Lounging with Jesus: Mary and Martha

Today is the first Sunday for The Rev. Nicholas Forti, our new associate rector for young adult ministry.

Nik is preaching today, and I hope you come hear him at our 10 am or 5:30 pm worship. The gospel for today Luke 10:38-42: the story of Martha complaining to Jesus that she is doing all of the work while Mary is lounging with Jesus.

I preached about this lesson three years ago at All Souls Episcopal Church in Berkeley, where I served as interim rector.

At the time, All Souls was deeply immersed in searching for a new rector. Here is the meat of the sermon:

Mary and Martha: Don't forget to pray

In the months ahead all of us will be very busy – there is much to do. Many of you are going to work harder than you have ever worked in the church. And that is why I find today’s gospel lesson perfect for what we are about to do.

In the lesson, Martha is in the kitchen making dinner and Mary is in the living room hanging out with Jesus. Martha is working hard, and her complaint is not without merit. Martha is a pillar; she is a pillar of her family, of the community, of the church – she serves on committees, goes to all the meetings, takes care of the kids, and fixes everyone dinner; and she never complains, at least until now.

But this time, seeing Mary slacking off, she complains to Jesus.

But instead of upbraiding Mary, Jesus tells Martha that she missing the point.
"Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things,” he tells her. “Mary has chosen the better part.”

That may sound harsh, but work with me here.

This story is a reminder to all of us that, yes, we will get very, very busy. We have much to do. We need Marthas to get it all done. There will be many challenges for you, and for me, in the months ahead at All Soul’s. We do need a lot of Marthas.
But let’s not miss out on the better part – being in the presence of God, being in the presence of the Risen Christ. We will miss out on the better part if we get so busy, so distracted, that we forget why we are here. As important as all of the tasks may be, we need to pause, catch our breath, and look for the better part.

There is a lot of good news in this – and I’d like to offer a few ideas about the “better parts” that are ahead of us.

Take time to notice the presence of God around you. Dwell in the Spirit. Don’t forget to pray.

This is a tender time for this congregation.

So here is my first piece of advice as your new interim: Let’s be gentle with each other. Let’s share the blessings we are given – the better parts – and show each other the grace that God gives us abundantly. Let’s have fun. Laugh, celebrate.

Let’s all take time to take care of each other. Let’s be pastors to each other. Let’s go out of our way to be good to each other.

Jesus will surprise us if we let him. Jesus often picks the most unexpected people to do his work. Remember the story about Paul on the road to Damascus. He is a persecutor of the early Christians, but the Risen Christ chooses him, of all people, to grow the church. By any conventional wisdom, Paul is the last person that any of us would chose to lead the church. But Jesus chooses him – and he chooses you and he chooses me.

Be open to new people, be truly open to people who are searching for meaning in their lives. You have treasure here at All Soul’s. New people will come. This Church is place where people can come with their questions and their doubts and not be judged for being, well, human. Have faith that Jesus will find them and feed them.
There are people all around you who are hungering for something in their life. You run into those people every single day. Invite them here.

Do everything in the Spirit of God’s love and generosity. Be slow to anger, quick to forgive. If you err, err on the side of love and generosity.

Here is the easy part: You don’t need to be anyone other than who you are. Be yourself. You don’t have to copy someone else’s church. You have everything you need right here in this place. It is all here, and God will give us the power to do amazing things.

God has given each of us this gift of life – so let’s make every day count. Worship the Lord, the Lord is with you here in at All Soul’s, and in our hearts. You are the beloved, God made each and every one of you good, so be glad in it and celebrate. The Risen Christ will be with us on our journey, each and every day, and in the age to come -- forever. Amen

Art of Mary and Martha, Chinese.

Sad news about a treasured friend and member of St. Paul's

I have some very sad news. Joseph "Pepe" Humphrey died early Monday morning of cancer. For followers of this blog, last week we featured a deeply moving reflection he wrote, My Room, about his spiritual walk through many adversities. You can read his writing by scrolling down, or clicking HERE.

I got to know Pepe soon after we arrived in Charlottesville. Pepe and his wife, Sally, had been members of All Souls Parish in Berkeley, my last church before this one.

Pepe was part of our daytime Education for Ministry group, and he had opened his heart and his home to the group. Until recently, our regular meeting place was his living room. Today our EfM group read the Litany at the Time of Death. There were a good many tears in the room.

Pepe's memorial service will be March 27 at 11 am at St. Paul's.

Pepe was an accomplished scientist and a major presence on the faculty at the University of Virginia. Here is what the University's website has to say about him:

Joseph (Pepe) Humphrey joined the Department of Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering of the University of Virginia in the summer of 2000. He is the Wade Professor of Engineering and Applied Science and was Department Chairman from 08/00 through 12/05. He has earned degrees in chemistry (Ingeniero Quimico Diplomado, Barcelona, Spain, 1970), chemical engineering (M. A. Sc., University of Toronto, Canada, 1973), mechanical engineering - fluid mechanics (Ph.D., Imperial College, London, U.K., 1977) and received the D. Sc. Eng, degree from London University in 1997. Between 1978 and 1995, Dr. Humphrey rose through the faculty ranks at the University of California at Berkeley. Subsequently he was Head of Aerospace and Mechanical Engineering at the University of Arizona and Dean of Engineering at Bucknell University.

Dr. Humphrey's research and teaching interests revolve around experimental, theoretical and numerical investigations of flow, heat and mass transfer phenomena, especially in relation to biomedical and biological systems. These include: application of particle image and laser-Doppler velocimetry, and other flow visualization techniques; computational fluid mechanics; turbulence modeling; buoyancy-, curvature-, and rotation-driven instabilities and transition to turbulence; two-phase flow and erosive wear; rotating and strongly curved flows; buoyancy driven flows in open cavities and enclosures; flows past bluff bodies and flow-structure interactions; development and application of interactive computational-experimental methodologies based on adaptive/learning strategies for thermofluids research; sensors and sensing in biology and engineering; biomedical catheters for cardiovascular and neurological applications. He has over 135 journal papers and 100 refereed conference papers in these areas, and is active in various professional societies including the American Society for Mechanical Engineers of which he is a Fellow. Dr. Humphrey is the founder of the biennial International Symposia on Sensors and Sensing in Biology and Engineering and a co-founder of the biennial International Symposia on Turbulence and Shear Flow Phenomena.

"My Room" - A powerful homily by a treasured friend and member of St. Paul's

For the past year we've invited St. Paul's people to offer a reflection at our Wednesday Evening Prayer. We've been treated to some extraordinary meditations from some extraordinary people.

Last night, it was my privilege to read one of these reflections from

Joseph "Pepe" Humphrey. I need to explain a bit.

Pepe, and his wife Sally, were among the first people I got to know when we moved to Charlottesville. They are from Berkeley, and they had been members at All Souls Parish until he took a professor post at the University of Virginia. My All Souls friends told me to look them up, and of course I did.

Pepe has been in our Education for Ministry group. We've been meeting in his house until recently.

Pepe could not be there last night. He has cancer. He was scheduled to read his homily a few weeks ago, but then the snow hit, and he couldn't get to St. Paul's. We rescheduled for last night, but he is now so weak he could not come to read it.

He asked me to read this for him. I have to say it was one of the most powerful Evening Prayer experiences I have ever witnessed.

Before you read this, first read John 14:1-6. Then take your time reading, and please keep Pepe and Sally, and his daughters, in your prayers:

MY ROOM

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, and when He placed the stars in the firmament of the heavens, I like to think He brought into existence a universe replete with galaxies, each with innumerable solar systems supporting many, many earth-like planets vibrant with life at different stages, with intelligent God-loving creatures like us created in the image of God. Jesus says in John’s Gospel, "Let not your hearts be troubled; believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And when I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am you may be also.” I like to think that the “Father’s house” Jesus speaks of is the universe God created, and that the “many rooms” are the collection of life-supporting planets in this universe.

I have a dwelling place that I call “My Room.” I have lived in My Room all my life. My Room has many windows and a door, and I control whether they are open, half open or shut, and what passes through them. I have lived a very insulated, self-focused and self-gratifying life in My Room, with the door to it often shut except for special visitors of my own choosing. But now and then I have opened or half-opened some of the windows to deal with the world outside. In fact, some of the windows have mail slots at their base, so that if I do not wish to open a particular window I can still interact indirectly with the world outside by posting a note.

One window that is fully open all the time is the Window of Knowledge. For I am a scientist you see, and my livelihood and much of my intellectual excitement rest largely on the knowledge I receive and transmit through that window. I have no problem keeping that window open.

Another window that I thought was fully open is the Window of Family Relatives and Friends. But when I look carefully I see that it has been only partly open. Over the years I have taken for granted my wife and children and not bothered to fully open that window to let pass through it all the responsibilities and joys associated with being a husband and a father. I have now fully opened that window.

There is also the Window of Health, another window that I thought was fully open but which, in fact, was only partly open. Again, for years I took good health for granted and did not let enough fresh air and sunshine pass through this window, to really promote my good health in the company of others. I have done exercise all my life, but always alone, inside My Room, cut off from the outside world.

Then there is the Window of Love and Compassion. This window has always been mostly shut, any interactions with the outside world being through the mail slot at its base. The window was mostly shut because I thought I knew all about love and compassion. But I was wrong. By opening this window I discover that, to know about love you must allow yourself to be loved, and to know about compassion you have to experience suffering. In the self-satisfied smug world of My Room, I had cut myself off from both real love and true compassion. Now this window has been pried wide open and I know more about love and compassion, especially for others.

There are other windows to My Room and we need not explore them all, except perhaps to tell you about the Window of Faith and Hope. I knew this window was jammed, painted shut, but I gave it no importance. I had never questioned my “faith;” and what did I need to “hope” for?; I had all I needed to hope for in My Room. Then a series of devastating events occurred in relatively quick succession...I was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer and started to receive a long and painful therapy...

In my desperation and suffering I ran to the Window of Faith and Hope and tried to pry it open, but I could not budge it. I pounded on it, I clawed with fingernails at the paint hoping to loosen it, I pulled as forcefully as I could on the handle. But all to no avail. And yet I could hear whispering on the other side of the window, and I yelled in anger “Open this window!” But nothing happened, just a continued gentle whispering on the other side. Eventually, I slumped against the window and finally crumpled to the floor miserable and exhausted, a very sad and broken man. In my sobbing I begged God’s forgiveness for my great sin and, eventually, I fell into a deep sleep. In my sleep I heard more whispering, I heard these words being whispered to me: “For behold, you look for truth deep within me, and will make me understand wisdom secretly.”

Hours later when I awoke, the first thing I noticed was that the window of Faith and Hope was wide open, letting fresh air and sunlight into My Room. The window showed no signs of having been forced, and it moved easily on its hinges. The other thing I noticed was that the whispering had stopped. But now that the window was fully open I could read some words the Whisperer had scorched into the outside wooden frame; the words read: “The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”

I come to the end of my story. The point is to remind you that each one of us lives in a room of our own making, with windows and a door, and it is important to open the windows and the door fully to allow the joy and gladness of the outside world to enter your room carried by the Grace and Love of God. I think the psalmist new all about cosmic houses and rooms when he wrote: “One thing have I asked of the LORD; one thing I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the fair beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple.”

Joseph A.C. Humphrey

Painting by Edward Hopper

Nine years a priest today

Nine years ago today I stood before Bishop Jerry Lamb and took my vows to be a priest in Christ's Church. Many of you were there, and some of you "laid hands" upon me. In that moment I felt a moment of peace; the realization of what this was really about came much later.

This ninth anniversary of my priestly ordination has been much on my mind the past few days, partly because of the wonderful ordination on Saturday of Ann Willms, our associate rector at St. Paul's. During her ordination, I could not help but reflect upon my own journey these past nine years, and give my thanks for the support from so many of you in so many places.

So if you will indulge me, I'd like to take a few moments of looking back at this improbable journey. I am going mention names, which runs the risk of leaving someone out. Forgive me.

I was born into the Episcopal Church; my mother and her mother were Episcopalians. My father's family was Methodist, but my mother set the tone for many things including where we would worship. My earliest church memory is my baby sister's baptism in 1959. I went to Sunday school as a child, rarely missed a Sunday, and I was confirmed by Bishop James Pike of the Diocese of California. I fell away from church life in the 1970s while in college, but came back when I met Lori.

Lori and I are newspaper people. Ink is in our blood and always will be. Lori was an editor at The Sacramento Bee when I met her, and I was a reporter in the state Capitol Bureau. Together we put in more than a half-century of toil in the newspaper biz, and many of our best friends are journalists. We love them for their skepticism, their warped humor, and especially their deep sense of what is right and wrong in the world.

Yet I left that world for this one. It is a long story, too long for today.

I've had many mentors along the way, and no one looms larger than Don Brown, the Dean of Trinity Cathedral, Sacramento, the church we joined in 1988. His openness, his permission to ask hard questions, his willingness to admit that he did not have all the answers, his irreverent sense of humor (there's an understatement), and the brilliance of his preaching struck a huge chord with me. He mentored me in the ways not just of the church, but more deeply in the ways of Jesus in the world. And he proved to be a great friend, then as now. His wife Carol Anne took us under her wing, truly giving us her unconditional love and showing us grace in moments of great adversity.

I was much formed by the Education for Ministry program, first as a student, and then leading groups; Lori also went through EfM. Nearly all that I have learned about how to lead groups and how groups behave I learned from the enormously talented Michael Cunningham.

At Trinity, Lori and I shared many ministries. We accompanied our teen youth group on mission trips to Indian reservations with our wonderful friend Karen Harris Boone. We served on the vestry and as wardens (at different times) and Lori became an extraordinary cook for huge gatherings, including cooking for 2,000 people at the ordination of Barry Beisner as our bishop. Barry, I might add, was my shepherd through the ordination process when he was the rector at St. Martin's, Davis.

I went off to seminary in 1997, sponsored by the good people of Trinity Cathedral. I left Trinity, and served for two years at Faith Church in Cameron Park, in the Sierra foothills. At the time, Faith Church was a start-up Episcopal Church in a shopping center. The priest and founder, Kent McNair, gave me his friendship, showed me priestcraft and was patient with my stumbles and bumbles. Charlie Karoly, now deceased, and his wife Marilyn were caring in big ways and small to Lori and myself as we entered the ranks of the ordained. The people of Faith Church, many still my friends, showed us tremendous support and the meaning of a loving nurturing community.

I was also supported along the way by my parents' church, St. Timothy's, Danville (Calif.), where Lori and I were married. The rector, Steven Strane, has a good ear, and is a wise counselor. And Carl Gracely, now 100 years old, presided at our wedding, pastored my parents, stood with Bishop Lamb at my ordination as his chaplain, and has been my role model since I was 14-years-old.

To my amazement, I was called back to Trinity Cathedral after my seminary graduation to serve as the associate dean. It was my dream job, the chance to work with Don, to minister with long-time friends, to learn the craft of being a priest with the people who knew me best. It was my privilege to be on the staff for six years.

I learned the deepest meaning of being a priest at Trinity from Grant Carey, Winnie Gaines, Don White and Lynell Walker, and I learned what it means to be a deacon from Tina Campbell. I learned about gentleness and music from a giant, David Link.

We had many joys, many sorrows at Trinity. We traveled with the choir on its English cathedral tour in 2003. We welcomed new people, buried friends. We shared great moments of joy, and terrible moments of anguish. We showed the Sacramento community what it means to be the Church the week of Sept. 11, 2001. We stepped into the community with two Habitat houses, Loaves & Fishes and Francis House, River City Community Services, and many more projects for the poor I have now forgotten.

I was also invited back to my old haunts in the Legislature, and served for four years as the Chaplain to the California State Senate (the photo above is me in the Senate). I enjoyed every minute in the Senate, especially because I didn't have to write any newspaper stories about it.

Don retired in 2005, and so began the odyssey that brought us to Virginia. When a new dean came to Trinity, he cut me loose. I went through a difficult period of unemployment, and doubting whether I had much of a future as a priest.

That is when the Holy Spirit, or an angel, or the Great Force of the Universe, found me and lifted me out of the mire. The good people of All Souls Episcopal Church in Berkeley (my hometown) called me to be their interim rector in 2007, and the year we spent together was the best year of my life. The people of All Souls were smart, courageous, honest with each other and with me, and willing to take risks big and small. They loved to sing and they loved to share a meal. Every Sunday was wonderful, and it was my privilege to work with associate rector Kristin Krantz, music director Christopher Putnam and parish administrator Joy Shih Ng.

That is where the good people of St. Paul's Memorial Church, Charlottesville, found me. Lori and I came to this community in July 2008, and we are discovering anew what it means to be a caring, loving parish that looks beyond the walls of the church and constantly asks what role we are to play in the community. We are amazed at the life and vibrancy of this faith community, and are so very touched by so many people who have welcomed us and taken us into their hearts and homes. I am very grateful to so many of you, and especially to our rector emeritus David Poist and his wife Betsy for building such a great parish, and for taking us into their hearts; and I am grateful for the continued wisdom, humor, and support of Paula Kettlewell, our retired associate rector.

Along the way these nine years I have felt so very blessed by all of you. You have given me so many more blessings than you can imagine, many more than I have given you. Thank you for your patience, your good humor and for taking a risk or two with me.

As Real as it Gets: My friend Phoebe

Today I am bringing you an item I hope will warm your heart, and demonstrate that there really are people who God brings to us as agents of hope and healing and wonder.

One of my young former parishioners from All Souls, Berkeley, served in the Sojourn Chaplaincy at San Francisco General Hospital last summer.

This is as hard-core urban a hospital as it gets; gunshot wounds, HIV/AIDS, car wreck traumas and more are all part of daily life at San Francisco General.

Her name is Phoebe Dixon, and she is now starting her second year at Bates College in Maine. By any outward measure, Phoebe is young to be in such a chaplaincy, and many an older person I know would have wilted in such a setting.

Yet, if you know Phoebe, you would know that this chaplaincy was meant for her, and her for it. Her inner spirit shines forth, and she has an extraordinary way of touching the heart of everyone she meets. I was very honored to be asked to write a letter of recommendation for her to Sojourn. She served this past summer at San Francisco General soon after the completion of her freshman year in college. She wrote this description of her experience and sent it to me earlier this week. She gave me permission to share this with you:

A couple of months ago, when I started volunteering as a chaplain intern at Sojourn, the multi-faith chaplaincy at San Francisco General Hospital (SFGH), I noticed people wearing sweatshirts that had “As Real as it Gets – San Francisco General Hospital” written on the back. This tag line has stayed with me all summer. SGH is the public hospital for the City and County of San Francisco and is located in the Mission District of the city. Given that SFGH is a public hospital, there is a very diverse set of patients, including the marginalized, the homeless, and those who suffer from mental illness or substance abuse. It also is the Trauma 1 center serving everyone from northern San Mateo County to Napa County.

During the months I was a chaplaincy volunteer, I witnessed a wide range of illnesses, wounds, and other crises. At first I was afraid that the open sores or missing limbs would be the hardest obstacle I would have to overcome; however, I was wrong. For most patients the physical pain is eased with medication, but the emotional pain is left untouched. As a chaplain intern, my role was to help ease the emotional burdens that patients carried. Like all chaplains, I listened to patients tell their life stories. I heard their frustrations, the sadness and the loneliness they face, and the fear many of them hold about their futures. Chaplains take everything the patients will give—pain or fear or regret—and we hold it for them. Imagine going into a hospital room and carrying an empty basket. You sit down and are ready to fill your basket with whatever the patient gives you. The patient may give you anything from leg pain to fear about death. You gather all of that pain and fear and hold it in your basket, relieving the patient for a short time. Besides offering an empty basket, so to speak, we chaplains help the patients incorporate the injury or illness they are suffering from into their life story.

After a week or two of being a chaplain I realized how much I enjoyed working in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). I loved the urgency of the unit and, more importantly, I loved hearing the stories from the patients and their families. It was from the people I met in the ICU that I learned the most about being a chaplain. I learned that the simple act of listening can do wonders for a family member whose child is comatose. I learned that for some patients, just hearing a voice is comforting and reassuring. One woman I visited frequently had been intubated; that is, a tube had been placed down her throat so that she could not speak. Every time I went to see her, she would greet me with a big smile. At the end of our visit, after I had prayed aloud for her, she would not let go of my hand, and when I had to leave, her eyes would tear up. That woman also taught me that sitting with someone in silence can be just as helpful and comforting as a conversation can be. The stories I heard from family members in the ICU were humbling. The frustration I felt from that morning’s traffic jam would disappear when I heard from a family that was faced with taking a loved one off of life support. I heard lots of grief from family members in the ICU, but never before have I seen such strength in someone who was faced with such hardship. These families were so hopeful; they could see a light in a tunnel that most people would consider completely pitch black.

I later learned that all those sweatshirts, the ones that read “As Real as it Gets – San Francisco General Hospital,” are for a fundraiser for the ICU. The ICU is pretty ‘real’ and I definitely got a taste of reality when I was there. I am not saying that car crashes, head injuries, or the terminally ill are the only things that define what is ‘real,’ but rather, those things play a role in what reality can hold. Throughout my summer as a chaplain, I had the privilege of learning about a whole new world: a world of compassion and listening, of hope and faith, of strength. I saw a world that has light in even the darkest places imaginable.

Back in C'ville, reconnecting, and Robert Bellah's great sermon

I am just returned to Charlottesville after a good trip to California and seeing my family and friends. I know many of you have asked about my mother; she spent most of January in the hospital, and we got her home this past weekend with 24/7 caregivers. She is frail but doing much, much better. Thank you for your prayers and good wishes.

A week ago Sunday, I was privileged to take part in the institution of Philip Brochard the new rector at All Souls Parish in Berkeley where I had served for a year as the interim rector (and fell  in love with the place). Among the members is Robert Bellah, a now-retired University of California professor and easily the pre-eminent scholar of religion in public life in America in our age. Robert coined the phrase "civic religion" many years ago to describe how Christianity permeates, not always for the good, our government and public life. In my year at All Souls it was my treat to get to know Robert and talk politics over coffee at the Musical Offering Cafe on Bancroft Avenue. 

Phil, the new rector at All Souls, asked Robert to preach at his institution. Professor Bellah gave one of the most powerful sermons I have ever heard. I am repeating here below, and though it is long, it is worth your time. He is really preaching to the whole of the Church and our nation:

Sermon for

The Renewal of Ministry with the Welcoming of a New Rector:

January 25, 2009

By Robert N. Bellah 

Isaiah 40:3-11
Psalm 78:1-7
1 Cor. 12:4-14
Mark 10:35-45

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.
I am honored that Father Phil asked me to speak this afternoon and I am honored to speak to a gathering that includes our Bishop, clergy from our own and neighboring parishes, and the congregation of our own All Souls Parish.

New beginnings!

We are here to renew our ministries and to welcome Father Philip Brochard as our new rector.

We are doing this in the same week that our nation has welcomed a new President and a new administration and, maybe, a new turn in our history.

It is an exciting moment to welcome Father Phil. We need to think of renewing our parish in the context of renewing our nation and even renewing the whole world. Our parish would seem to be doing pretty well compared to the present state of the nation and the world, but maybe we have participated even unconsciously and unwillingly, in some of the things that have led us astray. Can we use this moment of renewal to think not only about how the world needs to change but how we, all of us, need to change? We Christians live under the command to lose our old selves and find new ones in Jesus Christ. We are born again in baptism, but the call to change doesn’t stop there: it is a lifelong challenge. Perhaps we can use this moment of enormous transition to think about that challenge that is always before us as we seek to live as Christians in a difficult and errant world.

Let me try to set that challenge in the context of our present historic moment. Michael Lind, the distinguished commentator on American history and politics, has argued that there have been four republics in America, corresponding to the presidencies of Washington, Lincoln, Franklin Roosevelt, and, now Obama, when a period of radical individualism has been reversed and a new emphasis on the common good has followed. For some decades we have heard a great deal about the ownership society, individual competitiveness, even the idea of being your own brand, as though we were not members of a society but only members of an economy. But, as Lind proposes, the pendulum swings and, as several times before in our history, we are hearing a new emphasis on the fact that we are all in this together, that we will not make it all alone, that we are our brother’s keeper, we are our sister’s keeper.

As these last words indicate, the church has never forgotten that we are members one of another, that we are one body, partakers of one bread and one cup, though this side of the Church’s teaching has not been carrying the day in the larger society. I know that in our parish and in much of the Christian Church the theme of the common good, of concern for the inclusion of all, especially the weakest and most vulnerable, has been a constant one, expressed in word and deed.

But in spite of the shift in our political culture, the depth of which we will have to wait and see, the power of American individualism, what I call the default mode of American culture, will not disappear. Even in a parish and a church such as ours, that deep cultural individualism makes it hard for some of our central teachings to be understood, the meaning of the church, for example. Criticizing the church, or as we say disparagingly, organized religion, is almost a reflex reaction, even among Episcopalians. In this very parish I heard a couple of years ago a sermon given by a visiting preacher attacking the Episcopal Church, the Book of Common Prayer, even the sacraments, for getting in the way of the relation of the individual to God. He advocated a direct “plugging into God” (his term) as when one is on a mountain in the Sierras. A strange view for an Episcopalian, though not for an American. I fear that what would happen if one “plugged into” God with no mediation is that one would get electrocuted. The church, properly understood, is precisely the kind of structure of mediation that makes a divine/human relation possible at all.

We have a suspicion of institutions and those with powerful positions within them, and well we might considering how badly they often function, the failures of leadership in politics, the economy, popular culture, and, of course the church. But in a complex modern society the idea that we could do without institutions makes no sense. We constantly need to criticize and improve them, but we cannot abolish them. People who say they are spiritual but not religious, by which they mean they do not go to church, may be fine for awhile, but, among other things, what can they give to their children?

Let me remind you of the Nicene Creed which we recite almost every Sunday (it was the legendary Bishop Pike of our diocese some years ago who said he didn’t believe the Creed when he read it but he did believe it when he sang it), which has four clauses that declare belief: we believe in one God; we believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ; we believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life; and we believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. It was a Jesuit student of mine who reminded me of that fourth clause when I once made a disparaging remark about the church, an example, incidentally, of how a student can teach a teacher.

Since few of the leaders or members of the Church are saints, it is not a perfect institution and it is legitimate to criticize it and try to reform it. But insofar as the Church was instituted by Jesus Christ and indeed is the Body of Christ, it participates, however inadequately, in the divine life. Without it we would not be here and we would have nothing to hand on to our children. In the teeth of a culture that despises all institutions even as it depends on them for its very life, we need to learn again and again to treasure the church and the heritage it provides for us, not passively, but actively as we deepen our sense of our own membership in it and our own responsibility in and through it.

This brings me to the core of my remarks this afternoon. There are many metaphors for the church and all of them have something to say to us. We are tempted to make the metaphor of the family primary: some American Christians virtually equate their religion with family values. But, though we are brothers and sisters in Christ, and family language is often appropriate, we cannot forget that Jesus himself called us to leave our families, even to hate them, if they stand in the way of our higher commitment as his followers. So the family metaphor can never be the only one. Another metaphor for the church, one I want to focus on today, is less popular but, I would argue, equally important. That is the metaphor of the church as school.

We know that Jesus was called rabbi, which means teacher, and that all the great figures in religious history have been extraordinary teachers: Moses, Jesus, of course, but also Paul, in Biblical history; Muhammad, Confucius and the Buddha in other great religions. And the great religious teachers did not only teach through what they said, though their words are precious and we need to try to understand them ever more deeply, but above all through who they were. To us Jesus is the Son of God, the Word made flesh, and it is his life, of which his words are a part, that teaches us.

The church is that community that began when Jesus chose the twelve disciples and began to preach, that is to teach, all who would listen. When we speak of believing in one holy, catholic (we use a small c for the sense of catholic as universal), and apostolic church, we mean by apostolic that we are a community in continuous relation to the original apostles, that our priests are in the apostolic succession (even though Rome decided that we weren’t), and that, through them, all of us are baptized into that unbroken, continuous community. What I want to say today is that that community is an educational community, concerned with the formation of all its members, young and old, clergy and laity, and that in the midst of the present crisis we particularly need to learn more about what our calling as Christians means. In Obama’s Inaugural address he quoted from the great passage in 1 Corinthians 13 that concludes with the affirmation of the three focal Christian virtues: faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love, but what Obama chose to cite was another part of that passage, when Paul called us to set aside childish things. It is time, in other words, for us, all of us, whatever our age, to grow up. And we need to work on understanding what a grown up Christian is.

It is important to remember that we are all teachers and we are all students. For me, that has involved being a professor all my adult life. But parents teach; in any job when we mentor a newcomer we teach; and when we act well in any situation we teach all who observe us. And we are always students as well. My students have taught me a great deal over forty years of teaching. One thing I learned over the course of a life spent as a university professor is that we teach not just with the knowledge we have accumulated through reading and research, but with our whole selves. Our students learn as much from who we are as from what we say.

Though I want to emphasize that we are all teachers and all learners all our lives, in the church where what we learn is often so different from what our culture tells us, leadership in such teaching and learning is essential. We need bishops and priests in part because they are connected with the larger church in a way most of us are not. They help to pull us beyond our own private lives, even the life of our own parish, into the larger life of the church and the world. It is in this role of leadership that I want to join with all of those present in welcoming Father Phil to our parish. I have heard him preach and I sense his leadership already.

Jane Austen, herself the daughter of an Anglican clergyman, gives us a sense both of the real meaning of the clergy and the leadership it provides. Even now things are not so different from how they were in her day. This from Mansfield Park, where Edmund Bertram is in conversation with a young lady, Miss Crawford, with whom he is enamored:

At length, after a short pause, Miss Crawford began with, “So you are to be a clergyman, Mr. Bertram. This is rather a surprise to me.”

“Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me designed for some profession, and might perceive that I am neither a lawyer, nor a soldier, nor a sailor.”

“But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought that was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to choose before him.”

“Do you think the church itself never chosen then?”

“Never is a black word. But yes, in the never of conversation which means not very often, I do think it. For what is to be done in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and in either of the other lines, distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A clergyman is nothing.”

Edmund replies: “I cannot call that situation nothing, which has the charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, temporally and eternally,—which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their influence.”

Miss Crawford, one of the fashionable set, is astounded at this reply: “You assign greater consequence to the clergyman than one has been used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend. One does not see much of this influence and importance in society.”

Edmund tries to explain: “With regard to their influencing public manners, Miss Crawford must not misunderstand me, or suppose I mean to call them the arbiters of good breeding, the regulators of refinement and courtesy, the masters of the ceremonies of life. The manners I speak of, might rather be called conduct, perhaps, the result of good principles; the effect, in short, of those doctrines which it is their duty to teach and recommend; and it will, I believe, be every where found that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation.”

In the face of Miss Crawford’s skepticism, Jane Austen, through Edmund, gives the clergy a role higher than any other, even if they are not wealthy, powerful or paragons of fashion. What she clearly means is that it is through the life they lead and the example they set, as well as through the doctrines they preach, that they teach their constituents, that they mold the very fabric of society. I don’t want to put Father Phil on the spot, but there is no higher calling than his, one that applies especially to the priest but also to all of us insofar as we are ministers in a church that believes in the priesthood of all believers.

All of our readings today underline the points I am trying to make, but the Gospel passage from Mark 10 shows Jesus leading by serving, showing us by his example what we are called to do: “whoever wishes to be first among you must be the servant of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for all.” That is no easy demand for our leaders, but it is a demand for all of us as Christians who are called to lead in whatever walk of life we find ourselves.

Of course all of us have our private prayers and devotions, but we need to be reminded through the life of the community what we inevitably forget, and we need to deepen even what we remember. The priest helps us remember and deepen our own faith through worship and its central acts of Word and Sacrament. It is easy to dismiss the once a week hour as “mere ritual.” Yet worship at its best gives us the focus and center of our lives; it radiates out into all the rest of the week and into our thoughts and actions as well.

In the Christian tradition God is revealed to us everywhere, but in particular, and normatively, in worship: in the Sacrament, especially the Eucharist, and in the Word, which means the Bible, but especially the words of Jesus. Catholics have held onto a doctrine about the Eucharist that Protestants have often rejected but many are now reappropriating, that is the doctrine of the real presence, that in the Eucharist right here on this altar this bread and this wine are the body and blood of Christ not in some kind of physico-chemical transformation but in the sense of Christ’s own words at the last supper: this is my body; this is my blood. The Eucharist is not only a remembrance of an event that happened two thousand years ago, but an event happening right now. Christ is giving his body and blood for us right now. And we are called to be Eucharist for others, that is, to give our body and blood for others as he gave his for us.

Nowhere is the meaning of the Eucharist clearer than in Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians, 10.16-17, which the King James Version translates as “The cup of blessing, which we bless, is it not the communion [Greek koinonia] of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ? For we, being many are one bread, and one body: for we are all partakers of that one bread.” Other versions use different English words to translate Koinonia. But it is the same word whether translated as communion, participation, or sharing and all these translations are getting at a part of the meaning. In our parish, when sending out the lay Eucharistic ministers to take the Eucharist to those who are too old or sick to come to church, the congregation responds, “Though we are many, we are one body because we all share one bread and one cup.”

In our worship today we have focused on the words of Jesus in answering the question of James and John about who will sit at the side of Jesus in glory, and, with the help of Paul’s words in I Corinthians 12 we will participate in the Eucharist, and, I hope we will remember those words and those actions as we go about our daily life in the days to come.

Let me return briefly, in conclusion to Obama’s Inaugural Address, which I have now read several times. I was somewhat disappointed in it when he delivered it; it seemed to lack the soaring rhetoric of some of his earlier speeches. But I admire it more with each rereading. It calls us to think about our whole history, its high ideals and its all too frequent practical failures, and it calls on us to hand down those high ideals and the hope that we can do better to succeeding generations. Those are words for all Americans to ponder.

And I have to remind you of something that the secularists have somehow missed: that the Episcopal Church is the de facto established church in the United States. Where was the prayer service on Inaugural morning attended by President Bush and President-elect Obama, neither of whom are Episcopalians? St. Johns Episcopal Church, said to be the “traditional church” for such events. And where was the interdenominational prayer service held on the morning of Obama’s first day in office? The National Cathedral, that is the Episcopal Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul,which stands on the highest point in the District of Columbia and is the only building in the district higher than the Capitol. Somehow the press can write “national cathedral” without ever asking how come we have a national cathedral. And St, John the Divine is the Cathedral of New York, just as Grace Cathedral is the Cathedral of San Francisco. I have lived here forty years and know how often Grace Cathedral has been the focus of response to great events in our nation and city.

In the spirit of our Gospel words this morning, the special place that our church has in our national life calls us above all to service, not to pride. And it also requires us to remember as firmly as we can that, though we want to be good citizens, the nation is not our church. Our Church is the universal Church, the holy, catholic and apostolic Church, and one of its primary obligations is to hold the nations, which are as but dust in the hands of God, to judgment and not to idolize them.

At this moment of national and international crisis we are called to a new dedication of our own lives to our obligations as Christians. Service is a duty, but a joyful duty. We gain our lives by losing them; we are never more ourselves than when we are helping others. I expect Father Phil in his special relation to the sacrament and the word to call us constantly to measure every act in our daily life against the standards set by our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and I expect all of us here present to respond to that call and indeed to return that call to our priest. We are not alone, isolated atoms fighting each other for survival, though much in our culture constantly teaches us that that is the truth of the human condition. If we know that we are really members of one body, that we need and are needed by each other, then our whole way of being in the world will change and perhaps we can in the church, which seems to many so marginal, serve as models for others, for the troubled nation and world in which we live. In any case that is our task in renewing our ministries with the leadership of our new rector, whom we welcome so heartily today.