Fourth Sunday in Lent Sermon

There’s much I love about my job. But, perhaps, the greatest honor it gives me is the privilege of coming alongside people at every stage of their lives, often in very intimate and vulnerable ways.

One day I’m with the kids, sitting beneath the altar, talking about the cracks in their world. And I get to share with them the hope that those cracks are being filled with God’s love.

One day I’m meeting with a young couple preparing to be married, exploring together their histories, their sorrows, their dreams. And I get to share the hope of their union becoming a sacrament of God’s union with us, the church.

One day I’m meeting with a new member, hearing their story – of where they’ve come from and what they’re experiencing here. And I get to welcome them and to share our mission of being like Jesus for one another. And I get to help graft them into the community of St. John’s, so that they and we become one, as God is one.

One day I’m in the ICU with Nancy Littlemore – thanking her for who she has been in my life; apologizing for any ways I could have been a better priest for her; saying I love her; saying goodbye. And then I get to pray Last Rites over her as she prepares to complete this life she’d been given.

Such an honor to be a priest, and to share these moments with you. And, as I do, to be formed by you – by this thing called “church” we’re doing together. At its heart, in its purest form, “being the church” does mean “being the Body of Christ.” We are this living, breathing, loving community that is growing into its identity of enfleshing everything that was true of Christ…that is true of Christ.

And, just as Christ was born, and grew, and stepped into obedience and ministry, and died, and was raised again, so each of us was born, and is growing, and is now learning obedience, and will die, and be raised again. The same is true of the church: It was birthed and has grown and is learning obedience, and must die, and be raised again.

This is the way of creation. This is the way of our lives and all lives. And, because it all comes of God, this whole process – from birth, to growth, to maturation, to death, and to life again – it is holy.

And, in the church, one of the underlying ways we understand this process, is that “growing up” means “growing into” a deeper sense of union with God. We are, in our essence, one with God, and therefore one with all whom God is one, which is … ALL! And the more that becomes true in our reckoning, the more we will love, the more we will seek each other’s well-being, the more we will be generous – generous with our time, with our possessions, with our spirits – because “we no longer live for ourselves alone, but join in God’s restoring work, that all people and creation might flourish.”

This is what we’re after. And there’s no shame that we aren’t there yet in any pure or perfect way because God made us to become that over a lifetime. And there’s not one person in this room who has gotten there yet because we’re all still living. We’re all still becoming. The process won’t end until that moment when we each hear the voice of God, “Eric, it is time,” and we lay our lives down, a final offering made to God.

And, along the way, step-by-step, faith invites us further into the embodiment of Christ’s love in us. Ultimately, we are simply being stewards – care takers – of God’s possessions. God loves us; so we can, too. God loves our neighbors; so we can, too. And, if everything at our disposal belongs to God, our aim to use it as God would have us use it, which is to love. It’s that simple.

If you’ve ever lit a votive candle over there in the side aisle, while praying for a loved one, you may have taken away one of those cards to share with the person you were praying for. The cards have a painting of a candle and the text, “I lit a candle today with you in my heart.” They were made especially for St. John’s by Voski Sprague. Voski was a member here who died several years ago. And, quite honestly, it was she who taught me what it means to be a steward – not by a lecture, but by her life. Making these cards was an act of stewardship. She was an artist. And that skill of hers, paired with that love of hers, became from her a lasting legacy in our church. In love, she gave us these cards, and in so doing, she empowered us with this simple, tangible way to love one another. And, you know what? There’s a little typo in her artwork. And I love that. She didn’t get it perfect. And that’s fine. She was absolutely a steward of this gift. And it is good. Even with the mistake.

For many of us, the most significant act of stewardship we’ve known (even if we’ve never classified it as such), is the love of our children. God gives us these kids, these image bearers of God – who are God’s own, for God’s sake! – and says, “Raise them.” We don’t know what we’re doing. We’re just winging it – every day, every year – winging it! And we don’t do it perfectly. God knows. (They’re filled with typos!) But you know, even if we are just adequate-enough-parents, it works. They get fed. They get clothed. They get loved. And we, day-by-day, are learning to lay our lives down in order to raise their lives up. They are being shaped by love. And we are being shaped by love. This is stewardship. This is the way of the kingdom. We no longer live for ourselves alone, but join in God’s restoring work, that all people and creation might flourish.

Whether it’s being done in the name of God or not, this kind of love is godly. But the witness of Jesus and his call to follow him ultimately means, that this same kind of self-giving love we so naturally wield for our children and grandchildren, is also to be shared with everyone. And so, the more we grow into Christlikeness, the further this love expands – to the church, to our neighbors, to our enemies, to the cosmos. Every resource we have is God’s resource. And whatever is God’s, is only rightly used for love.

And, when we see the whole arc of our lives as a movement towards Christ and his likeness, the later years actually beckon with fresh potential. Yes, old age is difficult. Yes, half the church is getting knee replacements. And yet, amidst all the creakiness – should we choose to pursue it – the later years can be a season when our character is really coming into its own. Some of the sweetest old ladies we’ve known at St. John’s, if we are trust the memories of their children, were not always sweet. They grew into their sweetness by their pursuit of faith, and we got the benefit.

And, in this big arc of becoming like Christ – of stewarding God’s gifts as translations of God’s love – your last gift may be given once you die. Leaving a legacy to the church is an act of gratitude, certainly. But more importantly, it’s an act of love that says, “I have stewarded these gifts from God, and I want to see them continue to build and sustain the church. I want there to be a church that is healthy and stable, for my grandchildren, for my neighbors’ grandchildren – whoever they may be.

Legacy gifts are often used to fund new initiatives or capital projects beyond what the annual operating budget can sustain. The new parking lot we’ve just built was paid by a legacy gift. There was groundwater undermining part of the foundation on the south side of the church. It was resolved through that same gift. And you know? Maintaining the buildings and property of the institutional church is fine. It’s necessary. We are physical creatures that inhabit physical space. And it is the physical space of this parish that houses the spiritual body of the church. This is our common home, whose doors are kept open to welcome all who are seeking God, and the ways of God, and the people of God, and the hope of God, in a world gone mad. And, thanks be to God, people keep coming through these doors, and  finding they are welcome – that there is hope; there is love.

It is happening here. We are becoming like Jesus. And it takes a lifetime.

I see this arc of becoming like Jesus in the symbol of our Memorial Garden. When someone’s ashes are buried there by the north entrance of the church, the ashes aren’t kept safe in an urn. They go straight into the soil to become (over time) a new generation of soil to nourish a new generation of plants yet to be. And the family doesn’t own the plot. It’s just part of the church. In years to come, any number of people’s ashes can be buried in that same spot. And I love it. So much of this life is lived in fear. And, from fear, comes hoarding and boundaries and walls. But in the life to come, those days are passed. We will finally have completed this life, this journey towards Christlikeness, and entered into complete and loving union with God and one another.

And I love the notion that – just as our cremated remains are allowed, finally, to become one with all – so, too, the shaping of our wills can be our final act, on this earth, of completing our journey towards Christlikeness. That which we’ve held on to, can now be let go in love. We were stewards of a gift that was never our own. Now it’s time to pass it on.

In my will, a portion goes to my kids, of course. A portion goes to the first church in which I worked, in whose Memorial Garden lie the remains of our child who was stillborn. And a percentage is left for St. John’s. I will move on to whatever is beyond the grave. But that of which I was a steward in this life, remains – an ongoing resource by which God’s love takes shape.

God made us to be formed over a lifetime. The whole process is holy. And, in the end, we will finally follow Christ completely, giving ourselves aways, body and soul.