It’s a God Thing! - The Rev. Brenda Sol

I believe it was a “God thing” that you all called me to serve as your rector in 2014. When I first met with the bishop here, 12 years ago this month, I asked him, “Do you think St. Andrew’s will be okay with someone who’s never been a rector before?” It was a “God thing” that Bishop Mathes responded, “I think it’ll be good for them to grow a rector.”

And it’s a “God thing” that I’m wearing this chasuble this morning. Normally, we don’t don the chasuble until it's time to celebrate the Eucharist. And, usually, I’d wear the St. Andrew’s vestments. But, today is a special day—in many ways—so I'm wearing my “Living Water” chasuble. It’s my way of celebrating that we’ll have a baptism this morning, and to forever connect my history with the history of St. Andrew’s.

You see, this chasuble was created by one of my very first Episcopal priest mentors. Mother Carol—God rest her soul—asked me what I would want, in terms of a chasuble—to be ordained in. As I described a spiral pattern, that incorporates lots of shades of blue, and would, ultimately, represent the promise of God's Living Water, she envisioned this.

Carol designed it, and her husband, Jim, sewed it. Finally, as part of my priestly ordination in August of 2012, my mother vested me with this very chasuble. As it turned out, Mom died the following month. So I like to think that the fact that she was the first one to place this symbol of God’s Living Water upon me was also a “God thing”, because she was so proud of me becoming a priest.

And, then it was a “God thing” when Mother Heather came to join us as our associate priest a number of years ago, teaching us the “Living Water” chant. Some of you will remember it. It goes something like this:

Where do we get that living water?

Where do we get that living water?

Where do we get that living water?

Together at the well.

We get the Living Water of God, together at the well; in these pews; at the baptismal font; and at the altar table, where, together, we are nourished by Christ’s presence, love and grace.

Another one of those “God things” is that last fall, when we decided to use my favorite bit of scripture—Micah 6:8—for the theme of our pledge campaign: “Act justly; Love mercy; And walk humbly with your God,” we had no idea that this would be my last Sunday, and that the assigned lectionary readings for today would include that passage!

When I began writing this sermon, I decided to see what I had said about these verses in the past. Interestingly enough, in the time I’ve been serving you, and because these readings only come up every three years, I’ve only ever preached on them once before. That was in 2017, when we were in the process of revealing what we were referring to as the “audacious goals” of our strategic plan.

On that Sunday, I explained how this passage from Micah is a short list for righteous living, but how all-encompassing that brief list is. As the poet describes God's people railing that God has let them down, whining: "What do you want from us? The sacrifice of our first-born children?", Micah points out that God’s response is boiled down to a simple, "golden rule"-type list.

God says, "I don't want a sacrifice of something physical. I want your life. I want you to treat others with the love and faithfulness I, so freely, give you. I beg of you—live life with these habits as your foundation.” And the relationship described in that passage calls God’s people— calls us—into action.

We don't just sit back and contemplate justice, we are to bring justice to every interaction we have. We don't just hold mercy up as a lovely quality, we are to love mercy. And, then, in all we do, we are to walk humbly with our God. Most importantly, we ought never place our limited human notions of life onto God. Instead, our faith demands we open ourselves to the possibilities of miracles—miracles of God's grace breaking-in, in ways we would never expect...in ways that have us saying, “Wow! That’s a ‘God thing!” 

In that 2017 sermon, I shared a newer translation of this morning’s passage from Matthew. That section, as you may know, is commonly referred to as “The Beatitudes”. The translation is from a version of the Bible called “The Message”. It reads:

You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and God’s rule.

You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you. 

You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less.

That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.

It's clear to me that our shared ministry, here at St. Andrew’s, has lived into these readings from Micah and Matthew. Together, we have embraced the idea that living in a place of hope is not waiting for things to get better. Rather, we live with hope, bringing justice, mercy, and humility to each moment—one foot in front of the other. 

As I give thanks for our shared ministry, there are so many notes I feel inclined to leave, and last minute conversations I want to have with key leaders. As you can imagine, I want to make sure everything we’ve created together keeps going, just as we’ve envisioned. But that’s not what this phase of transition is about.

On one hand, I could point to the policies of the Episcopal church that stipulate, when a clergy person leaves a parish, they may not maintain connections with the people of that parish (it’s even spelled out in our Letters of Agreement). Those policies are partly in recognition that clergy moving on to their next call, will need to focus their attention and care on the new congregation.

But more importantly, it’s an acknowledgment, that times of transition are almost always times of transformation. In fact, that ancient understanding is front and center in one of our Easter-Resurrection stories. I’m referring to that section of John’s Gospel, where Jesus appears to Mary at the tomb. Do you remember what happens, when Mary recognizes Jesus’s voice and reaches out to touch him? He says, “Do not touch me...rather go to our friends and tell them what has happened.” (John 20:17)

Many scholars suggest a more accurate translation of “Don’t touch me” is “Don’t cling to me.” In just a few words, Jesus is suggesting that a shift is happening. That the ministry he’s begun with the disciples—which includes Mary—has shifted. It’s now up to them to continue that ministry without him. So, Jesus says, “Don’t cling to the ways we’ve been doing things. Make this ministry your own.” At the same time, Jesus continues to remind them that they will always be with each other in spirit.

Now, I hope it goes without saying, I am not trying to equate myself with Jesus, but simply making a comparison to the ways our shared ministries will shift. Honestly, as I’ve prepared for this day, I’ve been dreading this time of saying “Goodbye”. I’d rather just slide off without anyone noticing, but that’s not really possible, is it?

Which is why I was heartened when someone, recently, explained the etymology of “Goodbye”. Maybe you’ve heard this. “Goodbye” originated in a slightly longer phrase. People used to say: “God be with ye.” Over the years, “God be with ye” shifted to “God be with you” and, eventually, was truncated to “Goodbye”. So, I will not stand here and say goodbye. I will say what I truly mean: “God be with you.”

But before I do that…let’s get back to this chasuble. As I mentioned, I’m wearing my Living Water chasuble because Nico will be baptized today. So, I was delighted when another “God thing” showed up in my morning devotionals this week. In one of my daily subscriptions, Brother Geoffrey wrote:

Baptism is about belonging and identity. When we know whose we are, we know who we are. We are “Christ’s own forever”! That is our truest, fundamental identity, which has the power to set us free.

That’s what today is really about. About all of us remembering whose we are, and that while our shared ministry has been important, what’s most important is that we all—each and every one of us—belong to God.

Being your rector for these past—almost 12—years has been full of “God things” because each of you are a “God thing”. Whether we’re physically together—or separated by 1000s of miles—we will continue responding to God’s love—each of us—acting justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with our God.

Where do we get that living water?

Where do we get that living water?

Where do we get that living water?

Together at the well.

-AMEN