God] will grow in [God’s] love, until they see [God] as [God] is.”

That is a great answer!

We pray that those who have chosen to serve God will grow in God’s love.

So, essentially, just because we die, it does not seem to mean that we stop growing in God’s love and presence.

I think that is wonderful and beautiful.

And certainly worthy of our prayers.

But even more so than this definition, I think that, because we are uncertain of exactly what happens to us when we die, there is nothing wrong with praying for those who have crossed into that mystery we call “the nearer Presence of God.”

After all, they are still our family and friends.

They are still part of who we are.

Now, I know that this idea of praying for those who have died  makes some of us very uncomfortable.

And I understand why.

I understand that it flies in the face of some of our more Protestant upbringings.

This is exactly what the other Reformers rebelled against and “freed” us from.

But, even they never did away with this wonderful All Saints Feast we are celebrating this morning.

This morning we are commemorating and remembering those people in our lives who have helped us, in various way, to know God.

As you probably have guessed from the week-long commemoration we have made here at St. Stephen’s regarding the Feast of All Saints, I really do love this feast.

With the death of many of my own loved ones in these last few years, this Feast has taken on particular significance for me.

What this feast shows me is what you have heard me preach in many funeral sermons again and again.

I truly, without a doubt, believe that what separates those of us who are alive here on earth, from those who are now in the “nearer presence of God” is truly a very thin one.

And to commemorate them and to remember them is a good thing for all us.

Now, I do understand, as I said before, that all this talk of saints makes some of us who are more “Protestant minded” a bit uncomfortable.

But…I do want us to think long and hard about the saints we have known in our lives.

And we have all known saints in our lives.

We have known those people who have shown us, by their example, by their goodness, that God works through us.

And I want us to at least realize that God still works through us even after we have departed from this mortal coil.

Ministry in one form or the other, can continue, even following our deaths.

Hopefully, we can still, even after our deaths, do good and work toward furthering the Kingdom of God by the example we have left behind.

For me, the saints—those people who have gone before us—aren’t gone.

They haven’t just disappeared.

They haven’t just floated away and dissipated like clouds out of our midst.

No, rather they are here with us, still.

In these last few years, after losing so many people in my family and among close friends, I think I have felt their presence most keenly many times, but often times most keenly, at times, here at this altar when we are gathered together for the Eucharist then at any other time.

I have felt them here with us.

And in those moments when I have, I know in ways I never have before, how thin that veil is between us and “them.”
You can see why I love this feast.

It not only gives us consolation in this moment, separated as we are from our loved ones, but it also gives us hope.

We know, in moments like this, where we are headed.

We know what awaits us.

No, we don’t know it in detail.

We’re not saying there are streets paved in gold or puffy white clouds with chubby little baby angels floating around.

We don’t have a clear vision of that place.

But we do sense it.

We do feel it.

We know it’s there, just beyond our vision, just out of reach and out of focus.

And “they” are all there, waiting for us.

They—all the angels, all the saints, all our departed loved ones.

So, this morning—and always—we should rejoice in this fellowship we have with them.

We should rejoice as the saints we are and we should rejoice with the saints that have gone before us.

In our collect this morning, we prayed that “we may come to those ineffably joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you.”

Those ineffably joys await us.

They are there, just on the other side of that thin veil.

We too will live with them in that place of unimaginable joy and light.

And that is a reason to rejoice this morning.

 

 A chilly but beautiful day at Marjorie's lake place on Pelican Lake with dear friends.