Alice's Sermon from Sunday, August 25th

In the quiet of your day, take time to read these words for you by Alice.

May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of our hearts be always acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Over two thousand years ago, far across the Atlantic Ocean, living at the far end of the Mediterranean Sea, there was a young woman named Mary. We don’t know too much about her. But this Mary, she was engaged to Joseph. And before they came together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. I’m sure you remember the story. It’s the beginning of the greatest story ever told.

Well, anyway, Joseph, being a just man, and unwilling to put her to shame, resolved to divorce her quietly. But as he considered these things, behold! An angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” Now all this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel. (which means, God with us).” When Joseph woke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him: he took his wife, but knew her not until she had given birth to a son. And he called his name Jesus.

Emmanuel--God with us. I thought of this story when I heard the Kings reading that Ellen just read so well for us. Look at the scripture: God says of His holy temple: “My name shall be there.” My name shall be there. In Jesus, In Emmanuel, we have God’s name, God’s own self with us. This chapel was named for that promise, and this space, this community of faithful gathered, is a testament to that promise fulfilled. “My name shall be there,” the Lord says. All you have to do is to approach the carefully tended gardens outside and enter this chapel to know that is true. Generations of faithful Christians have tended this place, believing that God’s house is worthy of being built and savored and cared for. It pleases one’s soul to see such a thing today.

For we know, don’t we, that nothing can compare with God. In God, we find beauty and goodness and freedom. We find mercy, compassion, forgiveness. We find health and hope. We become alive again and we know in our souls that the name of God, the presence of God, is more precious than gold. Our life in God is more important than anything else. Truly, what can compare?

We come to church because we need it viscerally like we need food. We need to remember and receive Emmanuel, God with us. I enjoyed reading about the founding of this church in 1888. A letter states, “Miss Caroline L. Rideoute, a summer resident, urged the building of a church, and one day Miss Mary Greene surprised me by sending a letter in which she said that she and her sister, Miss Margaret, would give two thousand dollars toward the building of a church in memory of her sister, Mrs. Casper Crowninshield, who had died in Dublin, December 28, 1885. Although some of us thought that a church was not needed, the Town Hall serving our purpose pretty well, there was nothing to do but build.” I love that line: there was nothing to do but build. When we dream with God, we can urge buildings out of the ground. Everything falls into place. There’s nothing to do but build.

The Psalmist says it for us: “Better is one day in Your courts than a thousand days elsewhere.” I bet many days in Dublin by the glittering lake, many days here in this sacred space feel under these windows of Jesus gathering the little children, like a glimpse, a taste of that heavenly court.

Tolkien has a great story about glimpsing heaven here on earth. A painter named Niggle dreams of a magnificent tree he will paint to the glory of God. But he can only get to his canvas when he has a spare moment. His neighbor with a limp leg won’t leave him alone. People he invited in the winter come to tea and he can’t get a moment to paint. All day he thinks about the great work he is meant to do. He gets pretty cranky about this. He dreams about great roots thrusting into the earth. He paints little bits of his canvas and his dream in the cracks of his day, a touch here, a far mountain in the distance there. But when Niggle gets to heaven, he sees the tree that came to him in his dreams. It lives in full bloom, each leaf painted as he imagined it could be, in fine detail. The tree of his dreams serves as a place where the newly deceased can get their bearings before traveling more deeply into the Mountains of heaven. It is a balm to those who are just making the journey from earth. Niggle learns that his vision, the desire of his artist’s heart, was real to God, and that his life on earth with his neighbors was a part of a bigger picture he could not see. The glimpse he had of the magnificent tree lived in its fullness in God’s country.

We all have a dream, to live in the fullness of God’s vision for us. But in this fallen world, where there is so much violence, both outside in the world of pain and also inside our own hearts, we fall so very short of the full picture God intends.

My devotional, “Letting God,” had a powerful story this week. Right after World War II, in the time of that memorial window right over there, Europe was flooded with homeless, hungry children. Thousands of insecure and frightened little ones were housed in refugee camps. Can you imagine?

They were lovingly cared for and adequately housed and fed. However, the children could not sleep. They were restless and never able to relax.

A psychologist had an idea. After the children were put to bed, they were each given a slice of bread to hold. If they wanted more to eat, more was provided. But this particular “bedtime bed” was not to be eaten--it was just to hold. This slice of bread produced a miracle. The children went to sleep, subconsciously feeling they would have something to eat tomorrow. That assurance provided calm and restful sleep.

Our Lord gives such assurance. Jesus says, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them.” He places bread in our hands this morning, bread to not only hold or eat, but to actually become a part of who we are. We know, as we take communion, as we worship in this beautiful space, that we have been to the courts of God. And on this earth, that glimpse is enough. For our own flaws are covered over by Christ who gave his life for us, and we can trust him completely. For God is with us. There is enough for each of us today, and there will be enough tomorrow. Amen.