Sermon

Why Dinna Ya Tell Me?

by The Rev. Canon Susan Sommer

The quiet of the Rev. Mr. McDougal’s study was broken one morning by the sound of the telephone ringing.

“Oh Mr. McDougal,” the hysterical voice said, “This is Mrs. McTavish, and I’m calling because something awful has happened. Our wee dog Angus has been run over and has died. Is there any way, any way at all, that you could lay the poor thing to rest with a proper funeral?”

The Rev. Mr. McDougal rolled his eyes heavenward and said, “Mrs. McTavish, I’m so sorry for your loss, but I’m afraid that’s completely out of the question. The Sacraments are for humans, you see. I canna see my way clear to offer them for a dog. It wouldna be right.”

This set off a fresh wave of weeping. Finally, through her tears, Mrs. McTavish said, “Oh Mr. McDougal, it’d mean the world to ma husband and me. Why, we just were talkin’ about how we’d make a gift of 2-1/2 million pounds to the kirk as would bury our poor Angus.

The Rev. Mr. McDougal cleared his throat and said, “Mrs. McTavish, why dinna ya tell me your wee doggie was an Episcopalian?”

That I’m able to tell that dreadful joke at all in a parish of the American Episcopal Church is due to an extraordinary partnership between the Episcopal Church in Scotland and Samuel Seabury, an Anglican priest in Connecticut. Both before and after the Revolutionary War, there were no Anglican bishops living in the colonies. With no bishops on this side of the Atlantic, those seeking ordination to the priesthood had to make an arduous round trip journey to England. The distance was taking its toll; something had to be done. So in 1784, an assembly of Connecticut clergy chose Samuel Seabury to go to England and there seek to be consecrated as a bishop.

It, of course, was not that simple. Bishops in the Church of England were forbidden by law to consecrate anyone who would not take an oath of allegiance to the British Crown. So, ever resourceful, Seabury turned to the bishops of the Episcopal Church of Scotland. British Parliament had earlier established the Presbyterian Church as the Church of Scotland. Since the Episcopal Church of Scotland had no recognition by the British government, the Scottish bishops were free to consecrate Samuel Seabury. Which they did, no doubt with glee, perhaps even thumbing their collectives noses at the country that lay to the south of their border.

Were it not for the Scottish bishops of Aberdeen, Ross and Caithness, the Anglican tradition in the United States would have been little more than a footnote in history.

We don’t know what Scripture was used at Samuel Seabury’s consecration. But the passage we just heard from Matthew certainly would have been apropos. The emerging Episcopal Church had before it a plentiful harvest, and very few laborers, lay or ordained.

Our gospel passage for today takes place at the end of the 9th chapter of Matthew. Jesus has preached his Sermon on the Mount, and has spent several chapters teaching and healing throughout Galilee. The healings are dramatic and miraculous, and they serve primarily to teach the people that God is present with them. The Kingdom of Heaven has drawn near in the person of Jesus. The people are not forsaken, they are not cut off from salvation, it is to them that God directs his Good News.

And then we turn the page. And we see that the response of a disciple is to do as the Lord himself has done.  Healed, restored, forgiven, loved, and free, they are to become agents of healing and restoration, forgiveness, grace and freedom themselves. Which is why, in the verses that immediately follow our reading for today, Jesus sends his newly commissioned 12 disciples to the villages and towns throughout Galilee. They are to preach and teach and heal in his name and to proclaim wherever they go that the kingdom of heaven has drawn near.

Two hundred and twenty-six years ago today, the Episcopal Church of Scotland helped to ensure that the apostolic ministry of bishops would flourish in the New World. Because of that act of bravery, or defiance, or a mixture of both – these were Scots after all – the Episcopal Church in America took root, and emerged, and thrived. Lives have been touched, lives have been changed, Christ is made palpably present. While the laborers are more numerous than in Samuel Seabury’s day, there is yet room for many more. The harvest remains plentiful. There’s a world of suffering around us, people hungry for meaning, hungry for food, hungry for connection, hungry for the Good News that Christ brings to a weary world.  There is much work to be done by all of us disciples.

And there is a sense of urgency to this sending out. The Scriptural image of harvest, on one hand, speaks to the abundant blessings of life and labor that come from God. There is also a sense of finality to it that perhaps speaks to the time in which God will bring human history to a close. We cannot fathom when that will be, but we know that each of us is given a certain span of years in which to put to work the gifts we have been given. Our eternal lives in Christ have been assured, but our time on earth as disciples is woefully limited. How tragic it would be to end our earthly days saying, “Why dinna ya tell me the harvest was plentiful and ya needed my help?”

We are Christ’s hands and feet in the world – that much remains unchanged since Matthew wrote the gospel. It remains unchanged since Samuel Seabury and the Episcopal Church of Scotland ensured that the apostolic tradition of bishops would continue in the new world. There are hungry people to be fed, grieving hearts to be comforted, hope to be shared. The fields are white with the harvest. Let’s get to work.

© Grace and Holy Trinity Cathedral