As many of
you know thanks to the Announcer and Facebook, I was attending the Future of
Christianity in the West conference last week.
Thankfully, from my perspective, it was local. It was held at St. George’s, which meant my
travel time was greatly reduced. The
conference, as the title suggests, was about what is happening in the West and
what Christianity will be forced to do to survive. In the weeks ahead, I will probably share
more about particular outlooks and responses, but you know some of them. Morgan from Siloam was a workshops
speaker. Jon Meacham was a speaker. The keynotes were Rod Dreher and Mark
Clavier.
In the
grand scheme of things, our keynotes were supposed to lead us in a passionate
discussion about whether to embrace the Augustinian or Benedictine approach to
dealing with the world. Do we head off
to caves in the hills in hide, or do we work to reshape culture according to
God’s wisdom?
This
discussion’s roots are in the Pew Research Report from a few years ago. Those who have been attending since then know
the numbers. Only 46% of Americans
self-identify as Christian. That
self-identify aspect is crucial. You and
I may look upon people and wonder whether they are Christian or not because of
their words, their actions, or their lack of gathering in Christian
community. This was a survey that asked
people to self-identify themselves rather than be identified by the pollster or
others.
Of that 46%
who self-identified as Christian in the world around us, only 19% claimed to be
active in the Church. Now, let the
hearer understand, active for this survey meant coming to church, on average,
once a month. So low was the bar set for
this survey that one could almost be a canonically active member of the
Episcopal Church, coming to Eucharist only three times a year, and one was
nearly an active Christian for the purposes of this survey.
As I have
shared over the years, I suspect our numbers in the South are higher. Church, and church attendance, are still
socially normal, if not expected. But,
in other parts of the country, I imagine the tallies were significantly lower.
The same is
true for other parts of the world. The
conference was attended by folks from different parts of the world, by members
of other denominations, and even by members of three difference Anglican-based
worship. Those from Europe told stories
of an irrelevant church. Those from
Africa talked how, although the numbers seem huge by our standards, their
impact on the wider world was just as impotent, just as ignored. What is to be done? How is the Church to respond?
Enter the
Benedict Option, the Church should head for caves in the hills and tend to
itself until the world recognizes it needs Her again, and the Augustinian
Option, the Church should be out and about shaping the world, transforming the
culture, and calling the world and culture back to God. I simplify the descriptions, obviously, but
if any of you had wanted to learn more about what was being discussed at the
conference, you might have shown up, or expressed a disappointment over a
conflict between your schedule and the conference.
I hope, unsurprisingly to all of us gathered
here today, you know my thoughts on the matter.
I feel like I have effectively pounded during the season of Epiphany on
the idea that you and I gather here for worship, studies, fellowship, and other
events to educate ourselves, to be prepared by God to head back out into the
world to do the work that He has given us to do. God, I see the nods. It should sound familiar to us. Each and every time we leave the Eucharist,
we close with that sending prayer. We thank
God for feeding us in these Holy Mysteries and ask Him for the strength and
perseverance to serve Him in the work He has given us to do. We are a people who must retreat to the
sanctuary or refuge of God to be built up, to be prepared, to be strengthened,
for the work that must be done out there, to God’s glory.
As I have
shared during most of Epiphany, the responses of many Adventers has been “yeah,
but . . .”. A number of Adventers have
decided to argue with me over their unique disqualification to do the work God
has given them to do. I don’t study
theology. I’m not quick on my feet when
it comes to answering questions. Nobody
in my work wants to hear about Jesus.
Everybody I hang out with is a Christian. Over and over again, I’ve had to deal with
the snowflake syndrome that convinces each one of us that we are failures, we
are not able to be used by God to advance His kingdom.
Thankfully,
this Epiphany season, and at this time when folks in our diocese are
considering the world, our ministry in it, and the options available to us, we
have the Feast Day of Charles Todd Quintard.
If you are visiting and unfamiliar with the name, I have included the
snippet about him from Holy Women Holy Men. As all Adventers can tell you, though, the
bit in the book about Quintard does not begin to tell the story of him, of
Adventers whom he served, and of those ministries in which our spiritual
ancestors had a hand. But, such was his
work, the wider church recognizes him as a saint. Understand, like all the heroes in the Bible,
saints are human beings. They do great
work for God, exhibiting amazing faith, and they fall short of God’s callings
on their lives, exhibiting those moments when their faith was, perhaps,
somewhat lacking. A great example for
Quintard was that conversation I had with the black priest from Missouri, who
called me up to chew me out for celebrating his feast day. As all of us who regularly gather here know,
Advent was the first church to allow their slaves to worship with them. In the 1850’s, that was damn near a miracle
in middle Tennessee. The fight over
which Quintard was unwilling to die was over the inclusion of the slaves of
non-Adventers in worship. In other
words, Adventers knew their own slaves and knew how they could be trusted to
worship God, but they treated the slaves of non-members as little better than
wild animals.
Did
Quintard and the Advent Vestry fail God by not allowing non-Advent owned slaves
to come to church? You bet! Was their inclusion of their own slaves
significant in the life of the Church, in the life of the Church in the South,
and in the wider context of life in the South?
You better believe it!
I remind us
that these folks were human because we are human. They had weaknesses like we had
weaknesses. They fought with loved ones
like we fought with loved ones. At times
they trusted God like we trust God. At
other times, they felt God asked them to do the impossible, just like we
do. And, yet, the church recognizes that
God was at work in their lives!
Before I
really begin, I understand that Quintard was a professional Christian like
me. He was paid to serve God and to lead
others in the right worship and service of God.
I get it. I also understand that
he was eventually a bishop. That means
he had power and authority and respect to get everything he wanted done,
done! Nobody ever argues with bishops or
doubts their wisdom or authority, so Quintard had that advantage going for
him! Good, you are laughing and
understand that people are people, regardless of the age.
To refresh
our memory a bit, Quintard served as both the physician and chaplain for the 1st
Regiment of Nashville. Had the officers
had their way, Quintard would not have served in that dual role. In fact, the officers wanted nothing to do
with Quintard. He and his church let
their slaves worship with them. He was a
northerner. He was a Yankee
sympathizer. He may have married well,
but one cannot shake the stink of the north by virtue of marriage. Had the rank and file soldiers not insisted,
Quintard would not have served in that role.
The soldiers demanded of their officers that Quintard be their surgeon
and their chaplain. To be sure, it did
not rise to the level of mutiny, but it was a passionate discussion.
In the
aftermath of a battle near Versailles, I think it was, Quintard was tending to
soldiers. Such was his calling, Quintard
cared for both Confederate and Yankee soldiers, both physically and
spiritually. Remember, he was a doctor
and a priest. Outside Versailles, KY, he
met a prisoner and treated him. Bishop
John and I tried to remember his name at the conference last week, but we both
came up blank. Our best guess was that
it was Charles Taylor, but I really don’t think that right. In any event, the name does not matter too
much.
The
soldier’s injuries were grave but not life-threatening. As Quintard tended his wounds over those
days, the soldier began to open up about the spiritual wound. God was clearly on the side of the North,
this soldier insisted. All men were
created by God to be free. Why, then,
had the Confederates won the battle? Why had so many Northern soldiers lost
their lives and been wounded? Quintard,
of course, was able to share the wisdom of Scripture. Sometimes, God’s people lost battles even
though they were God’s people. At times
they were disobedient, and defeat chastised them. At other times, more was going on than was first
apparent. Plus, Quintard reminded the
soldier, our God was a God who delighted in redemption and rebirth. When all seemed lost and God stepped in, no
one could mistake or avoid His presence, His victory.
If that was
all there was to the account, you would all feel warm inside. The man healed, eventually made his way back
to the North, and wrote his journal.
That would be our assumption. A
Christian priest and surgeon tended to a faithful soldier. A Confederate and Yankee on the battlefield
exhibiting reconciliation. Right?
There’s
more. We all know that, following the
war, Quintard was elected bishop of Tennessee.
We even know that his consecration, because it was attended by bishops
from the North, was covered on page 3 of the New York Times. If the Episcopal Church could recover from
the division of the War, maybe, just maybe, our country’s divisions could be
healed. In other words, our work gave
hope to the country that those deep wounds and scars could be healed.
Pretend for
a second you are a northern bishop. How
would you react to being invited to attend a consecration for a Southern
bishop? Some of your flock had been
killed and mistreated by Southerners.
How quickly do you really think you’d go? Yes, I know.
We famously left their seats vacant at General Convention and House of
Bishop’s meetings. Our church wanted to
get back together when the war started.
Most of the bishops, as we can well imagine, were not excited about
attending Quintard’s consecration by the time the war was over. Amazingly, some received letters from
soldiers, detailing Quintard’s work for them and among them. He treated Northern soldiers as his own. He cared for both their physical and
spiritual wounds. He was a beacon of
hope in a dark time of their suffering.
They encouraged and implored bishops to go. And some did.
Enough did that the New York Times took notice.
As you all
know, Quintard eventually moved his see from Sewanee to Memphis. Most of us know the stories of the plagues
that struck Memphis in the 1870’s and 80’s.
It was then that Quintard put out a call to Constance and her companions
to join him in Memphis caring for the orphans, educating them. Prior to accepting his call, Constance and
the nuns made two demands. Remember when
you laughed at the respect and authority shown to bishops? Even back then, people haggled. Anyway, Constance and her companions made two
demands: (1) The bishop would be their spiritual counselor, and (2) he would
made the Eucharist available to them on a daily basis. Quintard agreed to their demands, and the
ladies headed west and into martyrdom.
Those visiting know them as Constance and Her Companions and we
celebrate their feast day in September.
During a
lull in the plagues, Quintard needed money.
Specifically, Constance and her nuns needed money. To many children had been left by the plagues
to fend for themselves. They needed more
schools. They needed more beds. So Quintard headed to England to raise funds.
But, he
remembered his promise to the nuns. So,
he put out a national call to clergy to come and celebrate the Eucharist
daily. Remember our Yankee soldier? It turns out life had an interesting twist
for him. I forget what his injuries
were, but he was unable to return to his pre-war job. After some attempts at other jobs, he found
himself discerning a call to the priesthood.
His bishop ordained him priest.
And when he heard of the call by now-bishop Quintard, guess who was
quick to answer? He came and served the
nuns, to help keep Quintard’s promise to them, so that Quintard could raise the
money they would need to care for, house, and educate the orphans in their
charge. He also ministered to those
faithful men and women who served Christ unto death, losing their lives in the
plague.
As he
shared in one of those archival tidbits we have in the diocese, he had the dark
ministry of watching those saints die in his presence. God did not ask him to lay down his own life,
much to his regret. But he found the
strength and courage to do the work God had given him to do. Frankly, it does not surprise me too
much. He had already lived through his
own spiritual death when he encountered then-chaplain Quintard. He was a tool already prepared by God for the
work He had given him to do.
Now, I have
talked mostly of professional Christians this morning. I realize I need a common everyday person to
relate better to you. Remember the need
for funds and space? During one of the
earlier plagues, Quintard and the nuns had put out calls for help. Such was the response was that there simply
was not enough room to keep those who came to minister and those to whom they
ministered. Enter a woman by the name of
Annie Cook. If you know Memphis, her name
may be tickling your memory. You have
seen her name on plaques listed as one of the martyrs. A landmark even exists to her, apparently.
Annie, as
it turns out, had a large house or establishment with empty beds. We might say it looked a bit like a bed and
breakfast. Apartments upstairs with a
gathering big room downstairs. Her
building was immaculate, what you and I would call 5-star. You see, she discovered early in her work
that her clientele expected certain accouterments. So, she made sure her establishment had the
best woodwork, the nicest wallpaper, great china, wonderful servants, and, if
you have not figured out Annie was the “Memphis Madame,” educated and
well-trained prostitutes. Annie ran a
brothel in Memphis.
One
unfortunate consequence of any plague, of course, is that the wealthy fled the
city. Her girls did not service the
riff-raff; they serviced men of quality.
When the rich men, whose refined tastes had caused her to lay out the
interior of her establishment the way that she did, she had an empty building. She offered the building’s use to the bishop
and the nuns.
Can you
imagine that discussion? Can you imagine
a madame walking up to that stern looking Quintard—all his pictures show him as
very stern and serious—and offering her brothel to house the priests and nuns
and others who came in answer to his call?
Quintard and the nuns, of course, graciously accepted her offer. They even told her of another story, of a
prostitute in Jericho, who famously hung a red piece of cloth out a window, and
who was eventually grafted into God’s family.
Annie, unlike our priest earlier, laid down her life in service of those
who ran toward danger, to answer the call of our Lord and His Church. Something in their work, in their treatment
of her, in their relationships with each other, caused her to make as generous
offer as she could. And, although she
also had means to flee, she stayed and worked among them. And we count the Memphis Madame as a
martyr. When you and I get to heaven,
she will be one of those closest to the throne.
We, in all our self-righteous indignation were we to encounter her today
in the world around us, will be looking at the back of her head, so close will
she be to His glorious throne.
In truth,
brothers and sisters, even though I have done a far better job than that inane
collect and pithy biography the wider church uses today to tell this story, I
have sold this glorious tapestry short today.
Adventers stood up to officers and demanded that Quintard be their
surgeon and Chaplain. Adventers gave
funds to Quintard that were the seed money for various projects of Quintard,
from re-building Sewanee to building what became historically black churches in
the Episcopal tradition to building the first black seminary on the campus of
Fisk. It was Adventers who prayed for
their rector feverishly when he became bishop, that he might have the strength
and perseverance to do the work God had given him to do. Pull a thread, brothers and sisters, and what
happens to that tapestry?
In a couple
weeks, of course, we will leave the manifesting light and season of Epiphany
and begin the inward catalogue of our sins and our need of a savior. But this week, this season, we are reminded
of the call that God has on each of our lives and of the responsibility and
privilege we share, as His sons and daughters, to be those lights in the world
around us. When I have a moment to spare
and can peruse our stories, these are the things I read. These are the things that give me hope, and I
share them in hope that you, too, will be inspired. You see, the Adventers in all these stories
are just Adventers, men and women like you and me. They came to Sunday services for
worship. They met midweek for other
opportunities for fellowship and worship.
They served on Vestries. They
taught Sunday School and the Bible. And
we know them, because we are them.
Chances
are, as I say that, some of you internally snorted. But think of this for just a second. Who invited you to serve God, to worship God,
at Advent? Polly Longhurst? Anne MacGruder? E. Cornelius Allen – I do that because Susan
told us he hated that name, hated that name so much he cursed his son with
it!? There is likely an Adventer who
invited you or convinced you to stay rather than to keep fishing for a new
church home. There was something in
somebody that made you think you wanted to know them, to understand their
faith, to find their peace, to experience their joy, to serve God in the weird
and unique way they did. Who do you
think invited them? Other Adventers just
like us. That pattern of invitation and
relationship stretches back less than 2 centuries. Adventers finding Adventers finding
Adventers.
Our
spiritual ancestors knew the need and they knew the value of such
relationships. No one, no one they met
in their daily life and work was beyond the grace and redeeming love of our
Lord. At times, they were truly
recognized to be the lights of their generation. Our ancestors fought for the poor to be
allowed to worship God with dignity. Our
ancestors made that incredible step of humanizing slaves, and allowing them to
worship God with them. Our ancestors
made sure, after the end of the war, that their own were equipped and empowered
to accomplish God’s will in their life, to the best of their abilities and
prayers.
Brothers
and sisters, we live in a world that has gotten even darker. We may not be shooting at one another right
now, but we are encouraged by the world to hate those who disagree with us on
whichever issue. We are encouraged by
the world to be superficial, to avoid deep relationship in favor of 140 character
tweets or five second photographs. We
are encouraged by the world to chase the accouterments of wealth in the forms
of shiny baubles called big houses and fancy cars. We are encouraged to live with loneliness and
deal with it via numbing drugs or a parade of partners in sexual
encounters. Over and over and over
again, the world rejects God, rejects His love, rejects His truth, rejects His
mercy.
My list of
darkness could go on and on. No doubt
yours does, too. And, crazy as it
sounds, the Lord has called each one of us to go forth into that darkness, not
so much to battle evil and darkness, as simply live our lives as if we have
been truly baptized into His death and His Resurrection, as if we truly believe
Mary and the women encountered Him alive at His tomb and His Apostles and
disciples encountered Him in a locked empty room or going about their lives. He calls us to pray always, to serve others
always, to invite others always, to trust always. And in those little flickerings of candles we
bear, His glory shines forth. We may not
always see the potential of his glory in our callings. Do you think Annie Cook had any idea folks
from Nashville would remember her life and witness? Do you think that soldier in Versailles had
any idea of God’s call on his life? Do
you think Rector Quintard had any clue at all about what God would use him to
do? Do you think the famed Bishop Otey,
the one who recruited Quintard to ministry, had any idea what would come of the
surgeon turn priest’s vocation? Do you
think that soldier-priest, that madame, or that surgeon-chaplain had any idea
how God would be glorified in their lives?
Of course not. And neither do
you! But, my friends, here’s the
glorious news, like those who came before us, we have the choice to accept or
reject His call on our lives. It is
given to you and me, to use the language of the Gospel lesson today, to invite
others to that wonderful Feast prepared since the foundation of the world. What do we have to lose in saying yes to His
call? Anonymity? Possibility?
I am, of
course, grateful that the Gospel lesson associated with Quintard is the
invitation to the feast. Inviting should
be the description of Adventers. You sit
here because someone invited you, or made you feel at home, to use more modern
vernacular. This, this gathering of
sinners and hypocrites was the place where you perceived you could enter into a
true relationship with God through the Risen Christ. This place was a place where you could trust
those around you to mourn with you during times of mourning or great
sadness. This place was a place where
you could trust others to celebrate with you those times of great joy. This place was a place where you felt you
could be led into deeper relationship with God and trust that your loved ones,
and those in your care, could likewise be led into a similar relationship.
In
reminding ourselves of the stories today, we remind ourselves of that great
chain that makes up this parish and all of Christianity. Nearly all of us are here because someone
invited us, because someone took our Lord’s command to heart and invited us, the
emotionally crippled, the blind to what was going on around us, those who could
not be bothered to lift a finger to help others because of our own exhaustion
or self-judged moral superiority, to use a modern riff on Jesus’ words, to
taste His dinner, to experience His love and joy, and, having been transformed
by His saving grace, join those who invited us in searching the back roads, the
forgotten alleys, and the wildernesses around us to invite all whom we meet at
our Lord’s command.
We are
truly blessed in these stories my brothers and sisters. I have preached long and none of you have
given me that pew shuffle “are you finished yet.” Why? It’s
because we know the characters involved.
The people who sat in the first pews of Advent were just like us. Those who sat in the pews at the second
location were, again, just like us. We
love these stories because they remind us that God’s promises are near, and not
far off. If God can take a stern doctor,
a businesswoman engaged in less than honorable practices, a wounded soldier, a
faithful giver, a faithful intercessor, an Adventer, and turn them into saints,
what can He not do for each one of us gathered here today?
Who
knows? Maybe. Just maybe God may use your faithfulness to
reach into the loves of Adventers yet to come, that His glory, His light, might
illumine them as gloriously as it does you!
In Christ’s Peace,
Brian†
