I have been an Episcopalian all my life. I had never known anything else, and even when I was not active or in my hippy days, I always identified with being an Episcopalian. But, like many of my generation during a time of great unrest; political assassinations, the war in Viet Nam, the civil rights, and the women's movement, I fell away from the church. I found it completely irrelevant.
I imagine this irrelevance came partly from the type of Episcopalian Church I was raised in. In my world, as a child, the church was a place you went to be seen, not to do much else. I came from a long line of American gentry, starting in the 1600s in Philadelphia, where Christ Church was the burying ground of my ancestors. In those days, young ladies still made their debuts, and life was very orderly, with morning prayer on Sunday mornings. Of course, there were no sports games to make your kids miss the Sunday routine nor open stores to divert you. Everything was a family affair. My father did the Sunday NY Times Crossword, and everyone else napped. I did not think of the church as a force in the world outside of societal norms.
Then in the sixties, things changed a lot. I was very inspired by John F. Kennedy's famous inaugural address and heart sickened by his assignation. I became part of the civil rights movement by protesting and listening to Dr. King. Then we lost him and Bobby Kennedy to bullets from fanatics disturbed by such promise. All of this going on with the war in Viet Nam taking out my generation's young men. It was a time of energy, anger, dedication to causes, and a significant dose of rebellion. While I saw clergy of various faiths as part of the movements, I did not see any of my clergy. To be fair, I wasn't looking too hard, and I know, especially in the civil rights movement, some Episcopal priests were active, but I didn't know them. To me, the church was part of a past society. In this place, the ritual was repeated every Sunday with no fundamental teaching or leadership. There was no discussion from the pulpit in my world about what was going on outside the church doors. I found sermons so repetitious and boring that I would take that time to read the bulletin or discover oddities in the prayer book. My estrangement from the church remained for close to a decade, and then something amazing happened.
It was Easter 1976 that I rediscovered my church and the possibility that a sermon could lead and teach. The Rt Rev. Paul Moore, Jr., then Bishop of the Diocese of New York, preached at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City. To this day, I am not sure what drew me up to Harlem for Easter Services. I hadn't been in a long time, but I suddenly yearned for the tradition and to hear "Jesus Christ is Risen Today." Even if it isn't finished, St. John's is a magnificent building, the world's first or second-largest Anglican Cathedral.
The first thing I noticed was the congregation. It did not resemble the gatherings I knew from my parish. No, there were all sorts of people in the pews. There were poor and affluent people of all races and ages, and I was thrilled. But the experience was going to get even more memorable. Bishop Moore took to the pulpit and, in what is now a famous line, said: "Look over your city and weep, for your city is dying." He was talking about New York City, which had fallen on hard times. One of the main reasons for this was the many Fortune 500 companies leaving the city. Bishop Moore went on to call out the CEOs who were making the decision to move. He called them traitors and explained in painful detail what their actions meant for those left behind. "In sections of the Bronx, Brooklyn, and Harlem, great hulks of buildings stand abandoned and burned."
It was a courageous thing to speak truth to power. It was audacious, given that many members of this corporate class were sitting in the pews. The Episcopal Church has long been recognized as closely aligned and supported by the wealthy throughout the country. They have also been, by and large, staunchly Republican. Eleven American presidents are members of the fold, and except for FDR, Republicans. The parishioners were Vanderbilts and Astors, George H.W. Bush, and more. A whole book, The Power of their Glory Amerca's Ruling Class: The Episcopalians by Kit and Frederica Konolige, was dedicated to the notion. It is also important to remember that the vestry and the laity in the Episcopal Church have a significant role in choosing our rectors. Unlike the Catholic Church, our tradition is more democratic. So a priest who delivers a sermon critical of the establishment risks facing unemployment. I have been in parishes where a group turns against the Rector, which is never pretty.
For me, the sermon was beyond courageous it was life-changing. An Episcopal priest had finally told me something relevant to the real world. He had seen the selfishness of wealth and elitism, and he called us all to be better. He was not afraid to give us his opinion on what was happening in our wonderful city. He told us how there were people in pain who needed us. He stressed the teaching of Christ in this context. Most importantly, he expressed views many of us agreed with and thought the church had been too absent in providing guidance.
Those who followed Bishop Moore's career or read his biography know the Bishop was controversial. In some cases very controversial, making some of his congregation uncomfortable even after his retirement. But I never forgot the elation I felt after that sermon. It wasn't that I agreed with everything or always approved of the tone. It was that it happened. What elated me was that I, the estranged young woman, felt there might be something in this faith that could speak to me. Maybe the Episcopal Church had a purpose, was relevant, and perhaps I could seek guidance from my pastor. I might have realized this at some point anyway, as the church changed with the times, but Bishop Moore was my starting point.
Over the next 46 years, I remained active. I taught Sunday School, raised kids, got them confirmed, and all the other checkoff items, but I never heard a sermon like Bishop Moores again. There was the occasional Bishop's letter read from the local pulpits. I remember once when the Moral Majority Coalition tried to claim that those who were against them weren't Christians. But, while I was glad someone spoke up, the letter lacked the courage, the outrage the need to preach and teach like Bishop Moore's Easter sermon. While I was more involved in the church, I still thought most of the time I was not getting any moral guidance when it came to the issues of the day. Unfortunately, I still kept reading the bulletin during the sermon. Several of my pastors also seemed reluctant to take any stand on anything over the years. When I was running for the U.S. House of Representatives in suburban Chicago, my campaign asked my pastor to give the blessing at a dinner where I spoke. He refused because he didn't want to be seen as favoring anyone.
For the same reason, he was not available to discuss critical questions I was just forming an opinion about. I really wanted to seek guidance from my Rector. Still, he was not available to me, even in private and under strict confidentiality rules. I was sad about all this and again lost a sense of relevance. But fast forward twenty years, and low and behold, something miraculous happened again.
On June 24, 2022, the United States Supreme Court overturned Roe v Wade after 50 years. The decision was gut-wrenching, full of rhetoric cleverly disguising the fundamental, far-right Christian movement. I was outraged as the granddaughter of a suffragette and the daughter of a pioneer woman in business. I had fought for years for the rights of women and others who had been deprived by white "Chrisitan Men." I mainly worried that this was just the beginning for my daughters and granddaughter. Next, Justice Thomas said they would revisit same-sex marriage and contraception and put the government in our bedrooms. When I went to church on Sunday, I was still profoundly depressed about the ruling. I was afraid for all the women who would be harmed. I even searched my old jewelry case for the little gold hanger I had worn to show my support for reproductive rights fifty years before. When we settled in for the sermon, I was not in the mood for some discussion on the gospel or readings. I was definitely out of sorts. But I was selling my Rector way too short. He went there. He spoke of the court's decision. Suddenly I was a 22-year-old sitting at Saint John the Divine, and a priest talked to me again like Bishop Moore had. Like the sermon from so long ago, I will never forget this one.
This sermon took no less courage either. It was clear that the ruling had been very upsetting to the Rector. I sensed he was enraged by how "Christian Politicians" were taking to the media to use Christ and the Church to celebrate the ruling. At one point, he mentioned that some might suggest that the clergy should stay out of politics. Still, he would suggest that politicians stay out of religion. He was so thoughtful in the way he handled the subject. He walked us through the Episcopal Church's position on abortion. Even more importantly, he walked us through the bible! He pulled out all the essential references to abortion using his scholarly knowledge. At times I felt like he must have been up all night preparing with so much detail. The sermon was so powerful because he approached the subject with clarity and without judgment. Several times he said he hoped this sermon would lead to understanding and discussion. He respected everyone's opinions and hoped we would do the same for him. He even used the Gospel reading of the day in the sermon.
Because this parish is large, wealthy, and prestigious, it must have been daunting for him. He has done a fantastic job building the membership, raising money for many causes, including a new organ, and creating a parish never short of activities. He has often given sermons with a contemporary interpretation of current events, but this was going out on a big limb. After all, he had only served this parish for three years. Despite his successes, he does not know everyone and certainly not everyone's views. But in this eloquent sermon, he taught all of us something vital. By recognizing the beliefs of others, he thoroughly educated us on the Episcopal Church's position, which was essential to many of us. He preached, taught, and gave a sermon I will never forget.
I do not know why many rectors and priests I have known shie away from making statements on current events from the pulpit. I understand we chose our priests directly at the parish level. So there is always the fear of angering the vestry and being sent packing. But that is no excuse for not confronting the day's significant issues. I believe priests are responsible for educating and motivating discussions. They must help us distinguish what is in the bible and what has fostered the faithful by organized religions, extremists, and the media. We need great preachers willing to take up tough subjects and respectfully share their opinions.
So I have heard two unforgettable sermons in my life. But the second one has an even more profound significance for me. My youngest son served as an acolyte last Sunday when he heard this powerful sermon. The next day, he said he had listened carefully and shared our minister's position. My son said, in his opinion, the Rector was right. I am glad this young man will have known the power of a teaching preacher much younger than I did. May it help guide him as he thinks about the world. More importantly, may it help him reach out to his priest and have discussions and see him or her as someone he can talk to about real issues.
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