The Rev Mark Pendleton

November 18, 2022 Last Sunday in Pentecost Christ the King Harvest Sunday Be Still Every time we reach this Sunday before the season of Advent begins - with its many images of Kings and kingdoms -- it is always jarring to me to hear the account of the crucifixion of Christ now. It can seem out of place. We are getting ready for Thanksgiving Day this coming week - a holiday shared by many people in this country of every faith or no faith. A celebration of brown food with some hints of green sprinkled in. We are casting children in the Sunday School for parts in the Christmas pageant. I'm just not prepared for Good Friday in November. For weeks we have been reading our way through Luke, hearing parables and more parables, teachings, and chance encounters along ancient roads that Jesus had with a wide range of people from all walks of life: rich and poor, insiders and outsiders, the blind, wounded, lost and many in others poor health who desired healing. Part of me wants to stay on the road with Jesus and somehow sidestep the final chapter. But of course, there is no way to do that. For to begin another year, another cycle of telling the story of God's work, we must face the end before we get to begin again. So, we arrive. When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Irony is on full display that this most innocent of men, who lived a life proclaiming the kingdom and peace and love, showed humility at every turn, and was innocent of the rage, contempt, judgement, and all other brokenness that the rest of humanity carries, he is nailed to a cross between two criminals. One of them derided Jesus and taunted him: "OK, big man, work your magic. If you are a king, kings have power, so save yourself." The other criminal is shown to be more repentant. Self-aware. He saw that this Jesus did nothing wrong when the two of them in that harsh punishment word of the day were getting what they deserved. And so, it was left to the repentant criminal to plead with him: "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Don't forget about me. The desire to remember and to be remembered is deep within our shared experience. It is why our military will go to great lengths to rescue the captured or bring back the remains of the fallen. It is why we carry grief and loss so close our hearts. My wife Leslie and I lost a dear friend to cancer three weeks ago. She had attended our daughter's wedding over Labor Day weekend even though she had grown weaker by the years of treatments. Hers was the cruelest shared loss, for the gene that carried and caused the disease also had taken the lives of her mother and two sisters before for. Just a mountain of pain for this wonderful family, as you can imagine. And after the church service, we gathered in local Italian restaurant to have a meal that she picked out for all of us. She requested - more like demanded -- an open bar. And pictures of her were on every table. And we feasted through sadness on memories of her life. A psalm we often pray and recite during harder days is today's psalm 46. There is much to hold onto in the words. Like so many of these ancient prayers, one gets the sense of how well-worn it is. Sung, prayed, recited by the faithful and the many more clinging to their faith when life hands them hardship and loss. We pray these words hoping and believing that they might come alive to calm the waters and firm up the shaking ground under our feet. Truth be told, our world has long been a place of darkness and light, pain and joy and loss and love. So., we cast our lot with a God who is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. This is a powerful God. Not so much a God who moves the earth and mountains or rages in the oceans, but one who steadies us when our world seems to have shifted and we feel as if we are falling. What does God say in these moments: "Be still, then, and know that I am God" Pause. Stop. Don't move. Don't rush for easy answers or the hurt to stop hurting. We are culture and a people in constant motion because too many of us have been convinced that doing is more important than being. If we are not doing something we have less value - or so we think. It is not easy to be still. When we are still, I believe we can remember more. Memories can provide anchor in our lives. The Litany of Thanksgiving we pray this morning is a roadmap of the reasons why we remember to turn and to give thanks to God for all that we have received. It is a good day to begin to gather in the pledges of support that will help our leadership plan for next year and beyond. It is an inescapable, though not perfect, way to do our work. I hope you saw the letter that went out the many of households that had a reflection from Katherine Gibson, who grew up in this parish and now raising her family here and is a faithful teacher in our Sunday School. She wrote: "A Memory: Sitting on carpet squares in Harris Hall, homemade communion bread, and my mother playing guitar in the praise band. Those of you who have been at Christ Church for over 25 years or so may recognize this 'Family Service' reference. Since I was a child, Christ Church has meant warmth and friendship. I remember the excitement of youth group overnight "sleep-ins" at the church (no one really slept), donut holes and M&M cups in the office, singing in Junior Choir, first communion, and confirmation. There were moments of sadness and support at my grandmother's funeral, and moments of serene peace with candles during Silent Night on Christmas Eve." "We knew from the start that we wanted to be in Exeter, so we started attending Christ Church with the hope that living in town would follow. Although so many faces had changed, we were overwhelmed with the warm welcome. COVID hit, and we were so impressed with all the efforts to continue Sunday school and keep it safe. This fall brought the renovation of new rooms downstairs, and I am now teaching in the same rooms I used to sit in as a child. It is amazing to watch my children run through the same halls I remember. I am so appreciative of the investment and efforts that the church and clergy have put in place to welcome new families. I am excited to watch the next generation of youth grow at this church." Before we move to Advent and closer to Christmas, we are brought again to the place where time ran out. What stands out to me was how it must have seemed as if everyone was watching. All eyes were on Jesus. Watching him: the people, bystanders, followers, leaders, soldiers, and even the two criminals. What would he do? What could he do? Some of them had seen miracles before - storms had been calmed, water turned into wine, the blind got back their sight and even Lazarus came back from sure death to walk again. Would there be another miracle? That dove that came down at his baptism -- might the dove swoop down and free him? For those who have visited with me in my office, you will know that I have wall covered with crosses - some of them were given to me but others I have bought in my travels. None of them look the same. Some of them have the corpus, the body of Christ, and some are simple wooden crosses. I hang them up in a place where I can see them as I go through my day - as I look up from my desk. To remind me to remember. The place where it seemed as if it all ended was as it turned out the place where something new was being born. A cruel end was a beginning. Many watched, but few saw. Many hear the words of the gospels and Scripture and can quote them better than a country preacher, and do we listen? Pope Francis once said to a room full of the faithful that "we are not living through an era of change, but a change of era. May this change bring about bring about more mercy, hope, and justice so that one of God's children are forgotten. 2