Mine Eyes Have Seen - Dean's Report 2023
A Sermon Preached at the Cathedral Church of St. Mark on the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord, February 5, 2023 by the Very Rev. Tyler Doherty, Dean and Rector.
I’ve decided this year to present my Dean’s Report in the context of the Sunday liturgy, and in particular, within the tapestry of beautiful texts appointed for the Feast of the Presentation. As many of you know, two key texts (both from the Old Testament!) frame my conception of the Christian life: Moses’ barefoooted, undefended encounter with the great burning-but-not-consumed I AM at the Burning Bush, and Jacob’s “Surely God is in this place and I did not know it.” When we wander wonderingly off the beaten track of mechanical routine, step off hamster wheel of self-improvement and getting and spending, when we take off our shoes, lay gently aside our captivity to diminishing stories of fear, scarcity, and lack, the “ever ancient, ever new” present, fresh, effervescent wakefulness of God–the living flame of love–shines forth.
Here, now, right in the midst of wherever, however, and whoever we happen to be at any given time. We stop. We stay. We remain and abide and slowly what has always already been the case flames forth like shining from shook foil. Gee! God really is in this place and I haven’t noticed it. God really is in this traffic jam, this illness, this grief and sorrow. God’s presence doesn’t prevent these things from arising, but allows us to hold it all more lightly, more lovingly–to know it all as already held in a big wide embrace where nothing, not nothing can separate us from the love of God.
That’s why a place like this exists. To wake us from our slumber to wonder, to awe, to our inseparability from the love of God. St. Mark’s is a School of Love where we are loved into loving others. We encounter the transformative love of God through daily prayer, dwelling on God’s word in scripture, worshipping together in community, and find ourselves being poured out in loving service to the last, the least the lost, and left behind as bearers (in flawed and foibled clay jars) of the very same love we have received.
A Cathedral–like any place a human being consents to God’s presence and action in their life–is first and foremost a dwelling place for God where the invitation is for everyone (regardless of race, class, gender, sexual-orientation, political affiliation, nationality) to encounter the love of God just as we are. Not once we get the correct beliefs between our ears. Not once we get our act together and do a little improving. But here, now, just as we are. No exceptions. We dwell with the one who dwells with us like sparrows nested on the altar. So close. So intimate. Nestling, snuggling, laying our weary heads on the shoulder of the Beautiful One–Old Easy Yoke as I call him–that we might be His beauty poured out for others. Some new song, the song of “Love melting in Love,” as Teresa of Avila calls it, comes to be sung in us and we find ourselves danced away from our self-centered dream of a life with our judgements, requirements, and demands at the center to others as love’s hands and feet and voice and witness in broken and hurting world.
This morning, it’s my job to do a little God-spotting from the midst of our Cathedral family to see with Simeon by the power of the Holy Spirit God singing and dancing in our midst. Remember God-spotting from last Sunday in Lent three years ago when the pandemic first hit? It’s the practice of stopping, stilling, looking, and beginning to see from provision and abundance as a poet of the sacred ordinary right here, right now–dust motes dancing in a shaft of sun, a steadying elbow on the way to altar rail, a baby squawking her alleluia as the gospel’s read. Where we’ve come from, where we are, and where God is leading us. Surely God is in this place, and it’s my job to look and see, to name and lift up, and wonder in the Spirit where this windy, breezy, blowing I-know-not-where God of ours who’s always passing by is calling us next as beloved community.
Mine eyes have seen… people gathering for Morning Prayer on zoom to listen to God’s word in scripture, to hold each other and the entire world in prayer, to confess how we’ve fallen short and missed the mark, and ask for God’s help to do the work we have each, in our own unique way, been given to do.
Mine eyes have seen… little ones gathering in Godly Play under Brooke’s faithful guidance and care, to learn and wonder their way through the stories of God’s saving work.
Mine eyes have seen… folks hurt by religious traditions—that convinced them God was more like a 15-foot crocodile waiting to eat us than a God who only wants to feed us—come together, share their hurts and begin to heal. Thank you Holly and Camille.
Mine eyes have seen… youth gather to be formed, and learn to pray God’s word, be still before him in silence, go out on mission as God’s hands and feet. Thank you Shanon and Holly and Ian and Pat.
Mine eyes have seen…. A Newcomers Ministry that meets each person where they are as the very welcome they have received in Christ who welcomes all and that manifests in the abundance and enoughness of God in coffee hour wedding feasts (no white robe required). Thank you Carla and Sheila, and Madi and Maggie and Jason and everyone who’s donated goodies.
Mine eyes have seen… record numbers of folks catechizied, baptized, and confirmed in the faith–people who, freed from slavery by the fear of death, go forth as bread to feed, water to wash, oil to heal, and wine to slake the thirst of the parched. Thanks be to God.
Mine eyes have seen… lunch-break masses with Mother Holly the word broken open for a full house, prayers offered up, Jesus’ body and blood shared, the medicine of immortality pressed into each precious palm, lifted to each precious set of lips and kicked back out into the world as the love we’ve just received–a hundred little Christs
Mine eyes have seen… a vestry gathering around a shared rule of life–a life of prayer, reading scripture, and sacrificial service. A vestry who, while still holding to their fiduciary duty, know that it is only in acquantanceship, friendliness, friendship, union, and communion with God in Christ through the Holy Spirit that we can know where next God is calling this community. Thank you Wardens Bob and Bill. Thank you vestry.
Mine eyes have seen… Cathedral greens, funeral arrangements, Easter lilies, memorials that stop me dead in my tracks and cause me to wonder at the beauty of holiness. Thank you Bonnie and flower guild.
Mine eyes have seen… front desk volunteers stuffing envelopes, maintaining the church calendar, greeting folks who arrive at our doors, answering phones in the spirit of welcoming the stranger. Thank you Carrie, Margie Coleman, Anne Ellingson, and Bonnie Weiss.
Mine eyes have seen… flu shots, whooping cough and pneumonia vaccines administered by the dozen. Thank you Josie Stone.
Mine eyes have seen… pilgrims met for spiritual direction, couples counseled, new unions celebrated, hospital visits, communions to the home-bound, hotel rooms for those without shelter, last rites administered, the blessed assurance of God’s love for us even in the loss of a loved one in the funeral liturgy: “Yea though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I know thou art with me.” Thank you Lord who trampled down death by death and who goes ahead of us to prepare a way where we see no way.
Mine eyes have seen… trimmed wicks, warmed water ewers, polished candle sticks, pressed corporals and altar linens, vessels lovingly filled: “Teach me my God and King in all things thee to see and what I do in anything to do it as for thee.” Thank you Carolyn Roll and the Altar guild.
Mine ears have heard God glorified on organ, in hymn and anthem and harpsichord, on tympani and viola, in the songs of little ones in too-big vestments and shuffling feet. Thank you Chris and George and Adam and Halden and Emily, our section leaders, and the volunteer choir.
Mine eyes have seen… love come down as a sheltering wing of a Mother Hen gathering the formerly homeless and providing them with a place to call their own, with a community, with fellowship, with worship and prayer, with pastoral presence when the chances and changes of this life get to be too much to bear. Thank you Shannon and Michael and Chris Wootton (and a dozen others) for your ministry of presence at The Point. Thank you Matty Movsesian for your generous gift. Thank you vestry for the vision and courage to open your hands so that others might find room at the inn.
Mine eyes have seen parishioners serving the diocese on Standing Committee, Council, and Commission on Ministry. Thank you Standing Committtee President Kurt Cook. Thank you Joe Frank and Michelle.
Mine eyes have seen the Tuttle School flourish and bloom–people formed in the faith, discerning their ministry. Thank you Deacon Libby for this and countless mercies that tumble out of your overflowing hands.
Mine eyes have seen… parishioners gathered to pray the scriptures and write their own prayers of the people for use in the Sunday liturgy. Thank you Bob and Nancy, Jenn and Steven.
Mine eyes have seen… 1,300 people a month fed from Hildegarde’s Food pantry under the gentle but firm guidance and leadership of Cibell, Carrie, and Bill Downes. Thank you pantry volunteers.
Mine eyes have seen… another pantry opening up at The Point where the now-sheltered often still find themselves food-insecure. Thank you Shannon and Bill.
Mine eyes have seen… our Vintage group gather around food and fellowship to share their journey in the second half of life. Thank you Ruth Stone.
Mine eyes have seen… a nominating committee work through a pandemic to bring a slate of candidates for Bishop to the Diocese of Utah and an historic first-ballot election of our Bishop Phyllis. Thank you Holy Spirit
Mine eyes have seen… A Transition Committee craft a consecration weekend where our new Bishop was ordained, celebrated. Where she banged on these Cathedral doors with her crozier, and began her ministry in our midst. Thank you Carolyn and Steve Roll, Kurt, and Mother Holly. Thank you, Bishop, for heeding the Spirit’s call.
Mine eyes have seen… pilgrims gathered in the Bates Room on Sunday morning to learn of God’s love for each of us and learn to live it more fully: to know you, Christ, and make you known, not only with our lips, but in our lives.
Mine eyes have seen… monthly quiet days, Saturday night contemplative Light in the Darkness eucharists with taize chant, lectio divina, and simple resting in God. Thank you God for coming to us, renewing us, and equipping us for your service.
Mine eyes have seen… readers heralding God’s word to us, ushers taking up the people’s gifts and eucharistic ministers reminding us that the welcome table is always open.
Mine eyes have seen… acolytes disappearing in self-forgetful service in the liturgy that we might worship the lord in the beauty of holiness. Thank you David and Michelle and acolytes.
Mine eyes have seen… Community of Hope gather to be shaped into pastoral presences for people in rehabs, assisted living facilities, and nursing homes. Thank you Carolyn Erschler and Chris Lecluyse and all ministers of listening presence.
Mine eyes have seen people shamed and blamed and pronounced broken for loving who they love or how they identify find shelter, solace, acceptance and community.
Mine eyes have seen… the Good Samaritan Committee create a grant application process for distributing a sustainable portion of our investment revenue to people and organizations in our community that God’s justice might roll down like waters, and God’s righteousness roll on like an ever-flowing stream in this place, in this city. Thank you Judy, Bill, and Camille.
Mine eyes have seen… communion taken each week from this altar each Sunday by our lay Eucharistic ministers as God-bearers to the home-bound.
Mine eyes have seen… worship bulletins, funeral bulletins, Holy Week bulletins, and constant contacts, website postings, facebooks, instagrams, a podcast. Thank you Jennifer
Mine eyes have seen… the advocacy work of the Creation Care Committee in protecting public lands, tons of carbon pulled from the air of this valley by a solar array on this very roof. Thank you Ron.
Mine eyes have seen… the finance committee gather to discern how best to be stewards of our gifts, the budget committee craft a vision for how best to use those gifts in ministering to this congregation, this community, and the world. Thank you John, Bonnie, Jim, Bob, Bill, and Evelyn.
Mine eyes have seen… Stewardship emerge not as membership dues to a private club, not as fee-for service, but as a practice of giving to God our first fruits (not just what’s left over) as we journey into generous living and giving. Thank you Anne-Marie.
Mine eyes have seen… a Book-keeper and a Treasurer whose wise as a serpent gentle as a dove guidance prods us to be prudent, yet responsive, stewards of God’s gifts. Thank you John D’Arcy and Andrew Pizzello.
Mine eyes have seen… weekly lay-led bible study, a short story group, weekly meetings for prayer in silence where God finds us beyond thoughts, words, and images. Thank you Bob Lloyd and Carolyn Erschler and Judy Atherton.
Mine eyes have seen… faith leaders from a mosaic of traditions gathered as the Interfaith Roundtable in the parish hall sharing perspectives, honoring differences, and coming together to make a difference. Thank you Josie Stone.
Mine eyes have seen… this lovely, historic, cranky building cared for, cleaned, repaired, its gardens tended, its children and family-friendly spaces renewed, its Dean’s Dungeon cleared out, it’s leaky faucets fixed. Thank you Bill Downes, John O’Shea, Donavin, Brooke, Carolyn and Steve Roll, Carolyn, Phil, and Michael Erschler and the garden committee.
And now, Lord, where are you leading us? Where do we hear your voice calling in the night? Into more intentional giving that our pledges support and sustain the basic operating costs of offering this dwelling place of the Lord to the community. Open our wallets that we might remain an open door to the tent of meeting for all people.
Into deep, transforming, transfirguring union and communion with you–each one of us gathered here. To hear our name spoken on God’s lips like Mary Magdalene in the Garden. To close the gap between Sunday morning and Thursday afternoon, that we might dwell in your house always, even in the midst of our so-called ordinary life. To be, as Bishop Curry and Bishop Phyllis exhort us, Rooted in Jesus and walk his walk, walk his boundary-crossing way of love each day–turning, learning, worshipping, praying, going, blessing, and resting.
Into deeper service to the last, the least, the lost, and left behind–at Hildegarde’s, at The Point, in caring for God’s good creation, but where else, Lord? When we look with Easter eyes, with eyes unshackled by slavery to the fear of death, undimmed by self-centeredness, with eyes attuned to oneness in Christ, who’s not here? Who’s left-for-dead in the ditch while we cross to the other side of the road?
And into deeper evangelism by proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ by word and example to all those outside these walls that they, too, might know in their bones the belovedness that is the only true thing we can ever say about ourselves and others.
God is here. God is always singing and dancing. Can we be sung out of ourselves, danced away from cramped self-enclosure? One little mustard seed of a yes at a time, I pray that Christ’s risen life might come to flower in each of our lives. Yes, Lord, let it be with us according to your word. May we say with John the Baptist, “I must decrease, he must increase.” May we say with Paul, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ in me.” May we heed your call to come and see and stay and remain and then go as a sent people as your boundary-crossing blessing. We present ourselves to you, O Christ. Make us instruments of your peace.