Lucy Harvey

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
April 18, 2021

Lucy Harvey 

          The annual Christmas pageant is a big deal at Christ Church for a whole variety of reasons, as is true in many churches.  At Christ Church, you might be impressed with the well-crafted stage sets, the camel that sways to the hymns, or the little sheep that tend to be everywhere except where they are supposed to be.  But for me and for many, the highlight of the pageant is the angel who comes up the aisle with all the other angels to give glory to God and worship the baby Jesus.  However, this joyful angel is in her wheelchair being pushed by an adult or older angel.

          This angel, of course, is our Lucy.  Throughout scripture, angels are messengers sent by God.  The message they are sent to bring is often a challenging one, such as when Gabriel told Mary that she would bear a child, or when the angel appears to Isaiah to send Isaiah off on a difficult mission.  There were certainly challenges to the message the angel Lucy brought us.  But in the Christmas story, the angels bring good news of great joy to all the people.   Lucy, as a Christmas angel, sums up the good news of great joy for all of us.

          What is this good news?  In 2 Corinthians, the Apostle Paul reports that God said to him “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."  This is similar to what Jesus says in the reading from John when asked “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’”  Jesus responds “‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.”  God’s power is made perfect in weakness, whether the weakness of a baby born in a manger, or the weakness of a man hanging on a cross, or the weakness of a child with challenging medical and development disabilities, or the weakness of our own challenges that bring us to our knees.

          Lucy showed us what God’s power looks like.  God’s power is found in “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, and whatever is commendable” in the words of the reading from Philippians.  God’s power is found in love that is “patient, and kind, not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude, love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things,” in the words of 1 Corinthians.  God’s power is a power that is present with us so that we are not overwhelmed by the rivers of live nor consumed by life’s flames.  As a Christmas angel, a messenger from God, being present with us in her wheelchair, singing along in her own way, Lucy brought us the good news of God’s presence with us, God’s love for us, and God’s claim on our lives… in a way almost too deep for words.  The power of God is made perfect in our weakness. 

          The words of Isaiah hold true this day as we grieve the death of Lucy.  Grief is terribly hard work and can make us feel horribly weak.  But God says to us “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.”  Grief is the power of love at work, love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

          What our love believes and proclaims is that Lucy lives on in the lives of those who received her organs and tissues, an incredible gift of life.  Lucy lives on in our lives when we live with the love, patience, pureness, and strength that she taught us in her 14 years.  But, as Christians, above all, our love believes and proclaims that Lucy was joined with Jesus in his death and resurrection at her baptism 14 years ago.  In her death on Easter night, Lucy joined Jesus in that place where the power of love is stronger than any other power, where the power of life is stronger than the power of death, and where God’s power has been made perfect in Lucy.

                                                                                      Amen.

Hunger

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
April 18, 2021

3 Easter B

When I was a child, Casper the Friendly Ghost was one of my favorite TV cartoons.  The options were limited in the early 60's, but Casper captured my heart.  Casper was a child ghost, a friendly ghost, who wanted nothing more than other children to play with.  The children in the cartoon adored Casper and envied his abilities to walk through closed doors, fly, let people walk right through him, appear and disappear whenever he wanted to.  Adults, on the other hand, were terrified of Casper.  All they could see was a ghost.  Ghosts were scary, even evil, so Casper was not someone that the adults wanted around their children.  Many hearts were broken throughout the cartoon series, but by the end of each episode, Casper was the hero because Casper had done something no one else could do to save the day, simply because Casper was a ghost. 

          When the risen Jesus appeared among the disciples, they were startled and terrified because they thought they were seeing a ghost.  I sometimes wonder how the story would be told if Jesus had appeared to a group of children.  “Wow!”  I can hear them say.  “How did you do that?”  “What was it like in the tomb?”  “How’d you get out?”  What kind of noise did it make?” “Can we touch you?”  But children are absent from the resurrection stories, for whatever reason, and we get the adult response to the resurrected Jesus.  To prove that he is not a ghost, Jesus says “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself.  Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones that you see that I have.”  While their terror was replaced by joy, the disciples were still disbelieving and wondering.  So Jesus asks “Have you anything to eat?”  And Jesus is given a piece of broiled fish which he eats in their presence.  Eating proves to the disciples that not only is this Jesus, but that Jesus is truly alive; not a ghost, but a living, breathing, eating, resurrected human being.

          “Have you anything to eat?”  We have heard Jesus ask that question before.  Jesus asks that question when there are 5000 people to be fed and he takes the few loaves and fish that he is given and blesses that food and all 5000 people are fed with baskets of food left over.  At the last supper, Jesus takes the bread and wine that he is given, blesses it and gives it to the disciples.  On the road to Emmaus, immediately before our gospel lesson this morning, Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to the two disciples he was with and they recognized him.  There are many stories in the gospels where Jesus takes food and gives it to others.  And we expect this story to be the same when Jesus says “Have you anything to eat?”         

However, this story is different.  Jesus takes the fish he is offered and eats it himself.  He eats it, not just to prove that he is alive, but because the resurrection has created a new reality.  Before, Jesus did the feeding.  Jesus fed others that they might know him in the breaking of the bread, that they might know the power and the love of God.  Now, the disciples are to feed Jesus, that the world may know the power and love of God.  

          This new Easter reality is reflected in the reading from Acts where the same Peter who denied Jesus three times is now speaking to his fellow Jews about the power of God to change lives, a power Peter experienced for himself on Pentecost.  The people are gathered at the temple where a man lame from birth has been healed through the action of Peter and John.  The people are amazed at what Peter and John have done, but Peter knows that the two apostles have simply been vessels for God’s power.  Peter, a Jew, is speaking to Jews about the power of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to overcome death, to forgive, to heal, and to make all things new.  Peter wants the world to know the new reality that has been created by the power and love of God.

          The resurrected Jesus comes to us, not as a ghost, but in a variety of people with a variety of hungers and says “Have you anything to eat?”  People are hungry to know the power and love of God.  Some are hungry for physical food and our work with the Hudson Food Pantry and Open M helps show them the love of God.  Some are hungry for a place to live and we serve them through Habitat for Humanity and Family Promise.  Some are hungry for the safety and security that comes from getting out of a violent relationship, and we are working to serve them through our support of Hope and Healing, also known as the Battered Women’s Shelter of Akron, with our auction that begins today.  Some are hungry for justice and equality, and we work to better understand the systemic racism and put an end to racially motivated violence.  And many are spiritually hungry to hear some Good News, to know that the world they live in is not all there is, to know that the pain they experience does not define their self-worth, to live knowing that death does not have the final word.  We feed them by proclaiming the good news of Easter with both our words and our actions.

          In this new post-Easter world, Jesus feeds us with his body and his blood, opening our minds to understand the scriptures and the claim of the resurrected Jesus on our lives.  Then Jesus asks us to feed him, that the hungry world around us might receive the food for which they are starving and know the power and love of God.  “Have you anything here to eat?”  Easter calls us to live with eyes wide open so that when we hear those words, in whatever form they take, we do not see a ghost, but we recognize the face of Jesus.

Amen 

New

 

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
April 11, 2021

2 Easter B 

          For the last several months, as most of you know, we have been under construction at Christ Church.  Our Parish Hall has been completely redesigned and is not only more functional, but perfectly gorgeous.  The new restrooms will surprise and delight you.  The Memorial Garden will be more open and more easily used for outdoor services and functions.  And while we do not have occupancy permits yet so we cannot yet use our new space, the staff can now cut through the building rather than having to go outside to get from our offices in Beebe House to the restrooms in the undercroft of the church.  The challenge is rerouting our thinking about how we move about the building because the traffic patterns are definitely different.  We are up for the challenge!    

          While the new normal of our building is an external shift, we also enter a new normal as more and more people get Covid-19 vaccines.  This has been more of an internal shift for me.  Masks, hand sanitizer, social distancing, and avoiding large crowds are still part of our day-to-day life as CDC, state, and diocesan guidelines indicate and as we combat surges of virus variants.  But internally, I have to say, I have felt a shift, especially as we begin to regather for in-person worship.  I am filled with joy and hope as we look to a time, yet in the future, when we can gather, sing, hug, and even eat cake together, all without masks.  My internal life has begun a shift.

          The disciples are experiencing such a shift this morning.  The story begins on Easter evening, after they have heard from Peter and the other disciple that the tomb is empty and after they have heard from Mary Magdalene about her experience of the risen Christ.  The tomb is empty. Mary has seen the risen Christ!  Where are the alleluias?  The disciples are afraid and hiding.

          This passage is problematic because we are told that the disciples are hiding for fear of the Jews.  Passages such as this one have been wrongly used over the centuries to blame the Jewish people of Jesus’ time and the Jewish people as a whole through out the centuries for the death of Jesus.  The tensions between the early Christians and the Jewish people are certainly at play in this gospel, but John’s gospel is also clear that no one took Jesus’ life from him.  Jesus, a Jew, gave up his life for the life of the world as an act of love.  Any use of violence or hatred in the name of the God of love is simply wrong. 

          The real problem this morning is not who the disciples are afraid of.  The real problem is that the disciples are hiding because they are afraid.  The problem is with the disciples, not those they fear.  The tomb is empty, and Mary has seen the risen Christ, but neither the external nor the internal pattern of the disciples’ lives has changed.  They are hiding behind a locked door.  But a locked door does not stop Jesus.  Jesus enters and says “Peace be with you.”  Then Jesus says “As the Father has sent me, so I send you,” and he breathes the Holy Spirit on them.

          Thomas  was not hiding behind a locked door on Easter evening.  He is probably out trying to get on with his life, despite his grief and disappointment.  We know he is not out witnessing to the risen Christ because when he catches up with the disciples in the locked room, he refuses to believe that they have seen the risen Jesus unless he, too, sees Jesus’ wounds. 

          One week later, having seen the risen Jesus, having been sent as Jesus was sent, and having received the Holy Spirit, where are the disciples?  Still in that same room.  Easter has still not changed the patterns of their life, either externally and gotten them out of that room or internally and transformed them into witnesses to the resurrection.  And yet, Jesus shows up in that room again, to offer proof to Thomas that Jesus is, indeed, alive.

          We know that the disciples were indeed transformed by the resurrection and the patterns of their lives changed, both internally and externally.  Our reading from Acts this morning and our readings throughout the Easter season testify to their powerful transformation from fearful disciples to dynamic witnesses to the resurrection and the power of God’s love.  

          On this Sunday after Easter, we begin to move into new pattens of life together at Christ Church as we begin to live into both our new building, which was a bold action of the vestry in the midst of a pandemic and economic uncertainty, and our regathering process, a process that is too slow for some and too soon for others.  Both actions are about moving forward into a new future rather than moving back into old habits.  Both are about living in the faith and hope of the resurrection rather than hiding in fear.  Even though both actions are about our coming together as the Body of Christ here in this place, both actions are really about our ability to live as sent people.  A year ago, when we were sent home because of the pandemic, we were actually sent out into the world in a new way.  Jesus sent us all kinds of new places over the past 12 months, taking our life together out into the world online and showing us new ways to serve the world.   Even in the midst of a pandemic, Jesus called us forward, not backwards. 

          We regather in-person for worship and we will gather in our new space, not as an end in itself, but to better nourish us to be sent people, transformed by the power of the empty tomb and the risen Christ.  The patterns of our life together will shift both externally in our building and internally in our spiritual lives as we live into both realities.  Jesus calls us forward into new ways of being sent people, ways we have yet to discover, but ways that we will discover together.

                                                                             Amen.

Open

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
April 4, 2021

Easter Day 

          When I was in seminary, the Great Vigil of Easter was held very early on Easter morning.  Only in seminary can a worship service begin well before 5am and 100% attendance be expected!  Most of the faculty, seminarians and their families lived on the seminary campus, so between 4 and 4:30 on Easter morning, we would walk across the parking lot from the residences to the seminary chapel.  In all honesty, I remember very little about the service itself, what readings were used, what hymns we sang, who preached or what he or she said.  But I have vivid memories about the short, dark walk across the parking lot in the wee hours of Easter morning.  Somehow, that short walk seemed more like Easter than anything else we did.  The stark darkness and silence held both mystery and hope as we made our way to the empty tomb.  Time seemed pregnant with possibility.  The other travelers across the parking lot were silent as well as if to speak would be an intrusion on a sacred silence. 

          Mary Magdalene is also on a sacred walk in the darkness of early morning, but her walk is not one of anticipation or hope.  Her walk is the walk of the grieving, going to pay her respects to her friend, teacher, and healer.  While we expect the tomb to be empty on Easter morning, Mary Magdalene most certainly does not.  She finds the stone rolled away and the tomb open.  Her first thought is that the body of Jesus has been stolen.  What else would she think?  We can hear the fear and sorrow in her voice as she says to Peter and the other disciple “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”  After looking into the tomb to confirm that the body of Jesus is, indeed, gone, the disciples return to their homes.

          But Mary stays at the tomb.  When she finally gets up the nerve to peer into the tomb, she sees two angels dressed in white.  In her grief, Mary seems unfazed by their presence.  When the angels ask Mary why she is weeping, her grief-stricken reply is “They have taken away my Lord and I do not know where they have laid him.”  All Mary wants is to know where the body of Jesus can be found.  And then, the risen Christ asks Mary the very same question.  “Woman, why are you weeping?”  Thinking Jesus is the gardener, Mary replies “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him and I will take him away.”   The only thing in the world that Mary wants is to recover the dead body of Jesus so she can pay her respects to her friend.  Had Jesus actually been the gardener and told Mary where to find the body, she would still have grieved, but she would have been content to care for the body of her friend.

          We know what comes next, but Mary did not.  At the sound of Jesus’ voice calling her name, Mary knows in an instant that the person before her is not the gardener but Jesus.  She must have reached out to embrace Jesus because Jesus tells her not to hold onto him but to go and tell his brothers that he is ascending to the Father. 

          On Easter morning, we know that the tomb is open, the stone rolled away, and that Jesus has risen from the dead.  We rejoice in the victory of life over death, of love over hate and faith over fear.  And yet, over the past year, how many times have I gone looking for what was, longing for the ways I went about my life before the pandemic, wanting to find what we have lost and hold on tight?  In other words, how many times have I gone looking for the dead body of Jesus?  And how many times have I mistaken the Risen Christ for the cashier at Heinens, or the Instacart delivery person, or the pharmacist with the Covid-19 vaccine, or any of the many other people who have been the face of Jesus in the midst of this difficult year?  Mary Magdalene went looking for the past, a past that meant the world to her and had transformed her life, so she could properly grieve that loss.  Her grief is deep and real.  But Jesus calls her by name and calls her forward, beyond her grief, into new life.  Grief is transformed into anticipation and hope.

          In the midst of these months of very real uncertainty, frustration, and a great variety of griefs, when somedays all we really want is to go back to February 2020 and hold on tight, the risen Christ calls us by name and calls us forward into new life.  Like Mary Magdalene, our grief is real and legitimate.  And like Mary Magdalene, we do not know what the future, the new reality, will be like.  But the Risen Christ reminds us that the tomb was empty.  There is no going backwards.  The empty tomb calls us forward into a new reality, one that God is holding open for us just as the tomb was open on that first Easter morning.  The darkness of Easter morning is filled with hope and anticipation, pregnant with possibility.  Whatever circumstances, challenges, griefs, joys, or opportunities we face, life and love have won and Jesus calls us forward into new life. 

                                                                                      Amen.