Erl Purnell Sermon

cAdvent 3 ~ December 17, 2006 ~ A sermon preached by The Rev’d Erl G. Purnell at Old St. Andrew’s Church, Bloomfield, CT

Zephaniah 3.14-20; Psalm 85; Philippians 4.4-9; Luke 3.7-18

On September 11, 1960 I arrived at Kent School. I was 14. Three days later, I was deep in a crowd of 300 students trekking up to Numeral Rock behind the vested Sacristan who lead the procession carrying the tall, simple St. Joseph’s Chapel Cross. The Headmaster, Fr. Patterson, and most of the other priests at Kent were in their Sunday vestments, too. I had no idea what we were doing or why.

Standing on the back of that rock face overlooking the happy valley land of Kent, we had a church service. I had never worshipped on top of a mountain before. Two things stand out in my memory. The first was that there was a lot of talk about Fr. Sill. On the way back down the path, I realized that it was Fr. Sill who had founded Kent School some 54 years earlier, in 1906. The other scrap of information I picked up was that this day—September 14^th—was Holy Cross Day. Your see, Fr. Sill was a monk in the Order of the Holy Cross and each year the entire school celebrated its founding by overlooking the river valley and school and saying prayers of thanksgiving.

The Holy Cross Monastery is located on the Hudson River, in West Park, NY, opposite the Vanderbilt mansion which is on the east bank. Founded in 1885 by Fr. Huntington, the Order of the Holy Cross was the first monastic order in the Episcopal Church. It continues to be a vibrant religious order, with many brothers stationed around the world—Santa Barbara and Berkeley, in California; Toronto; Grahamstown, South Africa; as well as in West Park. These monasteries also serve as retreat centers for people seeking peace and quiet or a place to study, worship, and rest. Finally, after 46 years, I made it to Holy Cross Monastery this week for two days of retreat. It was all I expected and more.

My meditation for these two days was a simple question: What if I live without fear—without fear of being hurt and without fear of scarcity?

Brother David Byran Hoopes, OHC, is the Superior of the Order. I found myself reading some of his writings and was deeply touched. He said what I already know but always need to hear in a fresh voice. “The community is reminded,” he writes, “that the essence of our life centers in Christ. Christ is the one who calls us to community. A healthy community requires that one must be continually engaged in Conversion of Life to Christ’s Way.” Sounds like a Superior speaking to his community, doesn’t it. But isn’t he saying things that pertain to any community, even to us? Yes, “In Conversion of Life to Christ’s Way.” He continues, “This is demanding. Conversion insists on mindfulness—of our baptismal covenant that unites us to Christ; of participating in the sacramental life that sustains the union; and of accepting and trusting the Holy Spirit to lead us into the truth of Christ.”

I am struck by the central image of union and unity, the Body of Christ as One Body. What feels so important to me here is the notion of Christian community, of commitment to a family in Christ. I found myself wondering about the family of Christ in this place? Are we a loving family in Christ? How do we love each other? How do we treat each other? Is it with respect guided by kindness, understanding, and forgiveness? Or, is it something else?

Please listen some more to Br. Hoopes. “Too many of us are so centered on our own needs, desires, and sense of importance that it requires intentionality in taking time for prayer, worship, meditation, and being thankful. Respecting the dignity of every human being is easy if the other is pleasant to us and is in agreement with our convictions; it is so much harder when the human person is of a very different stripe … Trust is often strained when the individual depends solely on the self to make life work.”

Living in community, monastic or parochial, is always a challenge, isn’t it? It’s a challenge, in part, because we are called to rely on each other. We are called to be considerate, kind. We are called to be honest and open … even when we may not want to be.

Br. Hoopes: “We human beings are capable of being tiresome, quirky, disagreeable, and fickle. We are also capable of being loving, generous, and persons of empathy … Honest community living requires engagement with others. Conversion to Christ’s standards allows us to live in a better way ... Try to be the first to show respect to the other,” he says, “supporting with the greatest patience one another’s weakness of body or behavior...”

These standards may seem fine for the Brothers. After all, didn’t they take vows to live in community this Way? Of course. And yet, as Br. Hoopes points out broadly, “Within the Anglican Communion is the holy responsibility of remaining focused on Christ and that which is Christ-like. We,”—and of course he’s speaking about his Brothers in the Order but, isn’t he speaking also to you and I in this wonderful and broad Church?—“… we are indeed influenced by culture, tradition, ethnic and national origin, economics, advantages, and disadvantages … If one accepts that the Word of God is Jesus Christ, then one focuses on the person and teachings of the Word made Flesh.”

Remember, my retreat meditation was What if I live without fear—without fear of being hurt and without fear of scarcity? Where, I was wondering, is Christ in my Life if I am fearful and in the grip of scarcity?

On Thursday afternoon for an hour or so, I sat outside in a weathered Adirondack chair and looked across the huge lawn that falls from the ankles of the Monastery down, down … down to woods that skirt the mighty Hudson. The river. This long and wide, power-filled snake of a river is, even there, influenced by Atlantic Ocean tides. This real river and this Life’s-metaphor river flowed silently and fearlessly. The river held me softly in a Christ-like buoyancy. No matter the depth, no matter the current, no matter the barge activity coming and going, the river gently, positively, lovingly carried me on it and in it through an hour of meditation.

In the Gospels, when the storm batters the disciples’ boat—Remember? Remember that?—they despair. They’re afraid. They’re gripped by fear. And, in the darkness, Jesus approaches. He comes to them walking on the water. It doesn’t matter to me if you accept this literally or not. What matters, I think, is What does this story mean? What is it really about?

Peter tries and fails as a water-walker in Matthew’s rendition of the story. Just in time, Jesus reaches out his hand and catches the sinking Peter. “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” Jesus says to him … to me.

Sitting in the Adirondack chair and being in and on that Hudson River in my mind last Thursday afternoon, I came to understand that Jesus named Peter’s fear. He named the fear Peter had “little faith.” The story of Jesus walking on water and Peter failing is a story about fear and faith. “With little faith, we sink,” to quote Marcus Borg. “But with faith, we stay afloat even in the midst of darkness, the storm, and peril … Faith gives us buoyancy” (Borg, p. 59-60) is what I learned. Have faith, Jesus says, not fear.

Later, at Vespers, the monks chanted Psalm 62. Do you know Gregorian chant? It’s compelling, mesmerizing, and oh so soothing. Do you know Psalm 62? If you don’t, you might want to read it and perhaps you, too, will add it to your favorites.

1 For God alone my soul in silence waits;

from him comes my salvation.

2 He alone is my rock and my salvation,

my fortress; I shall never be shaken.

This, too, is about faith, not fear. The words buoyed me in the midst of the metaphoric river flowing through me in the Chapel that evening.

3 How long will you assail a person,

will you batter your victim, all of you,

as you would a leaning wall, a tottering fence?

4 Their only plan is to bring down a person of prominence.

They take pleasure in falsehood;

they bless with their mouths,

but inwardly they curse.

5 For God alone my soul in silence waits,

for my hope is from God.

6 He alone is my rock and my salvation,

my fortress; I shall not be shaken.

7 On God rests my deliverance and my honor;

my mighty rock, my refuge is in God.

And in that Chapel, in the comforting river of the chanting verses, my little faith was challenged. What do I ever have to Fear? Darkness, the storm, peril? Somebody hurting me? For God alone my soul in silence waits, for my hope is from God. In God and in Christ, there is no Fear.

And what of Scarcity, the other part of my meditation? The brotherhood that is the Order of the Holy Cross is not cloistered. These men live in the world. They are of the world. Moreover, the world lives in and with them. Several outsiders—not monks—are permanent residents at the monastery. Elizabeth, a priest, came to stay for two months. That was five years ago. She is now an integral part of the community. (And isn’t it ironic that in ages past, a priest chaplain—of course, a man—would have been assigned to a nunnery so the Sisters could have communion. Now, a woman priest serves communion to the Brothers when needed.)

Back to scarcity. Pilgrims like me come to the monastery as well. And, there is always a room, there is always enough food, there is always a place in the Chapel. Brother Hoopes insists, “Benedict counsels the monastic to welcome all guests as Christ … if we OHC Brothers are following the precepts of the Rule, we must welcome persons with whom we disagree in polity, doctrine, scriptural interpretation, and even liturgical preference. To be selective in offering hospitality is not in Christ and is a dishonesty to our monastic vow.” Yes, greet all person as Christ. Think about that…

This spirit of generosity and sharing in Christ for all things strikes at the very heart of my second fear—scarcity. What if I don’t have enough? What if my investments sour? What if my pension isn’t enough? What if I lose my job?

Sitting in the great room at the Monastery during my early morning Quite Time, it was scarcity that I thought about. After a while, an image of at-One-ness came to me. First I saw the Monastery itself as a pile of individual bricks, all stacked in a particular way, so as to form that grand shelter. Then, I wondered what my relationship was to those many, many bricks that were protecting me as a house. Suddenly, I saw the bricks at their molecular, even atomic level. I sat there and looked at a collection of tiny particles making up this huge building. Suddenly again, I remembered that I, too, was a collection of tiny particles, not at all unlike the bricks. And, except that my collection of atoms and molecules are so arranged that I am animate and sentient, my very Being as well as the bricks of the monastery are all intimately a part of the whole of Creation. Perhaps this was one of those Buddhist moments when I knew in the bones of my Soul that there is only One-ness. There is no separateness. And, if there is only One-ness, separation and scarcity do not even exist.

And, don’t you know, this is a fear so many of us have, isn’t it? You and I are so afraid of separation and scarcity. But, scarcity doesn’t even exist. It is an insidious illusion instigated by Fear and the Evil One who trades in Fear.

My presenting question for the retreat to Holy Cross, you’ll remember, was What if I live without fear—without fear of being hurt and without fear of scarcity? The two days were powerfully cleansing and reassuring. I feel blessed anew and completely safe in the arms of Christ, loving and kind and understanding. I cannot be hurt. There is no scarcity. And so, when I got home, the first thing I did was to re-read Maya Angelou’s poem I Am A Christian.

When I say... “I am a Christian”
I’m not shouting “I’m clean livin.”
I’m whispering “I was lost,”
Now I’m found and forgiven.

When I say... “I am a Christian”
I don’t speak of this with pride.
I’m confessing that I stumble
and need Christ to be my guide.

When I say... “I am a Christian”
I’m not trying to be strong.
I’m professing that I’m weak
and need His strength to carry on.

When I say... “I am a Christian”
I’m not bragging of success.
I’m admitting I have failed
and need God to clean my mess.

When I say... “I am a Christian”
I’m not claiming to be perfect,
My flaws are far too visible
but, God believes I am worth it.

When I say... “I am a Christian”
I still feel the sting of pain,
I have my share of heartaches
So I call upon His name.

When I say... “I am a Christian”
I’m not holier than thou,
I’m just a simple sinner
who received God’s good grace, somehow.

Amen.

Dear Friends, Br. David Byran Hoopes, OHC, Holy Cross Newsletter, Autumn 2006.
Jesus, Marcus Borg, Harper Collins, SF, 2006.
I am a Christian, Maya Angelou.