Sermon preached by The Reverend Dr. Harold T. Lewis

SERMON PREACHED BY
THE REVEREND DR. HAROLD T. LEWIS, RECTOR
CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH,
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
ON THE FIFTH SUNDAY OF EASTER
24 APRIL 2005




"Let not your hearts be troubled." (John 14:1)

I was chatting with a group of parishioners the other day, and we were reminiscing about my first months as rector of Calvary. They were months that seemed to be characterized by --- some would say fraught with --- change. Chalice bearers had to be fitted for new pristine robes. Sitting became the new posture for the psalms. The holy eucharist was celebrated more frequently. The Rector's study became the Priests' Sacristy. Some furniture was moved around, other pieces were acquired. New vestments and hangings adorned clergy and altar. The clergy stopped playing peek-a-boo and jack-in-the box, darting from behind the rood screen, and sat instead in the sedilia outside the rood screen. (That change, by the way, grew out of a suggestion made by Phil Kincaide.) Some changes, however, were not to be permanent. The idea of celebrating the sung eucharist on the platform lasted for about a month amidst complaints that a) it blocked the view of Cram's beautiful high altar, and b) the faithful didn't like standing up for fast-food communion. Then there was what for many was the last straw --- when the color of the altar wine changed! Gone was the ruby port, only to be replaced by a rather anemic sherry. What was the rector thinking? Could Christ's blood --- or anybody's blood, look like that? Then I had to explain that there was no theological reason for the change; it was only that when Weezie told me that we had run out of altar wine, and asked me to order some, I checked a box called "Angelica," because it was a pretty name, and appropriate, besides, for a parish whose patron saint is St. Michael the Archangel. Nevertheless, it just wouldn't do. Now good stewardship demanded that we consume the ten cases, but when it was all gone we went back to the rich red color and we have been using it ever since.


I would like to think that in this sesquicentennial year, Calvary is on an even keel. It is a place where we worship the Lord week by week in the beauty of holiness. Our renovated facilities mean that we can truly now live into our promise to welcome all in the name of Christ. More people have joined our fellowship, finding it "a shelter from the stormy blast," and on the fiscal front, giving in the past eight years has increased by nearly 60%. But as we show more signs of stability, some of the structures of the wider church seem to be tottering. Things that we thought were chiseled in stone --- the Constitution and Canons of the Church, the role of bishop, the nature of a diocese, are all up for grabs, it seems. In our adult forum this morning, we talked about how some American bishops have demanded a meeting with the Archbishop of Canterbury so that he might, with the wisdom of Solomon, decide how his baby, the Anglican Communion, might be divided. Nor is the church the only institution affected, some would say threatened, by the winds of change. Our nation is still waging a war whose cost both in terms of fiscal expenditure and human life is staggering. And whoever thought that such revered institutions as Mr. Roosevelt's Social Security plan would be placed in jeopardy by one of his successors in office, and that so sacred an institution as the filibuster, immortalized by Jimmy Stewart, (in "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington) might bite the dust, with the Vice-President leading the charge?

But even these potential changes pale before the global tragedies that beset the human family. While we pray weekly for those "living with AIDS," a phrase that has become possible because of medical technology in the United States, the fact is that generations of people in sub-Saharan Africa are dying from AIDS at a prodigious rate. When we add civil wars and tribal and religious conflicts abroad, and gang wars and schoolyard massacres in our own cities, not to mention natural disasters to the list of tragedies, we come to grips with the fact that "this fragile earth, our island home" finds itself in a precarious state, indeed.

Jesus tells us in today'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 old you that I go to prepare a place for you?" Now these verses are most closely associated with funerals, and are usually interpreted to mean that the Lord has prepared a place for us in heaven, but this morning, I would like to suggest that they speak to us who are still on our earthly pilgrimage. Now we have to clarify the setting, and it's a little confusing. During Eastertide, the lessons from the Book of Acts tell the story of the fledgling, post-Resurrection Church, but the Gospels backtrack, so to speak, so here we are with the disciples, gathered together with Jesus (perhaps in the Upper Room) when he tells them that he would be departing from them. And the disciples, like us, had plenty to trouble them. Jesus was going away, but they didn't know or understand where, and it was not at all certain if they could go with him. Then there was the knowledge that one of their number would be a traitor. And worse, still, Jesus had told Peter, his chief lieutenant, that even he would be less than faithful.

Everything seemed to be on the verge of collapse, and yet Jesus tells them not to worry, not to allow themselves to become alarmed and disquieted. Jesus is telling them not to be afraid, not to fear, not to fret, not to worry. Jesus was warning them of the type of fear that leads to paralysis, when we worry so much ---sometimes but not necessarily --- in the wake of a crisis, that we become so depressed that we unable to function. Worrying, as someone once said, is like rocking in a rocking chair. It gives you something to do but you don't get anywhere. Jesus is trying to steer us away from the path of inactivity that will only exacerbate the situation in which we find ourselves.

But Jesus also adds, "Believe in God." It is for good reason that we recite the Creed every Sunday. It reminds us that it's not all about us. It reminds us that, as Ardelle Hopson is fond of saying, "We don't know what the future will hold, but we know Who holds the future." I was asked recently to deliver the invocation at a dinner for a social agency, and after the grace, a woman at my table shared with me that she grew up in an atheistic home, but as a young teenager, she knew that there was something missing in her life, and she sought a church home. (At least the woman's parents didn't believe in God and so had an "excuse" for not taking her to church. The people I have problems with are those who profess a belief in God, but who decide that they shouldn't "indoctrinate" their children, but let them "choose a religion" (or not) when they reach a certain age --- 13, or 18, or 21. But that, perhaps, is another sermon!) Social scientists tell us that people who believe in God have less stress, longer lives and a lower incidence of divorce. The reason is simple. Those who believe in God can "take it to the Lord in prayer." We know that we need not bear the Cross alone.

Jesus tells us too, that he has prepared a place for us. Let's forget for a moment the vision of some celestial condo in the sky. I think the Lord who told us that we will have life and have it abundantly here on earth is also telling us that our place in life, and with it our ministry, our duties to our fellow human beings, are also being prepared. His father's house is big enough to accommodate all who belong to him, "on earth, as it is in heaven."

Finally, Jesus assures us that he will lead the way. So many of us in these uncertain times can echo the question of St. Thomas: "Lord, we do not know where you are going; how can we know the way." Again, we may not be speaking of a so-called afterlife at all, but an expression of bewilderment about our direction in life. We do not know what will become of the church, what will become of our nation, what will become of our lives. But we do know that Jesus is the Way. Now I don't think we need to get our noses out of joint about the alleged exclusivity of this statement, believing that it means that Buddhists or Moslems or other non-Christians are incapable of inheriting eternal life. Let us interpret it to mean that Jesus is the Way that we have chosen to approach God, and to trust in him to sort out the question of everyone's salvation.

You see, for Thomas and for us, assurance does not come by the physical proof of the marks of the nails in the Risen Savior's hands; assurance comes in believing in the one whose hands were scarred for us. We don't have everything laid out in minute detail. The Christian faith is not Mapquest that specifies your trip down to the last minute and the last left turn. It is instead a journey for which the Risen Lord is our Compass and our Guide.

Let us pray: "Fear not, I am with thee: O be not dismayed! For I am thy God, and will still give thee aid; I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand." ("How Firm a Foundation," The Hymnal 1982, 637)