Sermon Delivered to All Saint’s Episcopal Church – Moline

Proper 14 – August 13^th 2017

(Lessons referenced: 1 Kings 19: 9-18, Matthew 14: 22-33)

Brothers and sisters, Pray with me:

“Heavenly Father, in You we live and move and have our very being: we humbly pray you so to guide and govern us by your Holy Spirit, that in all the cares and occupations of our life we may not forget You, but may remember that we are ever walking in Your sight; through Jesus Christ our Lord.”   Amen.

I would first like to thank you all for the opportunity to preach here at All Saint’s.  Worshipping with you this summer has been a weekly breath of fresh air in the midst of an intense CPE process.  For those of you who don’t know “CPE” stands for Clinical Pastoral Education.  It is a traditional and crucial part of priestly formation as seminarians (like myself) are thrown out into the world to be chaplains for a time. To go beyond the walls of what we normally consider “The Church” and meet the people of God where they are: in hospitals, in nursing homes, in prisons.

I had heard stories of how impactful and challenging CPE had been for others. I had heard how the program would force me to look deep into myself, and how those depths would impact my ministry. Despite all of the stories I had heard, nothing could really prepare me for the experience itself.

I now find that I can relate to Peter in today’s gospel lesson: “If it is really you Lord (and if this is really the path that you have called me to walk), tell me to walk out onto those stormy waters – Tell me to come to that place where you are.” 

I now also realize how insane that prayer is: “Lord, if you are who you say you are, call me to walk into the most difficult situations so that I can find you there.” Like Peter, I quickly found myself to be out of my own depth.

One of the aspects of my summer chaplain experience was our weekly “on-call” assignment.  About once a week I would be given overnight responsibility for both hospitals in Davenport, Illini in Silvis, and the Genesis hospital in DeWitt until 8am the following morning. This generally meant that I would wait in Davenport until something terrible happened at the hospital: a heart attack, a stroke, a trauma, or a death.

My very first night on-call was the Saturday night proceeding Father’s Day.  I was anxiously waiting all night for something to happen, but after several hours of nothing, I finally fell asleep with the pager on the table next to me. 

At 3:47 AM on Sunday morning I was paged to the ER for a heart attack which quickly escalated into a “Code Blue” (meaning the patient had lost his pulse).  When I arrived I found the patient’s 70-something year old mother and 20-something year old daughter in the waiting room, completely bereft. As the Medical Team worked to get a pulse back the daughter just asked “Why?”

The family had been having a barbeque less than twelve hours before and her dad had been completely fine. Yet here he was, dying from a heart attack. The patient’s daughter had lost her mother on Mother’s Day a few years before and might very well now be losing her father on Father’s Day.

“Why would God let this happen?”  I didn’t have any answers, I didn’t pretend to. I merely sat there with them and let them know that they were not alone in their grief.

Once the doctor had declared the patient dead, I went back to see the body with the family. At his mother’s request, we prayed over our lost brother and committed him (and ourselves) to God’s loving mercy at that moment – and it was in the Holy silence that followed (that “sound of sheer silence”), that I found myself overwhelmed with God’s presence in that room. In the midst of chaos and distress God had been with us at every moment: in our grief, in our anxieties, and in the midst of every question we had. God was there, speaking to us in those moments of silence.

As more family arrived in the hours that followed, the grief was mingled with laughter as family members shared stories about this man and the life he had lived- and as I listened I was able to reflect on what joy and love God had manifested in and through this person’s life.

But that moment of Holy Silence will always stick with me -That moment where God broke through.

I am thus reminded of Elijah’s experience in our Old Testament Lesson.  For a little bit of context: Elijah was at this point on the run from a Queen who wanted to have him horribly killed. In a state of profound fear and anxiety, Elijah’s turns to God for direction and comfort. God then sends Elijah to Horeb where he is to wait for God to pass by. When then hear the familiar passage of the great wind shaking the mountains, followed by a great earthquake, which is then followed by a ferocious fire.

Yet none of these things was God. God was not in the wind. God was not in the earthquake. God was not in the fire. God was in the piercing silence that followed.

It was in that silence that God spoke to Elijah and said, “I am here, in the midst of these things; and you still have work to do.”

It is in the midst of life’s tempests and tremors that we find God; not in the distressing event itself, but in the silence between heartbeats. God never leaves us in those moments to face life’s difficulties alone, but stands with us at every twist and turn. And in those moments of silence the Voice of God speaks.

It says: “I am here. I am with you. Keep going.”

         

          In our Gospel lesson we find that it was not until after Peter noticed the wind and became afraid that he began to sink. If he had kept his eyes on Jesus, he would have seen that there was nothing to be afraid of. Yes the winds and the waves were there and yes they represented a real danger; but still Jesus called him into the midst of these things.

Seeing Peter’s faith, Jesus asked Peter to trust him and join him the midst of the storm. Even when Peter became afraid and felt that the task ahead of him was too much, Jesus was still right there pulling him up from the waves.

I can’t help but picture a little smile on Jesus’s face as he says “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” As if to say, “Peter, I called you out onto the waves and in the midst of the storm; did you not think that I was going to be right there with you?”

My brothers and sisters, that is where Christ is; in the midst. It is in the midst of the storms of life, of the tremors and fires that God breaks through in the silence between heartbeats. It is those times when God says “I am here, I will not leave you (whether you like it or not).”

As Christians - as those who bear the image of Christ in this world- that is where we are meant to be as well; in the midst of life. This isn’t only a call for plucky young seminarians or for those in the ordained ministry, but a call on the life of every (.) single (.) person (.) who calls themselves “Christian.”

As the Children of our Heavenly Father we are called to bear the life and love and peace of Christ in a world of storms and anxieties. We are to be Christ’s hands and feet as we walk out onto the water and lift up others who have begun to sink. 

When life becomes chaotic and we don’t know what to do – when we don’t know where to turn - we must inhabit that Holy Silence in the midst of the storm and fire; in the knowledge that God is there.

For it is in that silence (in the midst of the storm and the earthquake and the fire) that the Voice of God Speaks.

And it says: “I am here. I am with you. Keep going.”

Amen



(All Saints Episcopal Church)