Groping in the darkness . . .

     The Lord is risen!  I imagine that this Easter is a bit more special for most of us.  I realize that Zoom and YouTube are better than nothing, but this is our first big gathering in over a year.  Worse, this time last year, we were meeting exclusively on-line.  I imagine that those circumstances have caused us to have some strong opinions about Easter and its importance to us.  As Episcopalians, of course, each time we gather together to celebrate the Eucharist, we remember the events of Holy Week, His Crucifixion on Good Friday, His Resurrection on this day, and His Ascension.  So, in a sense, we are always mindful of the events this last week, or we should be, that is.  But I get it.  Family dinners and egg hunts were put off.  Fancy hats were left in boxes.  New dresses and shoes were not purchased.  Given the chuckles, I suppose I have hit a note.

     I must confess that when I was in seminary, like others, I dreamed about those great Easter and Christmas sermons that would imitate Peter and cause throngs to convert.  I was reminded of that this past week as a few newer priests reached out to me about this year.  I guess in some circles it is assumed I was ordained during the tie of the Spanish Flu.  But everyone feels the need to make this a memorable Easter sermon.  What hook are you using?  What funny story are you sharing?  How do we make this Easter memorable?  I get it.

     The truth is, as you all know, God makes this event special.  What we gather to celebrate this day is something which God gives us, something to which God points us, and, let’s face it, something God knows we need.  As I was reading John’s account and praying over a sermon, I thought about focusing on faith.  Mary Magdalene, Peter, and John are all in this story.  They are superheroes of our faith.  Yet, how do they experience the Resurrection of Jesus?  They do not know what to make of it.  Despite the fact that Jesus has taught them, rather bluntly I might add, that He must suffer, die, and be raised on the third day, none of them seem to have truly understood it.  Mary thinks someone has stolen her Lord’s Body.  She goes to tell the others.  Peter and John run to the Tomb.  John gets there first and sees things from the entrance, but he does not enter.  Peter arrives behind John and enters.  Peter sees the face cloth rolled up.  For those of us who have just read about the raising of Lazarus, this would seem a strange story.  Thieves would not unwrap the Body and roll the linen strips up nicely and set them aside.  John, we are told, enters then to look around and believes.  But the next sentence confuses us, and probably relates John’s own confusion – they did not understand from the Scriptures that Jesus had to rise from the dead.  So, what exactly does John believe at this point?

     The men head back, but Mary hangs back at the Tomb.  She meets the two angels who ask for Whom she is looking.  A man appears behind her, a man she supposes in the gardener, who asks the same question.  She just wants to minister to her Lord’s Body.  She has no expectation that Jesus is alive.  In fact, she does not recognize Jesus until He speaks her name.  Then she is overjoyed and, following His instructions, returns to the place where the disciples are to tell them everything He told her.  Not unsurprising in a year plagued by pandemic, I have had far too many conversations about faith.  How much is enough?  How can I be certain that I, or a loved one, had faith to be granted admittance into heaven?  I see the nods.  You understand that logic.

     As I spent more time praying over the readings, though, I found myself drawn to the darkness.  Hear me out.  I don’t mean that I like the darkness or think the darkness is of God, at least in the sense that He wanted us not to understand Him.  I mean more in the sense that John’s Gospel is bookended by darkness, that when God creates He causes light to shine forth in the darkness.  And, as you have just read, the darkness helps to obscure the Resurrection.  Or better put, the Resurrection begins to be revealed in the darkness in John’s Gospel.  Why the focus on darkness?

     Well, as you all know, we celebrate a baptism today.  One of the babies for whom we prayed to God for safe delivery during a pandemic will be baptized into God’s family this day.  The image of baptism, of course, is the Paschal Candle and the fount.  Those outside this community think it mere superstition, but we recognize this sacrament as significant not just in the life of little Olivia and her family, but in the life of our community.  Like each of us gathered here today, Olivia will be baptized into Christ’s death through the water and promised a share in Christ’s Resurrection.  Better still, she will be sealed as Christ’s own and empowered to do the work God has given her to do in His Name.  It is a glorious promise!  It is a hope-filled promise!  But it is a reasonable faith, as we remind ourselves each and every time we gather to remember His death, Resurrection, and Ascension in the Eucharist.  It is reasonable despite the darkness.

     My guess is that when I mentioned the special nature of this Easter compared to others, most of us reflected in one way or another on the cost of the pandemic.  A year ago, we were prevented by our bishop from gathering in person to celebrate the hope and joy of the Resurrection.  Bishop John was tending his flock and listening to the advice of epidemiologists and other doctors of faith in our community.  We did not know what we did not know, but the bishop was convinced that not gathering was loving our neighbor, not exposing them to the ravages of the disease was the act of kindness.  Of course, as we learned more, things changed, as did our bishop’s guidance and allowances.  Advent re-opened in a hybrid form on the Feast of Pentecost, but services have not quite been the same.  Too many folks are still absent.  How many folk are still a bit afraid to drink from the Common Cup?  Who hear likes reserved Sacrament in a mini-muffin wrap?  And the social times, complete with hugs and other signs of affections, have been extremely muted.  Today, we will remind ourselves of God’s promises with a bit more social gathering, but it will pale in comparison to just a couple years ago.

     Individually, we have all been living in various stages of darkness.  Too many of us have had to change our activities to protect us from the pandemic.  Too many of us have lost loved ones due to this plague.  Too many of us have endured those losses in isolation; heck, too many of us have had to live cut off in order to protect ourselves or others entrusted to our care from the mortal consequences of this disease.  A few of us have even experienced what the experts are calling “Long COVID” now.  As we learn more and more, we recognize that some of the impacts of the disease are on-going.

     While all that was going on in our personal lives, we have been further exposed to the darkness of our community.  We quickly learned of the economic darkness that was ravaging communities in our midst.  In the beginning, service personnel were the source of our influx of those in need, but we became servants of immigrant families, entertainers, and who knows what other groups this last year.  Our work with the food pantry enabled us to be used by the government to help those in economic darkness even more.  We paid rents, mortgages, and utilities for those in threat of eviction, repossession, or shut-off.  Our politicians may have passed a federal law which said it was illegal to evict, but we learned quickly there is the law and then there is the LAW.  Locally, our sheriff declined to uphold the law of Congress, choosing instead to treat evictions like normal contract law.

     Speaking of politicians, thanks to a blabbermouth in a meeting, we learned that our governor, who claims to be an upstanding, God-fearing Christian in public, intended to take $730 million set aside for Needy Families in Tennessee to help spur tourism when the pandemic finally ended.  Again, money earmarked by Congress for those suffering from the pandemic was going to be re-purposed for tourism, as if any of us want folks coming and bringing the deadly variants with them.  By someone claiming publicly to be a good Christian!

     And human nature!  What have we learned about human nature but the truth proclaimed in John’s Gospel, that we love darkness, that we reject light.  How many conversations did we find ourselves in defending the wearing of a mask?  If masks would have been proven worthless, as some wanted to claim, what was the real cost to wearing them?  And don’t get me started on vaccines.  I had conversations with people who unironically believe that the vaccines are the sign of the beast, or weapons of the beast, that the vaccines will be used to trick or command all of us into hell, as if St. Paul and the other Apostles were wrong in their claim that nothing can take us from the hand of our Father, if we claim Jesus as Lord and Savior!  Yes, this year has been special because it has pointed out the darkness which we accept, the darkness in which we minister.

     Yet we gather here today to baptize baby Olivia.  Those of you ladies who have born children can understand better the darkness experienced by Eva.  Moms are always worried about doing something wrong.  Moms tend to become super protective in the midst of their pregnancy, and rightly so.  Now, too, all the normal fears about what is in the food you are eating and liquids you are drinking and the air you are breathing, add a deadly virus, a deadly virus whose affects on pregnant moms and their unborn children was unknown.  And, like so many who found themselves in hospitals this last year, the family found itself isolated.  What should have been a joyous event was severely muted.  Those of us who fear handing a newborn to someone in the best of times, just imagine sharing a newborn with people who might be asymptomatic carriers of a plague!

     And, such is the way of life, most of us understand the economic uncertainty of young parents.  Adventers, as a rule, were not adversely affected economically by the pandemic.  Those Adventers who work are a little higher on the company ladder than the twenty-somethings and thirty-somethings in our respective companies.  A number of us are retired and experiencing the fruit of a life long labor and prudent financial planning.  But it does not take a lot of imagination for us to remember what it was like, to remember how terrifying the birth of our first child was, and would have been, had it occurred during a pandemic.

     And we gather in spite of all that darkness and uncertainty, and we baptize Olivia into God’s family.  We light that little candle off the Paschal Candle, and we remind her parents, her godparents, and us, that He is sufficient for whatever she needs, that He will empower her to accomplish the tasks He has given her to do, that she is His beloved little princess.  We will remind her family and ourselves that she and we, all we who claim Christ as Lord of our lives, are princes and princesses in God’s kingdom, heralds of His grace and love, ambassadors of His kingdom.  And we remind ourselves that all the work He has called us to do in His Name will take place nearly always in the darkness and in the wilderness.

      We don’t know what call God has on Olivia’s life yet.  That is for her to discover in community.  But we know He has a purpose for her.  We know that He will use her gloriously, if she will but let Him.  And, as a people who have been venturing in the darkness intentionally, it is a reasonable faith we know we call her to join.

     Before the first service this morning, I was asked by folks if I had watched The Ten Commandments last night.  Like most of us, I watched the basketball game until it ended, but I flipped over at the point where Moses had just come down from the Holy Mountain having been given the Ten Words written by the finger of God.  A couple folks remarked how we sure could use signs and miracles like Israel got so we could know God cared.  Y’all know me, so you know how I answered.  Israel had all those signs and still chose to sin.  We have more, and still we choose the darkness.

     You and I live in a community that has given away about 100,000 pounds of food which we have not bought.  For those living in the darkness of hunger, we have been given somewhere north of 100,000 pounds of food to give away, on top of the 50-60,000 pounds which we bought with our own resources and through our stewardship.  God has provided, just as He promised each one of us He would when He adopted us into His family!  You and I live in a community that has paid $400,000-$450,000 worth of rents, mortgages, and utilities for those living in economic darkness in our midst—funds which not one single penny was provided by us!  Again, God has provided, just as He promised each one of us He would when He adopted us into His family.  Adventers have “punched above their weight” and been invited into conversations with politicians who want to claim to be Christians and yet ignore the teachings of Jesus.  And, God has used those conversations to bend the hearts of those in power.  And, lest I forget, many Adventers have had conversations with others, family members and friends, over their hope in the darkness.  As you all know, we have not been immune to suffering, death, mourning, and isolation.  People have watched us bear those evils and still see the hope of that little candle that burns inside each of us, maybe at times just flickering, that hope to which we all cling, and wonder and ask for that accounting of our faith.

     And we have answered.  Some have judged themselves not theological enough.  Some have thought they somehow failed God and needed forgiveness, but the fact that we have been asked testifies to what they see in each one of us.  Each time we celebrate that wonderful pledge of our inheritance, we pray to God for strength and courage to bear the things He has given us to do.  And they have noticed our work, our faithfulness, and our hope!

     Brothers and sisters, I cannot begin to know what this next year will hold for us as a community of faith or as individuals.  But I am certain our work collectively and individually will be in the darkness of the world.  It is out there that we are needed.  It is out there that we can shine with the grace and forgiveness and love which God gives us until that Day when He returns to judge the heavens and the earth, that Day when He promises to cast out darkness entirely, to wipe away every tear, and to share the full Light of His glory with each one of His children for all eternity!

     I said a few moments ago that John’s Gospel is bookended by darkness.  It is partially true, right?  In the lofty poetry that we read on Christmas Eve, we are drawn back to the beginning.  In the beginning . . . And here, at the end of his Gospel, we find ourselves again in darkness, this time at a tomb.  But darkness does not have the final word.  In the beginning, God speaks and commands that light burst forth!  And it does.  Light bursts forth and all that we know in creation, both the seen and unseen.  And here at the end of John’s wonderful news, we are faced with the consequences of our sins.  The one unconquerable evil of the world seems to be death.  People will go through all kinds of painful treatments to put it off.  Those more privileged will spend fortunes to take a stab at preservation.  Heck, science fiction has lots of stories that speak to our impotent longing regarding death.  And, to be sure, we are far better at staving death off today than they were in Jesus time or any other time in history.  Yet, for all our advancements, for all our technological wonder, we can only postpone death.  For us, death has the final say.  For us, death carries the sting of the final darkness.  That is why the world cannot believe, brothers and sisters.  That is why Mary and Peter and John and all the others were so surprised, so caught off guard.  Human experience is certain that death is THE darkness.

     Those who know God and His Son Jesus Christ our Lord, though, death is not the impenetrable darkness society presumes.  Death is not the final consequence to our hardened hearts and stiff necks which turn constantly from God and life to sin and death.  And Christ’s Resurrection serves as THE reminder of that truth and God’s promise.  So often, as we go through life and sojourn in this world, we are overwhelmed by darkness.  Our relationships sputter.  Our health and vibrancy fades.  Natural catastrophes seek to swamp us.  And, when we take that honest look at ourselves, when we look at ourselves through the eyes of whom we were meant to be, created lovingly by our Father in heaven, we come to the inescapable truth that we deserve the bad things, that we are sinners in His sight.  Like Mary and Peter and John we stand before a tomb in darkness, a tomb of our own making.

      But in the midst of that darkness and in front of that tomb, the glory of God shines forth.  For all who believe and confess Him as Lord, that tomb of our own making and the darkness of the world which rejects Him, His Light shines forth.  In the beginning, it is just a small flame, very much like the candle we give to Olivia to mark this Sacrament in her life.  At times it may seem to flicker.  Often it seems to us there is no way that we can share our light with others.  Heck, at times it may seem to be extinguished.  But we gather this day, this special day in both Olivia’s life and our own, to remind ourselves that that flame can never be truly quenched, so long as we believe, and that, on that glorious Day when He returns to judge the world, those who claimed Him as Lord and Savior will enter into a glorious inheritance with the saints and light, and He will rid the cosmos of darkness for eternity!  Brothers and sisters, this Easter, perhaps more so than many in our recent history, should remind each one of us of the impotence of the darkness and the power of our Father to accomplish His Will and His Purposes in our lives!

 

In Christ’s Peace,

Brian†

On the transfiguration of Quintard and ourselves . . .

      This is a big week in the life of our parish.  Today is the Last Sunday after the Epiphany.  You may remember it as Transfiguration Sunday, as it is the Sunday that we read the story of the Transfiguration, when Jesus went up on the mountain and was bathed in the glory (shekinah) of God in view of three of the apostles.  Peter famously makes the statement that it good for them to be on the mountain top and offers to erect tents for everyone.  Jesus, for His part, knows what is about to happen and tells the apostles present that they must go back into the valley and journey the path that will lead to Golgotha.

     Midweek, of course, we usually celebrate Fat Tuesday with a pancake supper.  Adventers who come by gorge on chocolate chip pancakes and blueberry pancakes and bacon and sausage and LOTS of syrup.  Those more reserved, or maybe as a pre-Lenten discipline, just have plain pancakes.  It is usually a great time to get together and enjoy God’s provision.  This year, thanks to the pandemic, we will not be gathering.  There will be no “I ate too much’s” nor any “It was so good to see . . . ’s”.

     Wednesday is Ash Wednesday.  Again.  I know for many of us, it is almost like we are Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog Day, and we have been living in one, long Lent.  I know for many of my colleagues, we have.  We move from one less worse choice to the next.  Should we gather and celebrate the Eucharist and other sacramental liturgies of the Church?  If we gather, what limits do we use?  If we gather and people ignore the limits, what should be our responses?  Have we cleaned everything well enough?  Will our air filters reduce the risk of transmission?  What if somebody is asymptomatic?  Will they infect others?  That list goes on and on and on.  Teachers and healthcare workers deal with the same questions, right?  Of course the latter know how much we just do not know yet.  We have only been fighting this disease for ten months, which means our knowledge about it is. . . incomplete.

     Tuesday is also an important day because we remember one of our own.  Tuesday is the Feast Day for Charles Todd Quintard, the second rector of Advent and the second Bishop of Tennessee.  Many places around the country will ignore his feast day this year.  The powers that be in the wider church have decided his inclusion in our calendar of saints is “problematic.”  He was a Confederate chaplain, surgeon, and officer, one explainer wrote on one of the forums I glanced at last week.  He deserves to be treated like Robert E. Lee or other traitors who supported slavery.  Another commenter, a professional clergy person like me, railed that the diaries of Nathan Bedford Forrest include comments about how The Rev. Quintard would insist on evangelizing Him about Jesus.  That comment wrote that we can never celebrate the life of someone who encamped with and ate with notorious figures such as Forrest.

     Fortunately for me, the life of Quintard is a great illustration of the transfiguration we experience, thanks to the work and person of Jesus Christ and the accompanying indwelling of the Holy Spirit when we have a restored relationship with God through Christ.  Better still, it allows us to keep the life and witness of Quintard alive in this, his very first parish—a parish that was certainly full of co-laborers in Quintard’s work.  He may get mentioned in the calendar, or did, but Adventers helped accomplish the work for which he reaps the acclaim.  Advent’s vestry voted, parishioners gave faithful of treasure and trust, and parishioners shared in the scorn and shame which was attached with doing the work of God.

     One of the challenges of speaking of a single figure every year is that the risk of a canned sermon or boredom on the part of parishioners is a real thing.  For those new to the parish or those visiting in person or online, Quintard had been largely forgotten in the parish.  On a Wednesday Eucharist in 2017, I think, I was preparing for that Eucharist, where we celebrate the life of a saint, and it was Quintard’s day.  I was reading some biographical information to familiarize myself with him, when I read he was the second rector of the Church of Advent, Nashville.  I made it two or three lines further in the biography when I had that “wait! Where?” moment.  So, while I was setting the Table, I asked those present why nobody talked about him.  Nobody knew anything about him.  So, in consultation with the Liturgy & Worship committee, I made it a point to teach about Quintard on his feast day.  Sadly, not too many Adventers came to what amounted to a patronal feasts.  So, in order to better educate ourselves about him on the Sunday closest to his feast day.

     By reason of quick summary, Quintard was a physician from Hartford, CT.  He moved to Georgia to practice medicine, after graduating medical school in NYC.  In Georgia, he married the daughter of a leading industrialist.  Eventually, they moved to Tennessee.  It was there that Quintard caught the eye of Bishop Otey, the first Bishop of Tennessee.  Otey apparently convinced Quintard he should be ordained, and Quintard was appointed the second rector of a fledgling parish in Nashville.  Church of the Advent had split from Christ’s Church over the issue of pew taxes.  Our spiritual forebears felt it was not in keeping with the Gospel of Jesus Christ to charge people to sit in pews.  Yes, we are one of those parishes responsible for switching churches to pledges from taxes!  Speaking of which, the Vestry and Jeri, and I would love it if everyone would get their pledge cards in so we can stop dealing with the budget at the Vestry retreat!  Quintard came to Advent and served as rector and physician, much like Robert Rhea does down at All Saints’, Smyrna.

     I like to think of myself as high-functioning.  I get a lot done.  But can you imagine being a physician in the 1850’s and dealing with the issues of a parish AND treating patients?  To make matters more challenging, Quintard, with the consent of the Vestry, served as supply for those parishes around town who lacked resources to provide an income for clergy.  Our relationship with Holy Trinity goes back almost 160 years!  Hilary and Nancy just rediscovered it, or rather God renewed it, with the casserole and Body & Soul work recently!

     In addition to being the first Episcopal parish and among the leaders of the national movement not to have pew taxes, Adventers were scandalous in the South.  Our forebears voted to allow their slaves to come to worship!  True, they did not allow the slaves of non-members, or even of members of neighboring parishes, to worship with them.  But their willingness to let the slaves worship with them, in the 1850’s, stood out both among the slave community and their neighboring white community.  Other slaves asked to worship, and white neighbors labeled some Adventers as words we do not repeat now.  Let’s just say they were distrusted in many quarters as willing to undermine the genteel Southern society that surrounded them.

     When the war came, Quintard signed up to serve the 1st Regiment of Nashville as both physician and chaplain.  Initially, because of his well-known Yankee support, he was denied.  The common soldiers, however, put enough pressure on their officers that he was allowed to serve.  As a chaplain and surgeon, he cared for the bodies and souls of both Confederate and Union soldiers and officers.  Northern soldiers shared how he comforted them spiritually, when they found themselves captured, even though they were convinced they were doing God’s work.  And all agreed he treated soldiers to the best of his ability, no matter the color that they wore.

     After the War, he was elected the second Bishop of Tennessee.  It was such an important event in the life of The Episcopal Church and the re-United States of America, that his consecration made page three of the New York Times!  He moved to Sewanee to help rebuild the school.  Adventers help pay for the building of a bishopric on top of the mountain, which Quintard later gave to the nuns that gave us Constance and her companions—but that is a different feast day!  After the rebuilding of Sewanee was far enough along, he moved the diocesan presence to Memphis.  I am sure part of it was the letters of neglect that he received from the western end of the diocese, but I am equally convinced that God’s providence was at work as Memphis would become the epicenter of the Yellow Fever plague, much as Wuhan was for COVID.  It just so happened that the Chief Pastor for the epicenter of that plague was a trained physician!

     There are lots of other little “side” ministries that we could discuss and lots of details that could be fleshed out, but those unfamiliar with Quintard now have a nice foundation.  Part of my job, of course, is to keep reading about Quintard to keep you engaged and to help you see God’s saving grace alive in various ways in the life of Quintard, so that maybe, just maybe, you might better perceive His grace at work in your life, and be comforted or exhorted or whatever He knows you need at any given time.

     Two new to me details stood out to me, and both illustrate a transfigured life quite well.  Does anybody know what prompted Quintard to leave the Northeast and decide to set up shop in Georgia?  I did not think so; nor did I know.  It turns out there was an outbreak of Yellow Fever in the Northeast.  Part of his reason for leaving is that he wanted to go to a less densely populated area so that he would not have to treat, and risk catching himself, the plague of the time!  Yes, in English, we might say Quintard was a coward.  He fled an area impacted by the plague to go to an area far less impacted.  I forget how Yellow Fever spreads.  Thank you, Flora!  It spreads by mosquitos.  In those days, they were not sure how it spread.  Cities, by virtue of their population density, had more cases than did the rural parts of the countryside.  It makes sense to us, right?  We were not sure how COVID spread when it first hit the shores.  People were told not to sit on public toilets or touch anything without gloves in the beginning.  Now we know it is our aerosol, but that has only been determined the last ten months.  Since there were fewer infections in Georgia, there was less risk of a mosquito biting someone infected and transmitting it.  In the cities, though, the risk was far greater!  Quintard simply went where the disease was not.  It does not sound particularly heroic or saintly, does it?

     The other tidbit I read was thanks to the colleague who was ranting about Quintard sitting down for drinks and meals with evil men and, by virtue of his membership of the Confederate army, a known supporter of slavery.  Forrest is a figure whose actions are seen through different perspectives.  As someone raised more to the north, he was introduced as little more than a butcher of human beings, Northerners to be precise.  In college, a professor insisted the North was lucky that Forrest, and other brilliant tacticians like him, were limited in how far they rose.  Thankfully for the North, far less competent generals were in charge.  Southerners in this area, have yet another perspective.  Forrest and his troops kept Northerners from raping every woman and pillaging every Southern home.  I know we like to pretend that the Civil War was not really a war in its impact on civilians.  As someone who has seen the reenactments of Bull Run, I get it.  Members of polite society came out to watch the battles much as they go to polo matches or cricket matches or baseball games today.  We like to think our soldiers warred on other soldiers and left their fellow citizens alone.  War, of course, does not work like that.  Were many soldiers honorable?  You bet.  Were there groups of soldiers little better than gangs out to enrich themselves?  Of course.  Did some soldiers rape women.  Yes.  War is called hell for a reason.  And we, who have been taught about the Great Wars, numerous regional skirmishes, and maybe even served in “limited” conflicts should understand that better.

     Anyway, it seems that our former rector took it upon himself to evangelize those officers who were not professed Christians and to disciple those who claimed to be.  How would one in that time and in that place best do it?  I had to chuckle as I continued to read comments that followed on the original.  Omigosh, one cannot be a Christian and eat/drink with men like that!  Why did The Episcopal Church ever think it was a good idea to canonize men like Otey or Quintard and name parishes after Robert E. Lee?  You get the idea.  The New York Times found hope in our ability to reunite as a Church, but our modern Christians forget that they follow a Lord who also ate with undesirables.  In their complaints, they seem more like the Pharisees and Sadducees who complained about Jesus than they do like Jesus.

     The Transfiguration of our Lord is important for several reasons.  One, of course, is that He is revealed in His glory before He walks the road to Calvary.  It is a reminder for us that what follows is not accidental.  What follows is not the world’s surprising act against the One through Whom it was created.  More importantly now, I think, in this time and in this place, I want to draw us to our inheritance and the intimacy offered by God.

     When Jesus is Transfigured, Moses and Elijah appear with him in front of the Apostles with Him.  And they converse with Him, speaking of the events that are to come.  Think back to the stories of Moses and Elijah, or go read them if you are unfamiliar with them.  Are Moses and Elijah always heroic?  Are Moses and Elijah always “saintly,” whatever that means to us?  Of course not.  Each does amazing things.  Each becomes a vessel through which God blesses the world around him.  Both, however, are revealed as fully human, read sinners.  Moses, in the end, is not allowed to enter the Promised Land because of his sin against the Lord.  And Elijah is, well, let’s just say Elijah is a whiner.

     Despite those frail human characteristics, though, despite their human sinfulness, they are largely obedient.  Though they argue and wrestle with God far too often to make us comfortable, in the end they tend toward faithful obedience.  And looks what happens.  Moses leads Israel out of slavery into the fulfillment of God’s covenant with Abraham.  Along the way Moses works a few miracles that testify to God’s grace and God’s judgment and point to the need of God’s Anointed.  Similarly, Elijah has some amazing mountain top experiences, my favorite being the battle with the priests of Ba’al, though the raising of the widow’s son is not too shabby.  For his faithful obedience, he is taken to heaven in a flaming chariot.  And now, however many years after their respective deaths, both appear with Jesus and converse with Him about the things that are to take place.  They share in the glory of God and they converse with Him, certain of what is to take place and the outcome.  That, my brothers and sisters, is the inheritance promised each one of us!  Each one of us, by virtue of our baptisms and the covenant made there, and as we are reminded every single time we gather to celebrate the Holy Mystery of the Eucharist and to be reminded of His pledge to each one of us, is promised that glory and that intimacy.  Can you imagine the audacity of a human appearing with God, sharing His glory, and talking with Him?

     Yet, how does God invite us into relationship with Him?  Israel gets its name from one who wrestled with God, Jacob.  Moses famously complains to God and even tries to wriggle out of his call.  Then, when the people are ready to overthrow or kill him, Moses fusses at God that these people He gave him are doing this!  Elijah, of course, has to learn where God is really to be found.  He thinks the great miracles will cause Israel to return to the Lord, but he learns a different lesson along the way.

     Similarly, Quintard fled a plague, in part, to keep from contracting it.  Along the way, though, he encountered the living Christ and was transfigured.  That coward or that man who valued his own life too much, served as Chief Pastor and surgeon in the epicenter of that plague from which he ran.  We may miss it, if nobody points it out to us, but that Dr. Quintard who tried to avoid the plague, by the time he is a bishop in Christ’s One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church, is willing to lay down his life serving those left behind in the city.  Remember, the rich fled Memphis and left the poor to get by on their own.  More significantly, Quintard could not do all the work necessary.  As high-functioning as he was, he had to put out a call to others to help him bear that cross.  And dozens answered!  Clergy and Christians from all parts of the country came, risking their lives, that orphans and widows and the poor might know God had not abandoned them.  That, my friends, is a transfigured life!

     The other is the meals.  I find it ironically funny that Confederate officers did not trust Quintard because of his know Yankee sympathies, but they listened to him when he spoke of God and Jesus and our Lord’s call on our life.  He was clearly an evangelist and a catechist, as those officers testify in their words about him.  He patterned his life after His Lord Christ.  Who knows the impact?  Some did not evidence an enlivened faith, but our work is simply to do the work that God has given us to do, and to witness to His saving grace in our lives when the opportunity is afforded.  Meals, as we Adventers know, are a great place.  When material needs are met, people have time to relax, to wonder, and to notice.  Often it is when we are full that we can be reached, that we can be comforted or afflicted as necessary.  How tragic is it today that profession Christians, clergy in our beloved Church, have forgotten that.  And we wonder why we shrink and shrink and shrink.  If we are only inviting desirables, the church will disappear because, in truth, none of us are desirable.

     God, of course, has a glorious answer that speaks to all that!  Pick up your cross and follow Me.  Yes, we will fail if left to our own power, our devices, our own strength.  But His reminder is that none of this is up to us!  He has done the heavy lifting.  He has done the necessary work to make it possible that we might become His children born through the Spirit!  Pick up that cross he has given each one of us, just as did our Lord Christ, and we will enter into an inheritance prepared since the foundation of the world!  And like Moses, Elijah, Quintard, and countless others, we shall enter into the glorious inheritance promised by our Lord and speaking directly with Him of those things which currently surpass our understanding! 

In Christ’s Peace,

Brian+