Ninth Sunday after Pentecost Fr. Rick, homilist

It is great to be back! The sabbatical was meant to be a time of rest, study, and renewal. I am confident in saying all three goals were met. Thank you for your many prayers and ongoing support! You are truly beautiful!

This Thursday, I began to write the homily for today’s liturgies. I got halfway through, and then thought I needed to give it some rest and return to it on Saturday morning after attending Matty’s Men breakfast and meeting. Between early Thursday evening and Saturday morning, I realized I liked what I had written but it was getting too long. One of the two studies in the second month of my sabbatical was a refresher in preaching. 10 to 15 minutes remains the standard. As every student in a preaching class hears, to the point of being clichéd but still true, “Men and women, it doesn’t have to be everlasting to be eternal.”

Having visited the homes of three of our brothers in faith from another time and another place, I had planned to share with you a brief element of their stories. The three are St. Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, England; St. of Iona, Scotland; and St. of , Ireland.

Changing the expression of “gifts, talents, and abilities” to simply the word “powers,” I planned to share how each of these three men used one of their powers to grow the reign of God within their communities, but the homily was getting longer. So, we will hear their stories another time. But I will share with you the power I saw as most significant in their lives. For Cuthbert, it was his gentleness; for Columba, his intelligence; and for St. Kevin, his care for creation.

There is the temptation to share stories of any number of the incredible people and ministries I encountered. I met a priest who, six days after her ordination, was given charge of generating a mission to people living with homelessness. What she has been doing is remarkable, truly transforming lives of some of the most vulnerable in her community.

I spoke with a priest whose parish has a monthly ministry of doing laundry for people who are homeless. Many churches provide this service. I spent time learning of the innovative extended ministries of a parish in Hollywood. It was a parish that had a sizable amount of money to which the Rector came in the early 1990’s. Then, it had only seven parishioners. That changed.

This morning I will share the invitation to see the power and beauty of creation and be in gratitude to the One who brought all things into being, and in whom we live and move and have our being. While I would like to include in this reflection all three places I visited in the United Kingdom and Ireland, I will limit myself to the United Kingdom.

The Isle of Lindisfarne in England is referred to as the Holy Isle. A monastery was established there in the 7th century at the Invitation of King Oswald to the Celtic Monastery at Iona. St. Aidan began that process. It is a tidal island in the North Sea, accessible by foot and vehicle from the mainland for periods of time each day. Today, a 12th century priory ruins stand as a memorial to the people of faith who lived there. More than likely, these ruins were built on or next to the monastery whose history went back to St. Aidan.

Lindisfarne has a wild coastal beauty in the North Sea, which seems to extend to infinity. One can hear waves break along the cliffs and even see a wall of seals along the coastline. I heard their barking! It reveals a true majesty to which one can easily breathe the prayer, “Thank you.” is known for its reverence for nature in revealing the awe and wonder of God and mediating the presence of God. It also respects the fact that nature can be harsh. Although this sounds a bit odd, one needs to respect the nature of nature. In my meditation and reflection there, I heard from this somewhat rugged beauty the call of vitality, to be alive, to wake up to the God who is present here and now.

The Isle of Iona, off the northwestern coast of Scotland, was a major center of Christianity begun under the power of Columba’s intelligence and his power of faith. Iona is only 1.5 miles wide and 3 miles long with 150 full-time residents. Historic ruins of a nunnery and an abbey rebuilt from its ruins, both from the early 1200s, stand in memory of the men and women of faith who lived as followers of Christ. The abbey is believed to be on the original site of the monastery Columba built in the 6th century.

As powerful as Iona is with its strong memorials of faith, it is what Church of Scotland minister George MacLeod called a “thin place.” A thin place is a place where heaven and earth meet; truly it is a holy place. The holiness I experienced there was the living memory of the people of faith who made this their home and the countless pilgrims who have, and still, come to this place of blessing, including me.

In the nearly two weeks I spent on Iona, I was able to take in the natural beauty, and attend Holy Communion liturgies, evening prayer, compline services. At various places on the island, benches are strategically placed; I call them “reflecting stations.” At these statins, the holiness of the isle due to its beauty also surfaced for me.

There, I felt the various elements of the day (rain on occasion, sunshine more frequently than I thought there would be, and pretty constant wind) and look at the green grass-covered hills with sheep grazing on them, the view of the Isle of Mull across the Sound of Iona, the view of the Atlantic Ocean at the Bay at the Back of the Atlantic, and the beautiful wildflowers as well as well-sculpted gardens of the residents and a few businesses. It all spoke to me of gentleness, beauty, peace.

In more times than I can recall whether I was at Lindisfarne, Iona, or Glendalough. as I took time to be present to the moment and all its power, I would hear the encouragement from the first line of the 10th verse of the 46th psalm, “Be still and know that I am God!”

Dear friends, we live and move and have our being in the very presence of God. We are part of an awesome and wonderful, but at times scary cosmos, into which God constantly generates life. We have one who invites us to see ourselves and everyone else as a child of God within this wild cosmos of considerable majesty. The first-century evangelist John refers to our teacher as the Word of God made flesh. A bishop of Rome in the 20th century refers to Jesus as the human face of God. We learn from him how to grow the reign of God.

I have a homework assignment for you this week. Take some time during the week to be outside and look around at the world around you. You may want to find your own reflecting bench on which to sit. Allow yourself to just look at the beauty you see. and if you can, go ahead and speak to God with the very simple but powerful words, “Thank you.” Look around again and realize all this beauty is given to you and to every part of creation, and that the beauty and power of who you are is given to the entire cosmos. With this, we give gratitude to God. And just possibly, you may hear a voice that encourages you to remember: Be still and know I am God. Amen.