Sermon for the Episcopal Church of St John the Baptist, Capitola,

given by Rev. Eliza Linley /August 12,, 2007

  The Episcopal Church of Saint John the Baptist welcomes all to worship God and to share

Christ's love in the world.  We are a parish family committed to provide liturgy, Bible study, music, counseling, and Christian education for children, youth, and adults, and to equip all our members for life and for service to other

“Privileged conversation” is a legal term referring to conversation with one’s attorney, or doctor, or priest that is not to be divulged outside of that conversation. But in pastoral care it has an additional meaning. One of the greatest privileges of being a priest is that you get to have conversations with people about what’s really going on in their lives – joys, griefs, and fears. And the more I hear, the more I understand that what most often keeps us from hearing God’s voice is fear. Even anger is usually just what sits on top of fear. So when Jesus says, “Fear not, little flock, for it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom of heaven”, it’s important. How often does Jesus tell us not to be afraid? He says it a lot in the gospels, but I think we tend to gloss over it, as if it were just a kind of greeting. But it may be the core of what he has to say here.

In Isaiah the prophet describes the seeds of what will later, in Jesus’ terminology, become the kingdom of heaven. “Seek justice”, he says, “rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.” In the gospels this vision of “shalom” blossoms into the treasure that no moth destroys nor rust corrupts, the place where your heart is best invested, the very reign of God. The doing of acts of justice and mercy become in themselves the gateway to heaven, and a foretaste of that banquet of abundance where Jesus serves the blue plate special. How often have you put yourself in a situation that looks to be new, strange and uncomfortable, but you do it because you want to help someone? And then you find that you yourself are the one who benefits, that you are the one ministered to by those you came to help. In our parish I think of those who tutor, who do prison ministry, who have done Satellite shelter, or Cursillo…it’s a very long list. And every one of these ministries, for all who are engaged in them, contains moments that can only be described as little sparkly bits of the kingdom of heaven. 

So putting ourselves in situations where these might happen more often is what Luke describes as the slaves sitting up nights waiting for the master when he comes, and making sure it’s the master and not a thief when there’s a knock at the door. We wait on God – for kairos, not chronos, for when God thinks the time is right for us. For what? We don’t even know what we’re waiting for. Will we even recognize Jesus? No wonder our fallback is fear. 

The Letter to the Hebrews tells us that faith is the key, “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen.” But then the author describes those who have had this faith, like Abraham, who, once he heard God’s call, set out from Ur to – where? He had no idea where he was going! So the work before us is to watch and wait night and day for a sign, a word, a person, a movement of the heart, a feeling that won’t let you go, and then to follow through, to set out, discerning, watching for the burning bush, and not being fearful. At least, not fearful enough to turn back and tell yourself it was a silly idea. Beginning a new ministry. Giving up something you love that’s standing in your way. Changing direction. Letting go of the security blanket. Having given many examples from Scripture of giants in faith, the author of Hebrews speaks of the “cloud of witnesses” that surrounds us. But they are not just in scripture. They are sitting to the right and left of you. There are more in the making every day, and I think of the cloud of witnesses, those with us today and those who have gone before, not simply as examples, but that they are cheering us on every step of the way.

The Episcopal Church calendar commemorates some of these witnesses. This week, for instance, we remember Jonathan Myrick Daniels. He did not set out to be remembered in Lesser Feasts and Fasts. He felt called to the priesthood and went to seminary in Cambridge, Mass. in the 1960’s. He would have been 62 by now, perhaps nearing the end of a long career in parish ministry, having baptized, married and buried lots of Episcopalians, run lots of vestry meetings and stewardship campaigns, celebrated countless Eucharists. But that’s not how it happened. In March of 1965 Jon Daniels turned on the TV and heard Martin Luther King ask for volunteers to go to Selma, to help in the work of voter registration. He went to Evensong that night at the seminary and was moved by the words of the Magnificat:

“He hath put down the mighty from their seat and hath exalted the humble and the meek. He hath filled the hungry with

good things, and the rich he hath sent empty away”.

Mary’s words inspired Luke, and Luke’s faithful witness inspired Jonathan Daniels, some 20 centuries later, who knew then that he had to go to Selma. Once there, he intended just to stay long enough to join in the march from Selma to Montgomery. But after the march he and a friend missed the bus home. Forced to stay a little longer, Daniels and his friend realized how it must appear to the local civil rights workers that they were only willing to stay a few days. Convinced that they should stay longer, they returned to seminary just long enough to take a leave of absence for the rest of the semester, doing the readings and assignments from Selma. 

Back in Selma he took lodgings with one of the black families he and others worked with in their struggle to claim the right to vote. During the next months he devoted himself to integrating the local Episcopal church, taking groups of young African Americans to church, where they were usually scowled at or ignored. In May he went back to Boston for his exams, then returned to Alabama for the summer. He helped assemble a list of Federal, state and local agencies that could provide for those in need. He tutored children, helped people apply for aid, and worked to register voters.

On August 13 Jon and other protesters went to picket white-only stores in Fort Deposit, Alabama. They were arrested and spent 6 days in the local jail in nearby Hayneville. No air conditioning, broken toilet that backed up, inadequate, vermin-infested food. All refused to accept bail unless all were released. After 6 days, when they were released Jon and three others – a Catholic priest and two black protesters - walked down the street to get a cold drink at one of the few stores that would serve nonwhites. At the door they were met by an unpaid special deputy with a shotgun, who leveled it at one of the protesters, 17-year-old Ruby Sales. Jonathan pushed her to the ground and caught the full blast. He was killed instantly. The priest, Richard Morrisroe, grabbed the other protester and ran. He was shot in the back and wounded.

The murder of an educated, white, priest-in-training who was defending an unarmed teenage girl helped shock the Episcopal Church into facing the reality of racial inequality that it had tacitly participated in and continued. Daniel’s death helped put civil rights on the map for the church as a whole. Ruby Sales grew up and attended Episcopal Theological School, Jonathan’s seminary, herself. She has gone on to work as a human rights advocate in Washington, D.C. as well as founding an inner-city mission dedicated to Jonathan Daniels. 

This is how faith working through the cloud of witnesses works. Ripples in a pond. Reading this story earlier this week, I could see how Jonathan’s conversion happened bit by bit. He was just a seminarian, worried about his exams, his grades, how to pay his tuition – but in that holy looniness that comes with the kind of awakening that took him to seminary, he kept listening for God’s voice, and was not quite willing to discount it. “Well, I’ll show my solidarity for a long weekend. Well, OK, the whole semester. I’ll find some way to make it work. Well, now I’m part of these people and they‘re a part of me – I guess I’ll go back for the summer.” And so on. He was an extraordinary person. But then, in a way, he was not. He was just one of us who made choices, again and again, that combined to change the world around him. And if he was not different, not made of some other kind of blood and bone and mind and heart, well, then, there’s hope for all of us to hold on to the good. The forces that killed him are still around. There are those who hate people who are different from themselves, who assume their own power will be diminished if all have equal rights. The basis of these false beliefs is a crippling fear. And fear is a demon we all struggle to cast out. 

If we are inspired by Jonathan Daniels, or by others like him, that’s wonderful. But let’s cut to the chase. The power that animated them all is the same: “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings to us so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.”