SERMON PREACHED BY
THE REVEREND DR. HAROLD T. LEWIS, RECTOR
CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH,
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
ON THE SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
11 SEPTEMBER 2005

 

 

 

"Remember the end of your life, and set enmity aside." (Ecclesiasticus 28:6)

It has not been a slow news week.

John Roberts, whom most of us had never heard of a few weeks ago, waiting in the wings to be confirmed as an associate justice, now, because of the sudden death of the sitting Chief Justice of the United States, will in all likelihood be the man most responsible for determining the course of American jurisprudence for the next three decades. We have been bombarded with images in our newspapers and on our television screens of a natural disaster of epic, some have said, Biblical proportions. A major American city has been virtually wiped out, its citizens forced to abandon hearth and home. Modern day arks have appeared in the form of helicopters and airplanes, evacuating survivors, mostly poor and black, to destinations unknown to many of the passengers until they were airborne. The President in all likelihood has not slept terribly well this week. Criticized for moving too fast in the appointment of the Chief Justice, and too slowly in his response to the hurricane victims, he must now gird himself for not one but two sets of (probably grueling) confirmation hearings.

And, lest we forget, today we commemorate the fourth anniversary of 9/11, and as we remember that day of infamy we are forced to compare the effects of terrorist aggression on the one hand and what insurance people call acts of God on the other. And although the media have determined that New Orleans should eclipse Baghdad in terms of newsworthiness, the increasingly unpopular war in Iraq nevertheless continues apace. And because of the economic consequences of both war and hurricane, and other factors too complicated for this preacher to comprehend, we have actually lived to see the day when gasoline for under three dollars a gallon is a considered a bargain!

Unless we've been sleeping under a rock someplace, these are the thoughts, the memories and the images that we bring, along with our selves, our souls and bodies, to the altar this morning, and against this backdrop, Rally Sunday at Calvary Episcopal Church at the corner of Shady and Walnut may seem unimportant, insignificant, or even irrelevant. But I would like to suggest that it has never been more important, more significant or more relevant.

Somebody once said that Christians are like teabags. You never know how strong they are until they get in hot water! It is at times like these, times of challenge, times of tribulation, times of uncertainty, that our faith is put to the test. It is during times like these that our Christian mettle is tested. It is times like these that we are reminded that as Christians we worship a God who was put to the test, the test of the Cross, and that he has asked us to pick up our respective crosses and to follow him. It is at times like thee that we are called upon to bring a ray of hope when there seems to be nothing but despair. It is at times like these that we are called upon to tell the world that there is indeed "a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul."

I checked the dictionary for the definitions of "rally" and found that the first definition is "a large gathering of people intended to arouse enthusiasm." And since "enthusiasm" literally means "possession by God" it is true that every Sunday should be a Rally Sunday. But when there is a special need, the people of Calvary really rally! How heartening it was for me to return and to hear a message from Pam Abdullah and to learn of the myriad ways the people of Calvary responded to the national crisis --- not just by writing checks, but by rolling up their sleeves, donating food, clothing, and at least one television set for evacuees who will be resettled in Pittsburgh. How heartening it was for me to call on a neighbor of the parish who has recently learned that she has but a short time to live, and to find out that many of our members had already been there to minister to her, to bring her food, to weed her garden, to help her plan her funeral. The people of Calvary really rally!

Another definition of "rally" is a "return to a former condition." It is what we say of the market when it rebounds, giving us a better return on our investments. I don't really believe there were "good ol' days" in our country, because we can always point to the fact that conditions were bad for some people, but I do believe that there used to exist a greater sense of community, of sharing, of mutual support. I was at a gathering on Labor Day where the guests, all well into middle age and beyond, reminisced about growing up in their respective communities where every parent contributed to the well-being of each child --- in the days when a surrogate mother a few blocks from home had no compunction about chastising you for misbehavior, and informing your real mother of the transgression by telephone before you reached your front door. Now we live in virtual isolation, often not knowing our neighbors' names, and taking virtually no responsibility for each other's well being, except in times of crisis.

Yet another meaning of "rally" is "mustering of strength for a renewed effort." It's like when the Pirates manage to come from behind with a home run in the ninth inning. There are probably a few preachers this morning who are suggesting that storms and floods and wars are signs that Creation itself is in its ninth inning, and that we have to be about the business of repentance. And I think all we need is one more calamity before even reserved Episcopalians will be singing the same tune.

But at the very least, wars and rumors of wars, earthquake, fire and flood, and news of terminal illnesses remind us that despite out pretensions of power and delusions of grandeur, we are fragile human beings. Our worldly goods, to which we are sometimes inordinately attached, can be washed away in a storm. Our loved ones can lose their lives when a jet flies into a building. We can be in apparently robust health one week, and succumb to a dread disease the next. It is why we pray at funerals "Make us, we beseech thee, deeply sensible of the shortness and uncertainty of life and let thy Holy Spirit lead us in holiness and righteousness all our days."

Today's gospel, I think, puts things in perspective. It is telling us that we have a choice. In the time that is allotted us, we can, if we like, engage in the nit-picking tit-for-tat suggested by Peter, and set a limit to our kindness and compassion. Peter, you see, knowing that a Jewish law declared that we should forgive our neighbor three times, figured he would improve on that, and so asks Jesus "Shall we forgive seven times?" Or, conversely, we can adopt Jesus' "new math," and forgive not seven times but seventy times seven. And that does not mean, by the way, 490 times, but it means to keep on forgiving, and to remove from our vocabularies that time-worn phrase, which sounds cute, but is very bad theology: "I'll forgive but I won't forget." True forgiveness is forgetting. I think this is what the writer of the Book of Ecclesiasticus had in mind when he wrote: "Remember the end of your life, and set enmity aside."

On the recommendation of my good friend, Spenser Simrill, the dean of Minneapolis, I went to see a movie this summer, which, but for his suggestion, I would probably not have seen. It was "The March of the Penguins," a documentary with a message. I learned more about penguins than I needed or wanted to know --- how, for example, it is the male of the species who is responsible for keeping the egg warm between the time that the female lays it and it is hatched several months later. I was fascinated to know that after months of separation, penguin couples (who, it can be said, practice serial monogamy) recognize each other not by sight, but by their spouses' unique mating calls. But to me, the most fascinating fact is this. In the dead of the Antarctic winter --- we're talking eighty-below not counting the wind-chill factor --- the only way the male penguins, precious eggs nestled in their blubber, shielded by their feathers and balanced on their web feet --- can keep from freezing to death is by huddling together. An individual penguin, if exposed to the elements, would die almost instantly. But those non-flying birds have learned to flock together (this is what "gregarious" really means); they have learned that by staying close together, they can collectively generate enough body heat to ensure the survival of the entire herd. . But wait, there's more. The penguins frequently change position, so that each penguin has a turn at the center of the huddle, where, of course it is warmest.

My sisters and brothers in Christ, as we rally to build up the Church, the body of Christ, we homo sapiens (a name we gave ourselves, by the way) have much to learn from these dumb animals (a name we gave them, by the way) about the nature of Christian community.

Let us pray:
Pride of man and earthly glory,
Sword and crown betray his trust;
What with care and toil he buildeth,
Tower and temple fall to dust.
But God's power, hour by hour,
Is my temple and my tower.