HERE I AM
The Rev’d Richard Schaper
14th of January 2018, 2nd Sunday after the Epiphany
Based on 

Before I begin the prepared sermon, I feel that it is important to address the undeniable fact that during this week the President of the United States made a public statement that referred to predominantly Black nations as *expletive* countries from which we should not receive immigrants and that “we should accept more people from countries such as Norway.” This statement is a direct insult to members of this congregation and of our community. It is an insult the American Constitution and to the values for which it stands, for which so many have fought and died—including immigrants from these nations.  One of whose sons recently served as President of the United States.

This invective is in direct opposition to the way of Jesus Christ. Such a statement from the highest public official in our land should not go unchallenged by people of faith. Certainly as Episcopalians we have no choice but to call it out since we are bound by our baptismal vow “to uphold the dignity of every person.”

Especially this weekend, we remember that America is defined by the dream of Dr. King, not by the slur of President Trump. I invite you to join me in praying for President Trump, that his heart may be softened and his tongue (and thumbs) tamed. “Let the needy not be forgotten, O Lord, nor the hope of the poor be taken away.”

As it turns out, the sermon that I have prepared opens with a story about another American president—Lyndon Baines Johnson. When Bill Moyers was serving as Press Secretary for President Lyndon Johnson, he was asked to say the blessing as the Johnson family gathered around the table in the East Wing.  All bowed their heads.  Bill had barely begun when he was interrupted from the other end of the table: “Speak up, Bill. I can’t hear you!”

Bill replied: “I wasn’t addressing you, Mr. President….”

It is true: Bill Moyers was not addressing anyone who was around the table, although he was in the position of speaking on their behalf. Just as the congregant who offers the prayers of the people in the liturgy is speaking on behalf of all of us. Rather, the one who Bill Moyers was addressing was the same one that you and I come here to address.  Or—more importantly—the One whom we come here to know ourselves as being ADDRESSED BY. Namely, the one “before whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid.”  (Yes: This can be a dangerous place to come if you are hiding something!  And who among us is not hiding SOMETHING—even from ourselves….)

When we cross the threshold of St. Stephen’s, we enter into a different sort of space than the space that we have just exited. The space that we leave behind is filled with political news, family business and cell phone texting and alerts.  The space we enter has none of this.  The absence of clutter here is not accidental; rather it is purposeful and essential.  For we come into this place with the intention of addressing the God—the One in whom we live and move and have our being, and to know ourselves as being addressed by God.  At our best, we do not enter into worship in order to hear what the priest has to say this week; but rather, what God has to say to us this week—through the hymns, through the scripture, though the silence, through the choir.  This is why we come into this sanctuary, this place that is set aside for this purpose.  Of course we can pray anywhere; but it really helps to have a space that is devoted to prayer and the transcendent presence. 

The Danish theologian Soren Kierkegaard had insight into this.  He was scathingly critical of the cultural Christianity that he observed in the state church of Denmark.  The people—he said—come to church on Sunday morning with the same mindset and expectations that they had when they went to the theater on the night before.  In the theater the people are the audience, the actors are on stage, and just off stage are the prompters to remind them of their lines.  So in church these people expect that, once again, they are the audience, the minister is the actor and God is the prompter. 

 But in reality-- Keirkegaard warned-- in church the minister is the prompter, and the people are the actors—and God is the audience.  You see; you have the central role in what is meant to happen here.  The priest is just the prompter for what is meant to be happening between you and God.  This is why we refer to this worship as “liturgy”—from the Greek words that mean: ‘the work of the people’.  We all are the praying people.

This is in part what the first reading today from the book of Samuel is about.  (To me, this is one of the dearest and most important stories of the whole Bible.)  Let me tell it to you again: 

The boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord in the temple under Eli. Young Samuel was a sort of intern—low or no pay but great experience. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not wide spread, the commentator tells us.  And the same was true of the aging priest, Eli: his eyesight (we are told) had begun to grow dim so that he could not see.  Eli was lying down in his room.  

There was a lamp kept burning in the temple to signify the presence of God in the Tabernacle which held the Torah—just as we keep this lamp burning before the Tabernacle that contains the Holy Sacrament in our sanctuary. Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. 

(Have you ever wondered what it would be like to sleep in church? I mean: at night!)  

Then the Lord called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But Eli said, “I did not call you; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. 

The Lord called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call you, my son; lie down again and let me sleep!.” 

Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. Perhaps Samuel had never gone to Sunday School. He had never yet recognized the divine presence in his life or in the world around him. All of us are somewhat like this, even when we are no longer a child—ignorant of the breath around us of the Living God. 

The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and woke up Eli again, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” 

Then Eli—even Eli of the dim eyes-- perceived that it was the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, “Samuel! Samuel!” And Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

“Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” 

What an important prayer this is to remember!  When we get into a jam in life and we don’t know what to do or how to get out of it, it may be that God is leading us to learn something that is very important from the situation that we find ourselves in.  This is a good time to remember Eli’s counsel to the young boy: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”  And then, actually wait and listen to what may be murmuring in your heart. 

Eli, the spiritual guide, is awakening Samuel to the reality that there is another dimension to life, a vertical dimension, a dimension of the Spirit.

In today’s gospel excerpt, it is Phillip who gets this reminder of the Spirit directly from Jesus.  Jesus says to Phillip: “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”  In other words, Jesus tells him, if you enter into my path, you will cross over a threshold and enter into a different realm of existence—the realm of the Spirit.

Now there is also another kind of threshold that is different from the physical narthex of this sanctuary.  That is the temporal threshold of our mortal life.

If you imagine my lifeline stretching out through time, there is some point at which my lifeline is going to cross a boundary that is the boundary between this life and the life that is to come, between this world and the world that is to come.  I don’t know when this intersection is going to happen—It could happen when I’m driving home from St Stephen’s today, or it could not happen yet for several years.  But, eventually, it will happen.

This fact of our mortality has a number of important implications.  The most important consequence is that since our time on earth is limited, why not put it to the best use that we can?

I read recently the last words of Steve Jobs, who on his deathbed left us this reminder:

God has made us one way, he said:  we can feel the love in the heart of each of us, and not illusions built by fame or money, like I made in my life, I cannot take them with me. I can only take with me the memories that were strengthened by love.
This is the true wealth that will follow you; will accompany you, he will give strength and light to go ahead.

But there is also a practical implication of our limited lifetimes that is important enough to be included in our prayer book.  The Book of Common Prayer- you can look this up when the sermon is over!—speaks (on page 445) of

“the duty … of all persons to make wills, while they are in health, arranging for the disposal of their temporal goods, not neglecting, if they are able, to leave bequests for religious and charitable uses.

This is because when my lifeline crosses that boundary between this life and the life that is to come, everything I own is left over here on this side of the line.  And it all has to find a new owner—because I don’t own it anymore.  We take prudent responsibility for determining who the new owners are going to be by creating a will or trust—an “estate plan”, as it is called.  If we are parents, we naturally think of leaving our estate to our children.  But how much is best for them?  And while our children may be the most important thing in the world to us, they are not all this is important to us.  

This is why Anita and I have joined so many fellow members in including St. Stephen’s in our estate plan: because this church and its ministry is important to us  We want our estate plan to be an accurate statement of what is important to us-- what we want to stand for, now and in the future. This is why it includes St. Stephen’s. 

I invite you to consider doing the same if you have not yet done so.

When we step over the threshold of St. Stephen’s and enter into this sacred space, this sanctuary, it is well to remember all the thresholds of our lives- the threshold of this new year, as Shari reminded us last week, and of the threshold of eternity. 

When we come--as we shall shortly-- to the altar table, we come as it were to the Holy of Holies, for here the gracious divine presence is made tangible in the bread and in in the wine.  Here, if anywhere, is where we are apt to be aware of “heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending” upon the children of earth.  For we are eating the food of angels, the bread of heaven.

This is indeed the true bread of heaven which gives life to the world. 

 Whoever eats this bread shall live forever.