Sermon for Sunday, October 26, 2014
Twentieth Sunday After Pentecost
Mr. Jay Anthony:
Good morning.
To quote the infamous John Dillinger when he went into one of his favorite banks to make a quick withdrawal, “Nobody moves and nobody gets hurt.”
I stand here before you at the behest of Rev. Amy Welin. She thinks I might have something thought provoking to say.
Since a movie about my life starring Bradley Cooper as me will never get off the ground, I wish to begin by boring you with a few, brief, personal details.
I was born at a very young age in South Bend, Indiana. I was baptized and raised in the Episcopal Church. Its name was St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church. It was high church out there in the Midwest. Until I was old enough to understand the difference between high and low church, it appeared high church had more pomp and circumstance including the ringing of bells whenever the priest genuflected and the occasional smell of incense. It was the 1960’s and everyone always dressed in their Sunday best. I didn’t really get excited about attending church until I was confirmed at age 12 and could take communion. Up to that point, I, my younger brother Paul and baby sister Marilyn would attend begrudgingly. Make that kicking and screaming all the way. To keep me occupied, my Dad would hand me a small notepad he kept in the inside of his suit jacket. I enjoyed drawing and it kept me quiet. One such Sunday, my Mom noticed me sketching a crucifix with a small sick figure on it. Mildly impressed, she nudged my Dad to probably say something like, “Look, I think he gets it.” The pride quickly left her as I wrote my brother’s name with an arrow pointing to the stick figure.
It was a very family oriented church. As I said, it was the 60’s and I remember the coffee hours at the end of service: long tables were set up, and the adults filled each side of the tables as they drank coffee and ate donuts. The air was thick and blue with cigarette smoke. As I grew older, I recall these days as memorable ones. The Easter egg hunts, the midnight services Christmas Eve, the dances as I entered my teens….my Maternal Grandfather’s funeral. Good and sad times. Years later when I visited South Bend as an adult, I was pleased to see the congregation had grown and they had built and relocated to a much larger building. Unknown if they are having their own problems.
In 1969, Uniroyal transferred my Dad to the Borough of Naugatuck. The only high church Mom could find was Trinity Episcopal Church on Prospect St. here in Waterbury. It was very poorly attended and disappointed my parents. So we made a valiant attempt to attend St. Michael’s Episcopal Church when it was presided over by Rev. Winfred B. Langhorst. Years later a young curate by the name of Andrew D. Smith would be assigned there, but that’s a whole n’other story. Sadly, my Mom and Dad missed high church so much, we fell away from regular attendance.
The churchless years flew by. I began my career as a funeral director in 1975 at the tender age of 20. This career enabled me to visit many churches of many faiths. I considered joining the Congregational Church….no kneeling after all. When I was married in 1980, the nuptials were at Our Lady of Lourdes because my new wife was Catholic. I was told I could not receive communion and when my indignance asked “why,” the priest said he’d give me communion only if I could answer one simple question: “Are the host and wine symbols of the body and blood of Christ or are they actually the body and blood of Christ?” According to him, I flunked the exam. When I demanded a chemical analysis, it didn’t sit well with him at all. I went “Communionless.” I’m better educated now.
As time went on, things changed. People change. I found myself among the ranks of the divorced. During all of that transition, I gravitated to St. John’s. It was the year 2000 and as you may recall, Rev. Dr. James G. Bradley was pastor at that time. I had worked with Jim on many a funeral, our personalities and combined bizarre senses of humor meshed, so yes, he was the reason I came back to the church. This church. I would sit near the back quietly (if you can believe that) and began to repair my personal disconnect from the church. But that very same disconnect made me stupid and ignorant to the workings of a church. During those days, St. John’s made their work look effortless and easy. Prior to the year 2000, the church bank accounts and investments were swollen with cash and for all I knew life was good and the church was sound as a dollar. The vestry was running things smoothly and no one expressed the importance of being involved with the church regarding one’s time and talents or at least it wasn’t impressed upon me. Then, Jim asked me to be a vestry member and I got to look at the financial guts of the church. I came to realize the hay days were over. Our financial future didn’t look so hot, but everyone in the leadership was confident the Lord would provide. As for me, I’m more inclined to go with Benjamin Franklin: “God helps those who help themselves.”
During this time, something snuck up on me I didn’t expect. I became part of the whole. I was assimilated. Resistance was futile. True, I had already known some of the members and many of the faces socially and professionally. Many of you are still here. I became connected to and part of the St. Johns family. That’s what we are. We’re a family. We’ve watched and have been a part of each other’s lives….the good, the bad, the happy and the sad.
I watched children growing up…little Rosemary Minkler from shy little girl who could hide behind her father’s leg to the music performer she is today….Pearl Young from infant to acolyte and probably junior attorney….all of Angela White’s kids, you remember the rambunctious crew in the back on the left. There’s a future doctor coming out of that gang! We are all a part of each other, warts and all whether we like it or not.
Fast forward to today.
Amy asked me to wrap this so called Sermon around Stewardship. When I first had this word thrown at me, it had to do with sending out mail to the entire membership asking them to part with their hard earned cash to keep the church running. I never got a true explanation of its meaning. So I looked it up:
Stewardship: “the conducting, supervising, or managing of something; especially: the careful and responsible management of something entrusted to one’s care.”
On that note, I was recently given a book to read, which while it doesn’t have all the answers, it has some pretty good statements. It’s called Not Your Parents Offering Plate by J. Clif Christopher. In one section, he speaks of a belief in the mission of a church: “People want to make the world a better place to live. They want to believe that they can truly make a difference for the better. There is embedded in us, it seems, a desire to finish our work on this earth with a sense that we amounted to something. To sum it up, people want to be a part of something that changes lives.”
St. John’s Church has been entrusted to our care for well over 280 years and has changed lives. I won’t lie or sugar coat this, but while writing a personal check monthly or weekly does help, Stewardship also means writing the check of your time & your talents and is rooted in your own desire to make the world through St. John’s a better place in which to live.
You know what that means. I know I don’t have to tell you. We have many members who are actively working on the Vestry, Outreach in the form of Church Street Community Services, Homefront and the like. There are members who work ON the church….for example, there’s an old recently retired guy here who’s about to yell at me by saying “Hey, Hey, watch it buddy!” Don Pomeroy recently painted the library with some assistance. Not too shabby. Our esteemed Junior Warden, Dave Waldren with the help of Pete Gervickas and several others have stripped and waxed the floors, and are planning to do more…not an easy task. Bob Cook, who sits quietly in the back pew, has probably laid a brush on most of the church walls over the years. Our kitchens both on the first floor and in the Guild Hall were put together by some current and long gone members such as the late Dick Harris and his minions.
This church, this home of ours is a tapestry of 280 plus years of Stewards, people like you who have reached out to the community and have helped them and made their lives better. Individuals and families who carefully, responsibly and prayerfully managed St. John’s Episcopal Church on the Green. It’s you and you and you and me. Even without knowing, you have probably helped put someone in need on the right path to help themselves. There are even groups who will not realize until later, St. John’s has done them much good and put them on a better path without expectations of monetary remuneration.
Everyone here can perpetuate St.John’s in some way shape or form. At this time, there has been formed a Repurposing Task Force to find different ways to either rent out for a nominal fee or even sell portions of the building for income and assist in lifting some of the burden off the pledging congregation. No longer can we afford to give away our precious assets. With your help, ideas and contacts we absolutely must seek out better ways and better sources to survive.
There is one thing I need to clarify and that’s the identity of St. John’s. St. John’s identity over the years is not that of a single clergy person. Our clergy are our spiritual leaders, our guides and our coaches. But St. John’s identity is each and every one of you who count yourselves as members, Christians and devoted Episcopalians. Clergy come and clergy go. The only constant is change and how we as a church family adapt to it and unify. Personal agendas are not important. There is only one agenda and that is to survive in a world of change. We are the next generation of Stewards. We must evolve and adapt. It is my hope, your children or other members of your family will carry on in your place. We…all of us are St. John’s in human form.
I enjoy being with all of you on Sundays and on other occasions. Being a Science Fiction freak, I cannot conclude without a movie reference that also has a veiled Messianic theme to it. If you saw this year’s movie Man of Steel, you may recall a scene where Lois Lane interviews the strange visitor from another planet who has powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. She asks what the “S” on his chest stands for. He replies with, “It’s not an ‘S’. It’s a symbol for Hope.” Call me corny, but the first letter in the word Stewardship….is not an “S”. For now, let’s call it a symbol for Hope.
May God Bless St. John’s Episcopal Church and may God Bless you and yours.
Let the congregation say “AMEN”