Before we get into today’s Gospel, let’s gain our liturgical bearings. Where are we in the liturgical year?
Think of a pie graph. Starting at the top, we have a purple section, Advent, which lasts between four and five weeks. Next is white for a few weeks, Christmas, up to the Epiphany.
Then for some weeks we find ourselves here, in a green section of the year, the season after the Epiphany, or as my Roman Catholic friends call it, “ordinary time.”
Ordinary. Ho-hum. Not much of a ring to it, eh?
This year’s season after Epiphany is eight weeks. Then we go to purple again for the season of Lent, for five Sundays.
We then have a narrow sliver of red on Palm Sunday; followed by seven Sundays of white—for Easter the resurrection, and the Ascension; another narrow sliver of red for Pentecost, and one more of white on Trinity Sunday.
And now we’re only halfway around our pie graph.
Do you know what color the rest of this graph is? For the remaining 26 Sundays this year—with only two exceptions (Transfiguration and Christ the King Sundays, both white)—it is all green.
Yeah, green time. Ordinary time. Ho-hum time.
Which brings up a concern for me.
My concern is that as a church we love Christmas and Easter. We focus our liturgical calendar around the birth, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ. And well we should!
But do we focus too much on Christmas and Easter—to the exclusion of all the other times in the year—that green section after Christmas; that long spell after Pentecost; all that ordinary, ho-hum time?
Christmas and Easter aren’t enough to sustain us through our ordinary, ho-hum times.
I remember my freshman year of high school. My parents had recently divorced; I wasn’t in a very good place. But it was an El Niño year, meaning lots of snow was coming to the Sierras. Maybe Dad understood I wasn’t in a very good place, I don’t know. But he knew my brother and I loved to snow ski. And so that year we planned three three- or four-day trips to Mammoth Lakes, as well as some a one-day trips to the local soCal mountains—Mountain High, Mount Waterman, and Mount Baldy—promising at least one ski trip a month through the winter.
Well, I remember how much I looked forward to those trips in the months, weeks, and days leading up to them. I also remember how much I relished the recent memory of those trips after returning home from them.
But what I remember most keenly was the dread I felt when I got out of bed each morning realizing that I had to plod through another day of the prison sentence I called high school.
That year, my freshman year, I tried to live for my skiing adventures, with the resolve that the anticipation and memory of them would sustain me until the next one.
But they were few and far between compared to the everyday, ordinary, ho-hum experience of high school, my daily grind.
That year, the only moments I lived in were when I was skiing, escaping from the daily grind. While enduring the daily grind itself, I never lived in the moment, but rather always in the future or the past.
I had become a bona fide weekend warrior.
When we in the church live for Christmas and Easter, we risk not living in the moment of the ordinary, ho-hum times that, frankly, comprise most of our corporate life together. We instead become bona fide Christmas-and-Easter warriors.
Now we’re ready to turn to today’s Gospel.
In it, Jesus begins his ministry by calling four disciples: Simon Peter; his brother Andrew; and two other brothers, James and John, the sons of a certain Zebedee. All four of these men were fishermen. And, because Jesus says, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people,” we usually focus on the evangelism theme here: we, too, need to fish for people.
But I want to look at another theme, having to do with—you guessed it—the ordinary, ho-hum life Jesus called these men to live.
So, track with me. These men, all four of them fishermen, were living a comfortable life. They were settled, doing what they knew how to do, continuing the vocation their fathers had passed on to them. So routine were their lives that they knew what to do without thinking.
They knew the sea—where to find the most fish, when the best times of the day were to find fish, what seasons of the year were better or worse for a kind of fish they’d like to catch, and so on. When boat repairs were needed, they knew what to do. If a boat sprung a leak while out on the surface of the sea, how to get to shore (or whether they could make it to shore) was almost an afterthought. Their vocation was second-nature.
Moreover, we can surmise—along with biblical scholars—that these men had fairly lucrative businesses. Fish were in demand as a food throughout the region. People paid relatively high prices for them. And, as with many established routines, overhead costs were low. These men enjoyed high productivity and low overhead, a recipe for a comfortable life.
One more consideration: these men more than likely were married with families. In fact, we know that Simon Peter was married: Jesus cures Peter’s mother in-law in Matthew 8.
Point is, Jesus called these four men to follow him; and following Jesus for them meant sacrificing a lot! Comfort. Stability. Established homes. Financial security. Predictability. Routine. Plans. Nest eggs. Family.
What does it mean for us to follow Jesus? Those who manipulate the good news of the Bible for their own ends—who make a gospel out of prosperity or family values—would do well to consider today’s Gospel! So would we, as in St. Paul’s Episcopal Church—which we’ll get to shortly!
Now, sure, Peter, Andrew, James, and John had heard of Jesus by the time he came calling. He was probably something like a celebrity by now, a household name.
Do we all know the name of our presiding bishop, Michael Curry? So, imagine if he sought you out personally and said, “Jane, John, Insert-Your-Name-Here, I have a job for you. Come with me now, and see.”
Well, yeah, there’s a certain amount of adventure and excitement around this. At least initially.
But today’s Gospel doesn’t end there: with the celebrity Jesus coming to these four men and saying, “Follow me on the adventure ahead, and I will make you fish for people.” In today’s reading, there’s another verse. Jesus and his new followers then set out traveling, teaching, preaching, and healing.
These four men followed Jesus, sure. But they weren’t following him into a kind of weekend-warrior life of adventure. They followed him into a kind of ho-hum, ordinary life. And they left their established, comfortable lives to do so.
These apostles weren’t Christmas-and-Easter warriors—by any stretch of the imagination! The feast of the Epiphany and the Last Supper could not have sustained these men for the three years ahead of them—and not just for the three years with Jesus but for the lifetime beyond that, for they all went on to build the church of Jesus Christ.
So, we’ve looked at the liturgical calendar; and we’ve looked at the Gospel. Now it’s time to do some harder work: to look at us, St. Paul’s. Loosen your collars: it might get a little warm in here.
I’m concerned that we are a church of Christmas-and-Easter warriors: that we think these principal feasts are enough to sustain us through all the ordinary, ho-hum times of the year.
On page 15, the BCP says there are seven Principal Feasts in the liturgical year, which all point (at least loosely) to Christmas or Easter: Easter Day; Ascension Day; The Day of Pentecost; Trinity Sunday; All Saints’ Day; Christmas Day; and the Epiphany.
The word “feasts” suggests that we should break bread together, which is another way to say celebrate Communion together, on these seven days.
But when I got here, we weren’t doing this: we weren’t coming together for all these feasts—which is one indication that maybe, over a long time of doing church together, we have become Christmas-and-Easter warriors.
In addition to these seven Principal Feasts, on p. 16 of the BCP, we read, “All Sundays of the year are feasts of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
All Sundays are feasts. Thus, we should celebrate Communion together on all Sundays of the year.
Which is why our Constitution and Canons make it clear that, unless we are unable to obtain a supply priest, we should celebrate Communion on any given Sunday. Otherwise we demonstrate a lack of respect for the Eucharist.
Now—to turn up the heat a little more—our operating budget for 2017 is just north of $200K. To date, pledges for 2017 are south of $140K—about $70K shy of our operating expenses. In an ideal world, our operating expenses and pledges would be equal. But they’re not. Leaving the vestry with some difficult challenges and questions.
Their chief question of late has been where to cut costs.
It’s a question faced by a lot of organizations. Public schools, for instance. Long has it been a complaint among my friends and family members that the first budget corners to be cut in education are in the arts.
So, here’s my main concern. As a way of cutting costs for the year, the vestry has proposed allotting only $1000 for supply clergy in this year’s budget.
Now, I anticipate being away for seven Sundays this year—a normal amount. Father Paul is not here anymore; we can’t ask him. Which means we need to fund supply clergy; or go without the Eucharist on the Sundays when we cannot obtain a supply priest.
With travel, accommodations, and a supply fee, it costs St. Paul’s approximately $500 per week of supply. In other words, the budget should be at $3500 ($500 x 7 Sundays) for supply clergy, not $1000. $1000 covers only two Sundays.
What will we do for the other five?
We could have a Morning Prayer service, yes. But, unless we cannot obtain a supply priest—and supply priests are available!—we should celebrate the Feast.
So, anyway, that’s the what part of my concern.
The why part, however, concerns me even more. Why would we cut corners here? Sundays are feast days. It’s when we gather as a corporate community. And gathering for Communion—the Eucharist—is our chief corporate act of worship: not singing; not preaching; not praying; but Communion.
As your rector I’ve been called to be the spiritual leader of this community. I don’t want us to be Christmas-and-Easter warriors. That attitude will never sustain us spiritually.
Thus, I leave you with a few questions to contemplate in this week leading up to our annual meeting:
- Have we become Christmas-and-Easter warriors?
- Like the apostles, is St. Paul’s ready to follow Jesus wherever he calls?
- Where have we become too comfortable in the way we do church? In our routines? In our spiritual disciplines?
- Where and how do we need to change? Along these lines, when we say we want to change, do we actually mean that we want to return to the way it was twenty years ago? Are we really desiring to move forward?
- Is our present way of doing church sustainable? The budget suggests that the answer to this question is no. So, where do we need to cut corners? Really?
- Is cutting supply clergy costs a sufficient excuse to neglect the Sacrament?
- Do we respect the Sacraments as we should?