What a joy it has been to be with you this weekend. I am so deeply appreciative of all those who have worked so hard to allow us to be together.

Diocesan Council

Closing Eucharist

January 27, 2008

Natchez, Mississippi

            What a joy it has been to be with you this weekend. I am so deeply appreciative of all those who have worked so hard to allow us to be together. Thanks again to the people of Trinity Church, our hosts for this Council; the Rev. Tom Slawson, our Liturgical Coordinator who was responsible for pulling together all our worship; Mr. Mike Flannes and the vergers of the diocese for the many logistical roles they served; Mr. Mike Gemmel who oversaw our elections; and to all those who offered themselves for leadership in this diocese. The elections this year were closer than any I have seen as your bishop which suggests the high quality of each slate of candidates.

            During our time together we have laughed and argued and prayed and deliberated and eaten and danced together. Now we come to God’s altar to offer the work of this weekend, our individual lives, and the common life we share as the Episcopal Church, to Almighty God. This is who we are, Gracious Lord, for better or for worse. This is who we are. Redeem and bless and use us, we pray this morning.

            We are now in the midst of an extraordinary national political campaign that will culminate in November with the election of a new president of this country. The word of the moment, indeed, the theme of every campaign is “change.” There is, of course, distinctly different content to what “change” means to each candidate, but for everyone there is a clear statement that we will be doing something dramatically different when he or she is President. What is now will be substituted for what I will do.

            Since “change” is our national mantra these days, I want to reflect with you for a few moments about the difference between what the candidates are describing as change and what I mean when I speak of a church of transformation, our theme for this council. There may be subtle distinctions, but they are terribly important.

            Change is doing something differently. Transformation is becoming something more. Change is substitution. Transformation is discovering our truest identity in Christ and being called out of falsehood into what is most true about what God has created in ourselves, in our church and in the larger world. Change can be exercised by human will. Transformation is the work of the Holy Spirit.

            But transformation requires that we be open to seeing ourselves, our church, our world as something more than is immediately recognizable.

            In our first reading (Isaiah 9:1-4) Isaiah of Jerusalem recognized the political realities of the northern kingdom and knew that the wars of the north would inevitably spill over into Judah. And yet he saw more:

            “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”

            St. Paul (1 Corinthians 1:10-18) was heart broken by the bitter fighting among factions in the church in Corinth, but saw clearly that the church was not created for such behavior, but was birthed out of the cross of Christ to be the body of Christ.

            And our Lord, looking into certain fishing boats saw Peter, Andrew, James and John. They saw themselves as simple fishermen, but Jesus saw heralds and messengers of the inbreaking of the kingdom of God. And what he saw in them, they would become.

            Jesus, as our gospel reading notes, began his public ministry with words remarkably similar to John the Baptist: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” And then to those first disciples: “Follow me.”

            Repent. Acknowledge that even in our best moments we only see through a “glass darkly” into God’s purpose.

            Repent that our blindness – our incapacity to see as God sees – has sent us down paths that our disobedience, our willfulness and our self-righteousness has only encouraged.

            Reinhold Niebuhr once wrote: “The self-righteous are guilty of history’s greatest cruelties. Most evil is done by good people who do not know that they are not good.”

            And if you believe that Niebuhr is talking about your adversary, you have proved his point!

            Repent, then open your eyes to that which is taking place right before you. Believe, trust, that the kingdom of heaven has come near. Can you see Craig Gates and George Woodliff finding common ground? The kingdom of heaven has come near.

            In the person of Jesus Christ, God is transforming creation. Things that have grown old are being made new and things that are cast down are being raised up.

Can you see it?

But if you cannot yet see it, can you follow in the footsteps of the one who speaks of the kingdom as though he knows it intimately? If you cannot yet see it, can you follow in the footsteps of the one who describes himself as the Way?

“Follow me,” said Jesus to Andrew, Peter, James and John. “Walk the same road, hear the same stories, engage the same broken people, experience the same suffering and be open to the same transforming spirit that is leading me.”

“Follow me,” said Jesus. But those words were not, and are not, merely Jesus’ call to cognitive assent of certain doctrinal truths, as important as those truths are. To follow Jesus as the Way is to live a life that, though it may not always be clear, is forever open to the transforming power of the Holy Spirit. To follow Jesus is not only to understand certain things, but to be open to being shaped ever more fully into the image of Jesus.

The content of our faith and the quality of our lives are inseparable components of following Jesus. We too often act as though we value one over the other. For example, our age, and sadly, our church, is woefully ignorant of the One who says, “Follow.” Because of our ignorance we are easily capable of charging after imposters and pursuing a counterfeit gospel.

On the other hand, doctrinal purity housed in an angry and bitter soul calls into question the transforming power of the Holy Spirit to mold our lives.

To follow Jesus means to set out on an unknown journey and leave the security of absolute clarity behind. To follow means to begin to develop a vulnerable and undefended heart. To follow is to be open to God in the other that I might be changed. To follow is to live as though hope is truer than despair. To follow means to seek out that which is good and holy in the other instead of defining myself in opposition to that which I find distasteful.

None of this is easy, nor do I believe that any of it comes naturally. But I believe in the power of God’s vision to transform our lives, to call forth from us things we could neither hope for nor imagine. 

We experience internal, often deeply personal, doubts, conflicts, disobedience and rebellion in our own souls, yet, in baptism, God sees deeper. “You are my beloved,” says God.

We are a divided church – suspicious of motives and accusatory of one another. Yet, in the Holy Eucharist, God sees deeper. “You are my body.”

We see a world of intractable poverty and violence and despair. Yet, in the call to follow, God sees deeper. “As you have done it to the least, you have done it to me. This is my world I died to save.”

I will close with a familiar image, one that I have shared with you previously. In the musical, Man from La Mancha, there is a barmaid who interacts with Don Quixote, the crazed visionary hero of the play. The barmaid is Aldonza and she is loud and vulgar and coarse. Yet Don Quixote sees her as a princess. He calls her Dulcinea, a name and characterization that she rejects and ridicules throughout the play.

But Aldonza is at Don Quixote’s death bed as he dies. She pleas with him not to give up his “impossible dream.” Don Quixote dies and the scene shifts back to the tavern. There are voices from throughout the tavern:

“Aldonza, you wench. Come here!”

“Aldonza, more ale!”

Then Aldonza stops and straightens up with a posture and bearing heretofore unseen on the stage and speaks in a voice that is transformed:

“My name is Dulcinea.”

My friends, stand up straight. Lift up your heads. Our name is beloved. Our crazy, broken, often disobedient, but grace-filled church is the Body of Christ. Our world, in all its sorrow, is God’s creation.

The Kingdom of Heaven has come near. And if we listen very carefully, there will be a still small voice: “Come, follow me.”