Wonderful Order: A Sermon for Michaelmas

"Now war arose in heaven, Michael and his angels fighting against the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they were defeated and there was no longer any place for them in heaven."  Revelation 12:7-8.

I heard all about the Hall of Fame inductions this weekend—the ones that people around here seem to really make a fuss over—as opposed to the one that makes so many leave town in July.  It’s homecoming weekend at the high school, which means the annual induction into the CCS Sports Hall of Fame.  Not being an alumnus myself, I wasn’t invited, but I expect it was quite a grand occasion.  There was a nice dinner, plenty of backslapping all round, stories of the glory days.  And when the names were announced and the plaques unveiled, of course, there were speeches.

And we all know what sorts of things were said.  But how does a great athlete explain himself or herself?  Who should be thanked for the accomplishments that are still remembered, so many years later? These questions aren’t as easy to answer as we sometimes assume.  God, of course should be thanked—for the natural talent, protection from harm.  But who else lies behind the success?  An attentive coach, most likely, but was it really the one who designed the flashy plays for the varsity team, or the one back in Little League who taught you how to swing?  Was it the teammate who sent all those sweet passes your way, or the one who shamed you into dropping the attitude and getting with the program?  Was it Mom, cheering from the sidelines at every game, or great-granddad, whose smooth hands somehow became yours, even though he never saw you catch a ball? 

Perhaps it was all of them, but that generalization doesn’t really make the question any easier to answer.  There is a kind of mystery that lurks behind the good things in our lives.  No one cause stands alone.  No one person deserves all the credit, it’s all so interconnected.

Master of the Unruly Sea: Sermon for Pentecost IV

“And he awoke and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm."  St. Mark 4:39

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

The monument stood right at the waterfront, eight columns of black granite, each year followed by name upon name.  A central column was marked with words taken from today’s Psalm: "Dedicated to the memory of those who have gone down to the sea in ships and who have never returned and as a tribute to those who continue to occupy their business in the great waters."  The small city of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, where we vacationed a few summers ago, faces onto the North Atlantic.  With a fine harbor, its wealth has long lay in the region’s cod fisheries, the world’s most abundant for many generations. 

But the sea takes its toll, as those who live on it and by it know better than the rest of us.  Fortunes have been made on the waters, but they have brought awful tragedy as well.  I expect there was a member of every one of Lunenburg’s old families carved on one of those granite columns.  He might have been a seasoned helmsman or maybe a fresh-faced boy who found himself in the wrong place when the ever-unpredictable sea showed its full fury.   Even today, every sailor who goes down to the dock passes by those names—a somber warning of the perils that may lay ahead.  The fisherman must learn to respect the sea, to know his place before it.  It’s no wonder that all the ancient pagans had a god of the sea—and a fierce one at that. 

From all perils and daggers

“Defend us from all perils and daggers of this night,” intoned my older son yesterday evening.  We haven’t been reading Compline at bedtime for long, and though he’s only six, he wanted his turn at reading the prayers.  His three-year old brother, who usually has a foam sword tucked into his belt was delighted, and repeated “daggers, daggers” in a pirate’s growl throughout the rest of the Office.

Praying with children almost always makes me smile, but today it made me think as well.  My son was reading a collect first written in the perilous days of the early Middle Ages, the Illumina, quaesumus, Anglican Evensong’s “Lighten our darkness.”  It calls for God’s help in uncertain times, when the forces of evil seem strong and we cannot rely on our own power.

I think of my brothers and sisters, the Christians of the Middle East who live under the threat of persecution, the “daggers of the night.”  Today, we remember Saint George, the patron saint of Ethiopia, among many lands.  I pray for the souls of those 28 Ethiopian men, fellow “people of the Cross” killed by terrorists in Libya this week. 

The legends, as my youngest son can recount in great detail, tell that Saint George killed the dragon, and defended the weak.  What we know more clearly is that he was a fourth century martyr, slain for our common faith.  “Christ my captain,” Saint George prayed, “my Lord I have no strength but what Thou shalt give.  Help me this day and the glory shall be thine forever and ever.” (The Glorious Company, 113)

May Saint George pray for them, and for us.  Christ is our captain, the one who strengthens us to stand firm in the evil day and who protects us through the perils of the night.  We rest in His peace, which is the only true safety.