22 April 2011

DYING IS HARD WORK

(a sermon for Good Friday, 22 April 2011)

“My kingdom is not from this world.” -- Jesus to Pilate, in The Gospel of John, 18:36

“My kingdom,” said Jesus, “is not from this world.” This “world.”

This “world” has a hard time calling this day “Good.” Today, well-intentioned reporters and newscasters note that Christians commemorate Good Friday as the day when Jesus was crucified and died. Well, that’s a start. But it says little about why we call this Friday “Good.”

The “world” cannot call this Friday good; the “world” is unable to call this Friday good. When I say the “world,” I mean that world around us which is unable to hear the spirit of Jesus. I mean “the world,” in the way Jesus meant it when he said to his disciples, “you do not belong to the world” (John 15:19), and “the world does not know the Father” (John 17:25), and “in the world, you will have tribulation, but be of good courage, for I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

For, the “world” is unable to accept death. Wherever we look in this world, we see attempts to deny death. We read about this latest health plan, or this new elixir, or diet plan or workout plan, which will extend our youth. We get excited about the temptation. Wouldn’t it be great to live forever? We dye the gray out of our hair and feel younger!

Some of the most holy moments of our lives occur when we are sitting with someone who is about to die. I was there. I have sat in somber hospital rooms, and quiet hospice rooms, even in people’s homes, with families who are waiting for their loved one to die. During these times, everyone knows death is imminent; but no one can slow down, or speed up, the process. Time, in fact, seems to stand still.

Were you there? These are holy moments. I remember, when I was younger, my own grandmother dying. Of course, I had known her throughout my childhood. Almost every week, it seemed, we drove up from the country and had supper in her fine home. As we would leave her house, all piled into the family station wagon, we would look at her in the front door. She would always, always, be standing there silently in the door, with her hand raised, giving us a silent blessing as we left. We loved that blessing, that precious wave good-bye. God bless.

Years later, she was dying; and I sat on the bed with her, I asked her to give me a blessing again. And she did. Just like she had always done from the front door. This time, she was not standing up, and her body had become withdrawn and fragile; but she raised her hand and blessed me. It was one of the most powerful blessings I have ever received, from a dying and holy woman. When a dying person blesses you, you are truly blessed.

Many of us have sat with people about to die. Were you there? Yes, some of those moments are unexpected and truly tragic. An accident. A wicked disease. Some horror takes away our loved one at too young an age, long before we ever thought death would intrude. Some of the moments, however, are more gentle. An old man lives a long and good life, and the time simply arrives; he slips away.

No matter how our minds interpret the event –unexpected or expected—the moments before death are emotionally draining. Even when our minds, our intellects, accept the reality of death, its moment makes our hearts grieve, its moment saddens our souls.

All this is why we gather on Good Friday. Today is not a day to remember something about Jesus; today is a day to remember something about ourselves. Obviously, we do remember Jesus today; we hear the long gospel, a horrible narrative about his last hours. We imagine him carrying a cross, then on the cross, then dying. We see some vague image in our prayers. We are there.

But what we really do, today, is remember something about ourselves. Because there are many days in our lives that feel more like Good Friday than Easter. Maybe if we had our way, we would choose the naïve and innocent joy of Easter every day. Again, the “world,” the “world,” sure wants to make every day feel like naïve Easter joy!

But there are many days that we do not feel like waking up for Easter morning. On some mornings, the night has been too long. Maybe there is too much sadness in our lives. Maybe someone we love has died.

Maybe someone we love has been horribly inconsiderate to us, maybe even mean to us, has maybe even betrayed us. Maybe that someone who was so mean was the person we thought we could trust the most. Maybe a friend has turned out to be an enemy. Jesus knew these events.

Maybe that someone who has been so incomprehensible, or so unconscionable, seems to be God, God himself – or God herself, whatever gender we are imagining right now.

Today is a day to remember those events. The death that we experience today is not simply the death of Jesus long ago. It is the death of those we know, and have known, today. To walk the way of Jesus today is to follow Jesus to the cross with our own lives, with our own memories, and with our own deaths. It is only because of today that we can truly know new life. Saint Paul understood; in his Epistle to the Romans he said, “If we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him” (Romans 6:8).

Ultimately, Good Friday is about accepting death. And the “world” around us would rather not accept the reality of death. It is too hard. Dying is hard work.

Today, I remember the words of someone who died only recently. I was not there, at the bedside. It was a daughter and her mother who were there, alone in the hospice care room. For almost two months, the daughter had been travelling back and forth to the hospital room, sometimes on good days –when her mother was quite lively and even enjoyed a gin and tonic. But, more and more, there were bad days, when her mother found it more and more difficult to breathe.

In fact, the mother had lung disease, and even the slightest limp across the room left her exhausted for an hour. Fortunately, the mother’s mental capacity remained quite strong. She could think, and she knew perfectly well she was dying.

On the last day of her life, only the daughter and her mother were in the room. In fact, the mother had asked the nurses to leave. Together, the daughter and mother spent those holy moments. Woman, behold your daughter; daughter, behold your mother. Together.

“It’s okay,” said the daughter. “You’re doing a great job,” said the daughter. And the mother looked up and said, “Dying is hard work.” To which the daughter replied, “Yes, and you are doing a great job.”

The mother was right. “Dying is hard work.” In the next hour, she had died.

We do not believe in resurrection if we do not also believe in death. Dying is hard work. Dying is good, hard, work. We do not believe in Jesus, if we do not believe also in Good Friday. Good Friday is good, hard, work.

Were you there? Were you there, when they crucified my Lord? When they laid him in the tomb? Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble. Dying is good, hard, work.

The Very Reverend Samuel G. Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip

06 April 2011

I AM A CANDIDATE FOR BISHOP OF WASHINGTON


Dear Friends,

For the past few months, faithful members of the Diocese of Washington have been in conversation with me about being a candidate for their next bishop. This has been a new and unusual process for me. Many of you know that, in the past, I have resisted most such conversations about running for bishop anywhere. Like other clergy I know, I am among a group who truly enjoys parish ministry. I have been asked to run for bishop countless times, and I have refused those opportunities.

However, this time around, I accepted the invitation to be in discernment about a possible vocation to be Bishop of Washington. Washington, D.C., of course, is the nation’s capital; and the Diocese of Washington (which also includes four counties in Maryland) represents a unique and challenging setting for ministry. The next bishop of that diocese will not only oversee a wide diversity of parishes, and a wide diversity of clergy; but the next bishop will be expected to speak in a very political setting on behalf of the wider church. They have said that they seek a bishop “who is willing and able to have a broad ministry, as a compassionate pastor to parishes and clergy in a diverse diocese, as a leader of complex institutions and as a spokesperson for the Church in the Capital and internationally.”

My past two months of holy discernment have actually shown me that I do have some thoughts, opinions, and even visions for what a bishop should be. Having been a parish priest for over twenty-five years, I find that I do envision what an effective and inspiring bishop could be. Perhaps God is calling me to consider that vocation as the next piece of my life. Perhaps God is calling me to expand my community to include Washington and the wider world.

In turn, the Search Committee of the Diocese of Washington has also been attracted to what my life and ministry might offer that diocese, and, from there, the wider world. Thus, on Thursday, March 31, they will announce that I am one of their final five candidates for Ninth Bishop of Washington. They will publish my biography and my written answers to their original search questions. For two and half months, people will ask me all sorts of further questions. Then, on June 18, 2011, the Diocese of Washington will gather to elect one of their five candidates. I am truly honored to be among that group.

However, this decision to let my name go forward for nomination has been a difficult one. I truly love the Cathedral of St. Philip, I dearly love Atlanta, and I deeply love this entire area of north Georgia, where I grew up. This place has been my community, and I am a man who needs community. God has always called me to oversee and to inspire holy community; and God has always called me to preach and to teach from community. If I am elected, I hope I will not so much be leaving my present community as much as I will be enlarging God’s community. And, of course, if I am not elected, I hope I can vigorously continue a beautiful and fulfilling ministry here in Atlanta.

Wherever God calls me next, even if it is a call to remain happy and challenged here at the Cathedral of St. Philip, I know that God will call me to beloved community. I will appreciate your prayers during this time of holy discernment. Please pray for the Cathedral of St. Philip, as we continue to worship and serve God in Atlanta and in the world. Please join me in praying for the Diocese of Washington as they discern who their next bishop will be. And, finally, as God calls you, do pray for me! I have been blessed with a wonderful ministry here at St. Philip’s, and it is quite a difficult thing even to imagine not being here with you.

Grace and peace to you, in Jesus Christ our Lord,

Sam Candler