Sanctuary's People

With just a couple of breaks I'm been writing recently about sanctuary.  I want to expand our appreciation for it as something more than a space on church property.  Part of how I've understood it is to look at those things we do and say that create a sense of togetherness or holiness or safety.  Even my mom's struggle with "fun-damn-mentalists" was a struggle for sanctuary at 1612 College Ave., for her family, for her church and for her own sense of holiness.

All this consideration has me realizing that without people involved only fauna and flora get sanctuaries.  When we name such provisions we are talking almost entirely about a place of safety for something that would be more endangered otherwise.  That is the basic version of sanctuary and one that we each can understand easily.

Fences, markers, ridges and rivers are those boundary makers we have in common with snail darters, owls, wolves, etc.  But there is another set of boundary-making that informs our religious lives.

The first boundary story with God in it is the one that has Adam and Eve and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.  God said "Don't eat of it!"  Along comes the serpent and subtlety into the mix.  You can see the human struggle when they exaggerate God's command saying "if we touch it we die!"  After they eat the forbidden fruit they are expelled and made to work for holiness/ sanctuary outside that garden. Our lives still have boundary issues when it comes to God's presence.

Fast forward to Pentecost and the markers for sanctuary were ethnic and geographical.  It starts, "When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place."  And when the Holy Spirit enters, those comforting markers of nationality and language are breached and a message of God's presence becomes a sanctuary for "Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome (both Jews and converts to Judaism); Cretans and Arabs.

Seems like whenever God needs, God will redefine holiness through us.  Yes there are physical and geographical boundaries, think Red Sea or the River Jordan. But whenever God moves those markers it always has something to do with us and our relationship with God.

Fast forward one more time to the present and you can see another way that place and people and holiness and sanctuary are at play.  For us it shows up in history with things like plaques and memorials.  It shows up with our precious and aging church that feels like no other place in town and whose doors unlocked say "whoever needs may enter into God's presence."

After that our markers are smaller and more actuarial.  We list baptized members and those confirmed -- through reception, reaffirmation or transfer -- communicants. We list those who have made a pledge in previous years and those are givers of record.  We email newsletters and announcements to all these folks and just about anybody who wants.  We have a hard time removing people from our lists.

Every year at this time we have to find those folks whose listing includes them as confirmed, communicants, in good standing, having made and kept a pledge in the previous year just to serve on our vestry.  Rest assured there is a sense among each member of "being called" to service but none would dare assume a greater holiness than any one of us.

Thanks be to God our holiness is marked first and foremost FOR us and we are invited into God's company no matter the boundaries our denominations use to account for us.  As well we needn't confuse our markers with God's.  If you want to check on or change how your membership is registered or listed just call the office.  But let's stay mindful of the difference between our markers and God's.  It'll work for us to honor God's calling and to hope to be worthy of the holiness that is God's gift to us.

All Saints' - tide

Our calendar is running out of days.  The liturgical year with its emphasis in Luke's gospel will give way to Matthew in the days between November 24 and December 1.  From Year C to Year A on Sundays and from Year 1 to Year 2 in our Daily Office readings.

Since 1979 and the "new" BCP we have been living together with Sunday celebrations of Holy Eucharist as our anchoring worship.  More recently we've joined with several other denominations and have relied on the Revised Common Lectionary to inform our preaching in the context of regular Sunday table fellowship.

The RCL nearly matches the schedule in the back of our prayer books.  Differing most remarkably by providing two options for the set of readings that accompany the gospel: Track 1 and Track 2.
Our General Convention 2006 started our transition to its use through periods of experimental, to provisional and now authorized practices.  Our bulletin inserts have almost seamlessly led us into this current usage of Track 1 of the RCL.  Raise your hand if you haven't noticed.

These schedules are not frivolous inventions of some ivory tower elite or some obscure saint.  For Sundays, both our BCP lectionary and the RCL are the results of a prayerfully shared labor of hundreds of scholars working over several decades.

Two overarching concerns have informed their work:  effectively staging the drama and message focused in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth AND equipping worshippers to live in the world from a commitment begun in Holy Baptism and renewed in regular celebrations of Holy Eucharist.

The curtain on Luke's account is about to close but not until we recognize an ironic triumph.  Christ the King, as the last Sunday of the liturgical year is known, has as it's informing text the moment just before Jesus dies on Calvary's cross between the two thieves.  The sign over his cross says King of the Jews and from that cross he grants passage into paradise for one of the thieves.

That's how this life, death, resurrection drama works.  We tell the story from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, from glorified manger to empty tomb, beloved Son to Lord sitting at God's right hand.  We tell it regularly in the context of a meal shared through broken bread and common cup.  It's what it means when he said -- and we recall his saying every week -- "do this in remembrance of me."

These next few Sundays take us into a glory like no other.  I call these few weeks "All Saints'-tide."  It's not official in any way.  Instead it is a mnemonic device to help me look as these last days of the year as rising and fulfilling, as completing and proclaiming, as a crescendo just before the curtain drops and reopens right next to where we started last year and the the year before that and the year before that and . . .

Thanks to Luke for telling this year's story like only a Luke could.  Matthew?  We'll see you in a month.