I LOVE THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH

 Remarks at the annual Episcopal Charities Gala, December 3, 2009, at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine by the Reverend Terence L. Elsberry, Rector of St. Matthew’s Church in Bedford, New York.

            Thank you, Jerry.  Thank you to our bishops, to Dean Kawalski, to Doug Mercer and  my fellow board members, to Mary Beth Sasso and our fine Episcopal Charities staff, and thanks to all of you who have gathered with us tonight--my beloved family and friends and all who support the holy work of Episcopal Charities. And thank you, Mr. Cohen. It is a great honor to stand here with you in these moments.

            You know, this is a uniquely Episcopal event, isn’t it? Look at us!  Look how dressed up we all are! Look at what a great time we’re having! What a wonderful way to spend a Thursday evening! One of my NON-Episcopal church friends said of this evening: “Black tie  . . . for a church supper?” Well, to that friend I say: some supper! Some church!

I’m standing here tonight, indirectly at least, because 42 years ago, when I was still a young man and my hair was still brown, I fell in love. I fell in love with the Episcopal Church. I’d been raised a Congregationalist, and out there on the prairie in which I am deeply rooted, there aren’t many Episcopalians. I remember asking my mother, “What’s an Episcopalian, Mom?” And Mom didn’t know. Her answer: “I’m not entirely sure, Terry.  But I know they’re sort of like Catholics. They kneel in church.”

            And that, until I was newly out of college and working at my first job as a magazine editor with Better Homes & Gardens publications, was all I knew about the Episcopal Church. Meanwhile, every day my commute to my new job took me right by the quaintest, the most beautiful little English church nestled somewhat incongruously among the towering life insurance buildings of downtown Des Moines

            That little church drew me. For one thing, it wasn’t Catholic or Methodist or Lutheran or Presbyterian or Congregationalist. It was strange; unique; a little other-worldly. It was Episcopal. So one Sunday I went. And from that moment, I was lost. Lost to the surpassingly beautiful words of The Book of Common Prayer. Lost to the care and sensitivity with which the liturgy was enacted. Lost to the delightfully aerobic opportunity to stand, sit, kneel and then walk around the church to receive communion. And communion NOT in grape juice out of little glass thimbles but communion that featured real wine sipped from a shiny silver goblet. So in the blush of my newfound love, I made a decision all those years ago. As decisions go, it ranks up there right after my decision to marry Nancy and my decision to answer the call to be rector of St. Matthew’s.

At the age of 24 I was confirmed an Episcopalian. I did not leave the church of my upbringing because I didn’t love and respect it. Because I did. And I do. I left to enter a communion of believers that touched my mind, my heart and my spirit in ways I’d never anticipated. Plus, as time went by and I got more involved in that little center of Anglicanism on the prairie, I discovered they also had a whole lot of fun. Fun in church! Imagine that!   It was great

            I’ve loved this church ever since. I’ve never stopped loving it, and I can’t imagine I ever will. That’s why it particularly pains me to see it suffering. That’s why I squirm when the press features negative aspects of some of our current struggles. Because the press we deserve is very different. Yes, the negatives exist. Yes, there is dissention and breaking of contracts. But how the positive outweighs the negative. How our causes for unity transcend the disagreements.

            In unity with each other we find our strength. In our unity we find the power we need to make a difference in this broken and hurting and too often confused world of ours. There’s something else: our God calls for our unity. That’s why in Jesus’ glorious, final soliloquy—the magnum opus of John’s Gospel—He tells his followers: “It’s by your unity. That’s how the world is going to know the Father has sent me—because they see your unity and the love you have for each other.”

            I look for unity tonight. I long for it. And in our church I find it. I find it in the list of what I call the five C’s of the Episcopal Church.

            The first C—our clergy orders: bishops, priests and deacons.

            The second C—our creeds, on which we base our faith and our belief.

            The third C—our Common Prayer liturgy. The Book of Common Prayer. Which means universal, not commonplace. Nothing commonplace about eloquence that ranks with Shakespeare and the King James Version of the Bible.  No, our liturgy is exquisitely  beautiful and for us Anglicans, universal. The first Elizabeth ratified it with her approval. From then on, some four hundred years ago, we no longer had to agree on matters of faith of doctrine or belief. All we had to do was worship out of the same book! Now we could quite killing each other over whether we were Catholic of Protestant. Now we could be  BOTH. What a relief! We became the via media, the middle ground. As Bishop Whipple charmingly put it, “We’re the church of the reconciliation.” Isn’t that beautiful? There’s a place where you can go and you don’t have to agree with each other. You can worship together and discuss issues, and you respect each other’s right to hold different opinions. Isn’t it great? We’re not the either/or church. We’re the both/and church!

            There’s another C. I call it celebrate.  It’s part of our tradition and heritage and Anglican style: to celebrate. We celebrate the Eucharist. We celebrate the church seasons of the year. We celebrate creation. We celebrate the presence of God alive in our midst by His Spirit enabling us to do things we could never otherwise accomplish. And we celebrate diversity. We don’t just tolerate it. We celebrate it. Look around at your table. Take a look at each other. Look at the people on either side and across from you. What do you see? Friends, family, maybe someone you’ve just met tonight. But you also see something else. You see a human being, lovingly crafted by the Creator God. You see a person loved, cherished, treasured by the mighty God. And from that eye view, comes the fifth C.

            And it’s compassion. Clergy order. Creeds. Common Prayer worship. Celebrate. The fifth C is compassion. If God holds each of us so dear, how can we not value and respect each other and the people around us?  To do less is to be untrue to Him and to His call on our lives. And that’s where the work of Episcopal Charities comes in. I said at the beginning that the work of Episcopal Charities is holy work. And so it is. Because the mission and ministry of Episcopal Charities  expresses the nature of our God in the world, the nature of God—which is to love, to care, to extend Himself on behalf of His people. Somewhere in our diocese every waking hour of every day someone’s life is being touched by the love of God through Episcopal Charities.

 Blessed be the work of Episcopal Charities. Blessed be the ties that bind us together as God’s people as we move out, as we bestir ourselves, as we help the people who so desperately need our help in the neighborhoods and communities all around us.

            So let us to the holy task—each in our own lives, each in our own way. Be of good courage. Hold fast that which is good. Render to no one evil for evil. Strengthen the faint-hearted. Support the weak. Help the afflicted. Honor all people. Heal the broken-hearted. Set the captive free. Love and serve the Lord rejoicing in the power of the Spirit. And celebrate the ties that bind us and that lift us up and promise for us and for all those we serve a hopeful tomorrow.