Sermons
The Rev. Eric K. Hinds
Rector, St. Matthew's Episcopal Church
1 June 2008, The Third Sunday after Pentecost, Year A. Lessons: Genesis 6:9-22, 7:24, 8:14-17; Psalm 46; Romans 1:16-17, 3:22b-28, (29-31); Matthew 7:21-29
Difficult Journeys and Faithful Conversations
In our journeys of faith, as individuals and as a community, there are some things that we find difficult to talk about--some conversations, because they touch upon deeply personal matters or because they connect to areas of strong emotion or belief--are often held at bay, with the result that we are polite, respectful and tolerant with one another (good traits—very Episcopalian); yet at another level we lose something if we never risk sharing and talking about those things that delve into our fears, areas of ambiguity, uncertainty or discomfort.
Most of you know that I grew up in the Episcopal Church. I was raised on the language of the 1928 Prayer book, and when Anne and I were married in 1984, I concluded my marriage vow by saying “and there to I plight thee my troth.” My home parish feared the New Prayer book, which was perceived as a kind of liberal plot to take over the church. It was not until seminary that I really developed a deeper appreciation for many of the changes and additions within our current prayer book, some based on the practice of the very early Christian church.
One of the things that you would not know about me unless I told you was that when I was a kid growing up I had buck teeth--not just a slight case, but a case that required eight pulled teeth and over 6 years of orthodontics to correct. One of the results of having an obvious physical difference was that I attracted attention because of my appearance. Sometimes the attention was as benign as a kid asking “hey, what happened to your teeth?” But as early as nursery school and kindergarten I was exposed to various levels of name calling. Early on I learned that Bucky Beaver, and Bugs Bunny could be intoned to yield widely different meanings ranging from gentle teasing to meaner and more cruel intentions. For the most part I was well liked and got along with my classmates, but there were some days in grade school where the weight of being different, of being made fun of and excluded, were so painful that I just wanted to find a place to hide and cry, and find a little relief from the fear of another episode of taunting. Upon reflection of my own spiritual journey, it is perhaps not surprising that at a young age the Gospel of Jesus Christ spoke to me, and resonated with me in a way that it did not seem to for my peers. One of my earliest childhood memories was my mother singing the song Jesus Loves Me to me at bedtime.
Like most kids I went to Sunday school and from a very young age, and even when, perhaps especially when, a classmate made fun of me, I knew—knew deep down--that Jesus loved me, loved me as a unique child of God and affirmed my place in the world. I can still remember the day in my fifth grade classroom deciding that I would dedicate myself to follow the example of Jesus and attempt to live by the summary of the law. To above all--love God and attempt to love my neighbor as myself. My point in sharing this story is not that it is so unique, but that as a religious community--rarely do we have the opportunity to share with one another those aspects of our life that have been foundational to our life of faith--those things that reveal more completely to one another who we are as children of God.Since I grew up in the Episcopal Church my faith was also shaped by a polity that resisted dogma. I was deeply appreciative of a church that let me ask questions and resisted supplying simple pat answers. I cherish the fact that in the Episcopal Church I participate in a denomination: that is anchored in tradition, yet honors intellectual enquiry and fosters robust debate that engages the mind and intellect and also honors personal experience. In retrospect, it is often hard to imagine the depth of passion and division that various issues have generated. It is especially difficult to contemplate for our denomination--which has a long history of being able to accommodate individuals with widely different views and opinions.
I was in college when the 1979 Prayer book was introduced and so missed much of the furor and drama surrounding that change. I also lived through the debates over women’s ordination where I observed and experienced the fear of fracture and division. Since those debates I have lived to see the way that a simple change in our rules for ordination, a change that was anything but easy, has dramatically changed our view of women as leaders of our church and their important contributions in shaping our community of faith.
One need only read the recent headlines to be reminded that in our day both our society and churches are still wrestling with the many issues that surround the area of sexual orientation and identity, and the question of how to acknowledge, make provision for and include gay and lesbian people in our communities. The widely different reactions, from joy and jubilation to angry disbelief, to the California Supreme court’s decision to affirm Gay marriage, is a measure of the range of public opinion. The widely different reactions of people tell us that this discussion has not been an easy one.
If you have been active in the Episcopal Church then you know that our denomination has for at least the past 30 years engaged in discussion and discernment over this issue. In 2003, the election of an openly gay priest, living in a committed relationship, to the office of Bishop in the Diocese of New Hampshire, and the subsequent approval of Gene Robinson’s election by a majority of dioceses of the Episcopal Church--brought into focus a change in practice which was the result of many years of prayerful deliberation and debate. The election and the subsequent consent and approval of Bishop Robinson’s election put the US church at odds with many churches in the rest of the Anglican Communion. If you follow the news of our Anglican communion then you would know that the Lambeth Conference, the 10 year gathering of primates and bishops from every country of our communion, (to date over 800 bishops have signed up) will be held next month. The independent nature and action of the Episcopal Church in the whole sphere of dealing with the issue of sexual orientation is sure to receive much attention and press coverage.
At the expense of a somewhat longer sermon I think it is important for us to pause and reflect upon some of the salient issues that certainly touch us here at St. Matthew’s. The first thing I want to acknowledge and honor is that this has not been an easy topic for public discussion and we will not likely arrive at complete agreement. It is an important dialogue none the less--for it touches deeply upon aspects of our common life together. Discussion of issues surrounding sexuality are difficult for several reasons. First of all, most of us do not regularly enter into discussions about sex. Certainly not public discussions about sexuality, and our tendency is to think that someone who does readily and openly initiate conversations about sexuality is a person socially out of place. Even if we are able to overcome our general discomfort of talking about sexuality in general, our own sexuality in particular, the next hurdle to open discussion is even more difficult.
Most of us experience our sexual identity so strongly, as such a fundamental part of who we are, that we have great difficulty listening to, let alone understanding and fathoming, someone else’s experience in relationship to our own. And that is assuming that first we could get to the level of trust required where another person could openly share their own experience especially if it is at odds with our own. We should add that this type of honest and very vulnerable conversation does not lend itself to argument and debate.
As a parish priest I have been allowed to share in some of those conversations. I listened to the journey of a young man who painfully realized that his sexual orientation was not a choice and that his identity as a gay man placed barriers in his path towards social acceptance. I have listened to parents in some cases describe how difficult it was for them when they learned that their son or daughter was gay and the enormous gulf that they initially felt in attempting to understand their child’s difference. I have also listened to parents describe how inevitably their own attitudes and preconceptions began to change, sometimes dramatically, as they listened to their child’s experience and self--understanding. At a time when some felt it completely unsafe to talk with anyone I have listened in a sacramental way to some of the fears that attach to an individuals awareness that one’s sexual identity does not match that of the prevailing culture.
For the most part, theses conversations did not come easily, and we have to admit that this can be an incredibly difficult, personal and vulnerable conversation—a conversation nothing like arguing over the prayer book. For Christians, the conversation is further complicated by our being a people of the book, who look to scripture to inform our faith, and this is a conversation that has its own set of challenges. This morning we can not enter into a full discussion about the interpretation scripture. Let me simply reference that we are generally uncomfortable with fundamentalism, that is an uncritical reading of scripture, and that we recognize that individual passages can not be read in isolation. What appear to be very restrictive passages are often at odds with examples of radical inclusion and we labor as modem Christians to make sense of our sacred texts.
In many ways it would be far easier if we deferred interpretation of scripture to a council—or relied upon the proclamation of a magisterium, but that has never been our polity. We believe that the Holy Sprit moving through our whole church--clergy and laity together leads us towards a deeper understanding of where God calls us—even if we encounter ambiguity and heated discussion along the way. I am aware that for this parish, like most of the church, much of the conversation surrounding sexual orientation has been avoided. And it is easy to act as if this issue and discussion is occurring only out there--abstractly at the level of the National Church. And yet experience teaches me that the conversation is especially important here, between: parent and child, brother and sister, friends and neighbors. In the short time that I have spent with you it has been striking that again and again I have been confronted by the reality that the most beloved rector of St. Matthew’s was a gay man who poured his heart and soul into this parish and has had an enduring impact upon this community, and yet it seems a difficult thing to mention or acknowledge. At one level it doesn’t matter at all, but at another level, because every aspect of our identity--what makes us who we are is vital, it is something of tremendous importance.
On All Saints Day this past year I went to the Church Divinity School of the Pacific, to visit Anne Emry, and to hear the Dean of Canterbury Cathedral, Robert Willis, preach. I first met Robert seven years ago at Canterbury when he was just appointed Dean. After the All Saints Day service, Dean Willis spoke about the long history of the Christian community that was established at Canterbury in the year 597 and has worshipped continually since the 6th Century. Fourteen centuries of worship at the see where the Archbishop of Canterbury is a symbol of Unity for our Communion. The Dean of the Cathedral described how each summer Canterbury hosts a gathering of seminarian scholars from across the communion for a one month program. After 7 years experience of hosting this gathering Robert said a predictable pattern has emerged.
The first week he said is all politeness, introductions, courtesies, (Anglicans do this very well) and learning where everyone is from. It takes until the second week before real differences begin to emerge. And by the third week (now predictable pattern says Robert) people are slamming doors, storming out (only to return when the realize that they have no where else to go), some students not talking to one another, in the wake of heated words over deep seated disagreements. At the end of the third week all seems lost. And then Dean Willis said an interesting thing begins to happen.
In the context of Canterbury, with centuries of unbroken tradition and worship, there begins to be a realization that last time that this group will be together—is approaching--and that this group—sharing a month long journey together will never come together again. And inevitably one of the participants, often a participate who has been one of the most vocal in expressing dissent, will step forward and say something like “I know that we have significant differences, wide gulfs of experience and opinion, and while I now know that we are not going to reconcile them here, I have come to realize that those things that we share in being disciples of Christ are far greater and stronger than anything that divides us. And on this day, before the end of our time together I reach out to my brothers and sisters in Christ, that we might share the rest of our meals and worship—together--with an even deeper appreciation of the love of God which binds us together-- even with our differences.
The experience of Canterbury speaks profoundly to the heart of both why I am an Episcopalian and a priest in this church—for it speaks to the way that we are called to be a community that above all gathers to expresses our love for God, and to care for one another in spite of our differences. With regard to the issue of sexual orientation and inclusion I want to be clear that our communion and sacraments are open to all people. In this sacred space we are united by our common worship. Jesus invites each of us to venture into a deeper life of faith--a faith distinguished by our ability to be open, honest and vulnerable with one another. We are called to place our greatest hopes and fears before God. It is a radical trust that believes that our true and fullest identity is met and realized in Christ Jesus, and that we will be fully known as a community who’s ultimate identity is rooted in the love and compassion of our Lord Jesus Christ.
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