My Letter following the Election

 Dear St. Stephen’s Family---

 

In the wake of last night’s election results, I have already heard from several people who are devastated and numb with shock. Some of us feel helpless today. Some of us simply feel numb.

 

Once these initial emotions start to fade, please remember that now is not the time for hand wringing. It is a time to do what we always do when difficulties befall us: we square our shoulders. We recommit ourselves to doing what we feel is right. And we move forward.

 

Having said that, it is important to remember (this being a paraphrase of something I found this morning on social media):

We are awakening to the same country we fell asleep to. The very same country.

Let us pull ourselves together.

How do we get through the next four years?

Continue to do the good work.

Continue to build bridges not walls.

Continue to lead with compassion.

Continue the demanding work of liberation for all.

Continue to dismantle the broken systems, large and small.

Continue to set the best example for the children and others.

Continue to be a vessel of nourishing joy.

Continue to support your gay and lesbian sisters and brothers. 

Continue to hold up your transgender companions.

Continue to support educators.

Continue, right where you are. 

Continue to stand up and speak out.

Right where you live into your days. 

Do so in the name of our God who expects nothing less form each of us. And if we are "continuing" ALL of the above, in community, partnership, collaboration? 

What is it we have been doing?

What is it we are waiting for? 

Please also be assured: St. Stephen’s will remain a place of inclusion and safety. It will be a place in which the love of God and of one another is upheld.

 

We must continue to strive to uphold this radical inclusiveness. We must strive to be living, breathing presences of God’s love and acceptance of all. We must strive to be the hands, feet, face and heart of Christ in a world that truly needs Christ’s all-accepting love.

 

Please pray for our nation.

 

Please pray for our leadership.

 

Please pray for our future.

 

And let us not let our fears and anxieties defeat us.

 

O God, you have bound us together in a common life. Help us, in the midst of our struggles for justice and truth, to confront one another without hatred or bitterness, and to work together with mutual forbearance and respect; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

--peace,

Jamie+ 

On the Eve of Election Day

 

Dear St. Stephen’s family--

I am hearing from so many people expressing their anxiety, their fear and their “nauseous optimism” as we approach Election Day. I too am feeling all of those emotions at any given moment.

        If you’re anything like me, when there is nothing more to do, I just try to do “something.” Let us channel our emotions into constructive endeavors.

Let us remain steadfast in our prayers and in serving others.

If you have not voted, PLEASE do so.

And please keep our nation and each other in your prayers as we head into the big day.

                                                -peace,

                                                Jamie+

 

Everlasting God, source of all liberty, before whom every earthly ruler must bow and bend the knee, we lay our nation before you as we prepare for an election. Breathe upon us your Spirit of wisdom and discernment. Grant all who seek public office the mind of Christ, who came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life for the freedom of the oppressed. Hold before us those who face uncertain futures, or who have no voice in our political process. Uphold and safeguard poll workers and election officials in their work. Spare us from the crushing weight of cynicism. Give us grace to speak courageously, but with love, without which our words are noise and we are nothing. Gather us together under the cross, where, in all of our difference, we can stand as one people, redeemed in Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.

 

All Saints Sunday

 

November 3, 2024

Revelation21.1-6a

+ You’ve heard me say it before and I will no doubt say it again.

I certainly don’t make any secret about it.

But, I LOVE the feast day of All Saints.

After all, from the very earliest days of the Church, this has been one of the highpoints of the Church year.

It’s an important feast.

And it’s important not just because we honor saints like St. Stephen, or Mary the mother of Jesus, or any of the other saints.

It’s an important days because it is a day in which we honor also those loved ones in our own lives who have gone before us.

This feast and the one we commemorate yesterday on November 2, All Souls, are very important feast days for me.

And because both of them came this past week, I am going to touch on both.

Actually, I’m kind of guilty of combing the two.

One is about the SAINTS.

One is about all the rest.

I’m just going to talk about everyone because, let’s face it: you know I’m an unapologetic Universalist. 

I do not believe in hell, or purgatory.

Though I would be more willing to believe in purgatory than hell any day.

So, this is a time for us to honor our departed loved ones, as well as those we might not know about.

Honoring and praying for those who have departed this life has always been an important part of the Church.

But, there are some branches of the Church that do not honor saints or our departed loved ones in this manner.

Being brought up Lutheran, we didn’t make a big deal about the saints.

If you come from a Methodist or a Presbyterian background, there have been some honoring of those who have gone before, but prayers are usually not prayed for them.

After all, the departed are where they are, and our prayers aren’t going to make much of a difference.

But, for us, as Anglicans and Episcopalians, honoring saints and praying for those who have died has always been a part of our tradition.

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

When someone from our parish dies, you will probably get a prayer request from me that begins, “I ask your prayers for the repose of the soul of…”

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

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

But, and this is important: we don’t pray for people have died for the same reasons other branches of Christianity do, like Roman Catholicism.

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

(Prayer does NOT change God’s mind)

So, why do we Episcopalians pray for the departed?

Well, let’s see what the Book of Common Prayer says.

I am going to have you pick up your trusty old 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.

Now, that is a great answer.

We pray that those who have chosen God will to 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.

But, if you’re still not convinced, here’s an answer from no greater person than one of the treasures of the Anglican Church—none other than C.S. Lewis.

Lewis wrote,

"Of course I pray for the dead. The action is so spontaneous, so all but inevitable, that only the most compulsive theological case against it would deter me. And I hardly know how the rest of my prayers would survive if those for the dead were forbidden. At our age, the majority of those we love best are dead. What sort of intercourse with God could I have if what I love best were unmentionable to [God]?”

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.

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

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.

I do want us to think today 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 good, that God really does work 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.

That quote from Lewis is a prime example.

Even now, 61 years after his death, Lewis can still preach to us.

His words still reveal God’s truths to us.

He is still doing ministry, even now through his words.

Hopefully, we can still, even after our deaths, do good and work toward furthering the Reign 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.

They join with us, just as the angels do, when we celebrate the Eucharist.

For, especially in the Eucharist, we find that “veil” lifted for a moment.

That belief comes to us from the Eastern Orthodox Church.

In this Eucharist that we celebrate together at this altar, we find the divisions that separate us are gone.

We see how thin that veil truly is.

We see that death truly does not have ultimate power over us.

That is the way Holy Communion should be.

It’s not just us, gathered here at the altar.

It’s the Communion of all the saints.

In fact, before we sing that glorious hymn, “Holy, Holy Holy” during the Eucharistic rite, you hear me say, “with angels and saints and all the company of heaven we sing this hymn of praise.”

That isn’t just sweet, poetic language.

It’s what we believe and hope in.

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

And let me tell you, hope, especially now, is vitally important.

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 actually 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.

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.

They are there, in that place we heard about in our reading today from Revelation.

That place in which God “will dwell with them as their God;”
Where we will be God’s peoples

They are there were God wipes “every tear from their eyes.”
Where “Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away."

This is our hope.

 

This is our future.

Let us, with all those who dwell there now, rejoice in thanksgiving for that glorious place.

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

23 Pentecost

 

October 27, 2024

 

Mark 10.46-53

 

+ You have heard me preach again and again about this, but I firmly believe that, without a solid foundation of personal prayer, all that we do in church on Sundays is without a solid base.

 

As I said last week in my sermon, those of us who are ordained are not the only ones who are “ministers” in the Church.

 

All of us who have been baptized are actual ministers of the Church.

 

And for our ministry to be effective, we need to have a strong and very solid prayer life to support that ministry.

 

I, of course, highly encouraged people to pray the Daily Offices of Morning and Evening Prayer from the Book of Common Prayer every day as the first foundation.

 

From the offices and from the Mass, our prayer life as followers of Jesus flourish.

 

Now for many of us, the Daily Offices are not something we can fit into our busy lives.

 

But, no matter how busy our lives are, we must always have a strong foundation of prayer. 

 

Regular prayer.

 

 And that prayer life can be very simple.

 

This morning, in our Gospel, we find a very little, but it seems, very effective prayer, very much in the spirit of Centering Prayer. 

It is a story that at first seems to be leading us in one direction, then something else happens.

 

We find Jesus at Jericho, which reminds us, of course, of the story from Joshua and the crumbling walls.

 

We then find this strangely detailed story of Barthemaeus.

 

It’s detailed in the sense that we not only have his name, but also the fact that he was the son of Timaeus.

 

That’s an interesting little tidbit.

 

And we also find of course that he is blind.

 

Now, it’s not a big mystery what’s going to happen.

 

We know where this story is going.

 

We know Bartimaeus is going to be healed.

 

We know he is going to see.

 

But the real gem of this story doesn’t have to do with Jericho, or the fact that we will never again hear about Bartimeus son of Timaeus.

 

The real gem of this story is that little prayer Bartimaeus prays.

 

There it is, huddled down within the Gospel, like a wonderful little treasure.

 

“Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!”

 

Now that designation of Jesus as the “Son of David” is interesting in and of its self.

 

By identifying Jesus as the Son of the David, Bartimaeus is essentially identifying Jesus as the Messiah, the anointed one sent by God.

 

So this man, Bartimaeus, is praying to the Jewish Messiah, to the One God sent, to have mercy on him.

 

And what does the Son of David do?

 

He has mercy on Bartimaeus. 

 

It’s beautiful!

 

It’s perfect!

 

And in that simple prayer, we find the kernel of all prayer to some extent.

 

At first, it doesn’t seem like much.

 

It’s so deceptively simple.

 

But, obviously, according to our Gospel for today, the prayer is important.

 

Jesus does what he is asked.

 

He has mercy on this man and heals him.

 

So why is this prayer so important?

 

Well, for one thing, we get a glimpse of how to pray in this wonderfully simple little prayer.

 

Jesus occasionally gives us advice in the Gospels on how we should pray.

 

The first one that probably comes to mind probably is the Lord’s prayer.

 

But today we find a prayer very different than the Lord’s prayer.

 

The Lord’s prayer is very structured.

 

It covers all the bases.

 

We acknowledge and adore God, we acknowledge and ask forgiveness not only for our sins, but for the sins committed against us by others.

 

And so on.

 

You know the prayer.

 

The prayer we hear this morning cuts right to the very heart not only of the Lord’s prayer but to every prayer we pray.

 

It is a prayer that rises from within—from our very core.

 

From our heart of hearts.

 

It is truly the Prayer of the Heart.

 

The words of this prayer are the words of all those nameless, formless prayers we pray all the time—those prayers that we find ourselves longing to pray.

 

Here it is, summed up for us.

 

More often than not, our prayers really are simple, one word prayers.

 

And the one word prayer we probably pray more than anything—I do it anyway—is:

 

 “please.”

 

“Please!” I pray so often.

 

Or sometimes it’s: “please, please, please!”

 

Poor God! Having to listen to that all day!

 

The one word prayer I should be praying more than anything is: “thanks.”

 

Meister Ekhart once wrote:

 

“If the only prayer we ever say in our life is ‘thank you’—that will be enough.”

 

Here are the words we long to use in those prayers without words.

 

“Have mercy on me!”

 

But if we were to pare it down, if we were to go to the heart of the prayer, what word from that prayer would be the heart of the whole prayer?

 

It would, of course, be “mercy.”

 

Mercy.

 

Mercy.

 

And, for many of us, this is the heart of our prayer.

 

This is what we desire from God.

 

Mercy.

 

Please, God, we pray. Have mercy on us. 

 

Using words like this, praying like this, simply sitting quietly and just being in the presence of God is a kind of “prayer of the heart.”

 

That’s a perfect description of the prayer we heard in today’s Gospel.

 

“Mercy.”

 

Like Bartimeaus, we can simply bring what we have before God in prayer, release it, and then walk away healed.

 

There is no room for haughtiness when praying this prayer.

 

The person we are when we pray it is who we really are.

 

When all our masks and all our defenses are gone, that is when prayer like this comes in and takes over for us.

 

This is the prayer we pray when, echoing Thomas Merton, we “present ourselves naked before our God.”

 

And this prayer does not even have to be about us.

 

We can use this prayer when praying for others.

 

How easy it is to simply pray:

 

Mercy.

 

God, have mercy on her, or him, or them.

 

It’s wonderful isn’t it? how those simple words can pack such a wallop.

 

We don’t have to be profound or eloquent in the words we address to God.

 

We don’t need to go on and on beseeching and petitioning God.

 

We simply need to open our hearts to God and the words will come.

 

“Mercy.”

 

So, like Bartimaeus, let us pray what is in our heart.

 

Let us open ourselves completely and humbly to God.

 

And when we do we will find the blindness’s of our own lives healed.

 

We will find taken from us that spiritual blindness that causes us to grope about aimlessly, to ignore those in need around us, to not see the beauty of this world that God shows us all the time.

 

Like Bartimaeus, we too will be healed of whatever blinds us to the Light of God breaking through into our lives.

 

And when that blindness is taken from us, with a clear spiritual vision granted to us, we too will focus our eyes, square our shoulders and follow Jesus on the way.

The Memorial Service for Delbert Moen

 Del Moen

August 18, 1925-October 18, 2024

October 26, 2024

+ As I said at the begging of our service, I am so very honored to officiate at this service for Del.

 Del was essentially my great-uncle.

 His wife Mercille was married to my mother’s uncle.

 But this complicated family connections never mattered for any of us.

 We were always family.

 And I always saw Del as my great-uncle.

 I truly admired him.

 He was such a good and gracious person.

 I think fondly about the deep love he had for Mercille, and the care he gave her through her last years.

 I think often of his quiet, gentle ways.

 In the memories that were shared about Del on the Hanson-Runsvold website, Del was referred to as a “quiet hero.”

 I love that.

 I think that captures perfectly who Del was.

 I certainly always looked forward to seeing him and talking with him.

 And every time I saw him, he was always so happy to see me.

 And as sad as I am today to say goodbye this really wonderful person, I am also very grateful.

 I am grateful for Del and for all he was.

I am grateful for the strong faith in God he had.

 I am grateful for his presence in my life.

 I am grateful for his presence in the life of Mercille and Jackie and his whole family.

 I am grateful for what he meant to you, those of who came today to remember Del.

 And even though we are sad today, we also able to rejoice.

 We rejoice in Del.

 We rejoice in all that was good and kind and gentle in Del.

 And as we gather today, as we remember Del, as think of who he was to each of us, please think about who he was and what makes you grateful for having knowing him.

 And as you do so, remember this.  

 Today is not the end of anything.

 Yes, we are saying goodbye.

 But it is only a temporary goodbye.

 It is a goodbye until we see him again.

 For now, we are not going to stop remembering him, or thinking of him.

 His presence will certainly stay with us as long after we have left here and go back to our own lives.

 Now, I have no doubt that Del is with us here this afternoon, celebrating his life with us. 

 I am of the firm belief that what separates us who are alive and breathing here on earth from those who are now in the so-called “nearer presence of God” is actually a very thin division.

 So, yes, right now, I think we can feel that that separation between us here and those who have passed on is, in this moment, a very thin one.

 And because of that belief, I take a certain comfort in the fact Del is close to us this afternoon. 

 He is here, in our midst, celebrating his life with us.

 And we should truly celebrate his life.

 It was a good life.

 It was long, full life.

 And in that life, he did a lot of good.

 He made a difference.

 And I can tell you that I will never forget that strong and gentle presence.

 That presence is here with us today as we remember him and give thanks for him.

 And, for those of us who have faith, we know that where Del is now there is only life there.

 Eternal life.

 Where Del is now, he is complete and whole.

 He is with Mercille.

 And he is happy.

 And he will never again shed another tear.

 Because we know that Del and all our loved ones have been received into God’s arms of mercy, into the “blessed rest of everlasting peace.”

 This is what we cling to on a day like today.

 This is where we find our strength.

 This what gets us through this temporary—and I do stress that it is temporary—this temporary separation from Del.

 We know that—despite the sadness we may feel—somehow, in the end, God is with us and Del is with God and that makes all the difference.

 Certainly, Del believed in that and hoped in that.

 Del’s deep faith sustained him again and again through his life.

 And the great example of his faith helps us now as we move forward.

 For Del, sorrow and pain are no more.

 Del, in this holy moment, has gained life eternal.

 And that is what awaits us as well.

 We might not be able to say “Alleluia” with any real enthusiasm today.

 But we can find a glimmer of light in the darkness of this day.

 It is a glorious Light we find here.

 And for that we can rejoice and be grateful.

And we can celebrate.  

We will miss you, Del.

We will always be grateful for you.

May angels welcome you, Del.

May all the saints come forward to greet you.

And may your rest today and always be one of unending joy.