W.H. Auden Meets Liturgical Rant

Nothing puts a bee in an Episcopalian’s bonnet quite like liturgical change. It brings out passion, anger, grief, and indignation (some righteous, some not so much). Those who lived through the transition from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer to the current 1979 BCP have the battle scars to prove it.

I’ve been thinking about that transition this week as I learned that the Rev. Canon Leonel Mitchell died. Mitchell taught liturgy at my alma mater Seabury-Western Theological Seminary for many years and was the driving force behind the current Prayer Book. I keep several of his books including the classic “Praying Shapes Believing” within arm’s reach of my desk.

I was fortunate enough to be at Seabury when he returned for a couple of semesters to cover a sabbatical (he had long since retired by the time I showed up in Evanston). Hearing first-hand the stories of that era’s liturgical revision was a privilege. Of course, peeking behind the ecclesiastical curtain is not for the faint of heart. But you’d never meet a more gracious and friendly living legend than Lee Mitchell (though it’s true I’ve never met Ringo Starr).

Our parish Verger, Tom Daley, recently forwarded the accompanying letter written by W.H. Auden to the rector at his parish St. Mark’s-in-the-Bowery in New York City. The missive was clearly written in the midst of this liturgical transition that Mitchell helped bring to fruition. The eloquence is classic Auden but the passion behind it is every disgruntled parishioner who has ever rued changes to the divine liturgy. The text of the letter is pasted in below. Enjoy. Then say a prayer for the repose of the soul of the Lee Mitchell.

77 St Mark’s Place
New York City 3
Nov. 26th [year not given]

Dear Father Allen:

Have you gone stark raving mad? Aside from its introduction of a lesson and psalm from the O.T., which seems to me admirable since few people go any more to Mattins or Evensong, the new ‘liturgy’ is appalling.

Our Church has had the singular good-fortune of having its Prayer-Book composed and its Bible translated at exactly the right time, i.e., late enough for the language to be intelligible to any English-speaking person in this century (any child of six can be told what ‘the quick and the dead’ means) and early enough, i.e., when people still had an instinctive feeling for the formal and the ceremonious which is essential in liturgical language.

This feeling has been, alas, as we all know, almost totally lost. (To identify the ceremonious with ‘the undemocratic’ is sheer contemporary cant.) The poor Roman Catholics, obliged to start from scratch, have produced an English Mass which is a cacophonous monstrosity (the German version is quite good, but German has a certain natural sonority): But why should we imitate them?

I implore you by the bowels of Christ to stick to Cranmer and King James. Preaching, of course, is another matter: there the language must be contemporary. But one of the great functions of the liturgy is to keep us in touch with the past and the dead.

And what, by the way, has happened to the altar cloths? If they have been sold to give money to the poor, I will gladly accept their disappearance: I will not accept it on any liturgical or doctrinal grounds.

With best wishes
[signed]
W.H. Auden

RIP Chris Henderson

I almost never, ever post sermons on my blog because 1) if people cared that much they’d show up at church and 2) there’s nothing worse than reading someone else’s sermon on a blog. The church website is one thing; for me, at least, the blog is something else entirely. So, unless I ever change the name to something exciting like “Father Tim’s Sermon Blog” don’t expect to see sermons here (as compelling, engaging, humorous, spiritually-uplifting, and life-transforming as they may be).

Enough people have requested copies of this one, however, that I’m making an exception. This was preached last week at the funeral of parishioner Chris Henderson. Chris was a young man who died of cancer at 37 leaving behind his wife Heather and three-year-old son Colin. They’re an amazing family and it was a privilege to get to know them throughout this process. Please keep Heather, Colin, his sister Emily, and parents Linda and Richard in your prayers in the days, weeks, and months ahead. And may Chris’ soul and the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace and rise in glory.

 A Sermon from the Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evanangelist in Hingham, Massachusetts
preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck on February 16, 2011.

After the cancer had moved into his bones and caused Chris’ right arm to fracture, I spent a couple of hours with him and Heather and her parents in the Emergency Room at South Shore Hospital. As we were waiting for his transfer to Mass General in the midst of a snow storm, and Chris was in excruciating pain, I asked him if he had ever broken anything before. And without missing a beat he looked up at me and said “Just a lot of hearts.”

Throughout his valiant battle with the disease that would take his life, Chris never lost his sense of humor. And while many of us come together this day with hearts that are indeed breaking over a situation that seems so unjust, we can also give thanks for having known a man of profound courage, faith, and love. A man whose devotion to family and friends was the trajectory upon which his life was defined.

If there is one thing that the Christian faith teaches us about death, it is that it is not the end. Through his resurrection, Jesus destroyed the bonds of death by bridging for us the giant chasm between this life and the next. And so, while Chris’ mortal body has passed away, his soul has not. His very essence has not died but has rather entered into a larger, more abundant life. A place without suffering and without reproach; a place of hope and joy and peace and comfort. Now I realize this can feel like cold comfort in the midst of such raw and bitter grief. Just because Jesus took away the sting of death does not mean that death stings any less. Especially when a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a friend is prematurely taken from us.

But the good news for us is that in the life of faith there are no permanent goodbyes; there are merely temporary farewells. Though our mortal bodies pass away, we live on eternally. And on the last day we, too, will rise with Jesus Christ and join with Chris and all the faithful departed from every generation who have come before us. That is both the hope and the power of the resurrection.

And so while we’re left with many questions about why this happened; about why such a beautiful life was cut short; about why God chose to call his servant Chris home; there is no doubt about where Chris has gone.

A few weeks ago – although it quite literally feels like a lifetime ago – Chris was sitting in this very space – right there in the front row – as we baptized his niece, Lydia. He was having a good day and he was so clearly thrilled to be here to mark this special occasion. His mother, Linda, recently shared with me that Lydia was wearing the same white baptismal gown in which Chris was baptized.

And what a profound connection. Because in baptism we are buried with Christ in his death and raised with him in his resurrection. In baptism we are marked as Christ’s own forever. Not for awhile or only if we’re on our best behavior. But forever. A forever that begins as the sign of the cross is made upon our foreheads and continues to mark us as Christ’s own even as we remember, in our humanity, that we are dust and to dust we shall return.

On Thursday night as the family was gathered at Heather and Chris’ home on Hersey Street, I administered the Episcopal Church’s version of Last Rites. Chris was resting comfortably and quietly as we said the Litany and I anointed him for the final time – again making that sign of the cross on his forehead in remembrance that he would always belong to God. At the end of our time together he slowly but quite deliberately reached out and took Heather’s hand. It was a moment that transcended words. A moment that spoke volumes about Chris’ priorities in this life.

And in the same way, at virtually the same moment, Jesus was reaching his hand out to Chris; welcoming him home into that place where there is no pain or suffering or grief but only life eternal.

Everyone sitting here in this packed church has been indelibly changed for having known Christopher Henderson – Topher to so many of you. For those who have known him and loved him, know that he will always be a part of you. That while his body was broken his spirit will never die.

And so we’re left with a choice. You can either be defined by death or defined by resurrection. Chris chose to be defined by resurrection; he chose to live as an inspiration to others – not that he would necessarily admit that. But his grace and humor and humanity will survive and inspire us long after this day. And that’s the legacy he leaves behind for each one of us. I encourage you to reflect upon the ways in which your life and the priorities that define you might be transformed for having known this remarkable man. That is his living, lasting legacy. And life is too short and precious to be lived any other way.

And finally, to Heather and Colin, Chris will always be a part of your family because he will always be a part of you. Just as nothing can separate us from the love of God – not even death – so nothing can separate you from Chris’ loving presence – not even death. And that is the good news in the midst of our sorrow. That is the resurrection hope in the midst of our despair. And it is why “even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”

Duly Installed

The Rev. Rick Swanson

I never post sermons on my blog because, frankly, no one checks out a blog to read a sermon. But I had so much fun preaching at the installation of my friend Rick Swanson as the new rector of St. John’s in the Mountains in Stowe, Vermont, that I decided to go against my unwritten rule. Plus, Rick likes to see his name in lights. Even if those lights are the ever-so-dim lights of my blog.

I’d never been to Stowe and had barely ever stepped foot in Vermont. My first impression when I stepped out of the car in the midst of the quaint village was that the place smelled like cow manure. Literally. But that just added to the charm. And according to both Rick and Bryna we’re taking a family trip out there to ski in February. Who knew?

It was a privilege to preach on such an occasion and it reminded me that close friends so enrich this whole journey of life.

The Installation of the Rev. Rick Swanson as
Rector of St. John’s in the Mountains, Stowe, Vermont
November 16, 2010
Preached by the Rev. Tim Schenck

One of the great things about being a new rector, and I’ve had the experience twice now, is that for a short time people actually do believe you can walk on water. And I don’t know about Rick but I’ve never seen a need to dissuade anyone of this notion. That seems to happen soon enough all on its own. But the start of a new pastoral relationship is a heady time for both rector and congregation. Tremendous energy and enthusiasm pulsates throughout the community, the sense of hope and anticipation and excitement is tangible. You’d have to be half dead not to feel it this very night.

The reality is that if you read any parish profile it quickly becomes clear what the parish seeks in a new rector – an excellent preacher, an able administrator, a compassionate pastor, an engaging teacher, a gifted writer, an active listener, an extroverted introvert with a knowledge of plumbing who never sleeps. In other words, they seek the Messiah.

Now I’ve known Rick for many years; I went to seminary with Rick; he’s the godfather of my eldest son; we’ve prayed together and gone to Wrigley Field together; Rick taught a low churchman from the Diocese of Maryland how to swing a thurible and gradually nudged me up the candlestick in my personal piety. And there’s one thing you should know about Rick: he is not the Messiah (and, boy, have I always wanted to proclaim that from the pulpit).

But if he’s not the Messiah, Rick is someone who is very clear about his identity – the baptismal covenant is at the core of his being. He understands that he is first and foremost a child of God. And he is a child of God because he, like all of us, has been washed in the water of baptism.

Rick is a man of prayer, a priest who truly understands that all ministry flows from the baptismal font out into the world. He will minister both with and to you and his presence will be a profound blessing to this community as it has been in my own life. He may not be the Messiah and, fortunately for all of you, neither does he have a Messiah-complex. But his whole sense of being points toward the Messiah. In Rick, you have called a faithful leader and a true partner in ministry. And I am confident that you will all be enriched by his ministry as he will be mutually enriched by yours. (And I will be enriched by having a place to stay during ski season.)

It’s telling that the gospel chosen for this occasion is the baptism of Jesus. With his baptism at the hand of John in the River Jordan, Jesus’ public ministry begins. It is the start of something new; a recognition that things have changed; and an acknowledgment that Jesus has been called to a specific ministry of salvation.

Baptism is for us, as it was for Jesus, a transformative moment in our lives. Of course most of us don’t have the slightest memory of the moment that our relationship with God in Christ was fully initiated through baptism. That’s what happens when we’re baptized as infants. But more important than remembering the specific event is that we live into our baptismal covenants throughout our lives. And that is ultimately what you have called Rick to do. To walk with you as you continually strive to live out your baptismal covenants in this place and in the world.

Now you may well ask, “If Jesus was God’s son, why did he need to be baptized?” This is the sort of question that stops Sunday School teachers and priests dead in their tracks. I once received a phone call from a panicked Sunday School teacher who was asked this very question. Fortunately the teacher did the smart thing – she told the child it was an excellent question and that she’d discuss it the following week. In the meantime she started scrambling for the answer. Of course the next week the kid had no idea why she was even bringing up the topic.

I’ve always seen the baptism of Jesus as not so much for Jesus but for us. The drama of the heavens opening and the dove descending are a public affirmation of what both God and Jesus already knew: that Jesus was God’s son. This was a clear sign to those who observed the baptism, and to us as well, that God was doing something new. It was a sign that a new age had dawned. And in this same way tonight’s Celebration of New Ministry isn’t as much for Rick alone as it is for the entire community of St. John’s in the Mountains. The gospel has, of course, been preached in this place for many years but tonight we mark a new leg on your continuing journey of life and faith. One that includes a new rector but one that doesn’t change the essentials of your witness to Jesus Christ here in the mountains of Vermont.

And moving forward in ministry, your refrain as a community of faith must echo the responses of the baptismal covenant. It must be “With God’s help.” Because you can have the greatest programs in the world; cutting edge, shiny new programs; and you can have the most cared for and tended to facilities in all of Christendom; and you can have the best liturgy in the Diocese of Vermont (and knowing Rick you soon will). But without God’s help none of it matters. It becomes busy work or empty ritual without the context of covenant with God. Without divine relationship the bones remain dry.

As you enter into this new relationship, know that Rick will not just wade in the water with you; he’ll dive right into that deep well of baptismal relationship. He will seek not just to do ministry but to continually strive for transformation with and among you.

So I apologize for letting you in on the secret that Rick isn’t actually the Messiah. But I do pray that this will be a fruitful pastoral relationship for many years to come. Rick does have an amazing array of gifts and you are blessed to have him among you as priest, pastor, friend, and fellow child of God. May you revel in this relationship and be drawn ever more deeply into the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.