You Belong

Tough week last week, at least in terms of dealing with the reality of human mortality. First, a man in his early 40s killed himself. His parents are Episcopalian, so they wanted the funeral to be at Christ Church. Then, a woman in her 70s (I think) contacted me to come see her as she prepares to die from cancer. Finally, I received a call from a family to come to the hospital to baptize a baby born prematurely who had died.

In each of these cases death came -- or is coming -- prematurely. For each of these families, there is deep sadness and pain.

What I'm struck with is how each of these families reached out to the church. In some way, they needed to know that they were cared for and loved not only by God but by a community of faithful people. Perhaps this doesn't seem strange to you, but according to the American Religious Identification Survey, 27% of Americans do not expect to have a religious funeral. That's over 80 million people!

In the case of the woman who is dying of cancer, she wants desperately to be a member of the church. She does not want to die isolated from a community or from God. It is not enough for her that I officiate at the funeral or bury her. What will give her peace of mind is knowing that she belongs, that she has a place, a people and a community, to which she is intimately a part.

She asked me what she needed to do to become a member. Well, I suppose I could have gone through the list of expectations and hopes we have for members. I could have talked about making a financial pledge, participating in worship, giving time, etc., etc. In other words, I could have talked about institutional stuff, the stuff I normally talk about.

Instead, I simply said, "You're a member. You belong. I'm the rector and I can decide that. You are now a part of Christ Church." In essence, I told her what she needed to hear (and what I believe to be absolutely true): she belongs.

To say she (and her family) felt relieved is an understatement. I think they were expecting me to set up a bunch of hoops for her to jump through to be a part of the Christ Church community. They certainly weren't expecting a simple embrace and acceptance (and I'm not touting myself to be a great priest here; I can't imagine doing anything else because I believe it is what Jesus would do).

Somehow, this all says a lot to me about how we need to be the church in the world today. It's so easy to fall back on institutional processes and rules. But what Jesus says when people approach him is "Come and see" (John 1:39). Do we need to do anything else?

I suspect one of the reasons that 27% of Americans do not want a religious funeral is that they look at us and see only institutional religion, not a loving, Jesus centered community. It's tempting to say that folks out there just don't understand us. But that's not good enough. We need to find a way to break down the doors and walls we have erected, the ones that make it too difficult to belong. We need to invite people to come and see. And when (or more likely, if) they do, we need to embrace them and welcome them home.

Starving and Searching in the Airport

Almost constantly, people, sometimes only one and other times several, stop and look up at the monitors. They are searching, searching for the flight on which they have a seat, hoping that it is scheduled to leave on time. I have the perfect vantage point to watch them, sitting here in the Austin airport waiting for my own flight to Boston and home.

So many people wandering through the airport. Some are waiting to depart. Others are arriving at their destination. Some are going home. Others are leaving home.

I'm struck by how little any of us pay attention to each other. Except for the occasional "excuse me" as we try to get around each other with our carry on bags, we are close together and very far apart.

And yet, we are all searching . . . for a flight, for an escape from home, or for a return from home. And, at least for most of us, we are seeking for so much more, something deep in our hearts and souls that resonates with "home" and our desire to be grounded in relationship with others.

According to Tony Jarvis, who spoke so eloquently and passionately at the conference of the Consortium of Endowed Episcopal Parishes this morning, what most of us are searching for is God. "People are starving," he told us this morning. They ask themselves existential and spiritual questions, whether consciously or not. Why should I get up this morning? What is the purpose of the work I do? What does all of this mean? What will I find when I get off the plane at another airport in another city?

Quoting Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, we were reminded that we are not human beings on a spiritual quest but that we are spiritual people on a human pilgrimage.

"People are starving," he told us. "They are starving for God." And they are starving for relationships, authentic relationships of love and grace. Here in the airport, surrounded by a crowd and yet so very alone.

As I watch people searching, searching for flight numbers and gates and destinations, as I ponder what Tony Jarvis said this morning I hear a woman named Kate Eaton singing the words "Follow me" over and over and over again (I'm not hearing voices, by the way, only listening to her CD "Arise" through iTunes).

Follow me. The words of Jesus to a starving people 2,000 years ago. Follow me.

What might happen if, as the Body of Christ in the 21st century, we simply repeated the invitation to all of these people who are searching and waiting and hoping and questioning? What might happen if instead of trying to answer all of their questions, we simply introduced them to Jesus? What if, instead of a program, we simply invited them into a relationship with the One who will welcome them home as they are and feed them with abiding love?

Oh, that sounds so simple . . . and so complex at the same time.

They're still looking up at the monitors. Shall we invite them to come home?