Jamie Parsley's Blog, page 21

4 Pentecost

 

July 3, 2022

Luke 10.1-11, 16-20

+ This past Thursday I did a wedding on LaSalle Lake near Itasca.

 

Deacon John assisted at the wedding, since he was close friends with the bride.

 

I also decided to take a few days for myself, so I stayed in the area for a while.

 

And, like many of you, when I drive, I think.

 

I think a lot.

 

I found myself thinking about the fact that, for most of my entire career as a priest, I have always felt like an outsider.

 

Outside the norm in the larger Church.

 

This past week on a Facebook friend of mine posted that it was his anniversary of ordination to he priesthood.

 

And he began his post in a wonderful way.

 

He wrote: “I give grateful thanksgiving for The Right Reverend So-and-So who ordained my to the Priesthood on this day in 1989.”

 

I loved that.

 

But I was also saddened by that.

 

Because, I realized, I would never be able to write that.

 

The Bishop who ordained me blocked me recently on Facebook.

 

I’m not even making that up.

 

It seems my entire ministry, for the most part, has been a ministry under rebellion of some sort.

 

And not a conscious rebellion.

 

I really have wanted just to be normal, to get through, to have just a nice, ministry without ruffling feathers.

 

But sometimes, there are just people who by their very presence ruffle feathers.

 

I am one of those people, I guess.

 

And for a long time I really hated that.

 

I fought it.

 

I tried hard to just be a normal priest doing a normal ministry just like my normal colleagues.

 

But even then, some innocent comment of mine was taken out of context and I was in hot water with a Dean or a Bishop or a fellow priest.

 

And my wrists would be slapped, or my sermons were corrected or being denied promotions in the Church.

 

Now, I’m not saying I’m sweet and innocent.

 

Not by any sense of the word.

 

I have a big mouth.

 

And I speak out.

 

Let’s face it, I don’t put my flame under a bushel.

 

I guess that’s threatening some people.

 

I say things I later regret.

 

But the level of ostracization I have often felt in the Church is deep, much deeper than a priest with a smart mouth deserves at times.

 

I have been THAT priest for so long—that rebel priest, that upstart priest, that priest who swam consistently against the stream--that lone wolf priest--that I don’t know how to be a different priest.

 

I’ll confess—and I am somewhat ashamed to do so—but I have gotten used to being the lone wolf.

 

I’ve developed some thick, thick skin in my career.

 

But still, sometimes, the barbs cut deeper than any thick skin.

 

And sometimes even lone wolf priests bleed.

 

But even then, he can still howl!

 

Now, I’m not romanticizing lone wolf ministry by any means.

 

Lone wolf ministry can be very dangerous behavior.

 

We really shouldn’t do ministry and be a lone wolf.

 

Doing ministry means doing it together.

 

And I know: by saying just that I am sounding kinda like a hypocrite here.

 

For any of you who know me and worked with me for any period of time, you know I’ve just done lone wolf behavior about many things.

 

Some may call it lone wolf.

 

I guess I always called it being independent.  

 

Or maybe, sometimes, just impatient.

 

Things have to get done after all.

 

And, when they do, you know, I’ll just do it.

 

But, being a lone wolf is not a good thing.

 

In the Church it is never a good thing to be a lone wolf.

 

None of us can do ministry alone.

 

We all need to admit that we need each other to do effective ministry.

 

And sometimes even the lone wolf admits that simple fact: I can’t do this alone.

 

The lone wolf sometimes has to seek help from others.

 

Ultimately, the lone wolf can be a bad thing for the church for another reason though.

 

Lone wolves can easily be led down that ugly, slippery slope of believing, at some point, that  it’s all about them.

 

Now, I want to make clear: I never have believed that anything is about just me.

 

I despise that kind of thinking in myself.

 

I have never felt that way.

 

For all my lone wolf tendencies, I have a pretty good support system around me—people who will very quickly tell me when they think I might be heading down that slippery egocentric slope.

 

And when they don’t, God does.

 

I’m regularly put in my place.

 

There is, after all, a difference, I have discovered between “lone wolf” behavior and ego-centric, it’s-all-about-me, I-don’t-need-anyone’s-help behavior.

 

And as you all know, I have no problem asking your advice and your opinions on anything before some of the things I’ve done as the Rector of St. Stephen’s.

 

I might not necessarily heed those suggestions.

 

But I appreciate them, and they are, for the most part, helpful.

 

But, I have known too many church leaders who have not had a support system like mine.

 

I have known too many church leaders who have  made it clear to me that it was because of them—because their winning personality, or their knowledge of church growth, or their years of expertise—that a particular parish or diocese flourished.

 

It’s an unfortunate trap leaders in the Church fall into when they believe that a congregation’s success depends on them as individuals and their own abilities of ministry—and, mind you, I am not just talking about priests here. Lay leaders in the Church have fallen into this trap as well. I have known some of those lay leaders as well, trust me.  

Maybe to some extent it’s true.

 

Maybe some people do have the personality and the winning combination in themselves to do it.  

 

But for those who may have that kind of natural personality, I still have to admit: it all  makes me wary.

 

It’s just too slippery of a slope.

 

We are dealing with similar personalities in today’s Gospel.

 

In our Gospel reading for today, those seventy that Jesus chose and sent out come back amazed by the gift of blessing God had granted to them and their personalities.

 

They exclaim, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!”

 

In and of its self, that’s certainly not a bad thing to say.

 

It’s a simple expression of amazement.   

 

But Jesus—in that way that Jesus does—puts them very quickly in their place.  

 

He tells them, “do not rejoice in these gifts, but rejoice rather that your names are written in heaven.”

 

Or to be more blunt, he is saying rejoice not in yourselves and the things you can do with God’s help, but rejoice rather in God.

 

The burden of bringing about the Kingdom of God shouldn’t be solely the individual responsibly of any oneof us.  

 

Even Jesus made that clear for himself.

 

Just imagine that stress in having to bring that about.  

 

Bringing the Kingdom of God into our midst is the responsibility of all of us together.  

 

It is the responsibility of those who have the personality to bring people on board and it is the responsibility of those of us who do not have that winning personality.

For those of us who do not have that kind of personality, it is our responsibility to bring the Kingdom about in our own ways.

 

We do so simply by living out our Christian commitment.

 

As baptized followers of Jesus, we bring the Kingdom into our midst simply:

 

By Love.

 

We do it by loving God and loving each other as God loves us in whatever ways we can in our lives.

 Bringing the Kingdom of God about in our midst involves more than just preaching from a pulpit or attending church on Sunday.

 

Spreading the Kingdom of God is more than just preaching on street corners or knocking on the doors. 

 

It means living it out in our actions as well.

 

It means living out our faith in our every day life.

 

It means loving God and each other as completely and fully as we can.

 

But it does not mean loving ourselves to the exclusion of everything else.

 

It means using whatever gifts we have received from God to bring the Kingdom a bit closer.  

 

These gifts—of our personality, of our vision of the world around us, of our convictions and beliefs on certain issues—are what we can use.

 

It means not letting our personalities—no matter how magnetic and appealing they might be—to get in the way of following Jesus.

 

Our eyes need to be on God.

 

We can’t be doing that when we’re busy preening in the mirror, praising ourselves for all God does to us and through us.   

 

The Church does not exist for own our personal use.  

 

I, for example, am not your free therapist.

 

And the Church is not you group therapy.

 

If we think the Church is there so we can get some nice little pat on the back for all  the good we’re doing, or as an easy way to get us into heaven when we die, then we’re in the wrong place.

 

And we’re doing good for the wrong intention.

 

The Church is ideally the conduit through which the Kingdom of God comes into our midst.

 

And it will come into our midst, with or without me as individual.

 

But it will come into our midst through us.

 

All of us.

 

Together.  

 

The Church is our way of coming alongside Jesus in his ministry to the world.

 

In a very real sense, the Church is our way to be the hands, the feet, the voice, the compassion, the love of God to this world and to each other.

 

But it’s all of us.

 

Not just me.

 

Not just you as an individual.

 

It’s all of us.

 

Together.

 

Working together.

 

Loving together.

 

Serving together.

 

And giving God the ultimate credit again and again.

 

Hopefully, in doing that, we do receive some consolation ourselves.  

 

Hopefully in doing that, we in turn receive the compassion and love of God in our own lives as well.

 

But if we are here purely for our own well-being and not for the well-being of others, than it is does become only about us and not about God.  

 

And in those moments, we are sounding very much like those 70 who come back to Jesus exclaiming, “look at what we have done!”

The message of today’s Gospel is that it must always be about God.

 

It must always be about helping that Kingdom of God break through into this selfish world of huge egos. It means realizing that when we are not doing it for God, we have lost track of what we’re doing. We have lost sight of who we are following.

 

So, let us—together—be the hands, the feet, the voice, the compassion and the love of God in the world around us. Like those 70, let us be amazed at what we can do in Jesus’ name.

 

But more importantly let us rejoice!

 

Rejoice!

 

Rejoice this morning!

 

Rejoice in the fact that your name, that my name—that our names are written at this moment in heaven.

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy and loving God, we thank you this morning. We rejoice in the fact that in this moment our names, known to you, are written in heaven, and that we are headed toward the goal you set. Keep us on the right path, following Jesus where we must go and doing what we must do; We ask this in Jesus’ Name. Amen.  

 

 

 

 

 

3 Pentecost

 

June 26, 2022

 

1 Kings 19.15-16,19-21; Galatians 5.1,13-25; .Luke 9:51-62

 

+ I don’t want to toot my own horn, but for any of you who have worked with me, at least on the Vestry level, I am not one to let grass grow under my feet.

 

When I focus on something, I will work on it until either I succeed at it, or I have to admit failure on it.

 

And even, in those times when I have to admit failure, I still kind of find myself gnawing on the failure.

 

Because it’s hard for me to give something up I’ve focused on.

 

That’s not always a good thing, let me you.

 

It’s actually weirdly obsessive.

 

But being that kind of person means I really have issues with what Jesus is telling the young man in our Gospel reading for today.

 

We hear Jesus say, Let the dead bury their own dead.

 

What?

That’s not what I want to hear after these last several months in which I have done a record number of funerals.

 

It’s an unusual statement.  

 

It almost boggles the mind when you think about it.

 

And yet….there is beautiful poetry in that phrase.

 

We hear this saying of Jesus referenced occasionally in our secular society.

 

It conveys a sense of resignation and putting behind oneself insignificant aspects of our lives.

 

Still, it is a strange image to wrap our minds around.

Let the dead bury their own dead.

What could Jesus possibly mean by this reference?

Does it means we shouldn’t bury our loved ones?

 

No. This statement from him, as always, has a deeper meaning—and really only starts to make sense when we put it in the context of his time and who his followers were.

 

When we find this man talking about having to go and bury his father, and Jesus’ response of “let the dead bury their own dead,” we might instantly think that Jesus is being callous.  

 

It would seem, at least from our modern perspective, that this man is mourning, having just lost his father.

 

The fact is, his father actually probably died a year or more before.  

 

What happened in the Jewish culture at that time is that when a person died, they were anointed, wrapped in a cloth shroud and placed in a tomb.

 

There would have been an actually formal burial rite at that times.

 

And of course, Jesus himself would later be buried exactly like this.

 

This initial tomb burial was actually a temporary interment.

 

They were probably placed on a stone shelf near the entrance of the tomb.

 

About a year or so after their death, the family gathered again at which time the tomb was re-opened.

 

By that time, the body would, of course,  have been reduced to bones.

 

The bones would then be collected, placed in a small stone box and buried with the other relatives, probably further back in the tomb.

 

A remnant of this tradition still exists in Judaism, when, on the first anniversary of the death of a loved one, the family often gathers to unveil the gravestone in the cemetery.

 

There’s a wonderful liturgy in the New Zealand Prayer Book that I’ve used many times for the blessing and unveiling of a gravestone.

 

Which I think a very cool tradition personally. 

So, when we encounter this man in today’s Gospel, we are not necessarily finding a man mourning his recently deceased father.

 

What we are actually finding is a man who is waiting to go to the tomb where his father’s bones now lie so he can bury the bones.

 

When we see it from this perspective, we can understand why Jesus makes such a seemingly strange comment—and we realize it isn’t quite the callous comment we thought it was.  

 

As far as Jesus is concerned, the father has been buried.

 

Whatever this man does is merely an excuse to not go out and proclaim the kingdom of God, as Jesus commands him to do.

Now to be fair to the man, he could just be making an excuse, which really under any other circumstances, would have been a perfectly valid excuse.

 

Or he could really have felt that his duty as his father’s son took precedence over this calling from Jesus.

 

Certainly, in Jewish culture, this would be an acceptable way of living out the commandment of respecting one’s parents.

 

 

It doesn’t seem as though he doesn’t want to follow Jesus or proclaim the Kingdom.

 

He doesn’t flat-out say no.

 

He simply says, not now.

 

In a sense, he is given the choice between the dead and dried bones of his father or the living Jesus who stands before him.

Jesus’ response, which may sound strange to our modern, Western ears, is actually a very clear statement to this man.

 

He is saying, in a sense: “You are attached to these bones.

 

Don’t worry about bones.

 

Break your attachment, follow me, proclaim the goodness and love of God and you will have life.

 

Follow me

 

TODAY.

 

NOW.

 

How many times have we been in the same place in our lives?

 

How many times have we looked for excuses to get out of following Jesus, at least right now?

 

We all have our own “bones” that we feel we must bury before we can go and proclaim the Kingdom of God in our midst by following Jesus.

 

We all have our own attachments that we simply cannot break so we can go forward unhindered to follow and to serve.

 

And they’re easy to find.

 

It’s easy to be led astray by attachments—to let these attachments fill our lives and give us a false sense of fulfillment.

 

It is easy for us to despair when the bad things of life happen to us.

 

Certainly, most of us here at St. Stephen’s have been feeling a bit of despair in these days following Friday’s decision by the Supreme Court to overturn Roe v. Wade.

 

Now, I didn’t want to preach about this.

 

In fact, I used to pride myself on the fact that I never really had to preach about it.

 

I’m a man, after all.

 

And enough men have given their opinions about this.

 

But the fact is, there is no way I can’t talk about it.

 

Our hands have been forced.

 

And we are here now.

 

And like you, I am furious.

 

I am angry—righteously angry.

 

As most of you saw, I posted a few memes on Facebook on Friday, all of which garnered much conversation.

 

One of the posts I wrote, which I echoed in my letter to the parish was this:

 

Dear married gay friends, please go to a lawyer; get wills, power of attorney and healthcare power of attorney documents, because it's obvious who's next.

Also, for those not married, I'm more than willing to officiate weddings while we still can do them.

 

It's the truth.

 

But, let’s set the record straight on this.

 

First and foremost, I, like most of you no doubt, am NOT pro-abortion.

 

No one, I can imagine, is pro-abortion.

 

Abortion is an ugly, terrible thing—and an ugly, terrible thing that happens to good people.

 

In an ideal world, there would be no abortion.

 

But the fact is: abortion is a reality.

 

And it’s not going away.

 

The Supreme Court has not magically made abortion disappear, as some people are crowing about today.

 

Abortion has not ended.

 

Nothing is really solved.

 

All it does it complicate the issue.

 

Oh, and it also puts many, many women’s lives in jeopardy by making it very difficult for thousands and thousands of women to get adequate healthcare.

 

Let’s not sugar-coat it:

 

Women AND babies are going to die as a result of this decision by Supreme Court.

 

So, the rejoicing happening right now is not only empty in my opinion.

 

It’s hypocritical.

 

And we, for our own part, are in for a long haul.

 

But we can do it.

 

Our job is to continue to stand up and to speak out.

 

We must stand up.

 

We must speak out.

 

We might fight!

 

We must stop being complacent.

 

But, as discouraged as we might be, as frustrated as we might be, we need to realize, none of this is the end.  

 

Despite these bad things, we as Christians just need to remember: the kingdom of God still needs to be proclaimed.

 

Now.

 

And not later. Not after everything has been restored. Not when everything is good and right in the world.

 

Not after we have calmed down.

 

The Kingdom needs to be proclaimed NOW.

 

Now.

 

Even in the midst of chaos.  

 

Even when those crappy things happen, we still need to follow Jesus.

 

We proclaim the Kingdom of God by standing up and speaking out against those forces that seek to undermine basic human dignity.

 

We proclaim the Kingdom of God by living out our Baptismal Covenant in this world.

 

We proclaim the Kingdom of God by loving God and loving others—loving people enough to stand up for their rights, their health, their worth.

 

Let us remember that this is not some sweet, nice, gentle suggestion from Jesus.  

 

It is a command from him.

“Let the dead bury their own dead. But as for you, go, and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

We proclaim the kingdom, as we all know, by loving God and loving each other.

 

You can’t proclaim the kingdom—you can’t love—when you are busy obsessing about the dead, loveless things of your life.

 

You’re not proclaiming the Kingdom when you complain about things, but then don’t DO anything about them.

 

We who are following Jesus have all put our hands to the plow.

 

We put our hands to that plow when were baptized, when we set out on that path of following Jesus.

 

Now, with our hands on that plow, let us not look back.

 

Let us not be led astray by the attachments we have in this life that lead us wandering about aimlessly.

 

Let us not be led astray by our anger.

 

But, let us focus.

 

Let us look forward.  

 

Let us push on.

 

Let us proclaim by word and example the love we have for God and one another.  

 

And when we do, we are doing exactly what Jesus commands us to do.

 

Now is the time.  

 

Stand up.

 

Speak out.

 

Proclaim that Kingdom.

 

And make it a reality in our midst.

 

Now.

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, you are a God of justice; send your spirit as a fire into our hearts and into our mouths that we may speak out against injustice in this world. And in doing so, let us know that we are proclaiming your Kingdom. Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Requiem Mass for Jonathan Gilbert

 

The Requiem Mass for

Jonathan Gilbert

March 29, 1978- April 12, 2022

June 25, 2022

+ Well, we gather today not really wanting to be here.

 

We really shouldn’t be here.

 

Not for this reason.

 

Not coming together to remember and bury the ashes of Jonathan.

 

He was too young.

 

It feels strange to come together to bury a 44 year old person.

 

He still had many years ahead of him.

 

He had more living to do this in world.

 

And his passing from our midst was a surprise.

 

It happened so suddenly.

 

And in a twinkling of an eye, he was gone from us.

 

But, as much as I don’t want to be here today, I am grateful.

 

I am grateful for Jonathan and for all he was.

 

I am grateful for his presence in my life.

 

I am grateful for his presence among us here in this parish of St. Stephen’s.

 

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

 

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

 

We rejoice in Jonathan.

 

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

 

Certainly, I rejoice that I was his priest.

 

And I can say I was also his friend.

 

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

 

And as you do so, remember this.  

 

Today is not the end of anything.

 

Yes, we are saying goodbye.

 

But 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 Jonathan 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 Jonathan is close to us this afternoon. 

 

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

 

And we should truly celebrate his life.

 

I want to say that it was a good life.

 

But I don’t think Jonathan would say it was all that good at times.

 

It was a hard life.

 

Jonathan suffered in this world.

 

Truly suffered.

 

Suffered in ways none of us will ever know.

 

And the world itself did not treat him well at times.

 

This world can be a mean, vicious place.

 

And it can be particularly mean and vicious to someone like Jonathan.

 

He often did not feel like he fit in this world.

 

He often felt at odds, or on the fringe of this world.

 

Which is why I am glad he came to this church.

 

St. Stephen’s was one of the places in which he felt truly welcomed and truly included.

 

Here, he was not judged.

 

Here, he was not looked down on.

 

We loved Jonathan and we genuinely cared for him.

 

And here, he felt safe.

 

If he hadn’t, I don’t think he would’ve asked to have his mother, Marilyn’s ashes buried here in our memorial garden.

 

I am happy too that this is where Jonathan will rest, here in our memorial garden, right next to that mother he loved so dearly.

 

All of us were touched by Jonathan in some way.

 

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

 

And I can say that I am also grateful that Jonathan is freed from the pain he endured in this life.

 

I am grateful that he has been freed from the boundaries of his very body.

 

As I stood by his bedside as he passed from this world in April, I could there was an exhausted sense of relief when he finally shed that body.

 

Where Jonathan is right now—in those loving, caring and able hands of his God—there is no pain or sorrow.

 

There is no more being imprisoned by our physical bodies.

 

There is no more mean, terrible world.

 

There is no more exclusion or meanness.   

 

Where Jonathan is now there is only life there. Eternal life.

 

Where Jonathan is now, he is complete and whole.

 

And he is happy.

 

And he will never again shed another tear.

 

Because we know that Jonathan 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 Jonathan.

 

We know that—despite the pain and the frustration, despite the sorrow we all feel—somehow, in the end, God is with us and Jonathan is with God and that makes all the difference.

 

For Jonathan, sorrow and pain are no more.

Jonathan, 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.

 

Even if it is just a glimmer, it is a bright and wonderful Light.

 

And for that we can rejoice and be grateful.

And we can celebrate.   

May angels welcome you, Jonathan.

May all the saints come forward to greet you.

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

 

A STATEMENT FROM FR. JAMIE REGARDING THE SUPREME COURTS’ DECISION TO REPEAL ROE V. WADE

 June 25, 2022

Dear St. Stephen’s family-

As you all know by now, yesterday the Supreme Court made its landmark decision to reverse Roe v. Wade, which will greatly limit healthcare for women in our country.

Presiding Bishop Michael Curry issued a statement (which I include at the end of this message), in which he said, “Today’s decision institutionalizes inequality because women with access to resources will be able to exercise their moral judgment in ways that women without the same resources will not.”

For many here at St. Stephen’s this decision by the Supreme Court is a painful, difficult and personal situation that affects us deeply on both collective and personal levels. Many of us have fought hard for many years for women’s rights and for full and protected healthcare for all. Some of us have suffered personally from the effects of a lack of healthcare for various reasons. This decision by SCOTUS seems to many (including myself) to be several steps backward in on the path of progress.  

In addition to the shock of that decision, the House of Bishops has received information “from federal authorities of credible security threats against clergy and churches…” and that “there is concern that clergy who have advised parishioners about abortion access and their reproductive rights may face threats or violence.”

          As most of you know, I have been speaking out vocally on both my own social media accounts and on the St. Stephen’s Facebook page about this issue and so far, I have received overwhelming support. But, as we have experienced in the past when have stood up for LGBTQ+ rights in this Diocese and state, we are aware there are people who do not share our commitment and who are willing to lash out at those with different opinions. Please know that despite such threats, I will continue to speak out as I have. I will also be preaching on this issue tomorrow at Mass.

          I repeat what I have said on social media: I will continue to support full access to healthcare for all people and will do everything in my power as a Christian, as a priest and as a citizen to make sure such access is made available.

          I also mention, though I do not mean to unduly alarm anyone, that Justice Clarence Thomas made a comment yesterday regarding the possibility that SCOTUS may be eyeing future issues such as gay marriage. Considering those comments, I am advising all our married LGBTQ+ parishioners and friends to get wills, as well as power of attorney and healthcare power of attorney documents as soon as possible. If any of you need legal help or suggestions, please contact me.  

And for those not married, please know I am more than willing to officiate at any weddings while we can still legally do so.

Be assured that St. Stephen’s will remain a haven for all people, and we will continue to provide care, safety and protection for anyone who needs it. We renew our commitment to uphold the “worth and dignity” of all people now and always.  

The consequences of SCOTUS’ decision yesterday are long-ranging and will be affecting all of us for some time to come. With that in minds, please pray. Pray for our country during this divisive and contentious time. Please pray for women whose lives are now in jeopardy because of limited or non-existent healthcare. Pray for the leadership of this country during this time that strong leaders may stand up and speak out. And please, do so yourself. Stand up and speak out.

-peace,

Jamie+

Rector, St. Stephen’s

 

O great God,

mighty and awesome.

You show no partiality.

You defend the cause

of the fatherless, motherless, and the widow.

You love the stranger.

 

We believe and we feel overwhelmed—

sometimes it is hard to believe

that you actually care about

injustice and suffering.

When we don’t see your work.

When we sense the apathy

from the church and the world.

When we feel small and forget

that we were designed to be different

and to make things different.

When we feel overwhelmed

by the darkness in the world—
the violence, injustice, poverty, oppression, abuse.

Give us hope not to be overcome.
Give us eyes to see your goodness for our world.
Give us the strength to hold the pain of injustice in
our world and faith that it will end.
Give us courage to be honest with ourselves about
why and how we are doing justice.

 

We believe.  

Empower us to disrupt our broken
thinking by learning truth from diverse leaders.
Enable us to discover the beauty

of justice and inspire action in others.

Embolden us to display your
goodness in the world. Amen.

 

Adapted from a prayer from A Liturgy of Longing by Sandra Maria Van Opstal, found in Sarah Bessey’s A Rhythm of Prayer: A Collection of Meditations for Renewal; Convergent Publishing, 2021.

 

 

Statement on Supreme Court Dobbs decision by Presiding Bishop Michael Curry 

June 24, 2022

Office of Public Affairs

 

Today the Supreme Court released its decision in the case of Dobbs vs. Jackson Women’s Health Organization. The court has overturned the constitutional right to abortion that was recognized in the seminal 1973 case Roe v. Wade.  

While I, like many, anticipated this decision, I am deeply grieved by it. I have been ordained more than 40 years, and I have served as a pastor in poor communities; I have witnessed firsthand the negative impact this decision will have.

We as a church have tried carefully to be responsive both to the moral value of women having the right to determine their healthcare choices as well as the moral value of all life. Today’s decision institutionalizes inequality because women with access to resources will be able to exercise their moral judgment in ways that women without the same resources will not.

This is a pivotal day for our nation, and I acknowledge the pain, fear, and hurt that so many feel right now. As a church, we stand with those who will feel the effects of this decision—and in the weeks, months, and years to come.  

The Episcopal Church maintains that access to equitable health care, including reproductive health care and reproductive procedures, is “an integral part of a woman’s struggle to assert her dignity and worth as a human being” (2018-D032). The church holds that “reproductive health procedures should be treated as all other medical procedures, and not singled out or omitted by or because of gender” (2018-D032). The Episcopal Church sustains its “unequivocal opposition to any legislation on the part of the national or state governments which would abridge or deny the right of individuals to reach informed decisions [about the termination of pregnancy] and to act upon them” (2018-D032). As stated in the 1994 Act of Convention, the church also opposes any “executive or judicial action to abridge the right of a woman to reach an informed decision…or that would limit the access of a woman to safe means of acting on her decision” (1994-A054).   

The court’s decision eliminates federal protections for abortion and leaves the regulation of abortion to the states. The impact will be particularly acute for those who are impoverished or lack consistent access to health care services. As Episcopalians, we pray for those who may be harmed by this decision, especially for women and other people who need these reproductive services. We pray for the poor and vulnerable who may not have other options for access. We urge you to make your voice heard in the way you feel called but always to do so peacefully and with respect and love of neighbor.  

2 Pentecost

 June 19, 2022

Galatians 3.23-29;Luke 8.26-39

+ This past week I had lunch with our very own Cathy McMullen and her daughter-in-law Alissa.

 

Invariably in any conversation I have with people, the subject of films comes up.

 

And for some reason, the subject of one of my all-time favorite films came up.

 

That film?

 

The Exorcist.

 

Yes, I know.

 

It’s not what you expected.

 

Or maybe it’s exactly what you expected.

 

Either way, I love that movie for several reasons.

 

One, I love the characters of the two priests in the film, Fr. Damien Karras and Fr.

Lankaster Merrin.

 

Both are Jesuits (why, oh why can’t there be an Anglican-equivalent order of Jesuits? If there was I would join in a heart-beat).

 

But both are really prime examples of great pastors—priests who genuinely care, but who are also solidly human.

 

They each have their own issues.

 

They are not saints, but they are not horribly conflicted characters at all.

 

And I especially love the Fr. Merrin character because director William Freidkin has confessed that he actually based the character solidly on one of my heroes, another Jesuit priest, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.

But the film is more than that in my opinion.

 

It is also a strangely redemptive film.

 

The final scenes in that film actually directly reflects our Gospel reading for today, in which Fr. Karras, directly referencing the Legion of demons going into the pigs and being driven off the cliff, does so as well so he can release the girl Reagan from her possession.

 

Now, I know what you might be thinking.

 

Wait, The Exorcist is Fr. Jamie’s favorite film?

 

I thought he was a Christian Universalist?

 

I thought he didn’t even believe in hell.

 

Well, yes.

 

I preach about this on a very regular basis, but, as you all know, I am a very proud Christian Universalist.

 

In other words, I do not believe in an eternal hell.

 

I remember saying that once in a sermon and had someone audibly gasp.

 

But I am being honest.

 

I do not believe that the God that I believe in and love would send anyone to a metaphysical hell for all eternity.

 

Many people think that being a Christian universalist also means I don’t believe in things like evil.

 

That’s not true.

 

I actually say it emphatically:

 

Evil DOES exist.

 

Now I’m not saying I believe in actual supernatural devils or demons.

 

But, the fact remains, whether we believe in actual demons or nor not, whether we believe in Satan as a goat-like horned figure with a forked tail or not, what we all must believe in is the presence of actual evil in this world.

 

Whether that evil is natural or supernatural, or both, the fact is, there is evil.  

 

Even good rational people know that!

 

Just look at the news, depending on what news source you follow.

 

We of course just had a church shooting at an Episcopal church in Alabama this past week.

 

At a church named St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, nonetheless.

 

Let me tell you, I see plenty of evil in that act, and I see plenty of evil in the way people try to explain it all away, to say that this is not an issue of guns.

 

I think that’s all pretty evil.

 

Evil is real.

 

And we see it many forms in this world.

 

And for me, The Exorcist is a great story to reflect how sometimes evil becomes a force so great in our lives and in the world around us that we sometimes struggle how to deal with it.

 

The fact is this: for us, evil is not an option.

 

Those of us who are followers of Jesus have promised that we must turn away from evil again and again, in whatever way we encounter it.  

 

Whenever we are confronted with evil, we must resist it, we must stand up to it.

 

In our Baptismal service, these questions are asked of the person being baptized (or their sponsors):

“Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?”

And…

“Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?”

And, as our Baptismal Covenant asks us asks us:

“Do you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?”

Evil is something we must stand up against however we encounter it.

 

Whether we encounter it as a spiritual force, or whether we encounter it in other forms, such as racism, sexism, war,  or homophobia, or transphobia  as followers of Jesus, must stand up against evil and say no to it.

 

In a sense, what we are being asked to do is what Jesus did in this morning’s Gospel.  

 

We are being compelled, again and again, to cast out the evil in our midst, to send it away from us.

 

This is not easy thing to do.  

 

It is not easy to look long and hard at the evil that exists in the world, and in our very midst.

 

But it is very easy to believe that evil wins.

 

The story of Jesus is clear: good always defeats evil ultimately.

 

Again and again.

 

It might not seem like it sometimes.

 

Often times, evil wins the battle.

 

But, be assured, evil never wins the war. 

 

Christ, as we heard in Paul’s Letter to the Galatians today, breaks down the boundaries evil in its various forms sets up.

 

In Christ, we hear, there are no distinctions.

 

In Christ, all those things that divide us and allow the seeds of evil to flower are done away with—those issue of sex, and social status and nationality and race are essentially erased in Christ.

 

And we, as followers of Jesus, so prone at times to get nitpicky and self-righteous and hypocritical and divide ourselves into camps of “us” versus “them,” are told in no uncertain terms that those boundaries, in Jesus, cannot exist among us.

 

Those boundaries, those distinctions, only lead to more evil.

 

To less love.

 

But even then, even when evil does seem to win out, even when there are moments of despair and fear at the future, there’s no real need to despair.

 

Even in those moments when evil seems to triumph, we know that those moments of triumph are always, always short-lived.  

 

Good will always defeat evil ultimately.

Look at history.

 

Yes, we find the premise of good versus evil  in every popular movie and book we encounter.

 

This is the essence of conflict that we find in all popular culture.  

 

Good versus evil—and good always wins.

But, for us, as followers of Jesus, this is not fiction.

 

That is not a fairy tale or wishful thinking.

 

It is the basis on which our faith lies.

 

When confronted with those spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God, we must renounce them and move on.

And what are those spiritual forces of wickedness in our lives?

 

What are those forces that divide us and cause conflict among us?

 

What are the legion of demons we find in our midst?

 

Those spiritual forces of wickedness are those forces that destroy that basic tenant of love of God and love of each other.

 

Those spiritual forces of wickedness drive us apart from each other and divide us.

 

They harden our hearts and kill love within us.

 

When that happens in us, when we are racist, or homophobic, or sexist, or transphobic, or just simply filled with hatred for others, when we allow that to happen, we cannot be followers of Jesus anymore.

 

We cannot call ourselves children of a loving God.

 

When that happens our faith in God and our love for each other dies and we are left barren and empty.

 

We become like the demoniac and the legion of demons that possess him in today’s Gospel.

 

Or like the demons that possess poor Regan in The Exorcist.

 

We become tormented by God and all the forces of goodness.

 

We wander about in the tombs and the wastelands of our lives.  

 

And we find ourselves living in fear—fear of the unknown, fear of that dark abyss of hopelessness that lies before us.

But when we turn from evil, we are able to carry out what Jesus commands of the demoniac.  

 

We are able to return from those moments to our homes and to proclaim the goodness that God does for us.

 

That’s what good does.

 

That’s what God’s goodness does to us and for us.

 

That is what turning away from evil—in whatever form we experience evil—does for us.

 

So, let us do just that.

 

Let us proclaim all that God has done for us.  

 

Let us choose good and let us resist evil.

 

Let us love—and love fully and completely, without barriers.

 

Let us love each other.

 

Let us love peace and nonviolence.

 

Let us cast off whatever dark forces there are that kills love within us.

 

And let us sit at the feet of Jesus, “clothed in and in our right mind,” freed of fear and hatred and violence and filled instead with joy and hope and love.

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, you are all good; guide us in our following of Jesus,  that we may always turn from evil, drive it from our lives, and live always into the goodness you have called us to strive for; we ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

Pentecost

 

June 5, 2022

 

 Acts 2.1-21

 

+ In case you might not have guessed, today—Pentecost Sunday—is an important day in the life of the Church.

 

Ok. I don’t think I’m being clear enough on this.

 

Today is a VERY important day in the Church.

 

Important like Christmas and Easter are important.

 

Not a lot of Christians know that.

 

But, trust me.

 

It is an important Sunday.

 

A VERY important Sunday.

 

Today, we commemorate the end of the Easter season today, which is important. 

 

At the end of Mass today, we will process the Paschal Candle back to its place in the Baptistery, where it will stand by the baptismal font until next year.

 

So, this is a fitting end to the season.

 

It’s been a good Easter season.

 

And it’s sad to see it go.

 

But, of course, most importantly, we commemorate today  the descent of the Holy Spirit on those first followers of Jesus.

 

What’s surprising is that, as important as this day is, there still is not a whole lot of Christians who quite “get” the Holy Spirit.

 

As you probably notice, Christians think A LOT about Jesus.

 

Which is good!

 

BUT….although they think VERY much about Jesus, and pray to Jesus a lot, there isn’t always a lot of following of Jesus.

 

There isn’t a lot of beingJesus in the world.

 

And that isn’t just sad or unfortunate.

 

That is detrimental to the Church as a whole.

 

Sadly, the Holy Spirit just doesn’t capture the imagination of most Christians like Jesus does.

 

After all, the Spirit is usually depicted as a dove.

 

Not an exciting symbol for most people.

 

But, let me tell you, the Holy Spirit is VERY important.

 

Vitally important.

 

Essential.

 

In fact, the Spirit is probably that one aspect of God that we experience in our own lives more than any other aspect of God.

 

Every time we feel God’s  Presence in our life, every time we feel a sense of the Holy, that is the Spirit.

 

And everything we do as a Church is done in the Spirit of God.

 

Even here in the Holy Eucharist, when we partake of the Bread and the Wine, we are partaking in the Spirit of God.

 

We actually call down the Spirit in this Eucharist.

 

Most importantly the Spirit works in other amazing ways in the Church.

 

It is God’s living Spirit that is responsible for growth and vitality and holiness.

 

It the Spirit that many of us feel when we enter this church and gather together.

 

It is that wonderful kind of disconcerting energy we feel in the air, that reaches right down into us and grabs us in our core.

 

THAT is the Spirit.

 

So, see, the Spirit is very active in our lives.

 

And by being active in life, we know that God is active in our lives.

 

Today we are reminded of how the Holy Spirit continues to move in our lives.

 

We are reminded that the Holy Spirit is in the collective Church.

 

And in us, as individuals.  

 

And that moving of the Holy Spirit within us, has changed us and made us a wonderful force of good and love in the world.

 

Now that sounds all great and wonderful.

 

But the fact is, that after 2000 years, the Church still sometimes struggles.

 

And man! is it struggling with an issue right now.

 

Hopefully you have not even been aware of this particular situation.

 

But there is a controversy going on the Episcopal Church as it gears up for its General Convention this summer.

 

Usually controversies come and go.

 

But this one hits home for us here at St. Stephen’s.

 

It seems there was a resolution put forth by the Diocese of Norther California  to be voted that would remove the requirement for baptism to receive Holy Communion.

 

As you know, the Canons currently state that one must be baptized to receive Holy Communion in the Episcopal Church.

 

 

It’s actually quite controversial.

 

And it’s one you’ve heard me speak on before.

 

Personally, I think it’s a ridiculous resolution.

 

I do not support this resolution for the Diocese of Northern California.

 

I do think the canon requiring Baptism for Holy Communion should stay.

 

But…as you know, in practice, I am in violation of that Canon left and right.

 

At Communion, you hear me say every time we gather for Mass, “ALL are welcome to receive Holy Communion.”

 

Yes, I should say, “All Baptized people are welcome.”

 

But I don’t.

 

Because this is Jesus’ table, not mine.

 

And Jesus makes no distinction on this issue.

 

BUT…let me tell you, don’t say that too loud.

 

Because people will jump on me for making that statement.

 

And they have.

 

Trust me.

 

Not that I care.

 

But still…

 

Meanwhile, a group of 22 Episcopal theologians have met and issued a statement that affirms the belief that Baptism is required to receive Holy Communion.

 

Many of these theologians are people I genuine respect and admire and like.

 

The majority of my colleagues and friends on Facebook have applauded this statement.

 

I have not.

 

Rather than helping the situation, this statement has just mucked up the waters, excuse my pun.

 

They needed to have taken a bit more time with this statement.

 

It appears rushed.

 

And, well, tone deaf.

 

Especially because of the language they used in drafting their statement.

 

Unlike Baptism, Holy Eucharist is therefore not intended for “all people” without exception, but is rather for “God’s people” understood above as a common body united by a common faith. Indeed, according to our “Commentary on Eucharistic Sharing,” in addition to being baptized, those who receive the Eucharist in The Episcopal Church must “examine their lives, repent of their sins, and be in love and charity with all people” and “shall approach the Holy Communion as an expression of the Real Presence of Jesus Christ whose sacrifice once upon the cross was sufficient for all humankind.” 

 

As Diana Butler Bass, probably one of the most prominent voices in the Episcopal Church and in the Christian Church in general in the U.S., points out in a recent (and much discussed) tweet:

 

“When Christians make a distinction btwn ‘all people created in God’s image’ and “all of God’s covenant people,’ it is:

1)     Anti-semitic bcuz you replaced ‘God’s covenant people’ w. baptized Xtians; and

2)    2) the source of 1000 pograms

 

ALL people are God’s people.

 

Here I stand.”

 

Bass later put in more succinctly in another tweet:

 

“Jesus invited everyone to dinner, regardless of their ‘covenant’ status.

 

He sure as heck didn’t check baptismal cards at the door.”

 

Personally, my attitude is this: I have not, nor will I ever turn anyone away from this or any altar at which I serve.

 

I have not, nor will I refuse Holy Communion to anyone who comes to this rail.

 

And I will not stop invited ALL people to this altar.

 

Here I stand.

 

If any one of those 22 theologians want to come here to Fargo, North Dakota and check each every baptism certificate before communion, they sure as hell can.

 

This overworked priest out here in the trenches simply does not have the time or energy to do so.

 

And while they’re at it, I hope they have their own certificates at the ready.

 

Mine is easy to find.

 

It hangs in a frame in a place of honor on my wall in my office in the Undercroft.

 

But the fact is, I simply do not want to start nitpicking about who’s baptized and who isn’t.

 

Nor do I care.

 

I really don’t.

 

For me it comes down to this:

 

I know of only one baptized Person at the Last Supper.

 

And I know of only one baptized Person at the breaking of bread in Emmaus.

 

Jesus didn’t ask.

 

And neither will I.

 

But saying that, I will say this too.

 

You know how often I speak on the vital importance of baptism to our Christian life.

 

And I believe that to my very core.

 

Baptism is what makes us Christians.

 

And it is one of the most important steps any person can make.

 

I take baptism very seriously.

 

The Episcopal Church maybe should start looking long and hard at the rubrics it has in the book of Common Prayer on Baptism.

 

On page 298, you will find this:

 

Holy Baptism is appropriately administered within the Eucharist as the chief service on a Sunday or other feast.

 

On page 312 in the BCP, you’ll find this:

Holy Baptism is especially appropriate at the Easter Vigil, on the Day of Pentecost, on All Saints' Day or the Sunday after All Saints' Day, and on the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord (the First Sunday after the Epiphany). It is recommended that, as far as possible, Baptisms be reserved for these occasions or when a bishop is present.

I can’t tell you how many times I have been reprimanded by Bishops and fellow clergy and colleagues for the way we do baptisms here at St. Stephen’s.

 

I have been criticized many for time for what others see as a violation of these rubrics, whether it be we do baptisms outside of this regular Sunday morning Mass, or we don’t do them on these designated “special days” Sundays suggested by the BCP or that we do so-called “private” Baptism (which, by the way, is NOT a thing—no Baptism if ever private, nor should it be).  

 

Because, out here, in the trenches, where I am, struggling to do my best in a diocese that is struggling to remain a diocese, I have to do what needs to be done.

 

I have to do baptisms anyway I can.

 

Because by doing so, I am holding the vital importance of baptism in the life of this parish.

 

Which is all I am ultimately responsible for as your priest.  

 

And clergy who have parishes with Average Sundays of attendances of over 100 people out there on the East Coast can spare me their critiques.

 

This kind of behavior is providing a strangle-hold on a church that is already struggling for breath.

 

Rather than worrying about “Open Communion,” maybe the Episcopal Church should look at these rubrics and work on making Baptism less restrictive, and more open to all people.

 

Maybe we should be talking about “Open Baptisms.”

 

And I do want to be clear: I too wish that everyone who came forward to this altar for the Body and Blood of Jesus was a baptized Christian.

 

In an ideal world, sure, only good baptized people who are “in love and charity with all people” will come forward for Communion.

 

But in the real world, that’s not how it works.

 

People seeking Jesus will come forward.

 

People here seeking to know Jesus and hear Jesus’ words, will come forward.

 

And the reality is this: some people will experience Jesus in the Bread and Wine of the Eucharist LONG before they meet Jesus in the waters of baptism and are marked at his own forever.

 

I’ve known those people.

 

And I am grateful for them.

 

And while the Episcopal Church nitpicks and argues about all these internal issues, gun violence continues in this country.

 

Wars rage.

 

Nazis still march the street and spread their hate

 

People suffer.

 

And here, in Fargo, North Dakota, we gather together simply to worship God, receive God’s Son’s Body and Blood at Holy Communion and to rejoice in the presence of God’s Spirit in our lives.

 

I don’t want the canons on this issue to change.

 

I still ideally want and will work for people to be baptized.

 

That’s my job.

 

But I will NEVER turn anyone away from this altar.

 

Nor will I ever deny anyone the Body and Blood of Jesus. Ever.

 

For me, this is how I try to live that Pentecost reality in my own life.

 

The Spirit we celebrate today—and hopefully every day—is truly the Spirit of the God that came to us and continues to come to us—first to those prophets in our Hebrew past, then in the Word who is Jesus and finally in that rushing wind and in that rain of burning flames.

 

And in the waters of Baptism.

 

And in the Bread and Wine of Holy Communion.

 

It is through this Spirit that we come to know God in ways we might never have before.

 

The Spirit is God with us NOW.

 

Right here.

 

Right now.

 

Always.

 

We need to understand: the Spirit works with us, not for us.

 

We can’t manipulate the Spirit.

 

We can’t force the Spirit to do anything—especially  what we want that Spirit to do.

 

We can’t control that Spirit any more than we can control the wind.

 

We have to do part of the work ourselves.

 

This is the way the Spirit works.

 

Our job as followers of Jesus is to be open to God’s Spirit, the same way he was open to God’s Spirit, just the way his mother Mary was open to God’s Spirit, just the way those first followers in that upper room were open to God’s Spirit.

 

Our job is to allow the Spirit to be present and to do what the Spirit does.

 

For us collectively here at St. Stephen’s, we’ve been doing that all along.

 

So, let us be thankful to the Spirit of God with us, to the Spirit who dwells with us here.

 

And let us continue to welcome that Spirit into our midst to continue to the work begun here. 

 

This week of Pentecost, let us look for the gifts of the Spirit in our lives and in those around us.  

 

Let us open ourselves to God’s Spirit and let it flow through us like a caressing wind.   

 

On this feast of Pentecost—this feast of the fruits of God—let us feel the Holy Spirit move within us and let us give thanks to God for all the many fruits of the Spirit in our lives.

 

 Let us pray.  Come Holy Spirit: come as the wind and cleanse; come as the fire and burn; convict, convert, consecrate the lives of the members of St. Stephen’s, to our great good and your greater glory. Let us know your Presence here and let the gift of your fruits flourish in

7 Easter

 

The Sunday after the Ascension

 

May 29, 2022

 

Revelation 22.12-13, 16-17, 20-21

 

 

+ This past Wednesday evening, we celebrated the Eve of the feast of the Ascension.

 

Now, for most of us, this just isn’t that big of a feast day for us.

In fact, I don’t know a whole lot of Christians who, quite honestly, even give the Ascension a second thought.

 

Some of us might look at the Ascension as a kind of anticlimactic event.  

 

The Resurrection has already occurred on Easter morning.  

 

That of course is the big event.  

 

The Ascension comes as it does after Jesus has appeared to his disciples and has proved to them that he wasn’t simply a ghost,  but was actually resurrected in his body.

 

In comparison to Easter, the Ascension is a quiet event.  

 

The resurrected Jesus simply leads his followers out to Bethany and, then, quietly, he is taken up by God into heaven.  

 

And that’s it.

 

There are no angels, no trumpet blasts.

 

There is no thunder or lightning.

 

He just goes.

 

And that’s that.

 

So, why is the Ascension so important to us?

 

 

Well, it’s important on two levels.

 

One, on a practical level, we recognize the fact that, at the Ascension, this is where our work begins.  

 

This is when our work as followers of Jesus begins.

 

We, at this point, become the Presence of Jesus now in the world.

 

This is where we are now compelled to go out now and actually do the work Jesus has left for us to do.

 

Those apostles who are left gazing up at  Jesus don’t just simple linger there, wringing their hands, wondering what has just happened.

 

Well, actually, yes, that’s exactly what they do.

 

For a while anyway.

 

But eventually, with a BIG prompting from the Holy Spirit, they get going.

 

They go out and start doing what they are meant to do.

 

But we’re going to talk about that NEXT Sunday on the feast of Pentecost.

 

For now, we’re here, with them, watching Jesus being taken up, out of their midst.

 

For now, we know Jesus is taken out of our midst and is seated at the right hand of God.

 

Again, this is the point in which we become the presence of Christ in this world.

 

Now, I love the Feast of the Ascension!

 

What I love about the feast is that it is more than just going out to do Jesus’ work.

 

Which brings us to our second point.

 

Again and again, as we see in the life of Jesus, it isn’t just about Jesus.

 

Our job is not simply to observe Jesus and bask quietly in his holiness.

 

A lot of Christians think that is all it is.

 

It’s about us too.

 

When we hear the stories of Jesus birth’ at Christmas, we can look at them as simply fantastic.

 

They are wonderful stories that happened then and there, to him.

 

Or…we could see them for what they are for us.

 

We could see it our birth story as well.

 

God worked in the life of Mary and Joseph and God’s own Son was born.

 

But it should remind us that God worked in our birth as well.

 

Well. Maybe not with angels and shepherds.

 

But God worked in our lives even from the beginning, as God did in the life of Jesus.

 

With Jesus, born as he was, with God’s special light and care upon him, we too were born.

 

Jesus’ birth became ourbirth.

 

At  Easter too, we could simply bask in the glorious mystery of Jesus’ resurrection from the tomb.

 

But the story doesn’t really meananything to us until we see ourselves being resurrected with him.

 

His resurrection is ourresurrection as well.

 

God, who raised Jesus, will raise us as well.

 

Well, the same thing happened last Thursday.

 

Jesus’s ascension is ourascension as well.

 

What God does for Jesus, God does for us too.

 

That’s incredibly important to understand!

 

We are not simply followers of Jesus.

 

We are sharers with Jesus in all that happens to him.

 

And that is incredibly wonderful!

 

The event of the Incarnation is a reminder that in much the same way God is incarnate in Jesus so God is incarnate in us as well.

 

So, regarding the Ascension, it is important for us to look at what happened and see it not only with Jesus’ eyes, but our eyes as well.

 

Yes, we are rooted to this earth, to creation.

 

We are children of this world.

 

But we are also children of the next world as well.

 

We are children of heaven too.

 

Jesus tells us in our reading from Revelation today:

 

“See, I am coming soon; my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone’s work.”

 

Our reward, as children of Heaven, is with the One who says,

 

“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”

 

What the ascension reminds us is that we are inheritors of heaven too.

 

We, like Jesus, will one day ascend like him, beyond this world.

 

We will be taken up and be with God, just as Jesus is with God.

 

In fact, our whole life here is a slow, steady ascension toward God.

 

We are moving, incrementally, upward toward God.

 

This is our journey.

 

And as we do, as we recognize that we are moving upward, slowly ascending, like Jesus, to that place in which we ultimately belong, we should be feeling what Jesus no doubt felt as he ascended.

 

Joy.

 

Happiness.

 

Exultation.

 

When we are happy—when we are joyful—we often use the word soar.

 

Our hearts soar with happiness.

 

When we are full of joy and happiness we imagine ourselves floating upward.

 

In a sense, when we are happy or in love or any of those other wonderful things, we, in a sense, ascend.

 

Conversely, when we are depressed we plunge.

 

We fall.

 

We go down.  

 

So this whole idea of ascension—of going “up”—is important.

 

Jesus, in his joy, went up toward God.

 

And we, in our joy, are, at this very moment, following that path.

 

We have followed Jesus through his entire journey so far.

 

We have followed him from his birth, through his ministry, to his cross.

 

We have followed him to his descent into hell and through his resurrection from the tomb.

 

And now, we are following him on his ascension.

 

And it is joyful and glorious.

 

Right now.

 

Right here.

 

In this world.

 

Doing the work God gives us to do.

 

And what is that?

 

Well, for me, right now, it is doing 11 burials in one month.

 

It’s being so bone-weary tired that I stand here before you bleary-eyes and aching.

 

It also means that, weary as we may be, we are in this world.

 

This sometimes very ugly, very violent world.

 

In this world in which innocent children and teachers get brutally executed in their classrooms by insane people with perfectly legal automatic weapons.

 

And the response from people to this tragedy to defend the guns!

 

Yes, when we see children beating others with a stick, we punish the child.

 

But we also TAKE THE STICK AWAY!

 

But not in this topsy-turvy world, where the guns become more important the  lives of children.

 

But this also becomes clear that our job here is not done.

 

It’s not enough that we pray about this.

 

It’s not enough that we send our sympathies to those who died.

 

It is far past time to DO SOMETHING.

 

It is time to stand up and SPEAK OUT.

 

It is time to work to change things.

 

Your votes matter.

 

Use them.

 

Use them to get your representatives to change things.

 

Don’t wring your hands like the disciples of Jesus after the Ascension, wondering what to do next.

 

You know what to do.

 

So let’s do it!

 

So, here we are.

 

In this place.

 

In this world.

 

Doing the best we can.

 

And just when we think God has provided just what we need for this journey, we find one more truly amazing gift to us.

 

Next week, an event will happen that will show us that Jesus remains with us in an even more extraordinary way.

 

On that day—Pentecost Sunday—God’s Spirit will descend upon us and remain with us always.

 

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

 

For now, we must simply face the fact that it all does fall into place.  

 

All that following of Jesus is now really starting to pay off.

 

We know now—fully and completely—that God will never leave us alone.

 

In what seems like defeat, there is amazing resurrection, and ascension.

 

In what seemed like being stuck to an earth that often feels sick and desolate, we are now soar.

 

So, today, and this week, as we remember and rejoice in the Ascension, as we prepare for the Holy Spirit’s descent, let our hearts ascend with Jesus.

 

Let them soar upward in joy at the fact that God is still with us.

 

Let us be filled with joy that God’s Spirit dwells within us and can never be taken from us.  

 

As we heard in our reading from Revelation today:

 

“Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.”

 

Let us take this gift of the water of life.

 

Let us rise up, in joy.

 

Let it rise up in us and sing through us to those around us we are called to  serve.

 

Amen. 

 

Loving God, raise us, with Jesus, to that place at your side where we can be what you intended us to be and live as you intended us to live; and may always do what you call us to do both in this life and the next; we ask this in the name of Jesus who sits at your right hand in glory. Amen.

 

 

The Requiem Mass for Leon Gelinske

 

The Requiem Mass for

Leon Gelinske

St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, Fargo, ND

Saturday  May 28, 2022

 

+ Sometimes when you’re a priest there are hard funeral sermons to preach, and sometimes there are easy funeral sermons to preach.

 

Hard funeral sermons are for those people who died suddenly, for whom there was no preparation, for people who die young, for people whose stories are not even close to completion.

 

The easy ones are for people like Leon Gelinske—people who knew what they wanted and let me know what they wanted.

 

I am always grateful for those kind of funerals.

 W

ell, I’m just grateful in general for Leon, and for who he was in the life of all of you, in the life of St. Stephen’s and in my own life.

 

Yes, I was his priest for the better part of 15 years.

 

But more than that, he a very dear friend.

 

Actually, he was like an uncle to me.

 

The Gelinskes have been very important in my life, and I have always kind of felt like I was just another Gelinske kid.

 

I could’ve just snuck in and no one probably would’ve noticed.

 

But certainly Leon always treated me like I was one of the kids.

 

He was always kind but firm with me.

 

And I gotta say, every time I saw him, I was always truly glad to see him.

 

Whether it was at a family gathering, or coming into church with shillelagh, or in any capacity, it was just always kind fo special to see Leon.

 

Well let’s face it: Leon was special.

 

Even though he was kind of like a cross between Burt Reynolds and Johnny Cash, he actually had the quiet dignity of Clint Eastwood.

 

This was a man who strong.

 

And by that I mean he had REAL strength.

 

And he didn’t have to prove it.

 

He just WAS.

 

There was just deep, abiding strength with him.  

 

Not just in his body, but in his very character.

 

He truly was well-represented by his spirit animal, the Rooster.

 

The rooster is perfect for Leon.

 

The rooster, after all, is a strong, solid animal.

 

It has a natural confidence about it.

 

You know not to mess with a rooster unless you want to face its wrath.

 

Michelle has shared with me plenty of stories of her run-ins with roosters over the years.

 

The Rooster symbolizes bravery, strength and vigilance,

 A rooster walks through life with its head high.

 

It faces its challenges with determination.

 

And they are excellent time keepers.

 

They know when the day is about to dawn.

 

They seek out that morning sun, which will cut through the darkness of the night.

 

And they will announce that light loudly and clearly.

 

Its job is to wake you up, to not let you sleep the day away.

 

It seems to say, “Don’t waste the day. Don’t miss the sunlight.”  

 

All of that describes Leon.

 

Here at St. Stephen’s, a place that was very important Leon and to his family, his children decided to have a stained glass window dedicated to Leon’s memory.

 

The window was designed by our own Gin Templeton, who designed these other windows, and will be installed later this summer.

 

The window will say GO IN PEACE, and in one corner of the window there will
be a silhouette of a rooster.

 

Every time we look at that window and see that rooster above that door that Leon passed through so many times before, we will think of him.

 

He will still be there in a sense, telling us to get up, wake up, to go out there in peace and do what needs to be done.

 

See, this is what I mean by an “easy” sermon.

 

Someone like Leon writes his own funeral sermon.

 

He did so when we talked about his inevitable dying when he was first diagnosed.

 

If you asked him, “Are you afraid of dying?”

 

He would shrug his shoulders in that way, he would make that’s sound he would make (Bryan I think does it really well), and he would say, “It’s just the way it is. You live. You get old. You get kind of feeble. Then you die. I know how it goes.”

 

And he did.

 

And he did it his way.

 

He did it on his own terms.

 

And it was just the way it was meant to be.

 

And it’s somehow all right.

 

I know these last couple of months were difficult for Leon.

 

I think the more limited he became physically, the more frustrated he became.

 

I think it was hard for him to deal with his mortal body giving up on him.

 

For those of us who have felt that our bodies have turned against us, to some extent, we feel a certain sense of betrayal.

 

But, today, we can take some consolation that, for Leon, all of that is behind him.

 

We can move on from his passing as he would want us to.

 

With our heads held high.

 

Brave.

 

Sure.

 

Confident.

 

These Gelinske children, and grandchildren do that well.

 

They learned well form the Rooster.

 

Of course, it’s all right to be sad.

 

It’s all right to feel the loss that comes with his passing.

 

The world is a different place without Leon Gelinske.

 

It’s a bit more empty.

 

His absence is felt profoundly.

 

But his example remains.

 

And for those of who have faith,  like Leon did, we know, like him.

 

Our consolation is that the place in which Leon dwells now awaits us as well.

 

Yes, now we may be have tears in our eyes.

 

Yes, now we may be feel sadness.

 

Yes, now, in our lives, we may feel pain.

 

But our consolation today is in the fact that in that other place, that place of light, that place in which our spirits will dwell, there will never again be pain.

 

There will never again be tears.

 

There will never again be sadness.

 

That is our consolation today.

 

For now, we must move on.

 

We must be strong.

 

We must face the day that lies before us.

 

The sun is risen.

 

The day is beautiful.

 

The rooster has crowed.

 

And it’s time for us to get out there and do what we have to do.

 

We must make the most of what we have been given in this life.

 

This is what gets us through.

 

This is where we find our strength.

 

I will miss Leon.

 

I will miss his quiet presence in my life.

 

I will miss his smile and his no-nonsense approach to every thing.

 

I will miss that quiet strength he carried with him everywhere.

 

We will all miss him and feel his loss for a long time to come.

 

But we will keep him close every time we try to live up to his standard of life.

 

His strength has not left us today.

 

That quiet dignity of his is not gone.

 

It is lives on.

 

It is certainly there in you, his children and grandchildren.

 

It is in all of us who knew him and loved him and will miss him.

 

That is what I call a pretty good legacy.

 

Not everyone is able to leave that kind of imprint behind them in this world. 

 

But Leon did.

 

So, let us be thankful for Leon Gelinske.

 

Let us be thankful for his presence in our lives.

 

Let us be thankful that God allowed us to know him for however long we were granted. 

And let us go from here and live out the example of this amazing man in our own lives.

 

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Leon.

 At your coming may the martyrs receive you.

 

And may they bring you with joy and gladness into the holy city Jerusalem.

 

Amen.

 

 

 

6 Easter

 

Rogation Sunday

May 22, 2022

John 14:23-29

 

+ 8 years ago this coming week—on Sunday, May 26, 2014—we did something special at our Rogation Blessing.

 

On that Sunday eight years ago we processed out to our overgrown labyrinth and that bare patch of lawn under the tree there and dedicated and blessed the space for  our Memorial Garden.

 

And now, look!

 

Thanks to Sandy Holbrook and the gardening committee and all the people who have worked for that garden and all that beautiful landscaping that was done there, it has become a place of beauty.

 

And in these eight years, our memorial garden has become a place of rest for 14 people—and a place of consolation for countless others.

 

In fact just this past week we buried the ashes of two people in the garden.

 

And later today, at the close of our Rogation procession, we will bury yet another set of ashes, these some more unknown people.

 

On Saturday, after his Requiem Mass, we will be burying Leon Gelinske’s ashes there.

 

And in the next two months, we will be burying the ashes of  4 more people in our garden.

 

When I first proposed a memorial garden for St. Stephen’s, I remember people being resistant.

 

I got weird looks when I first mentioned it.

 

And there were some people who were outright vocal in their opposition for such a thing.

 

But your loyal priest persisted.

 

And he was diligent.

If, one day, when I shed this mortal coil, I believe those two words will definitely be used to describe the rector of St. Stephen’s.

 

Persistent and diligent.

 

(along with maybe a few other choice words)

 

Well, this persistent and diligent priest went out and did his research.

 

I visited memorial gardens in other places.

 

I learned how such things were done.

 

And I learned also about an apostolate of St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church in Winston-Salem, North Carolina called the Society of St. Joseph of Arimathea.

 

They were a group who provided burials for unclaimed babies in their church cemetery.

 

I wanted to make sure that anyone who needed a dignified burial had one in our memorial garden, that no one would be turned away because of financial difficulties, or for any other reason.

 

I remember a dear friend of mine at another church who was faithful in in her duties to that congregation.

 

As she was preparing for her own passing, she decided she wanted to be interred in the church’s columbarium.

 

But the price tag to do so was a bit steep for her.

 

I went to the priest (a person I did not get along with) and said, “She has been very faithful to this congregation. She has volunteered and been there for everything she is needed for. Just give her the niche.”

 

And that priest said no to me, and to that elderly woman.

 

She finally was able to muster the money together (due to some help from some of her friends) and she rests there in peace.

 

But the story struck me.

 

I never wanted anyone to struggle in their own lives to find a place of dignity for their final resting place.

 

That is why I am so grateful for our memorial garden, and for all those who made this place what it is not only for us, but for everyone else who has benefitted from it.

 

Now I don’t think I’m overestimating it when I say it has also become a place of mercy.

 

We of course have laid people to rest there who had no other place to rest, who were rejected or forgotten.

 

Why? Why do we do that?

 

Because that is what we do as Christians.

 

In our Christian tradition, mercy plays heavily into what we do.

 

And as a result, there have been, since the early Church, a series of what have been called corporal acts of mercy.

 

I’ve talked about this many times before.

 

These corporal acts of mercy are:

 

To feed the hungry;

To give drink to the thirsty;

To clothe the naked;

To harbor the harborless;

To visit the sick;

To ransom the captive;

To bury the dead.

We at St. Stephen’s, in the ministry we do as followers of Jesus, have done most of those well (actually I don’t know if we’ve ransomed a whole lot of captives)

 

Including that last one. 

 

Burying the dead is a corporal act of mercy.

 

And, it’s appropriate we are discussing things like mercy and love on this Sunday, Rogation Sunday, the Sunday before the Ascension of Jesus.

 

In our Gospel reading for today we find Jesus explaining that although he is about to depart from his followers—this coming Thursday we celebrate the feast of Jesus’ Ascension to heaven—he will not leave them alone.

 

They will be left with the Advocate—the Spirit of Truth.

 

The Holy Spirit.

 

He prefaces all of this with those words that quickly get swallowed up by the comments on the Spirit, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”

 

And just to remind everyone, that command is, of course, “to love.”

 

To love God.

 

And to love our neighbors as ourselves.

 

This is what it means to be the Church.

 

To love.

 

To serve.

To be merciful.

To be Christ to those who need Christ.

 

To be a Christ of love and compassion and acceptance.

 

Without boundaries.

 

Without discrimination.

 

Because that is who Christ is to us.

 

Now, maybe you have been keeping up with debacle happening in the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of San Francisco.

 

The Archbishop there, Salvatore Cordileone, informed House Speaker Nancy Pelosi that he was denying her Communion because of her support for a woman’s right to choose.

 

He based the ground of his refusal on the fact that is she unrepentant in her “sin.”

 

Well, if you know me, you know where I stand on this one.

 

As I have said from the pulpit again and again over this issue: to deny Jesus from anyone is not my right, is not your right, is not any Bishop’s right, is certainly not Archbishop Cordileone’s right.

 

But always be assured of this: whenever anyone is excluded by the Church, Jesus will always side with the excluded.

 

Jesus will always side with those turned away.

 

And the Archbishop has failed miserably in his calling to follow Christ.

 

He is not being Christ to those how need Christ.

 

He is being judge and jury on who “gets” Jesus” and who doesn’t.

 

And that never ends well.

 

When we forget to be Christ to others, when we fail to do this, we fail to do mercy.

 

And God sees.

 

Our job as Christians, as followers of Jesus, to show mercy to others.

 

We are doing so this morning.

 

We are living into our ministry of mercy to others.

 

Today is, as I’ve said, Rogation Sunday.

 

Rogation comes from the Latin word “Rogare” which means “to ask.”

 

In our Gospel reading today we hear Jesus saying to us,  

 

 “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate…”

 

From a very simple perspective, the thing we are asking today, on this Rogation Sunday, is to be faithful followers of Jesus, thorough our works and acts of mercy.

 

Now for some of us, this whole idea of Rogation Sunday and the procession that we will soon be making outside at the conclusion of our Eucharist this morning might seem a bit too much.

 

 The fact is, it is something, very much like burying the dead on the church grounds.

 

Our memorial garden—this visible sign of the final corporal act of mercy—is a part of this Rogation celebration.

 

This is where we do our blessing.

 

We process there and bless the earth and the land there.

 

We ask God’s blessings on the growth not only of crops and fields.

 

We also thank God today for the growth of our congregation.

 

We are thanking God for the acts of mercy and grace done to each of us.

 

And we are asking God to continue to make us Christ to those who need Christ.

 

We are thanking God especially for all the graces in our lives.

 

Grace is especially something we celebrate on Rogation Sunday.

 

Let’s see if you can remember my definition of grace.

 

Grace, in my very simple opinion, is a gift we receive from God that we don’t ask for.

 

In fact it is often something we receive from God that we may not even known how to ask for.

 

And we all get to be reminded of the fact that God’s grace still works in our midst in wonderful and beautiful ways.

 

This is how God works sometimes in our lives.

 

And w e have provided grace to several of the people buried in our garden.

 

We gave them something they could not ask for.

 

But we, seeking to live out mercy in our lives and in ministries here, provided them something others did not.  

 

It is appropriate to remember all of this on this Rogation Sunday—this Sunday in which we ask God’s blessings on us, on the growth in our lives, and on the renewal in our lives, and in which we seek to be grateful for the graces in our own lives.  

 

As  we process out at the end of the Eucharist today, I ask you to look around  atthe memorial garden.

 

I ask you to look at the names on the stones there.

 

We know many of them now.

 

Others of them we will never know on this side of veil.

 

I ask you as you walk about to thank God for them.

 

I ask you today to thank God for the growth God has granted us at St. Stephen’s.

 

And I ask that you remember Jesus’ call to us, to love God and to keep that  commandment of love and mercy.

 

This is more than just sweet, religious talk.

 

It is a challenge and a true calling to live out this love in radical ways.

 

It is a challenge to be merciful.

 

As we process, as we walk together, let us pay attention to this world around us.

 

Let us ponder the causes and the effects of what it means to be inter-related—to be dependent upon on each to some extent, as we are on this earth.

 

We do need each other.

 

And we do need each other’s love.

 

We definitely need each other.

 

And mercy.

 

We do need that radical love that Jesus commands us to have.

 

With that love, we will truly love our neighbors as ourselves.

 

We will show mercy to them.

 

Let this procession today truly be a "living walking" as the great poet (and one of my heroes) George Herbert put it.

 

But let our whole lives as Christians be also a “living walk,” a mindful walk, a walk in which we see the world around with eyes of love and respect and justice and care.

 

And, most importantly, with eyes of mercy.

 

Amen.

 

The Memorial Service for Bradley Aaron Holbrook

 

Brad Aaron Holbrook

(February 13, 1969-May 15, 2022)

St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church

Fargo, ND

Revelation 7.9-17

 

+ I know people expect Priests to have some kind of answer to things.

But the fact is: we oftentimes don’t.

And today, and over this last week, I can definitely say I don’t have an answer.

I don’t know why this happened.

Why this man who was in the prime of his life was taken so quickly.

I will never understand.

But I’ll say what you all have been saying no doubt...

there should’ve been more.

There was so much life ahead of him.

Now, mind you I love God.

Anyone who knows me knows I love God.

But I am angry today at God too.

(We know we can be angry at someone we love).

And it’s all right to be angry about this.

Maybe I’m not really angry at God.

But I really am angry at death, and I am angry at the unfairness of this all.

And it is unfair.

This should not have happened to someone like Brad.

Not yet.

Not this soon.

This should not have happened to Brad or to Carolin or to Frederick or to Brad’s mother and brother and the rest of the family, and all Brad’s friends.

And that makes me very angry!

I’m really angry that there wasn’t more time.

But Brad would be the first to tell us that’s it’s not fair.

Nothing’s fair.

It’s just the way it is.

And we could leave it there.

But, for those of us who have faith—for us, even in the face of this gut-wrenching pain we feel today, even in the face of our frustration and anger and sadness, we know…

This was a person who made a difference in the world and in other people’s life.

Have you been keeping up with what is being said about Brad on social media?

We now live in an age where you can tell the impact a person had in life is by the outpouring once receives on social media.

And Brad definitely has received some amazing outpouring.

And the stories that have been shared.

It’s mind-blowing.

I have been reading about the love and the care and the stories being shared on Twitter and in social media.

It’s amazing.

The fact is: Brad made a difference.

And because he did, this world is a bit more empty today without Brad in it.

The lives of everyone who knew him and experienced that generosity and caring is emptier because Brad is not there to share that.

And that makes it easier.

It is makes all of this easier knowing that Brad was who he was, that he did what he did.

It is makes it easier to know that he made a difference.

But, it is vital to remember that all this reminds us that our goodbye today is only a temporary goodbye.

All that we knew and loved about Brad is not gone for good.

It is not ashes.

Is not grief.

It is not loss.

Everything that Brad was to those who knew him and loved him and now miss him is not lost forever.

All we loved, all that was good and gracious in Brad—all that was fierce and strong and amazing in him—all of that lives on.

It lives on with all of you who experienced the kindness and generosity and love of Brad in this life.

And for those of us who have faith, faith in more than this world, we know that it goes on too.

I don’t claim to know how.

I don’t claim to know for certain what awaits us in the next world.

But I do cling to the words we find in scripture and in the Book of Common Prayer.

I do believe that all that is good and gracious and loving in Brad now dwells in a place of light and beauty and life unending.

And I do believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that you will see him again.

And on that day every tear will truly be wiped from your faces.

And there will be no more tears.

And it will be beautiful.

I am a huge fan of a novel many of us know well.

That novel is To Kill a Mockingbird.

Harper Lee writes:

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

In so many ways, this passage captures, I think, what real courage is.

And I think Brad embodied courage like this in his own life.

Brad saw it through.

He showed us all true courage, true strength, true determination.

He showed us what real courage was.

And we should be grateful for that.

We will all miss him so much.

But I can tell you we will not forget him.

Brad Holbrook is not someone who will be easily forgotten.

He is not someone who passes quietly into the mists (though that’s probably exactly what he would’ve wanted)

His fierce determination lives on in us.

His strength, his dignity lives on in Frederick and in Carolin and in Sandy and Martin and in everyone who knew him.

His strength and his dignity lives in those he helped and encouraged and led and was an example to.  

At the end of this service, we will all stand and I will lead us in something called the Commendation.

The commendation is an incredible piece of liturgy.

In those words, we will say those very powerful words:

All of us go down
to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia,
alleluia, alleluia.

That alleluia in the face of death is a defiant alleluia.

It is fist shaken not at God, but it is a fist shaken at death.

I like acts of defiance.

Because defiance sometimes shows true courage.

This alleluia we sing and say today is an act of courage and defiance in the face of death.

By it we can hear this:

Not even you, death, not even you will defeat me.

That is Brad’s voice. That is what Brad is saying to all of us today.

I will not fear you.

And I will not let you win.

And, let me tell you, death has not defeated Brad Holbrook.

Even at the grave, he makes his song—and we with him:

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

It is a defiant alleluia we make today with him.

So let us be defiant.

Let us shake our fists at death today.

Let us embody courage in these days to come.

Let us say our Alleluia today defiantly.

Let us face this day and the days to come with gratitude for this incredible person God let us know.

Let us be grateful.

Let us be sad, yes.

But let’s remind ourselves: death has not defeated him.

Or us.

Let us be defiant to death.

Let us sing loudly.

Let us live boldly.

Let us stand up defiantly.

Let us embody courage

That is what Brad would want us to do today, and in the future.

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Brad.

At your coming may the martyrs receive you.

And may they bring you with joy and gladness into the holy city Jerusalem.

Amen.