From an Old Rector

This morning I welcomed a local friend to St. John’s, who’s a retired librarian and Episcopalian with a great interest in working with church archives, to begin sorting through and categorizing some of our very old books and historical documents. In the process of showing her around, I found a small book that was mailed to me by Tom Mousin a few weeks ago, after he found it among his papers: a notebook kept by the Rev. Wolcott Cutler from April 1964 to May 1965, several years after his retirement from St. John’s and in the time immediately before his death. It is a treasure trove of wisdom and insight, and I thought I might share a few excerpts “From an Old Rector” with you over the next few months. (I will try to keep the private portions private, and will beg Mr. Cutler’s forgiveness in heaven as necessary for sharing what I have.)

This week’s selection contains a reflection on the unhappiness we can often feel in the midst of seeming success and fulfillment, especially in retirement—and maybe a hint of a solution!

Cutler writes, on June 30, 1964:

“I heard such a surprising fact today about one of the most highly honored and intellectually prominent bishops in the Episcopal Church that I feel moved to speculate about the reasons for it, not that my conclusions will have real validity. I was told that Bishop Y, who retired from one of the most important centers of national as well as church life a very few years ago, and who divides his year between two of the most desirable locations, is bored and unhappy in his retirement. I can understand that as a retired official he is not looked to for favors by distinguished or by ambitious persons any more; but if he still reads significant books, if he still cares for what happens to humanity, or if he likes to do for others, why is he not even better able to carry out his interests than when he was bound down by the mechanics of administrative responsibility?

I praise the Lord that I can now, as this very night, devote two hours and a half to a single troubled brother, and not begrudge the time.”

May God give us all the gift of a few hours’ free time, now and then, and of the wisdom to use it with joy and compassion, for our own spiritual growth and, above all else, for the love of our neighbors.

“Feed My Sheep”

“Feed My Sheep”

 
 
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Sermon — May 1, 2022

The Rev. Greg Johnston

Lectionary Readings

This is one my favorite stories in the Bible, and it’s definitely one of the silliest. Easter has come and gone, Jesus has died and risen again, and the disciples have gone home to Galilee. They’ve gone back to their ordinary lives, they’ve gone back to their fishing boats, and they’re putting a hard day’s work. And you can tell it’s been a long day working out under the sun, because apparently Peter has taken off his clothes to stay cool. And then they see a man standing on the shore, and after he speaks to them, the beloved disciple recognizes him: it’s Jesus! And Peter is so excited that he totally freaks out. He picks up the clothes he’d taken off to work, and throws them on, and then, fully-clothed, leaps into the water to swim to Jesus! And the rest of them do what normal people do and turn the boat toward the shore.

Do you get this excited to church on a Sunday morning?

Maybe not. But in a way, this story is exactly like what we do ever week. We come from our ordinary lives—from our work and our play, from our grocery shopping and our sports practices—and come to this place where Jesus can be found. And he welcomes us, and shares with us a simple meal.

We come to give thanks for all the blessings of our lives. That’s what “Eucharist” means, when we call the Communion or the Mass “Holy Eucharis.” Eucharist means “thanksgiving.” God has given us all the good things that we have, our lives and our health and our 153 fish—that’s seventeen fish per person for breakfast, by the way—and we bring some of what God has given us back, and offer it to God, and share it with one another with gratitude. That’s why we offer our bread and our wine and our donations to the church, as a token of thanks from all that God has given us.

Jesus welcomes them, and feeds them, and they rest there for a moment in the presence of their risen Lord.

And then he does something new. He’s fed them, and now he tells them to feed one another. He asks Peter three times: “Do you love me?” And three times he says yes, and three times Jesus commands him to share that same love with the people around him: “Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.” Jesus has loved Peter, and Peter has loved Jesus; and now it Peter’s turn to love everyone else. Like all the disciples, Peter has returned home and he’s returned to his ordinary life—but his life will never be the same again, because it has been transformed by the love God has felt and shown for him.

Some of you are receiving communion for the first time today, sharing your first holy meal with Jesus. Some of you have received communion hundreds, even thousands of times before. Each Eucharist is different for each one of us. We give thanks for many different things. We pray for many different things. But in this moment, when we give thanks together to the same God, we meet the same Christ and hear the same call.

In this bread and in this wine, Jesus comes to us. He is as really and truly present for us now as he was on the seashore for the disciples all those years ago. And he speaks the same words to each one of us here. Go, and cast your nets in the world. (John 21:6) Bring some of what you’ve caught, and give thanks. (21:10) Come and break your fast; take, and eat. (21:12-13) And after you’ve been fed—go feed my lambs.

This is the most holy and sacred meal we share. But it means nothing if its spirit remains here, in this room. So I pray that you take the spirit of this day with you throughout the week. I pray that the same Holy Spirit who makes Christ present in his Body and his Blood sends you out into the world to carry on this moment in your lives. I pray that the Christ who takes what he has, and breaks it apart, and shares it with the people around him, becomes present in your acts of sharing, and kindness, and love. I pray that this sacrament makes us all sacraments of God’s love in the world, outward and visible signs of God’s inward and spiritual grace; and I pray to God in the words of the priest Percy Dearmer, who wrote in the words of the communion anthem the choir will sing in just a few minutes: O God,

All our meals and all our living make as sacraments of thee,
that by caring, helping, giving, we may true disciples be.
Alleluia! Alleluia! We will serve thee faithfully.

The Scandal of an Ordinary Life

I spent most of this week at our diocesan Clergy Conference, held in person this year for the first time since April 2019. It was a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with colleagues and friends from parishes around Massachusetts, many of whom I’d only seen as tiny Zoom squares in the last two years. We also had the tremendous gift of hearing from the renowned theologian Kate Sonderegger of Virginia Theological Seminary, who’s one of the greatest thinkers and writers of the modern Episcopal Church.

Rather than sharing with you one of my own theological reflections this week, I want to share with you one of her insights about each one of your lives. Her second lecture opened with the question: “How do we bear witness to and communicate the mystery and glory of God to those who have not seen it?” How do we share the riches we have experienced with the people around us… especially in this secular world? And amid the various examples of how we bear witness to God’s goodness, with and without words—through the holiness and goodness of a Mother Theresa, or the self-sacrifice of Civil Rights martyrs like Jonathan Daniels, the laying out of theological arguments or our honesty in grappling with doubt and faith—Dr. Sonderegger offered a profound reflection on the powerful witness you offer to the goodness of God.

“Simply entering into the scandal of the faith in a secular age,” she said (and here I’m quoting from my own handwritten notes, so apologies to Kate if I’m misquoting), “Simply being an ordinary person who is a person of faith, is an important testament to the goodness and glory of God.” In the eyes of the secular world, a Christian—a person who puts their faith in a God who died and rose again, who shapes their life according to his ancient laws—must be an idiot or a bigot or both. And to be the person who you are—to be an ordinary person, imperfect but loving, thoughtful, and decent—is itself an invitation to the people you know who love and respect you but who have no time for God to wonder whether your faith and your goodness may in fact be related after all.

May we all have the courage to be visible symbols of God’s presence in our ordinary lives, and may our very ordinariness reveal to others the possibility of Christ’s presence with us, everywhere.

50 Great Days

Happy Easter!

I say this not just because I’m basking in the memory of Easter morning, and not just because my house is still full of chocolate rabbits and carrot-shaped candy, but because Easter is not just a day: it’s a fifty-day season, stretching from Easter Day to Ascension Day, which falls on the Thursday after the Sixth Sunday of Easter—a season stretching from April 17 to May 26 this year, a season of celebration even longer than our forty-day season of Lenten fasting.

Easter isn’t a season of fasting or arduous spiritual disciplines, but it can be a wonderful time to continue a daily devotional pattern of prayer. If you’re looking for a way to way to mark this season, I’d encourage you to take a look at 50 Days: Celebrating Easter with Daily Reflections from Forward Movement. It’s a free, online devotional with a new daily post during each day of Easter. You can read it on their website or subscribe to receive it in your email every morning. You might also enjoy Easter Triumph, Easter Joy, a book of daily devotions for Easter written by Scott Gunn, Executive Director of Forward Movement.

I’ve taken a few days off this week, so I’ll continue with my usual newsletter reflections next week. For now, I just wanted to share these resources with you.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen! The Lord is risen indeed—Alleluia!