EASTER 6A, SUNDAY, MAY 17 - THE REV. ANDREW SUITTER-BENTLEY
Sunday, May 17, 2020, the 6th Sunday of Easter, St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church
Andrew’s last sermon as Associate Rector
May the word of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.
I believe that one of the most powerful exercises we can do as adults, is to write a letter to our childhood selves. To the child who was awkward, or traumatized, to the child who was shy, or precocious, or spoiled, or anxious—and let them know not only what you’ve learned about life—but what you wish someone had told you way back then.
What would you want to tell your younger self?
Would you want to confront the unkind thoughts you learned to believe about yourself?
Would you want to confront how hard you were on yourself or on others?
Would you want to love on the child who sought hope and encouragement from every adult?
Would you want to love on the child who had constant disappointment, anxiety, or pressure?
Would you want to comfort the child who grew up too quickly—or not fast enough—and struggled to find their place in the world?
Scripture is full is letters. Today, we come across a letter from Peter. Peter is a fisherman, turned disciple, and it is believed that he is writing this letter to those of the faith, who live in the area we now call Turkey. Peter’s chief concern here, is that believers understand that even in the midst of their suffering—God doesn’t leave them, but that God loves them, and that it’s not at all God’s will that they experience pain—but if they do—God will lead them through that pain.
Now our gospel reading today, while not exactly a letter, is part of a section of scripture called the Farewell Discourse. The Farewell Discourse is what we know to be the final teachings of Jesus given to the disciples on the night before he died; and in some places, it too reads like a letter highlighting some essentials of the faith that we can often forget about.
In this first section, Jesus reminds the disciples that while he is going away, the Holy Spirit will come and be their advocate. He reminds them to love one another—and that their love for one another should mirror the love that is between Jesus and his father. He also gives them several reiterations of “love thy neighbor.” Jesus goes on to remind the disciples, “I will not leave you orphaned… I love you and I am coming for you.”
What we have here is Jesus telling the disciples, who are at all different points in their faith, that the way to God is through loving one another, and loving oneself. He teaches that this is the very essence of keeping God in the center of our lives—both in our heart and in our bones.
Given the themes and the context of these lessons today, I wanted to write a letter to you, my beloved St. Augustine’s, particularly as we respond to the Holy Spirit, and her leading each of us down new paths in the season ahead. So, here I write, a letter from my heart.
Dear. St. Augustine’s,
Over the last few occasions I’ve had to preach, I have wanted to convey to you all that is in my heart knowing that our time was soon coming to an end, and that my relationship with each of you would be changing into something else.
I have wanted to convey my deep well of love for you; my hope for your glorious future; and the gratitude I have for your welcoming me as your pastor and priest, and sharing your lives with me these last three years. There was not a better place to be.
You have invited me to wade with you into both the great and joyful, and challenging and sorrowful parts of this life; you gave me a place to hone my voice and to further develop my gifts and skills as a pastor; and for all of this, I am so grateful.
Not only did you welcome me, but you also welcomed my husband, Parker, with open arms, and celebrated with us an occasion and commitment in the form of our wedding that we never thought would be part of our life’s path. St. Augustine’s will always be that special and beloved place where we were married. We have been so happy here and so proud to call you our family and our home.
I have been so fortunate to call you my flock and to be called your pastor. Now, you send me out into the world as a priest which you have helped form.
For you have taught me about generosity, compassion, kindness, and justice in ways that I was not anticipating. You continue to model these gifts when you offer our building and our resources for homeless families. You continue to model these gifts when you gather and deliver food to food banks, write grants for agencies doing fantastic justice work throughout the world, and when you offer one another pastoral care throughout life’s seasons, and so much more. You do not let an occasion to party go uncelebrated—and you enjoy one another—and care for one another—in a way that is foreign to many parishes. For all this and more, I give thanks.
Goodbyes are not easy—especially when the people you are leaving have your heart. Together, we have buried beloved members and cried together. We have welcomed new babies, baptized new believers, married glowing couples, given food and drink to the destitute, all the while expanding our knowledge of scripture, our history, and our tradition.
You have proven time again that love rises even from the dust of the grave, and that our true beauty exists in how we love one another. You cultivate a life that welcomes Jesus in the most peculiar ways, and we rejoice together in those moments when our hearts are strangely warmed.
Moving forward, St. Augustine’s will experience a cultural shift by going to one priest. As I leave you, I see a gifted and well equipped laity, and you should feel empowered to step up and serve in new ways when you see a need and when you are called upon. And to be fair, some things may go on the back burner for a while until one day when you are ready to call a second priest once again.
What good, capable, and loving hands I leave you in. I have every confidence that Nadia will love and serve you as a pastor and priest should—and that you will share in a good, rewarding, and far-reaching ministry together. I cannot wait to see the fruit that this will bear.
After today, there will be some changes in how we relate to one another. The primary change is, I will no longer be your priest. What this means is, any kind of communication about pastoral needs or concerns, or matters concerning St. Augustine’s, can no longer come to me; and that any visits in the future, according to well thought out diocesan policy, must be at the invitation of the rector. However, what I do hope to have after today, is something I already treasure so deeply, and that is your friendship. And what might this look like? Well, pray for us.
In this first year, I ask that you give Parker and me the time and space we need to settle into our new call, so that I can devote the same care to Sudbury, as I did with all of you here in Wilmette. Seeing your updates on Facebook, or receiving an occasional note are things that would delight and encourage us in this first year of putting down roots in a new place. While our communication cannot be what it is now, know that I will continue to pray for you just the same... for the love is deep though the distance is far.
If there is anything else left that I would want to say, it is this my friends:
Remember that God loves you infinitely more than you can ever ask or imagine.
Remember that you are marvelously made; and that happiness is allowing your gifts to meet the world’s needs.
Remember that God weeps when you weep, and rejoices when you are glad.
And finally, remember to hold on to one another, and hold onto your faith, for God never fails.
I love you, and I give thanks to God for our time together.
May the blessing of the God of Abraham and Sarah, and of Jesus Christ born of our sister Mary, and the Holy Spirit, who broods over the world as a mother over her children, be upon you and remain with you always. Amen.