Rector's Reflection: Folk Just Like You and Me, November 2, 2024

Beloved Members of St. Martin’s,

This weekend we will celebrate All Saints and All Souls Day. Those saints are the “hallows” from which Halloween gets its name. Yes, Halloween literally means “the Eve before All Saints’ Day.”

Once again, I want to encourage you to be in attendance, because Denise and the choir have put together some fabulous music, meant to uplift our souls, especially in this time of anxiety as we approach Election Day here in the US.

One of my favorite hymns will close out our worship on Sunday: “I Sing A Song of the Saints of God.” Like “They Will Know We Are Christians,” this is one of the very first songs I remember singing as a very small child. 

As Denise explains in her music notes for this week, the author of this hymn is Lesbia Leslie Scott born in 1896 in Willesden, London (nee Lockett). She married a captain in the British military who later became a priest in the Church of England. As a vicar’s wife, she wrote pageants and also children’s hymns, many of which she sang to her young children as a young mother.

I love this hymn’s imagery: some saints were doctors, or shepherdesses, queen, even fighters of “fierce wild beasts.” And I loved—and still love its central message, which is summed up in the final verse:

They lived not only in ages past; there are hundreds of thousands still; the world is bright with the joyous saints who love to do Jesus’ will. You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea; for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.

This was an important message for me, as I grew up in the Methodist faith in my earliest years, so we didn’t talk much about saints, per se. When several years later I discovered the Episcopal Church, I loved our approach to saints. Sure, we recognized all the ones from the Roman church. But we also counted people outside Catholicism as saints, people like David Oakerhater and Martin Luther King Jr., Peter and Annie Cassey, Florence Perkins, Florence Li Tom-Oi, and C. S. Lewis.

And so we remember that saints are not only people who perform amazing miracles—although I still love St. Joseph of Cupertino, the patron saint of astronauts who levitated and flew around his church. But saints are regular folk, making their way through the world led by the light of Christ, who attempt to form their lives as illuminations of the Way of Jesus in the world, in ways small as well as great. People who are generous in spirit, dedicated to love of God and neighbor, and who live lives that bring honor to the Name of Christ, even if imperfectly but always with determination.

Especially in this time, let us remember that we are ALL called to be saints of God, and may we mean to each be one too in all we do.

In Christ,

Mother Leslie+

Join us for Worship at 10:30 am on Sunday, November 3rd to celebrate All Saints Day

Live by faith, grow in grace, and walk in love with St. Martin's this coming Sunday as we come together, in person as well as online, for worship, thanksgiving, and praise. Wherever you are on your journey of faith, allow us to walk alongside you.

To download a bulletin for the Sunday Holy Eucharist at 10:30 am, please click here:

24P All Saints 3 Nov 2024 LS

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The Faith to Be Healed, the Faith to Follow: Sermon for the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost, Oct. 27, 2024

Readings for Proper 25B

Job 42:1-6, 10-17

Psalm 34:1-8, (19-22)

Hebrews 7:23-28

Mark 10:46-52

 -- The Rev. Leslie Scoopmire

Once upon a time, long ago, people lived most of their lives in this strange place now called “off-line.” There were huge swathes of their lives lived without being constantly subject to telephone calls or messages that demanded an instant response. Children got up on summer mornings and bolted from the house as soon as possible to play with the other kids in the neighborhood, or simply to avoid being given a slew of chores to do. Boredom was something you never complained about to your parental units, because they would swiftly find you something to do and it was NEVER as much fun as actual boredom. Kids might even ride their bikes to the library or to playgrounds or to the movies or to the skating rink and spend hours engaged in unsupervised time playing games and talking to each other.

Now there were significant drawbacks to this time. There was segregation, racism, sexism, and injustices that went unnoticed and therefore unchallenged. Brutality too, because there were no video cameras in everyone’s pockets to capture such incidents—but also had to be done face-to-face. Not everyone could get a platform to share their opinions—which could be both a bad things and a good thing. There were smaller things. If you got into trouble and you weren’t at a friend’s house, you always carried a quarter in your sock to use a thing called a payphone to get help. If you were really in the middle of nowhere, you could be stuck there with no way of getting help. If you wanted to know something, you had to go to the library to find it out. If you wanted to take a photograph, you had to carry a camera around with you. If you wanted to listen to music, you had to have a radio.

But the world around you was right in front of you. Hours could be spent with a simple magnifying glass outside learning about the structure of leaves or the subtle difference between the way a caterpillar and a centipede moved. The bombardment of advertising that trained us to define ourselves by our STUFF was not a 24 hour proposition, and besides, to get stuff you actually had to do more than have a credit card and a button to push, leaving plenty of time to reconsider whether you REALLY needed something. To communicate, you had to physically talk to someone or write them a letter or note.

We now live in an age of wonders. It’s scary how much we take those wonders for granted, and how much those wonders can divide us when so many means of what is called “social” media exists. And instead of being around all kinds of people out in public spaces, there’s an ever greater tendency to only interact with people who look like you, think like you, and vote like you.

Too many of us live in echo chambers that emphasize continual entertainment rather than real engagement with each other, especially people who differ from us. Cooperation and compromise have become dirty words associated with surrender. We use language not to communicate but to bludgeon, to demean, to undermine trust in facts—and some do it right out in the open. The more these things are said, the more we become numb to them—and one hate-filled tweet or insta post can get over a million views. A huge chunk of us actually deny that those who are different from us ARE real people. Instead, we call them some version of the word “enemy.” We deny their humanity, and in doing so, we diminish our own.

Too many of us have become blind to the real connections that bind us together as diverse communities. And what’s worse, we don’t even know that we’ve become blind, or have time to notice our blindness.

In our gospel, two figures take center stage. One is someone most people even then wouldn’t take notice of—a blind man sitting by the gates of a town along a dangerous road, a beggar. Someone of no account through no fault of his own, for he has lost his sight. Someone’s whose name combines the Jewish word “bar,” meaning “son of” and the Greek name “Timaeus” which mean “precious” or “valuable.” A beggar who is precious. A beggar whose name indicates he straddles two worlds. A  beggar whose very identity crosses lots of usually opposed groups.

Mark’s audience might have more than a few people who would also recognize the word “Timaeus.” It was the name of an essay by the great Greek philosopher Plato. In it he described what is most precious—and of course as a philosopher, that is philosophy, the systematic examination of the world, of values, of curiosity, of the way to live the very best life of meaning and purpose. In other words, the kind of thing we all would be blessed by pondering ourselves, but most of us are distracted from our not given the opportunity to do. Unless you seek to follow Jesus, because he engages in the same types of inquiry although from a god-perspective.

In his essay, Plato denoted sight as the greatest of all gifts. He said:

“The sight in my opinion is the source of the greatest benefit to us, for had we never seen the stars and the sun and the heaven, none of the words which we have spoken about the universe would ever have been uttered…. God invented and gave us sight that we might behold the courses of intelligence in the heaven, and apply them to the courses of our own intelligence which are akin to them.” Seeing, Plato believed, led to wonder, and curiosity, and insight. Perception at its deepest level. All the things—and more besides-- that Jesus and the scriptures extolled and modelled as keys to living our best lives.

When we examine our story. Bartimaeus may be physically blind,  exceeds the disciples in perception—and his perception leads to faith. He has the reality that he cannot see, but the perception that someone who can help his is drawing near—and so he calls out to Jesus, refusing to be shushed. And so he becomes the capstone in Mark’s gospel in two ways: he is the last person Jesus calls, and the last person Jesus heals. The disciples, who have been with Jesus all along are blind to what and who Jesus is—and worse, they don’t know they are blind. This means they don’t even know how to ask for help.

We live our modern lives in much the same way. We have a hard time acknowledging that we HAVE any need for help, that we have any need for someone to show us the way. Jesus calls us to him, but too often we don’t recognize the voice. Then he asks us what we want him to do for us. Jesus still holds his had out to us and asks us what he may do for us. And Many of us are blind to our own need for healing and so do not know what to ask, unlike Bartimaeus. May we know the right answer to the question: give us our sight, give us perception of what really matters in life, what truly make a life worth living not just for ourselves but for the betterment of the world. And give us a community to support us and that we can support others in doing that work.

Bartimaeus had the faith to ask for healing. And then, when he could have gone back home, returned to his former life, he refused to GO, but instead FOLLOWED. He joined the disciples and began walking in the literal way of Jesus. A way that will lead not to enhancing division or power to lord it over others, but a way to see the world where everything and everyone has value and meaning, where everything is real and belongs and works together for our mutual flourishing.

Too many of us know there’s something missing in our lives, and in our blindness to what really matters we try to fill those holes inside us with stuff that doesn’t satisfy. Worse we don’t even know we are blind to what would fill that emptiness. That’s the bad news. But there is also good news.

One of the most powerful antidotes to the division, the uncivility, and hatred is sitting all around you. It’s this delicate but empowering thing called faith as revealed in the life, ministry, and example of Jesus. It’s in this beautiful but often imperfect thing called the Church. And today we all join with two young people who have made the choice—against all the forces of cynicism, of self-obsession, and the lure of just not bothering to show up which may be THE modern disease to beat them all to show up.

Each of you sitting here right now and week after week, praying and worshipping together rather than entertaining yourself on a precious weekend morning literally make this community and its ministry in the world possible. Out of the zillions of distractions we all could be filling your time right now, you have chosen to be here, and make being here a priority.

And so soon we will renew our promise with God known as the Baptismal Covenant. We will admit the times we have been blind, and we will list again the concrete ways we can have true perception and true faith. And that faith is rooted in community. Jesus made it clear that being a Christin by yourself is impossible. You’re got to have a community to both care for and to care for you. A community to pull your attention away from your own distraction and self-centeredness into caring for those around you. That’s why we baptize in the midst of the community.

A community that has the faith to be healed, and the faith to follow Jesus in word and deed. May we have the faith to hear Jesus’s call to us, the faith to be healed, and the faith to follow.

Amen.