Sermon by Rev. Susan Sherard

July 19, 2009

While I was preparing today's homily, I was sitting in the front of the computer, following General Convention.  This time around, we had access to Convention through live steaming, live blogs and you-tube – all of which gave a greater sense of the feel of Convention, from a variety of perspectives.  Two moments of my long distance Convention experience stand out for me as we enter into reflection about today's lessons.  Both moments came after the passage of the resolution granting Bishops pastoral generosity with regard to blessings of the unions of lesbian, gay and transgender couples.
 
As always, the news about this resolution lacked the Anglican nuance out of which it was created. My own sense is that the intention of the resolution was confessional:  to tell the truth about who we are as a church – a mix of varying people who live in tension and in union with one another.  Some Bishops are approving blessings; some aren't.  Some states are moving toward greater acceptance of civil marriage; some aren't.  The resolution also calls for the gathering of resources that are already being used, in our church and in the Anglican Communion, in the blessing of same gender and transgender unions.  The gathering might or might not be the beginning of something more formal, but it is a next, reasonable step in a liturgically centered church.  Finally, the resolution reaches out a hand to the Anglican Communion, requesting its continued prayers for us, and offering our commitment to the same.
 
The moments that I especially remember about Convention came after the House of Bishops debated  and passed this resolution.  Apparently, the day before, the resolution had come up, debate had begun, and there was a decision to continue the debate the next day. Overnight, a large group of Bishops of diverse opinions met and crafted an amended resolution, which was adopted by a sizeable majority. Though the debate prior to the vote was quite civil, you could feel a keen sense of anticipation coming right through the computer screen.  Once the vote was over, as always happens at the close of both Houses, the chaplain went to the podium to offer closing prayers.  As she began to pray, what struck me first was the tone of her voice.  There was a such depth and calm to her voice that, even if she had  been reading recipes or baseball scores, you would have felt the peace of Christ filling the room.  And even though hours had just been spent on a decision that would cause both rejoicing and despair in the church, her first petitions addressed the needs of those who are living in poverty and war, the needs of those whose lives are affected by our current economic crisis, the need for this fragile earth to be respected by us, its stewards.  Through her tone of voice and her choice of opening petitions, she opened the way for Christ to remind us of the whole of who we are.  And in being reminded of the whole who we are, we received that reviving of the soul that is so eloquently described in today's psalm.  She brought to memory the Jesus that is described in the gospel, the one whose healing presence was so compelling that people couldn't leave him alone, no matter what their need or nature.
 
Each of today's lesson, each in its own way, speaks to the promised presence of God's peace and redemption, even in the midst of human experience where some are not at peace, where some are not feeling God's redeeming hand.  In the first lesson, Jeremiah issues prophecies from the context of a society in collapse.  But collapse is not the heart of the prophet's message.  God's promised kingdom is the news that Jeremiah delivers.  There is no moment in human history, the prophet declares, there is no moment in human history that is free of God's redeeming hand.
 
So the chaplain finished the prayers in the House of Bishops in Anaheim, and, even though I was sitting in North Carolina, viewing the experience on a screen with poor resolution and sound, I was visited by the grounding, heart beat of God.  I happen to be someone who favors their vote.  I happen to be one who rejoices in the increasing, though not yet complete welcome, of my lesbian, gay and transgender brothers and sisters.  But I also know and love people who do not share my joy, and this tempers my response. In a most mundane and profound way, I am a well trained southern female as well as a sinful and faithful Christian.  I truly do want everyone to be happy.  I do look forward to everyone being at the table, and everyone being glad to be there.  We aren't at that place yet; there is pain at the table, along with great rejoicing.
 
So I sat there a while, long after the picture and sound faded, and watched the little circle that goes round and round on the screen when the live stream is finished.  In fact, I found myself watching that little swirling circle like I sometimes watch this table in my memory.  Yes, the bread and wine are the real presence of Christ. They are also a symbol.  And sometimes the memory inspired by the symbols are needed when the real presence of Christ has poor resolution and sound in our lives.  Sometimes the symbols help us to remember the promised peace of God when the details of our lives tempt us to forget.
 
"Remember" is the opening word of today's epistle.  This section of Ephesians is a before and after account of the Gentiles.  Before Christ, the Gentiles were outcasts.  After Christ, the Gentiles became one with the faithful.  This change, this inclusion of yet another flock of outcasts, came about through Christ.  Not through the Jews changing their beliefs.  Not through the Gentiles beginning to act like the Jews.  The two very different peoples came together at the table of God because Christ led them there.  And while this is a beautiful example of the hope of God, we can never forget how chaotic the merging was; how divisive it was even as the union was being accomplished.
 
Going back to me sitting there in front of the computer, what I did not know, while I was sitting there staring at the swirling circle in the middle of the screen, is that after the chaplain finished the prayers, after the live steam ended and we could no longer see the House of Bishops, they just sat there, too. They were late for the Convention dinners and the evening programs, but they just sat there in silence, for almost ten minutes.
 
Sometimes this happens, doesn't it?  The Spirit of God washes over us and comforts us, even though we are sitting next to someone who voted differently, even though there is both rejoicing and despair among the faithful.  The peace of Christ is not defined by our rightness or wrongness, or by our human attempts to achieve the oneness that only God can achieve. The peace of God is grounded in the eternal hope that God has for all of us.  And because of that hope, all of us have a place at the table, and God's Holy Spirit is leading us there.