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Homily by the
Most Rev. John T. Cahoon, Jr., Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Original
Province, ACC, at the Requiem Mass of Kenneth D. Smith, July 7, 2001
St. Paul begins today's epistle selection with these words, "I would not
have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye
sorrow not, even as others which have no hope." He means, "I don't want you to
be stupid about the state of the dead. If you are ignorant about them then you
will run the danger of feeling sorry for them, as if you had no hope."
Christians do not have to be ignorant about the dead, so we have no reason to
be sorry about where they are or where they are going to be. We would have to be
sorry about the dead if we had nothing about which to be hopeful. But we do have
hope, and the hope we have is what gives us the comfort and strength that helps
us face what has happened. Jesus is going to come back here to get us and take
us to heaven together.
That hope does not answer the inevitable question, "Why do some people live a
long time -- often people who don't really seem to deserve it and others whose
lives appear eminently worthwhile die before what seems to be their time?"
The fallacy there is to presume that we can know what is the right length of
time for a person to live. The psalms say a normal life lasts seventy years. If
a person does not get his three-score years and ten, we have some sort of right
to feel cheated.
But we feel cheated because we don't have the person's company any more. If
we feel sorry because we didn't get more time with him, then we are showing a
lack of gratitude for the time we did get. The person we miss isn't being
cheated at all. He is at rest in the Lord. The hope we have is that at the end
God will bring us all back together again.
I was tempted to get up here today and say ,"I just don't know why this has
happened. I am not going to pretend that I do. I wish Ken were not dead." But I
really cannot bring myself to doubt the wisdom of God in what he has done. I
have seen God do quite a few things which I consider weird or which defy
explanation, but which have turned out to make complete sense.
One of the major differences between God and me is that he sees all of
history -- from Adam and Eve to the return of Jesus -- as one continuous and
simultaneous event. He is not limited -- as we are -- to seeing each thing that
happens as a separate bead on a string. God sees it all at once.
St. Paul promises us that at the end we shall be able to see exactly what God
has seen all along. We shall see everything -- each happy event, each tragedy,
each mundane and daily and unremarkable happening -- as something that has
contributed positively to getting us where we will be at the end.
God does not promise us that everything he does will make immediate sense. He
does promise us that at the end we shall be able to see that it all has made
sense. Living in the tension between long-range trust and immediate uncertainty
is what Christian faith is. Christian faith means acknowledging that God is in
control, and that it is better to have him in control than to have me in
control, painful as it may be to admit it.
A couple of weeks ago, after he had got the final diagnosis, Kenneth asked me
if it were ok to keep on fighting and praying for healing even though the
outcome appeared inevitable.
He answered the question by asking it. He had nothing to lose by resisting
the dying of the light, because he was completely confident that God knew
exactly what he was doing no matter how it might turn out.
Farewell, dear friend. I am looking forward to seeing you again. Your example
is going to help me get there.
When St. Paul sets out to explain Holy
Communion to his church at Corinth, he begins what he has to say this way, "I
have received of the Lord that which also I delivered unto you." I have received
of the Lord that which also I delivered unto you. What he means is, "What I am
going to tell you is not something I made up myself, or something that came to
me out of thin air. It is what I got from somebody else --in this case, from
Jesus Christ himself. I got it from him and I am passing it on to you.
The life of the Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church is a process of getting
it from someone else and then passing it on. That is the literal sense of the
word "tradition." "Tradition" means handing it over, passing it along.
We are all too close in time and too close in emotion to make any kind of
full evaluation of Bishop Rutherfoord's life and its impact upon us. We will get
better at that as time goes on, but we are going to understand fully how God
used him in our lives only when we see everything clearly at the end of time --
no more through a glass, darkly, but face to face.
I do want to suggest to you that one way to look at Bishop Rutherfoord's life
is to see him as a traditioner, as it were -- a man who received from the past
and passed what he received from the past ahead to the future. He was not
necessarily one who originated or one who concluded, but, instead, one who
handed on -- a conscious and willing link in the chain through which God
connects the past to the future. Bishop Rutherfoord was a link in the great
chain of time.
Bishop Rutherfoord was an artist, a craftsman, a maker of beautiful and
spiritually arresting things. In that way he reflected God the Father -- who is
himself an artist, a craftsman, a maker of beautiful and spiritually arresting
things. Bishop Rutherfoord's art drew upon the great traditions of both East and
West. He has left us some striking things to gaze upon. His gift lives on quite
literally in the phenomenal talent of his son and namesake. Bishop Rutherfoord
was a link in the great chain of time.
Bishop Rutherfoord was a Virginian, and a patrician Virginian at that. He was
the very image of the great tradition of Virginia's aristocratic and gentlemanly
Episcopalianism and episcopacy. From the time I was a little boy, my picture of
what a bishop looked like was Beverley Dandridge Tucker, descendant of George
Washington, Rector of St. Paul's in Richmond, and Bishop of Ohio. It seemed to
me that Bishop Rutherfoord was just like Bishop Tucker. I don't want to believe
that that line has died with him. Bishop Rutherfoord was a link in the great
chain of time.
God called Bishop Rutherfoord later in his life to be a priest and a pastor.
He went to seminary just as the Episcopal Church was starting to cut itself off
from its great tradition. But Bishop Rutherfoord was already steeped in the
great tradition, and he had no intention of giving it up.
When the Episcopal Church was no longer a place one could shepherd souls in
the great tradition, he continued his pastoral ministry in the Anglican Catholic
Church, where one can shepherd souls in the great tradition of Anglicanism.
His pastoral ministry lives on in the parish of St. Thomas of Canterbury,
which he founded and led for so many years. The most compelling testimony to
what Bishop Rutherfoord accomplished here is that the parish continues to live
and to grow. What he received he passed on, and the parish lives to pass it on
to others. Bishop Rutherfoord was a link in the great chain of time.
We most often think literally about the chain of time through our idea of
Apostolic Succession. In our bishops we have a tangible connection to the whole
church -- not just to the apostles who were the first bishops, but to all of the
bishops at all times and in all places. Bishop Rutherfoord took his place in the
apostolic chain. God used him to establish the most viable and successful
diocese in continuing Anglicanism.
Bishop Rutherfoord wanted the Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic States to survive
him. He took pains to see to it that it was provided with a stable structure and
with continuing leadership. The most compelling testimony to what Bishop
Rutherfoord accomplished in the Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic States is that it
continues to live and to grow. Bishop Rutherfoord was a link in the great chain
of time.
As Bishop Rutherfoord was on his way into the next world last Friday evening,
the chains in which he was a link were all there at his bedside to say farewell.
Members of his family were there, two brilliant artists were there, his beloved
wife and helpmeet was there, his successor as Rector of St. Thomas of Canterbury
was there; I, his successor as Bishop of the Mid-Atlantic States, was there.
We represented all the links in the chains that connect us to the past
through Bishop Rutherfoord. His life calls all of us to hook ourselves up to the
past and link ourselves to the future. Bishop Rutherfoord was a link in the
great chain of time. "I have received of the Lord that which also I delivered
unto you."
In January I shall have been a bishop of the Church for 15 years. For a
variety of reasons -- the good, the bad and the ugly -- this is only the second
episcopal consecration in which I have taken part. Father Starks was intimately
involved in the other one, too. He was one of my attending presbyters at Bishop
Haverland's magnificent consecration in Athens, Georgia in the winter of 1998.
One of my most vivid memories of that day is looking at Father Starks at one
point and saying, "Well, it's almost over." He looked at me with that
combination of sternness and puckishness which is uniquely his, and said, "I
think, in fact, that it is really only about half over." He was right.
The Scripture readings and all the rest of the Prayer Book consecration
service and everything else we know from example and word of mouth tell us what
a bishop is supposed to be and what a bishop is supposed to do.
The bishop incarnates the unity of the Church. The bishop represents the
wider church to his diocese. The bishop is the diocese's chief pastor and
teacher. The bishop is the successor to the original apostles and to the most
recent apostles and to all of the other apostles in between. The bishop can only
do those things if he loves the Church as St. Edward the Confessor did. Christ
sums it all up, "Feed my lambs. Feed my sheep."
I do not have the knack for compartmentalization that would allow me to
separate neatly my responsibilities as archbishop, as diocesan bishop, and as
parish priest. But as nearly as I can figure it out, one of my main
responsibilities as a diocesan bishop is to be a personnel man -- or, as our
politically correct and euphemistic corporate culture now puts it -- a human
resources man.
On All Saints' Day I will celebrate the 23rd anniversary of my departure from
the Episcopal Church. I think I thought then that by the year 2000 we would have
hundreds of thousands of members, and the Episcopal Church would be but a
memory.
It hasn't quite turned out that way, of course. The Episcopal Church that we
knew is indeed a memory, but the hundreds of thousands of members that have left
it have by no means all come to us. That supports one of the premises of my take
on pastoral theology. I believe every Episcopalian and Anglican is looking for a
good reason not to go to church. Our responsibility is not to give him one.
Put more positively, I will say that over these 23 years every time the
Church has been able to put a good man in place in a supportive parish, the
parish has thrived. That should not surprise us. When God set out to save the
world, he sent a personality to do it.
What a bishop in the Anglican Catholic Church has to do in this era of our
history is to look for capable and attractive men who are committed to Jesus and
called to Holy Orders; see to it that they are trained properly; and then get
them into parishes which will pay them a living wage and take their ministry
seriously; and then let the Holy Ghost do the rest.
The work of the ACC rests primarily on the backs of the parish clergy. We
need to recruit and educate good men, and we need to teach their people to take
care of them materially and spiritually. How shall they preach except they be
sent? Pray ye, therefore, the Lord of the harvest that he will send laborers
into his harvest.
Rommie, my dear friend, I know there is a level of your being at which you
wish all this need never have happened. When Bishop Deyman died, God himself had
to ask the same question he asked in the temple 2800 years ago as the prophet
Isaiah stood by and listened and watched. God asked, "Whom shall we send, and
who will go for us?" By the will of the Holy Spirit expressed by the clergy and
lay people of this diocese and confirmed by the rest of the Church, the finger
of God has quite clearly been pointed at you.
Isaiah replied just as you have been tempted to reply, "Woe is me, for I am a
man of unclean lips." But Isaiah ended up saying what, laying aside absolutely
all other considerations, you now must say, "Here am I, Lord; send me."
There are two places in St. John's Gospel
where Jesus predicts, a bit obliquely, the sort of death he is going to die. In
tonight's gospel, from Chapter 12, he says, "I, if I be lifted up from the
earth, will draw all men unto me." He says that early enough in his ministry
that people might still think he is talking about being lifted up in
triumph—perhaps on a throne, or on the back of a large white horse.
In Chapter 3, after he talks with Nicodemus about being born again, Jesus
connects his coming death to a weird event that took place during Israel's
wandering in the wilderness. The people are being bitten by snakes, and Moses
asks God what he should do about it. God tells Moses to make a replica of a
snake out of brass, and hold it up on a pole so people can look at it. Everyone
who looked at the snake on the stick was cured of snakebite.
Jesus says, "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must
the Son of Man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish,
but have eternal life."
Here again we have a play on the idea of being lifted up. Jesus knows he will
live out the supreme irony of winning his eternal victory by dying—and that he
will be lifted up not on a throne, but on a crude instrument of torture and
capital punishment.
We are here tonight to anticipate Holy Cross Day, or, more properly, the
feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, which comes up this Thursday,
September 14. In earlier days in the Church of England, this feast was called
"Holy Rood Day," since "rood" means "cross." So it is especially nice to be at
St. Alban's to celebrate this feast with you, because you are the host parish of
our church's seminary, called Holyrood.
This feast arises out of the rather curious history of the True Cross—the
Real Rood—the actual pieces of wood on which Jesus was lifted up to die on the
first Good Friday.
The True Cross was recovered—or discovered for the church-- in 326 A.D. The
person who discovered it was St. Helena, who was the mother of Constantine the
Great. Constantine the Great was the emperor who made Christianity legal in the
Roman world. St. Helena's father was King Cole of Colchester who, as we know,
was a merry old soul.
Helena made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in the mid-320s. She discovered
that the True Cross had been tossed into a ditch near a temple dedicated to
Venus, the Goddess of Love, and then covered up with dirt—so she demanded that
it be dug up.
When the cross was unearthed, according to the story, it healed a sick woman
immediately and then raised a man from death. St. Helena thereupon ordered that
a basilica be built on the site.
The church, which was finished in 335, contained not only the True Cross, but
also the real nails from the crucifixion. Later on, two of the nails were placed
in Constantine's imperial crown, one turned up later in the crown of
Charlemagne, and one was thrown into the Adriatic to calm a storm. The custom of
raising up, or exalting, the True Cross in a public ceremony began in 338—on
September 14, as far as we know.
The cross is the center of the Christian religion. That would be true, of
course, even if St. Helena had never found the original. It was on the cross of
Calvary that Jesus offered himself as "a full, perfect, and sufficient
sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world."
It is by the cross—or, more properly, by what happened on the cross-- that we
have our sins forgiven, and we become reconciled to God.
We place crosses at the center and on the tops of our churches; we wear
crosses around our necks; we lead our processions with crosses; we seal the
newly-baptized with the sign of the cross; we make the sign of the cross on our
own bodies to show we agree with teaching and to underline our enthusiastic
response to sacramental grace.
When we look at Jesus lifted up on the cross, we are cured of the snakebite
of sin, and we see that the sentence of eternal death we deserve is taken away.
So to echo St. Paul, "God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of
our Lord Jesus Christ." A blessed and Happy Holy Rood Day!
Some years before I became a bishop I
went out to dinner with a married couple who were good friends of mine. The
husband thought he might have a vocation to the ministry, and one of the
purposes of our getting together was to begin to try to sort that question out.
The dinner came during the height of the popularity of the t.v. program
"Dallas," to which I was pretty much addicted. I really cared who shot JR, and I
was ecstatic when Elvis's widow joined the cast. In any event, the wife in the
couple was as big a "Dallas" fan as I was, and when she and I began to carry on
about what had happened on the previous Friday evening's episode, the husband
broke in and said, rather impatiently, "I've always hated soap operas." I shot
back, "Then you probably don't have a vocation to the priesthood after all."
The revealed word of God is a series of soap operas. We might call the Old
Testament "One Man's Family"—the bizarre saga of how a group of wandering
shepherds and their offspring survived rape, incest, exogamy, witchcraft,
alcohol abuse, adultery, and murder to become the family into which the Son of
God would be born.
The New Testament brings us the picaresque tale of a wandering rabbi who
forges a group of ignorant misfits into an organization which conquers the
world. There seems to be less that is obviously soap operatic about the New
Testament, until you consider that behind it all is the story of an extremely
long-suffering man who is desperately in love—a man who gives up everything he
has to take a long journey into a far country to win back his beloved bride who
has fallen into adultery and debauchery of every kind.
A good priest knows that everyone's life is a soap opera—his own included—and
he enters into his parishioners' individual and collective soap operas because
he loves them and because he has something to offer them. He does not offer them
an end to their soap operas, he offers them something better than that. He
offers them the opportunity to see that their individual soap operas are little
dramas about the possibility of salvation and redemption that have been scripted
and directed by God Almighty himself.
Through looking at the soap operas as they really play out, and by mixing
into them the Word of God and the Sacraments of the Church, the priest plays a
central role in God's saving activity.
God's saving activity encompasses real life and real death and real suffering
and real joy. We need our priests. We love the priests whom we see loving us.
They bring us Jesus, who came into the real soap opera world and died to save
it, and lives again for it.
Deacon Charles Thomas, today may be indeed the Eve of Pentecost, but it is
also the 954th birthday of St. Margaret of Scotland. Your own vocation was
nurtured in a parish which bears her name. I know that is true, because I
watched it happen.
St. Margaret's life was a royal soap opera. It featured illiteracy, exile,
treachery, and murder. She was able to endure all of it, because she read her
Bible, and she said her prayers, and she took care of poor people. You could do
far worse in your priesthood than to emulate her in all those specific
activities—read your Bible, say your prayers, and take care of poor people.
St. Margaret had a deep and abiding sense of who she was: a wife, a mother, a
queen, and a Christian, and she did her duty in those states of life into which
it pleased God to call her.
In the midst of the soap operas into which you shall now enter, dear Deacon
Tom, please keep a deep and abiding sense of who you are, too, and do your duty
accordingly: you are a Messenger, a Watchman, and a Steward of the Lord, a
priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek.
DMAS Synod, Year
2000 In June 2000 Archbishop Cahoon
delivered this message at the Diocesan Synod for Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic
States.
We learned at this morning's celebration that today is the feast of St.
Columba, abbot of Iona and evangelist of Scotland. I have a bit of a personal
stake in St. Columba. The first records of my Scottish clan place my ancestors
in the service of St. Kessog. Kessog was a disciple of Columba, and he planted a
monastic foundation around Loch Lomond. The crozier I carry to symbolize my
office of bishop is a genuine shepherd's crook from the Loch Lomond area — a
further, if somewhat indirect, connection between St. Columba and our own
church.
The Latin word "Columba," like the Hebrew word "Jonah," means "dove." That
proved to be a rather ironic name for our saint. He was known to have instigated
at least one bloody battle, and a biographer wrote of him, "Of all qualities,
gentleness was precisely the one in which Columba failed the most."
If that fact did not qualify him to be a patron of the Continuing Church, his
ethnic confusion probably would. Butler's Lives of the Saints begins his entry
by saying, "The most famous of Scottish saints, Columba, was actually an
Irishman."
Has this been a good year for the Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic States? I would
have to say, "Yes, it has been." Shortly after the last Provincial Synod I wrote
to Bishop and Mrs. Rutherfoord. I told them that I believed my election as
Archbishop was in fact a way of honoring our diocese — of the ACC's
acknowledging finally that the stable foundation Bishop Rutherfoord and others
established here twenty years ago was in fact the proper model not only of how
to run a diocese, but also of how to guarantee that a diocese survives. We
should all be grateful.
It seems to me that in every parish I visit I confirm and receive more new
members than I did the last time I was there. Parishes which were once content
with part-time clergy are moving toward full-time ministries. Previously
troubled parishes are settling down. Parishes which were satisfied with renting
are now buying and building. Growing parishes are looking toward bigger
buildings.
Our diocese-wide activities continue to flourish. We give thanks to God for
the stewardship of Fr. Blair, and Fr. McClean, and Fr. Smith and others over our
summer youth camp in past years. We also look forward to the new youth camp
ministries of Fr. Jones and Fr. Gardner. The pre-Advent retreat, the Day of
Witness, and the choir festival all continue to be great successes, and our
annual synods are havens of blessing and of peace — at least they have been so
far.
We have some fine men studying for the ministry of the church. They are the
hope of our future together. I am grateful to St. Thomas of Canterbury in
Roanoke for sponsoring the diaconal internship of Deacon Thomas McHenry. I shall
be happy if no man is ever again ordained priest in this diocese who has not had
an experience similar to the one which St. Thomas and Fr. Gardner have provided
for Deacon Tom.
I am thankful that St. Francis in Blacksburg is providing a summer internship
for our postulant Will Cohen. May there be many more such opportunities for our
students. The whole province will before long be grateful to Fr. Barr and Fr.
Blair who are taking the leadership in establishing Holyrood- Richmond.
Early in Lent I sent out an appeal for money for the Anglican Advance Fund.
The fund helps pay to maintain the Provincial office in Alexandria, provides
money for the travel expenses of our non-USA bishops, and defrays our legal
costs.
The appeal, quite frankly, did not do very well. As I have traveled around
the province in the past several weeks, I have come to the conclusion that there
are other reasons for its not doing well besides the usual solicitation fatigue.
There are people who seem to believe that our legal troubles are over or nearly
over. Believe me, they are not.
Our parishes and our bishops and provincial officers have been dragged into
court by people who are hostile to us and to what we stand for. We have yet to
lose anything substantial in any trial court, but the provision in our system
for seemingly endless appeals makes us vulnerable to being starved out by what
is contained in the very deep pockets the other side seems to possess.
Others have suggested to me that being involved in these legal cases is
somehow a frivolous indulgence in the sort of petty squabbling which seems to be
pandemic in the Continuing Church. I reject that idea entirely. We are only
defending what is rightfully ours.
When I visited the synod of the Diocese of the Resurrection last month, three
of the parishes were in litigation — two of them were being sued by their former
priests. Being involved in a lawsuit is incredibly disheartening and
debilitating, as anyone who has been so involved knows. We need to stand with
those people. It is also crucial that we have clear legal title to the names and
symbols of our church and of its various works.
We need to make it possible for bishops who do not live in the U..S to travel
to our annual meetings and for bishops from the US to travel abroad when they
are needed there.
I make no apology whatever for asking for money for the Anglican Advance
Fund—the province needs office help, we have to pay our legal bills, and travel
money is essential. The province has no other means of paying these bills if we
don't give. I plan to pass a hat—or maybe a miter--at this afternoon's
session—so don't say nobody warned you! I wish each parish would also consider a
gift to this fund when you go home.
At the extremely emotionally charged Requiem which preceded the burial of
Bishop Joseph P. Deyman last week, Bishop Stanley Francis Lazarczyk reminded the
worshippers why the witness of our church is so important. He pointed out that
Bishop Deyman was, in ascending order of importance, an Anglican, a Catholic,
and a Christian.
He said Bishop Deyman showed he was a Christian by leaving the established
church in the late 1970's, when it departed explicitly from the historic,
Biblical faith. He showed he was a Catholic in 1991, when he remained loyal to
the ACC rather than become part of an ecclesiologically questionable,
politically expedient amalgamation plan. He showed he was truly an Anglican in
1997 by refusing to make common cause with former members of our church who
wanted to downgrade the righteous heritage we have received from the Church of
England.
For all of our freely-admitted foibles and weirdnesses, and despite the
twists and turns of our checkered history, the Anglican Catholic Church remains
the legitimate heir to the jurisdiction of the Church of England that came to
Jamestown in 1607. I hope you believe that. I hope you are willing to give money
to support it.
Later this year our diocese will host another ACC Congress on Evangelism. I
hope that many of you will attend—both because you have something to learn and
because you have something to teach. Our primary task is to maintain what we
have and with the help of the Holy Ghost to make it grow.
Tomorrow is Whitsun Eve. It was on that day 1437 years ago that St. Columba
set out to evangelize Scotland and help establish the church from which part of
our apostolic succession descends.
Again reading from Butler. "Missionary zeal and love of Christ are the only
motives ascribed to (Columba) by his early biographers or by St. Adamnan, who is
our chief authority for his subsequent history. In the year 563 Columba embarked
with twelve companions—all of them his blood relations—in a wicker coracle
covered with leather, and on the Eve of Pentecost landed in the island of Iona."
Let us resolve by grace to get into our own boats and paddle them along
behind St. Columba, and see if we can convert some people too.
The Prayer Book's service for Holy Matrimony preaches the most effective
sermon possible on the subject. God and Jesus and St. Paul all agree, for
various reasons, that Christian marriage is a good thing. As a result, following
the Prayer Book, each member of the couple makes promises to God and to each
other which concern his moral will.
They are promises he cannot possibly keep on his own. So by blessing the
marriage God says, "As long as you have the will to keep these promises, I will
give you the grace and the help you need to do it."
Today's wedding points out a custom which the Church of England and her
lineal descendents share which is unlike the custom of any other Catholic church
on earth. That is the custom that her clergy may marry. In the Roman Communion
priests are not to marry, but married men can in some cases serve as priests. In
Eastern Orthodoxy a married man may be ordained priest, but no priest may get
married.
Our church's rule is that, since Holy Scripture in no way forbids it, the
clergy are permitted to apply to themselves the same standards which St. Paul
lays out for all Christians in his First Epistle to the Corinthians. St. Paul
says some people are called to be married, and some people are called not to be
married. Each state of life is a gift which carries its own advantages and
disadvantages.
God doesn't think that either of the states is superior to the other. He
leaves it to you and the Holy Ghost to figure out which gift you have and then
act accordingly.
Father Jones stood before me when I made him a deacon and ordained him a
priest, and he promised that his home and his family would be wholesome examples
and patterns to the flock of Christ. Today he and Megan are taking a momentous
new step in that direction.
Article of Religion XXXII, titled "Of the Marriage of Priests," says that it
is lawful for the clergy as it is "for all other Christian men, to marry at
their own discretion, as they shall judge the same to serve better to
godliness."
Let us pray that the marriage begun here today will indeed serve Megan and
Father Chad better to their own personal godliness, and that it will always
stand as a wholesome example and pattern to us.
That makes sense, in part, because St. Stephen's is, after all, my parish
church. My family and I live closer to St. Stephen's than we do to any other
Anglican Catholic parish except, of course St. Stephen's mission, St. Michael
the Archangel in Frederick, of which we shall be hearing more later on.
As you learned earlier this morning, today is the feast of St. Barnabas. St.
Barnabas is a remarkable New Testament character. St. Luke describes him as "a
good man, full of faith and of the Holy Ghost." That is as favorable a review as
anyone in the Bible gets.
The description of Barnabas sounds like what people who never read the Bible
think everybody in the Bible is like - a paragon of such virtue as to be
irrelevant to normal human experience. But Barnabas is, indeed, a flesh and
blood human being - albeit a good one.
Without being excessively schematic about things, I want to use several of
the themes St. Barnabas' life raises to talk about the past, the present, and
the future of the Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic States. I can assure you first of
all of what later reports will also tell you - the fundamental state of the DMAS
is very sound. St. Barnabas was a good man. This is a good diocese.
I can point happily to the vigor of our diocesan events - the choir festival,
the Day of Witness, the pre-Advent retreat, the summer camp, and this synod
itself - as good indications that we are more than just a collection of
congregations united only on paper.
Much of what we know about St. Barnabas has to do with money. The bishop who
ordained me told me that the greatest frustration in the ministry is the lack of
measurable results. I disagree with him - at least to the extent that I don't
think it is completely wrong to look at Treasurer's Reports for some sort of
indication of how things are going. Our Treasurer's report for this past year -
and the income he anticipates for next year - are gratifyingly positive.
We first meet St. Barnabas as a landowner who sells a field and gives all the
proceeds to the apostles. He appears to be a rich man, yet none of the apostles
reject him or his generosity because of it. Later on Barnabas is instrumental in
raising money from the richer Gentile regions of the church to help the poorer
churchmen in Jerusalem.
Barnabas' prudent dealing with money helps us to see why he is called "a good
man." We have it on the authority of Christ himself that what a man does with
his money goes a great distance toward revealing who he is - "Where your
treasure is, there will your heart be also."
Everyone knows there is no magic formula for raising money in the church.
There is a divine formula, however, and that is to awaken people to their
Biblical obligation to tithe - to give at least ten percent of their income off
the top for what the Prayer Book calls religious and charitable purposes.
We model tithing at all the levels of the church - our parish gives away at
least ten percent of its income per year for charity and mercy beyond what we
give the diocese, the diocese in turn gives ten percent of its income to the
Province and another ten percent to charitable works, and more than ten percent
of provincial income is given away.
If you are concerned about money in your church, tithing is the key to
solving your problems. The parish priest should preach and teach tithing - and
so, he must, of course, tithe himself. He must not say, "I don't tithe, so I
can't tell them they have to." He must say, instead, "I tithe, and the fruits of
tithing are something I want to share with my people."
St. Barnabas spent a good bit of time in Antioch building up the church
there. That reminds us that the most important work of the church goes on at the
local parish level. When I was making my visitation to the Diocese of the
Pacific Southwest a couple of weeks ago, a man asked me, "What is working in the
ACC?"
I said, "What works in the ACC is what works anywhere - a priest who loves
his sheep and cares for them by feeding them with the Word of God and the
Sacraments of the Church and by. entering into actual relationships with them."
As the priest is obligated to feed his flock, so is the flock obligated to
feed him. Part-time ministry is not the model I want to see persist forever in
this church. I have been very gratified by the general willingness of vestries
in this diocese to strive to pay their clergy properly.
It is not right to think that you can get something for nothing or for
relatively little - just because your priest has a pension from somewhere else
and/or a hard-working and long-suffering wife who is already on a health-care
plan. St. Paul reminds us, "The laborer is worthy of his hire," and "The
presbyters who do good work as leaders should be considered worthy of receiving
double pay, especially those who work hard at preaching and teaching."
Try to pay your priest well and strive to have him work for your parish
full-time. You will never regret it. The sage of Timonium is fond of telling me,
"If you pay peanuts, you get monkeys."
St. Barnabas was a travelling missionary, and I have had to be a travelling
missionary as Acting Metropolitan of the church as well. I am only able to do
what I have been doing as Acting Metropolitan and as Episcopal Visitor to four
domestic dioceses because I have the unswerving support of my parish - which is
kind and generous to me beyond all description. The Executive Committee of the
DMAS has also committed itself consistently to support my missionary work in any
way they can as long as that work continues. I am grateful to them for their
help.
I want also to express my gratitude to Fr. David Rupp of
Ascension-Centreville, and to Fr. Dennis Sossi of St. Matthew's-Seat Pleasant.
They are always ready to help me when I discover I cannot be two or three places
at the same time, and I thank them for giving me that support.
Some more of the very most important things St. Barnabas did had to do with
the reconciliation of seemingly hopelessly estranged people. It was Barnabas who
convinced the apostles at Jerusalem that Saul - who was once bent upon killing
them - had really become converted and was now their ally.
It was Barnabas who convinced St. Paul to return to the mainstream of the
church from his self-imposed exile in Tarsus. It was St. Barnabas who helped St.
Paul convince the other apostles that Jews and Gentiles had to be on equal
footing if the church was to survive. Those are incredibly important
achievements.
I am doing what I can to emulate St. Barnabas in making the ACC as open as we
can possibly be to conversations with other churches with whom we might have
something in common. The ACC's policy was for too long to say, "We'll talk to
anybody," but then, in fact, to talk to nobody.
In April I spent a day meeting with Louis W. Falk, our one-time Archbishop.
The meeting was at his request, and I went with the unanimous concurrence of the
ACC's College of Bishops. Bishop Joseph P. Deyman of the Mid-West attended a
conference of bishops from a number of jurisdictions in early May.
Through the good offices of the clergy of St Stephen's, I met recently with
the Ecumenical Officer of Bishop Walter Grundorf's Anglican Province of America.
I have conversed at length with Bishop John Broadhurst, Suffragan Bishop of
London, and head of the Forward-in-Faith movement in the Church of England. On
my recent trip to the Diocese of the Pacific Southwest I met with a prominent
priest of the ACA (Bishop Falk's group), the Patriarch of the Charismatic
Episcopal Church, and, perhaps most amazing, a priest of the Province of Christ
the King.
I shall soon be meeting again with an Episcopal priest who is prominent in
the Prayer Book Society, the Episcopal Synod, and the Fellowship of Concerned
Churchmen. The Fellowship will have its meeting here at St. Stephen's in August,
and I expect to attend.
I cannot point to any immediate, tangible results of any of those
conversations or beginning and continued relationships. I start off with the
idea that division in the body is a scandal, and that the Holy Ghost can't
possibly heal scandalous divisions if people refuse to talk to one another.
I have been greatly encouraged by my conversations with the Charismatic
Episcopal Church. I believe we are not natural competitors, but that we are
natural allies. I believe we have the same faith, and I rejoice that we have
almost completely different histories!
Honesty compels me to admit that when we last read about St. Barnabas in the
Book of Acts, he is having a tiff with St. Paul. The issue is whether John Mark
- who went home before he completed their first missionary journey - will be
allowed to accompany them on their second missionary journey. Paul says, "No,"
so Barnabas takes Mark and sails off to his native Cyprus and out of the story.
But later on in his epistles, St. Paul does mention a man named Mark -
positively.
I don't think it is too far-fetched to imagine that St. Barnabas - whose name
means "Son of Consolation" - "the one who encourages" - persuaded Mark to go to
Paul and apologize and reconcile. None of us can afford to forget that at the
core of what we are about together is reconciliation - the reconciliation of man
to God in Jesus Christ, and the reconciliation of estranged human beings to one
another in Jesus Christ.
Second Corinthians must be our watch-word. St. Paul writes, "God was in
Christ reconciling the world to himself . . . and he hath committed unto us the
word of reconciliation." St. Barnabas shows us the way.
It is a great thrill for me to be back at
St. James to spend this wonderful day with you. My only previous visit here for
the pilgrimage was in 1972 - twenty-seven years ago -about two weeks before the
break-in at the Watergate Hotel in Washington, D.C. I had been a priest for only
about six weeks at that time, yet Fr. Irvin allowed me to administer the holy
waters from the well-an unforgettable opportunity.
That was also just weeks before Fr. Irvin's thirty-ninth birthday, which he
celebrated in part at my wife's and my humble apartment near Shaker Square. The
birthday cake featured a biretta made out of black frosting, Fr. Irvin wore a
paper party hat, and when St. James' then senior warden - the very Catholic Mr.
George Landis - requested both cake and ice cream for dessert, my wife said,
"Well, George, I see you're receiving in both kinds today for a change!"
I just finished going through the Gospel according to St. John with one of my
weekly parish Bible classes. One thing that is particularly striking about that
gospel is that the two most important individual revelations in it are both made
to women. It is St. Mary Magdalene who first sees Jesus after he has risen from
the dead and knows him in his resurrection as Lord and God. And it is the woman
whom he meets at Jacob's well at Sychar to whom Jesus reveals the unvarnished
fact that he is the Messiah of Israel.
I want to spend a moment this afternoon contrasting that woman - and one of
her New Testament sisters - with the Blessed Virgin Mary as she is portrayed in
the Annunciation story in St. Luke's gospel - the story that is at the heart of
the mystery of the revelation at Walsingham. I will close by telling you a story
about a more contemporary Jewish woman to whom the word of God came as well and
who might be able to be of some help to you.
The woman at the well of Sychar is one of the most wonderful creations in
Biblical literature. It is a great shame that her story is not in the Prayer
Book Sunday mass lectionary, because we'd all know her better if it were.
But I hope you all do know about her anyway. Jesus and his friends are
travelling through Samaria on their way from Jerusalem to Galilee. Jesus packs
the disciples off to buy food and heads for the local well. I trust you will
indulge me when I tell you that this story is amusing and St. John intends it to
be amusing.
At any rate, if you are familiar with the Book of Genesis you will know that
in Bible times the well was the best place to go to meet women. This was long
before soda shops, shopping malls, or on-line chat rooms. When Abraham sent his
servant to look for a wife for Isaac, he went to a well. When Jacob wanted to
meet someone to marry he also went to a well.
In the ancient world, women fetched the water for their families, so if you
wanted to meet a healthy woman, a well was a good place to look. The place in
Nazareth the Orthodox venerate as the site of the Annunciation is at a well -
that fact is not in the Bible, but the idea is perfect.
In any event Jesus meets the woman at the well and asks her for a drink of
water. That was a major violation of Hebrew cleanliness taboos, and she knew it.
Jesus was not acquainted with her in the first place, and in the second, she was
a Samaritan - that put at least two strikes against her.
Jesus says, "Woman, if you knew who I am, you'd be asking me for water, and
I'd be giving you living water." The highly practical woman replies, "You don't
even have a bucket with you - how are you going to give me any water?" Jesus
says, "After you drink the water you are collecting here, you're just going to
get thirsty again. I can give you water that you can drink and never get thirsty
again. Again she replies with perfect practicality and shrewdness, "Please give
me some of that water and I won't have to schlep this pot down here and then
back home any more."
Jesus has been setting a large bear trap for her in this initial bantering.
He says, in all seeming innocency, "Go get your husband and then come on back.
The woman says, "I don't have a husband." Jesus says, "You're absolutely right
to say you don't have a husband - in fact you have had five husbands, and the
man you are living with now is not your husband." She is obviously the New
Testament antetype of Henry VIII. So the woman, now completely disarmed,
replies, "Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet."
What she does next is what I find especially delicious. She changes the
subject. How many times have you been just about to get somewhere in a
conversation on an important topic when the other person changes the subject on
you? "I think you are drinking too much." 'How about that Tribe?" "I love you
more than anything." 'What time does your plane leave?"
The woman at the well finds that her chat with Jesus is getting a bit too
personal. So she tries to get the subject off of the threatening topic of her
sins and into the rather safer realm of comparative religion. She asks him, "You
Jews worship in Jerusalem. We Samaritans have always thought we should worship
God up here -- I wonder who's right?"
Jesus says, "As a matter of fact, we Jews are right - but the time is coming
when it won't matter where you worship God, because you will be able to worship
God anywhere and everywhere." She replies, "I know that when the Messiah comes
he will tell us everything. Jesus says, "I who speak to you am the Messiah."
So even though she changes the subject when the focus of judgment falls upon
her, the woman at the well not only hears more clearly than anyone else that
Jesus is the Messiah - but she also discovers the related point that to have her
sins revealed is to have her sins forgiven. When she goes to bring others to
Jesus she is able to say, "Come meet the man who knew all the bad things I ever
did - but accepted me anyway."
Another hilarious subject - changer appears in the eleventh chapter of St.
Luke's Gospel in the reading for the third Sunday in Lent - Devil Sunday. Jesus
has done an exorcism and he has debated with the Jews over where his power to
cast out demons actually comes from and then he tells a couple of parables about
the devil's nature.
Everything is going along smoothly, when just then a woman yells from the
crowd, "Blessed is the womb that bare thee, and the paps which thou hast
suckled", that is to say, "Your mother must be so proud to have a clever son
like you." Obviously the woman had found the teachings about the devil a bit
threatening and hoped that she could switch the focus to the rather more
predictable realm of maternal piety - perhaps she had a hint of Episcopalianism
or some other form of Wicca in her background.
Jesus replies -- and I believe he replies most sardonically, :"Yea, rather,
blessed are they that hear the Word of God and keep it," that is to say, "The
really happy people are the ones who listen to God's word and then act on it.
He is certainly not attacking his mother - quite the contrary. No one can be
said to have heard the word of God and then kept it more fully or more literally
- than the Virgin herself. When we read St. Luke's first chapter we discover a
woman with all the practical shrewdness of the woman at the well, but mercifully
with no desire to evade an uncomfortable issue when it comes up.
The archangel Gabriel appears in Mary of Nazareth's room - perhaps flying in
presumptuously through her window-and says, "Hail thou that art highly favored,
the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women." Instead of falling to her
knees in a religious ecstasy or saying, "Yes, I am quite the person," St. Luke
tells us that she was upset by the method of Gabriel's appearance, and by what
Gabriel had told her, and so she turned over in her mind just what he could have
been talking about.
Gabriel said, "You don't have to be afraid of me. God wants you to bear his
son - he will be the heir of David and the everlasting king of Israel." The
practical Mary does not avoid his statement or try to move to another topic.
Instead, she applies her practical wit and asks Gabriel what was indeed the most
obvious question, "How am I possibly going to have a baby? I've never slept with
a man."
People sometimes scoff at the Virgin Birth and say that superstitious people
could believe in virgin births in the old days, because they weren't that
certain where babies came from. Those people need to realize that the two people
who first questioned the Virgin Birth were Joseph and Mary themselves.
Gabriel answers her question - telling her that the power of God will come
upon her and overshadow her just as he overshadowed the holy of holies in
Solomon's temple - and so the boy child will be called the Son of God. But he
doesn't rely on her to accept this out of sentimentality or unquestioning piety.
Instead he asks, "If you're wondering whether God can actually do this, just
look at your cousin Elizabeth. Everybody thought she was so old and so barren
that she'd never have a child - and she is six months pregnant. With God,
nothing shall be impossible."
Recognizing an argument as direct and practical as her own, the Virgin says,
"Alright -you've convinced me - I'll do it - behold the handmaid of the Lord, be
it unto me according to thy word." We venerate her because she said yes. We
adore her because she didn't change the subject.
Other than the Bible and the Prayer Book there is no book I recommend more
often to my parishioners than The Way of a Pilgrim. The Way of a Pilgrim and its
sequel The Pilgrim Continues His Way are anonymous accounts of a
nineteenth-century Russian peasant who travels the countryside looking for an
explanation of St. Paul's command in I Thessalonians, 'Pray without ceasing.'
The peasant finally finds a spiritual master who teaches him the Jesus
Prayer, 'Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner' the gospel in
a single sentence. The master tells the pilgrim that if he practices saying the
prayer regularly, he will discover that it will descend from his lips into his
heart, and he will be assured that it is going on in his heart all the time -
all he has to do is bring it to his mind or his lips at will, and he will know
he is praying without ceasing.
I have been a novice practitioner of the Jesus Prayer for about thirty years
now. When I tell people to read the book and give the prayer a try, I say, "This
is a book that can change your life. It may not, but it can - if you will let
it."
After I had known the Jesus Prayer for about a year, I read an essay by the
novelist Ken Kesey - author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest among other
novels. He pointed out that The Way of the Pilgrim is the book Franny Glass is
reading in J.D. Salinger's novella Franny-and the Jesus Prayer and its effect
upon Franny form the subject matter of Salinger's companion novella Zooey.
I had read Franny and Zooey with a great deal of enjoyment when they were
published in 1961 - my Episcopalian mother was an inveterate reader of the "New
Yorker," where the stories first appeared - but it took Ken Kesey to bring me
back to Salinger with new appreciation that came from my own experience of The
Way of the Pilgrim and the Jesus Prayer.
Franny Glass is this afternoon our final Jewish woman to whom the word of God
about Jesus Christ comes - not from Jesus himself and not from an archangel's
visit, but from one of the church's great works of ascetical practice - The Way
of a Pilgrim.
People around her try desperately to get Franny to change the subject-telling
her that the Jesus Prayer can do her real psychological damage and that she
doesn't know Jesus well enough to be entitled to pray the prayer. But she keeps
on with it and in the end achieves a measure of peace of mind - and this in the
midst of a family so religiously eccentric that they would be worthy candidates
for membership in the ACC.
If you are looking for some new excitement in your spiritual life I recommend
that you read The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His Way - both far
shorter than anything by Tom Clancy, Danielle Steele, or John Grisham. Read
them, try practicing the prayer, and then, to encourage yourself further, take a
look at Franny and Zooey for a thoroughly satisfying account of how prayer can
change things - and change them in a way Hallmark Cards would never imagine.
Franny and Zooey arise in the same context we know from reading both the Old
and the New Testaments. These people are smart, articulate Jews - with a bit of
Irish Catholicism tossed into the mix. Franny displays the same shrewd
incarnational piety we see in the woman at the well and in the Blessed Virgin
herself. So when you think about these women, never forget the closing words of
the Book of Proverbs - words written by King Solomon, a man who should have
known what he was talking about, because he had 700 wives and 700 concubines
himself. "Charm is deceptive, and beauty disappears, but a woman who honors the
Lord should be praised. Give her credit for all she does. She deserves the
respect of everyone."
At the beginning of last week I had the
chance to meet with the Vestry of one of our parishes. The meeting took place, I
am pleased to report, for happy and productive reasons rather than upsetting and
suicide-inducing ones. Along with the business we had to transact, inevitably we
got to talking about other things that are going on in the diocese and the wider
church.
One of the women on the vestry has been around the ACC longer than the rest
of the people have, and after she and I exchanged reminiscences about some of
the stranger adventures we have been through together, she exclaimed, "Well, the
amazing thing is that after all of that we are still here." We are still here.
The Congress of St. Louis, which got the continuing church off the ground, took
place twenty years ago this coming fall. We are still here. Whenever some
strange new phone message appears as if by magic on one of my various tapes or a
bizarre new fax invades our kitchen, I look at my wife--or the cat--or just at
the sky and say, "All I wanted to do twenty years ago was save the Prayer Book.
Where did all this other stuff come from?" But, nevertheless, we are still here.
I know I am not supposed to pretend to be a CEO giving a self-serving annual
report to the stockholders, but I would be lying if I did not tell you that the
Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic States has had a good year. In a little while our
always diligent and most treasured Treasurer is going to tell you the same
thing--and he is going to have some extremely relevant numbers with which to
back up what he has to say--numbers which will suggest that we are the Tiger
Woods of dioceses. During this past year, by God's grace, we have achieved a
greater degree of permanence.
Remember that God promised two things to Abraham--descendants and
land--promises which meant that the people of God would have continuity in both
time and space. By being part of the body of Christ, as St. Paul tells us, we
become heirs to those promises.
We are now more settled than ever before in both aspects of God's promise to
Abraham--in people and in land. I have instituted three rectors in the past
year--Father Strother Smith in St. Columba's-Lebanon; Father Alexander Darby in
Christ Church-Warrenton; and Father Marvin Gardner in St. Thomas of
Canterbury-Roanoke. All three Institutions were extremely happy occasions.
The Prayer Book service for the Institution of a Rector is very much like a
wedding. The priest and the congregation make extremely serious vows to one
another and then they pledge their troth by giving and receiving keys. Our
recent three all look to me like marriages which are going to last a long time.
Thanks be to God.
We have several fine men studying for the ministry. I ordained one man deacon
and priest during the past year, and I shall ordain another deacon tomorrow. Our
sister missionary diocese of New England has a newly-ordained deacon and a
newly-ordained priest as well. Several clergymen from other churches are
investigating the possibility of joining us. We also have the realistic hope of
founding a diocesan center to train men for the ministry during the coming year.
As far as land is concerned--I have consecrated two parish churches in the
past twelve months--St. Columba's-Lebanon; and St. Peter the
Apostle-Christiansburg. I blessed a plot of land which was purchased wisely by
St. Anne's-Charlotte Hall; Holy Family-Gaithersburg now owns land on which it
hopes some day soon to build; and St. Luke's Fredericksburg has also joined the
ranks of property-owners. All of these congregations are to be congratulated for
making strides toward permanence.
My own two northern Virginia congregations moved into a church building
together just after last year's synod. We have been living together--chastely, I
assure you, though with, at least in some sense, benefit of clergy, and I trust
we will be married in the eyes of both God and the Commonwealth of Virginia very
soon.
We wound up last year's Synod with the ordination of Chandler Jones to the
diaconate. I want again to thank the Rev. William C. Crites and the members of
both St. Paul's-Lexington and St. Stephen's-Clifton Forge for making it possible
for Chad to work with them during this past year. I believe that Chad will spend
the rest of his ministry being grateful to Fr. Bill and his people that he has
had this tremendous opportunity--at least I hope he will.
Chad became Fr. Chad last St. Thomas's Day, and he is now on his way to St.
Stephen's Church in Timonium where he will serve as Curate to Fr. Guy Hawtin.
This is also a wonderful opportunity for Chad's further training and growth in
the ministry. I am grateful to Fr. Guy and to St. Stephen's for making it
possible for Fr. Chad to have a further apprenticeship.
I offer similar praise and thanks to St. Alban's-Richmond. Here in Richmond
the man at the top of the clerical totem pole serves part-time while there is
now a curate who serves full-time! We are so glad Fr. Sam Catlin and Fr. Bob
Menas have worked out this complicated arrangement so effectively that we are
going to throw a new deacon into the mix tomorrow.
I am delighted that Mr. Anthony Huston Sgro is joining the ranks of our
clergy. He has been nurtured in the Office of the Governor of Virginia, but
truly tested at the DMAS Summer Camp. I look forward to his serving both St.
Alban's and the diocese.
Everything has not been sweetness and light in the past twelve months. I am
more grateful than I can ever tell you for the expression of support you gave
Bp. Rutherfoord and me at last year's Synod. That support has kept my head high
through what has not been an easy year in relations between our diocese and some
other parts of the Province--and your prayers and good wishes will sustain me
through what I fear are some unpleasant moments which lie ahead.
Several of our parishes have also had internal difficulties, in no case,
thank God, fatal, but in all cases dismaying and regrettable. I find myself
saying to clergymen and vestries, "Take heart that there is trouble. The devil
is the source of the trouble. The fact that he is still interested in messing
with us means that we are doing something that threatens him--and that's got to
be good."
I have had many occasions on which to take refuge in these words of King
Solomon from the Book of Proverbs, and to commend them to others: "These six
things doth the Lord hate: yea seven are an abomination unto him: a proud look,
a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood. An heart that deviseth
wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness
that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren." Sheep--and
shepherds--please take note.
Back on the other hand, the success of the Diocesan Youth Camp, the increase
in the number of parish Bible study classes, and the marvelous response to both
the pre-Advent retreat and the Lenten Day of Witness indicate to me that we are,
indeed, concentrating on what is right--which is the education of our people in
the Word of God and in the ways of his Church.
One of our priests is always telling me, "The only proper question to ask of
anything in the church is 'Does this bring people to Jesus?"' He is absolutely
right. We cannot ever allow ourselves to forget that our wonderful tradition and
liturgy and theological perspective are not ends in themselves. They are only
means--means of bringing people to Jesus and nurturing them in him once we have
them there. Nothing else matters.
I am grateful to all of the parishes which have invited me to visit during
the past year. It is thrilling to confirm and receive new members into the
church, to perceive the health and the growth of so many of our congregations,
to preach and teach, and generally to get to know people better. I cannot
imagine how I could possibly have a more hospitable or supportive or receptive
diocese with which to work.
The former Speaker of the House Tip O'Neill liked to say, "All politics is
local." There is a profound sense in which all Christianity is local too. No
matter how international or intergalactic we become, and no matter how artful
and elaborate our various levels of ecclesiastical structure are, the
fundamental unit of the church is the diocese, and the vitality of the diocese
depends upon the vitality of the parish churches.
The bedrock of my ability to function as your bishop is my parish of St.
Andrew and St. Margaret of Scotland in Alexandria. I feel about the parish, if
possible, even more intensely than I feel about the diocese as a whole. I cannot
conceive of what a more supportive and open and receptive congregation would be
like. I thank them as I thank you with all my heart.
I want to close by telling you a story. Fr. Guy Hawtin has become the man
whom people in Maryland know to contact when they need someone to speak
forthrightly against assisted suicide and in favor of the hospice movement. He
was invited to speak at a community college in Baltimore recently, and he
invited me to come to see the show.
Fr. Guy was, of course, cast and costumed as the designated religious
fanatic--babbling almost uncontrollably about God and Nazis and moral
responsibility to an audience who just wanted to be allowed to knock off their
grandmothers--but in a kindly way. On the panel with him was a
beautifully-coiffed, well-manicured suburban lady who was representing the
Hemlock Society--which touts the joys of unassisted suicide. Her name was--as
God is my witness--Gomora. The third person on the panel was a
somewhat scruffier woman in a wheelchair. She is mostly blind and mostly deaf
and her mind-bending and heart-rending witness is that the right-to-die movement
is really aimed at people like her--people of whom healthy rich yuppie doctors
will be all to eager to say, "They don't have a quality of life that is worth
preserving. Let's put them out of their misery--for their own good."
She wears a button which reads, in bold black letters, "Not dead yet." And
that is her way of saying, "We're still here."
Mr. Anthony Huston Sgro I met Anthony Sgro for the first time on
the day I was installed as bishop of the diocese in Warrenton just over two
years ago. He was as always, nattily attired--on that occasion in a glen plaid
suit, a black shirt, and a clerical collar. He was serving then as a deacon in
the Episcopal Missionary Church.
The ACC cannot be certain that Holy Orders conferred in the Episcopal
Missionary Church are really valid. It is too complicated to explain in a brief
sermon exactly why that is so. I can assure you that our judgment in the matter
is not mainly political in nature. It is also not an indulgence in the sin of
which the ACC is so frequently accused-judgmental, legalistic, nitpicking
Pharisaism.
Our judgment about all this is, in fact, pastoral--it's about the sheep. We
want to be absolutely certain that the men we indentify to you as bishops are,
in fact, really bishops; that the priests are really priests; and that the
deacons are really deacons.
We left the Episcopal Church because their purporting to ordain women throws
all of their sacramental acts into question. We could not be sure that their
sacramental system was still valid, so we broke communion with them. We want to
take care that there is no question at all about the sacraments which we offer
in our parishes as channels of God's grace.
Right now I don't know for certain that Anthony is a deacon. In a few minutes
I will know for sure--and so will you. I think he shows admirable humility by
being willing to go along with all this.
For the moment Anthony will pursue his vocation as a deacon fulltime, but he
will get his income from his work in the secular world. He will be spending a
great deal of his time with people who are not Christians--or who are not yet
Christians. That gives him opportunities for Christian witness and Christian
service that are different from the kinds of opportunities people who work for
the church full-time have.
Clergy who also work in the secular world can be models for our
laypeople--who work and live in the secular world full-time. You can serve
people, you can minister to people, you can counsel people, you can encourage
people to come to classes and to church services--and nobody will be able to
dismiss you by saying, "You are only doing this because you are paid to do it."
The basic evangelistic task of the church is not carried out within the walls
of the church. You have to be in the world to find the people whom you want to
draw to Christ. It is both a biological and theological fact that shepherds
cannot make more sheep--only sheep can make more sheep.
One of my favorite stories about witnessing in the secular world involves a
woman who was a parishioner of mine in California. She was an alcoholic, and all
of her three children were involved in various forms of drug abuse. Whenever she
was sober long enough she was a volunteer in the coffee shop of our local
hospital.
As she and her family began to cope with their many problems, it was obvious
to everyone around them that the church was the primary positive factor in their
recoveries.
The manager of the coffee shop had never been a churchgoer, and he had never
even been baptized. He came to church one Sunday, and he told me, "A church that
could do so much good for that crazy family is something I have got to see." He
was soon baptized and confirmed, and he is now a leading layman in an ACC parish
in the Diocese of the South.
My alcoholic friend has been sober now for about thirteen years. She brought
the coffee shop manager to Christ with the testimony of her life and her
healing. Nothing I could have said would have got him through the church door
that first time--which was all it took.
Anthony, my friend, today you follow in the footsteps of Deacon St. Stephen,
who laid down his life because he would not deny Christ; you follow in the
footsteps of Deacon St. Philip, who came upon a man who could not understand the
Bible passage he was reading, explained it to him, and led him to baptism; and
you follow in the steps of Jesus himself who tells us, "I am among you as he
that serves. I am among you as a deacon." Please show the church what that
means.
Homily by the
Most Rev. John T. Cahoon, Jr., Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Original
Province, ACC, at the Pontifical Requiem Mass of The Right Reverend William
DeJarnette Rutherfoord, Bishop Emeritus of the Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic
States and Rector Emeritus of St. Thomas of Canterbury Anglican Catholic Church,
Roanoke, Virginia.
Archbishop
Cahoon preached the following sermon at the consecration October 14 of the Rt.
Rev. Rommie M. Starks as the fourth Bishop of the Midwest.
Archbishop
John's Remarks on Holy Cross, at Saint Alban's, Richmond, Viriginia,
September 12, 2000
Archbishop John's Remarks at the Ordination to the Sacred Order of
Priesthood of Mr. C. Thomas McHenry, Jr., June 10, 2000
Jones-Baskwill Wedding, May 13, 2000
Archbishop Cahoon delivered this message at
the wedding of Fr. Chad Jones and Megan Baskwill.
DMAS Synod In June 1999 Bishop Cahoon delivered this message at the Diocesan Synod
for Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic States.
I am pleased to see all of you here, and I
want to express my gratitude to Fr. Hawtin, Fr. Jones, Mr. Cote, Mr. Young and
the other members of St. Stephen's for hosting this diocesan synod. St.
Stephen's has had an extremely positive impact on our diocese, and I am
particularly thankful to them for all of the support and help. and friendship
they have extended to me.
Walsingham
Pilgrimage, 1999
In May 1999, Bishop Cahoon delivered this
address at the Annual Pilgrimage to the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham at St. James' Church,
Cleveland, Ohio.
Bishop Cahoon's Address, 1997 DMAS Synod
Bishop John's Remarks at the Diaconal
Ordination of
June 14, 1997