Sermon

January 29, 2006
(Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany)

Our Haiti

  by The Rev. Canon Linda Yeager, Canon Deacon

Deuteronomy 18:15-20  •  Psalm 111  •  1 Corinthians 8:1b-13  •  Mark 1:21-28
(From The Lectionary Page)

Please join me on the rocky beach and peer with me into the fading daylight. The sky is a pastel blue with streaks of pink mingling among the misty clouds. In the distance we can see the outline of rolling mountains. At our feet the aqua water of the Caribbean gently laps the shore. The air feels warmly cool on our bare arms, and a faint, pleasing breeze lingers around us. Paradise. This is Haiti.

Now turn with me and walk about a hundred feet where we encounter a Haitian home. It is a typical Haitian home structure made of concrete with two small rooms. It was painted at one time, a bright pink, but the paint has faded. The roof is tin or maybe thatched. There is no electricity or water. Outside, in the cleared area around the house, there is a “kitchen” area with a place for cooking. The charcoal that is used for cooking has been made by burning trees, and the faint aroma of charcoal hangs always in the air. The meager cooking utensils are gathered neatly in one area, ready for the next meal. In another section of the area around the home is a plastic cloth with rice drying on it. The children have hauled water earlier in the day. The laundry has been done by hand in a large bowl, either at the nearest water source or with water brought from the water source earlier, and the clothing is laid out on the bushes to dry. The family welcomes us and offers us their only chairs. They speak Creole, which is a derivation of French, so they don’t understand our language. They welcome us anyway. The mother, father, children, and other extended family members are dressed simply, the women in skirts, of course. The children wear used American clothing, except for the youngest ones who wear tops only. The babies have cloth diapers if they are lucky, but not necessarily diaper pins. This, too, is Haiti.

Come with me now to the rectory, the place our group stayed on our mission trip earlier this month. The rectory is a two story building; the family lives downstairs. Upstairs are two bedrooms, one for the women and one bedroom for the men. The rooms have concrete floors and are furnished with bunk beds and that’s about all. There are two bathrooms in the rectory, as well, and sometimes they function—cold water only. Electricity comes from a generator, and it works sometimes, too. These quarters, by Haitian standards, are luxurious. Living at the rectory is Father Franz Cole, lovingly known as Fanfan. Fanfan is responsible for ten Episcopal churches and eight schools. He is a Haitian himself and remembers the time when conditions were better in Haiti. In the days of Papa Doc Duvalier and his son, terrorism was rampant. But there were paved roads and other examples of infrastructure. Now the terrorism persists, but there is basically no government, no roads, and no hope for many. But Fanfan is not a pessimist. Fanfan doesn’t long for the old days, but he hopes for better days. He is definitely a realist—and also an encourager. He has a couple of trucks which he uses to haul people like us around. The trucks take a real beating as they struggle to bump along the dirt roads with ruts as big as the trucks themselves. But he knows that it is worth his time and effort to put up with us because we are the Haitians only hope.

One of the strongest realizations I have now is that all the American dollars in the world cannot make Haiti a vital, productive country because, without honest, caring, effective leadership, those dollars would never reach those in need. I believe that the only way to help these people, who live in the poorest country in the western hemisphere, is one by one, person by person. Fanfan knows this, and we know it, too.

Now let’s go down one of these dusty, bumpy roads a couple of miles from the rectory to Maison de Naissance, the house of birth, the birthing center that has been built from the dreams of two Kansas City physicians and with the loving help of people in Missouri and Kansas. This cheerful, white rectangular structure has a large front porch to which the neighborhood children flock, hoping perhaps to encounter someone with candy or crayons. Inside the center is a simple but attractive, modern, sterile setting with rooms for examinations, for labor and delivery, and for the new moms and babies to stay for a day or two after birth. The kitchen is outside in a sheltered area. There is an office and a small lab, too. Most of the employees are Haitian women who have been trained in nursing and midwifery. Maison de Naissance, or MN as most call it, does more than offer a sterile haven for new moms. Services there also include pre-natal check-ups, post-natal check-ups, well baby check-ups, shots and vaccinations for children, family planning, community education, house calls, home-based care, and other services as well. This is a family center that offers hope and dignity as well as medical procedures.

If you are an expectant mom in Haiti who does not have access to MN, this is what your pregnancy involves. No pre-natal care, delivery by a native mid-wife in much less than sterile circumstances, and, if you or your baby have any problems or you need a caesarean section, you probably die. One out of every ten new mothers or babies dies in Haiti. The population of Haiti is about that of Kansas and Missouri combined, but the number of babies and mothers who die annually in Haiti total more than that of those in the entire United States.

Just a few more statistics: 30 percent of Haitian mothers report the death of at least one child; only nine percent of mothers report ever having a check-up themselves; 99 percent of homes have no electricity; zero percent of homes have access to reliably safe water.

Now, please let me share a little more about my recent trip in a personal way. I traveled with eight others from this area. I was definitely the grandmother of the group since all were much, much younger than I, but I did my best to keep up. We flew to Miami and then to Port au Prince, a dirty, dangerous, chaotic place these days. From Port au Prince, we took a single engine plane to LeCayes, which is the closest city to Torbek, in the far southwest corner of Haiti, where we did most of our work. As I mentioned earlier, we stayed at Fanfan’s house, and he transported us everywhere we went. When he needed gas, he stopped at the local “service station,” which is the front porch of a small house that has a couple of plastic jugs of gasoline sitting on the porch.

One of the members of our group was Brian Barling, a professional artist from Kansas City, who brought with him a mural for the pediatric ward of the hospital in LeCayes. He has also done murals at MN. He is using his gifts to brighten the lives of those who have so little to brighten their lives. Believe me, the mural in the pediatric ward in the hospital in LeCayes is the only positive thing we could find there. This hospital provides a stark contrast to MN. The large room that houses the pediatric ward is filled with metal beds with peeling paint. Flies abound and if there is no family to bring food, the children will not eat. The families must pay for all medications and, of course, most cannot. One man we met there held up a piece of paper with the name of a medication that his child needed. It cost one American dollar, but that was far out of reach for this family. Every single family in that large ward wanted us to pray with them.

Back to MN. Our primary job there was to make house calls in the area, and here is what we did. We drove as far as possible, and then walked, with an interpreter, from house to house, seeking all children under the age of five. We offered them Vitamin A capsules and de-worming medicine in a plastic cup (if we said “Coca-Cola” they drank the sweet medicine quite willingly). We weighed them, took statistical information regarding birth dates, family names, etc. Then, since there are no addresses, we plotted their home with the global positioning system and painted the positions on their homes so that follow-up visits and care can take place. Let’s see: think about how a family in our country would react to the following: a group of people come up to the house. These people are not the same nationality or race; they speak a different language; they want to give your children medicine; they want lots of personal information about your children; and, oh, yes, they want to paint numbers on your house. Perhaps we would not be as accepting as these people were who welcomed us and thanked us profusely for what we were doing. We asked them if they wanted us to pray with anyone, and several led us to small dark rooms with an older person lying on a mat on the floor. These persons were quite ill and in pain, but each one welcomed our prayers, even if they didn’t understand exactly what we were saying. These experiences were both humbling and holy.

Some of us spent some time at MN with the moms in labor. One day there were two moms awaiting the births of their first babies. (MN averages about a birth a day) We waited and watched with them. They received loving, encouraging, professional care and they delivered their healthy sons within ten minutes of each other. Two midwives from the states were there that week. One of them, Denise Fryzelka, who is a professor at KU med center and a midwife herself, goes to Haiti and to MN regularly, about every other month, to work on the administrative end of the operation. It was a terrifically rewarding experience to see her with the moms, with the staff, and with the computer, too. I was privileged to do a post-natal home visit with Denise and Natalee, the other midwife, and see the loving care that the family was giving to the new mom and her baby. And there were tears in my eyes as the grandmother thanked and hugged Denise and Natalee for the presence of MN in the life of this family.

Well, I haven’t spoken much of today’s scripture lessons, but I would like to refer to the psalm: Quoting from verses one, four, and ten: Hallelujah! I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart, in the assembly of the upright, in the congregation . . . He makes his marvelous works to be remembered; the Lord is gracious and full of compassion . . . The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; those who act accordingly have a good understanding; his praise endures for ever.

I certainly felt like giving thanksgiving the entire time I was in Haiti—thanksgiving for the blessed land, for the gracious people, for the team with whom I traveled, for the resources that allowed me to be there; I felt the Lord’s grace and compassion in every step I took; and I believe with all my heart that we have an opportunity to praise God through our willingness to reach out to others in God’s holy name.

There is so much I haven’t told you—about the church services I was blessed to attend at some of Fanfan’s churches, of the visits to the homes of some of Fanfan’s parishioners, of the extraordinary music we heard—not to mention the somewhat scary trip home.

Most of you know that I am a big fan of the late theologian Henri Nouwen. I’d like to share with you what he has to say about reaching out to the world:

Outside of God, human suffering is not only unbearable but cannot even be faced. Understandably, many people say, “I have enough problems of my own, do not bother me with the problems of the world. Just making it from day to day in my family, my town, my work, is enough of a burden. Please do not plague me with the burdens of people in Central America or other places. They only make me feel more angry, more guilty, and more powerless.” Outside of God even small burdens can pull us down and destroy our physical, emotional, and spiritual health. Outside of God burdens are to be avoided at all cost. Seeing people’s misery and pain outside of God becomes a burden too heavy to carry and makes us feel darkness inside. But when we come to know the inner connectedness between the world’s pain and God’s pain, everything becomes radically different . . . Jesus says, “My yoke is easy and my burden light.” But Jesus’ burden is the burden of all humankind. When we are invited to carry this burden of Jesus, we are invited to carry the burden of the world. The great mystery is that this very burden is a light burden since it is the burden that makes known to us the unlimited love of God. Here we touch the spiritual dimensions of all social concern . . . Seeing the agony of the people then becomes the way of coming to know the love of God, a love that reconciles, heals, and unites.

The people of Haiti do not feel sorry for themselves. They know that they are poor; they also know that God is with the poor. This is the root and strength of their faith. They are willing to accept help because they understand the message of their faith, the commandment to love and serve God and one another. Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

There is a small group that has been formed here at the Cathedral in the last few months that is dedicated to MN. Anyone is welcome to attend the meetings and be part of the mission. You can find out more about this group through the Angelus or by calling the office or by talking to those who are part of the group. We will also have a Haiti day here on Saturday, May 13, in Founders’ Hall, where you can find out more about MN, meet people who have traveled to Haiti, view some of the spectacular Haitian crafts, sample Haitian food, and perhaps discover how God is calling you to this mission.

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to travel to Haiti, for listening to my travel tales, for providing resources for my trip, and, most of all, for caring. None of these aspects of your participation surprises me, for the hearts of this congregation continue to grow in strength and response. Thank you for being you. You touch my heart always.

---

Love Builds Up

by The Rev. Carol Sanford, Curate

When I was growing up in southern Missouri, I loved being outside. I dragged my dolls and my books outdoors whenever possible, but I was also very happy playing with whatever nature offered up on a particular day. Getting what we called roly-poly bugs to roll up was a favorite summer pastime, and blowing lovely dandelion seeds all over the neighbors’ back yard was another. In the winter there were snow forts to build and frozen birds to bury. Spring brought wiggly worms on the sidewalks after heavy rains and little cracked blue cups of birds’ eggs to carry home and put on the windowsills.

In autumn we found, tucked away under piles of leaves, mysterious treasures that we named “puffballs.” As an adult, I have no more idea of what they really are than I did then, although I assume that they have something to do with seeds. What I can tell you is that puffballs are round, bumpy, and hard. Although they seem substantial when you look at them, when you pick them up they turn out to be empty shells filled only with air. Puffballs must be carefully handled, because they crush at the slightest pressure.

Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

St. Paul is working with the same type of image and message that he uses later in 1 Corinthians 13, when he says, “if I have prophetic powers and understand all mysteries and all knowledge ... but do not have love, I am nothing.” Knowledge without love is meaningless; there is nothing at its heart. Knowledge without love is empty, no matter how solid it appears to be and it crumples under pressure, revealing its lack of vital substance.

Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

Knowledge in itself is not a bad thing. Jesus, after all, was a teacher. But he was also God’s Word of love. Our gospel shows Jesus as he began his teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum. People were astounded because he taught as one having authority. The Greek word here translated as “authority” is exousia. It means, literally, out of one’s being or essence. Jesus taught not just out of knowledge of texts, even sacred texts, or of concepts. Jesus taught out of who he was. And so must we teach out of who we are.

In Dean White’s address at the annual meeting this afternoon, we were charged to make Grace and Holy Trinity “the cathedral at the heart of the city.” In order to do this, we must be a cathedral built on and for and out of God’s love. If you have read the annual report of the Cathedral’s activities and finances, if you have ever walked through these halls during the week and observed the fellowship, outreach and study that goes on here, if you have participated in our worship, then you already know that we are well on our way to being a heart of love in the heart of this city.

Our cathedral is much more than an empty shell.

Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

We are building this cathedral for ourselves and our children, for this city, and, always, for God. God’s works are faithfulness and justice, and so must ours be. The unclean spirit saw beyond the surface of Jesus and saw more than just another wandering teacher. The unclean spirit saw to the heart of the matter. It looked at Jesus and said, You are the Holy One of God. And so must we, in him, be holy ones of God. We can and do teach, not out of what we have or what we know, but out of who we are.

As plans are being made for installing playground equipment for our use and the use of our neighbors, for increasing our neighborhood outreach and our assistance programs, and for hiring someone to work specifically with our middle and high school age youth, we can see what love is building. Love is building a community of open, fearless, faithful people. As Dean White also pointed out, our Anglican habit of holding diverse opinions in united worship and faith is one of our great gifts to Kansas City.

Grace and Holy Trinity Cathedral is a beautiful edifice. We have money and talent and good intentions to spare. Our annual report, if you haven’t seen it yet, is available at the back of the nave. I urge you also to read Canon Linda Yeager’s report on her visit to Haiti and Dean White’s address to the Annual Meeting. They are filled with examples of the people at the heart of this cathedral. If we want to build up our parish, we must build up our city.

Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

This parish is filled with love, as a heart should be. Let’s keep building on that.

© Grace and Holy Trinity Cathedral