The Episcopal Church of St. Martin
May 24, 2020

Over the last few days an unexpected conversation has erupted around the country–suddenly everyone has an opinion about whether or not the Church is an “essential” organization.

When it comes to our own parish, I obviously have a vested interest in the answer, so maybe you don’t want to take my word for it. But you could start by looking around at all the good work we do, especially in and through our collaborations with other community organizations.

Through grants, and the use of our buildings, and the hard work and support of so many people, St. Martin’s is a key component of the social services network for the city of Davis and much of Yolo County. Davis Community Meals and Housing, STEAC’s food center, multiple AA groups, and the Interfaith Rotating Winter Shelter all depend to a greater or lesser degree on our existence.

It would be hard to argue that this work is anything less than essential. You probably know that throughout the shelter-in-place orders of the last two months or so we have kept our doors open to these groups, in as much as we safely could.

Staying open even in this limited capacity costs money and requires some coordination, at a time when revenues have declined and our leadership is stretched thin. Without doubt it would be easier and less expensive to turn off the lights, bolt the doors, and send the cleaning crew home until we are able to gather in person again. But we haven’t done that. It is our core commitment to the hungry, the homeless, and the most vulnerable among us that has led us to keep our buildings and grounds in regular working order, even as all of our worship, meetings, and formation and fellowship activities have moved online.

We believe that the currency of property, of place, does not really belong to us for our own use, but rather needs to be shared with the community—especially the most vulnerable among us, and especially in this time of pandemic and economic meltdown. That is part of what makes our church property sacred ground and part of what makes us, as a church, essential—we use our resources wisely and in response to our mission to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves.

Let’s be clear, though, that these programs and activities are not only essential to the community—they are essential to us, too. They are ways we have found to live out our core values, values articulated throughout Scripture.

In today’s Psalm, for instance, we hear God described as the “father of orphans and defender of widows,” and the one who “gives the solitary a home and brings forth prisoners into freedom.” Our God cares for the oppressed, the vulnerable, the lost, and the least—and we must also, if we want to be true to our calling as Christians.

That is why we have to be careful about mentally dividing up our congregation’s activities between the things we do for those who are outside the church and the things we do for those inside. God doesn’t make distinctions like that. The church is, to paraphrase a famous saying, the only institution that exists for the purpose of serving those who are not its members. When the church is most truly being the church, we are breaking down the whole idea of us and them, of insiders and outsiders, of who belongs and who doesn’t. This, too, is essential work.

When I take the time to pause and reflect on it, there is something so beautiful and Christ-like in this moment we find ourselves in that it nearly takes my breath away. We are being the church, and we are doing it by simultaneously not gathering in the church buildings ourselves and yet making sure that those who have no other place to go can still gather there, at least for a meal, or a bag of groceries, or the word of hope that will get them through one more day without turning to alcohol or drugs. This is what life looks like when it is lived at the foot of the Cross. It is the total offering of one’s self for the good of others, until such time as all those differences between us and them cease to exist and we all become one in God’s eternal kingdom.

Let’s turn again to Psalm 68, and consider for a moment verses 7 through 10, when the Psalmist refers to the Exodus, the years and years of wandering in the desert that the people of God had to endure before they entered the Promised land:
“O God, when you went forth before your people,
when you marched through the wilderness,
The earth shook, and the skies poured down rain […]
at the presence of God, the God of Israel.
You sent a gracious rain, O God, upon your inheritance;
you refreshed the land when it was weary.
Your people found their home in it.”

“You refreshed the land when it was weary, and your people found their home in it.” My friends, I am holding fast to those words. Right now, in this moment, it is helping me to think of our beloved church building as the promised land. We’ll get there, at the appropriate time. Regardless of where we find ourselves in the meantime, God is there, too. God led the people into the wilderness, and God did not abandon them there to fend for themselves. As long as the people were in right relationship with one another and with God, they found that it was no real wilderness at all, but a place of refreshment and plenty.

It is true, they longed for home. It is true, they sometimes found even the bread of angels and water from heaven to be boring and bland, too routine and familiar. But over and over again their leaders reminded them that God was there with them, giving them the sustenance they needed to move forward into the next day. Many of us have prayed the words, “Give us today our daily bread” throughout our lives, more times than we can count. Now is the time when we are learning what that prayer really means. Enough bread for today. Enough patience and good humor for today. Enough resilience for today. When we find our home in God, enough really is enough.

For the sake of my own spirit, I know that gathering together is essential. I know that hugging friends is essential, that singing joyfully along with a choir and an organ going full-steam ahead is essential. Anointing the sick, sharing bread and wine, kneeling side by side at the altar rail—these things are essential to my soul, and we long for them. And right now, they can’t happen. And so, we are learning to be patient, to lean into those things that we can do together, even digitally.

Patience is essential. I don’t think of patience as a passive, weak thing, but understand it to have an element of grit and resilience. One writer put it this way: “Patience is calmly bearing or enduring delay, disappointment, pain, and sorrow. It is a deep confidence in God’s providence and the willingness to persevere even in the face of loss and failure. It is not resignation but the awareness that truly Christ is risen from the dead and is with us moment to moment, no matter where we go or what we are enduring.”

In the end, the dignity and worth of every human being is essential. Our ability to pray and worship God is essential. Our relationships are essential. And nothing can take those things away from us, not the government, not the pandemic, not illness or age or even death. Nothing can separate us from the most essential thing of all—the love of God, the love he poured into us at our creation and that continues to sustain us with every breath we take.

As Jesus prepared to leave his earthly home, knowing that his feet would never again touch the familiar ground of his home, that his hands would never again hold the hands of a beloved friend, he promised his disciples that he would not leave them comfortless. And he did not. Let us follow his example always, using this time to comfort, encourage, and support one another. The essential work of love continues. Amen.