 Final Sermon at SsJA
By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector Alright friends, today we celebrate one of our guys - James. At first, it might seem curious that this particular gospel reading was assigned to James’ feast day. After all, who wants to be remembered for their hardest moments. The ones where we lose sight of what really matters; when we’ve gotten in the way. After a teacher or mentor speaks to us and our pride is quickly replaced by feelings of humility, embarrassment, or maybe even, shame. Though there is something to this; being remembered for the full spectrum of our lives - our best and worst. And in James’ case, a reminder that this lowly fisherman rose to prominence in a movement that shook everything up. The tables of society were being flipped by a man proclaiming God’s dream of love, launching a movement that has yet to slow down over two thousand years later. Yet James was not able to rise to prominence until he fully understood what his teacher had to say. His status did not rise because he asked before the other disciples thought to ask (or in this gospel’s version, his mom). If that was the case, the saying would be the first will be first. (sounds a little too familiar these days, doesn’t it). Rather it was because in the discomfort of that moment, James did not let shame take the reigns of his life. Instead, he faced his peers, and listened to his teacher. In the Common English Bible translation, Jesus says to his disciples: “...Whoever wants to be great among you will be your servant. Whoever wants to be first among you will be your slave— just as the Human One didn’t come to be served but rather to serve and to give his life to liberate many people” (Mt 20:26-28) While the road was not always smooth, we know James spent the rest of his life in service to Christ and God’s dream for this world. And as Jesus foretells in this passage, James was the first of the Apostles to die in service of Christ, as seen in our second reading from Acts (12:1-2). We now distinguish James from the other two James in Jesus’ followers by calling him the Greater. James bears this moniker because in what could have been a painfully embarrassing or shame filled moment, James finds humility. And that humility shapes his hands, his heart, his mind, towards a life of service. When I first arrived in Greenfield, it was clear this community had embodied the spirit of James. There was a collective heart for service. Specifically for feeding people through Second Helpings and Bread of Life, an ecumenical partnership delivering food to homebound neighbors. When James and Andrew married to become a new community, that collective heart of service seemed to triple, as our outreach ministries grew. I’ve always loved that our two guys were each part of a pair of brothers who were fisherfolk, called at the same time to follow Jesus. Two guys who led simple lives, called to set down their nets, setting down the familiar, to come and fish for people, entering a life of service. They began their ministry with Christ together, and we continue it here today. I especially appreciate that this community’s heart for service, while certainly influenced by the ministers that have journeyed with you, is distinctly yours. You do not hold this value to your identity because of Titus Strong, John Whiteman, Andy Wissemann, Peter Chase, John Cerrato, Marnie Keator, or Heather Blais. You are who God has called you to be, serving this little corner of God’s world. Each minister has helped fan the flames of who you are. Or at times when we lose our way or do not know how to proceed, we extinguish some of your flames. But through it all, you are who God has called you to be, a community with a heart for service. Ministers come and go. We make mistakes, put our foot in our mouths, and miss God’s memos. But most of all, if we are living into our vows, we love you, as Christ loves us. Right before I was ordained, as I was spinning out about not knowing how to serve a church, a wise priest in the Diocese of Maine told me none of that mattered. What really matters is that a minister loves their people for who they are. So dear ones, we all know I have made plenty of mistakes. I don’t especially want to count the number of times I have put my foot in my mouth. And I am quite certain that I miss at least one, if not ten, memos a day from God. But I do feel, with confidence, that I have loved you with my whole heart. And I have felt that same love from you in return. For myself, and for my family. It has been a gift. You shaped and formed me, and helped me grow up and into this role. I was called a Rector long before I had any business being one. But you were patient and flexible - qualities that have only compounded since. Much like your heart for service. For the last several years, when I introduce myself, I affirm that it is a joy to serve this community as Rector. And it has been a joy. While joy is hard to quantify, I wanted to have some way to measure that joy and the love I feel for this community of God’s beloved. So I did what any church geek does, I reviewed the parochial report numbers. These reports observe trends in parish life, and are shared with the wider church. So for those who like that kind of thing, during our life together, we have: - Baptized 35 little ones and adults into the household of God. - Affirmed 30 people as they choose their faith for themselves in confirmation. - Witnessed 16 couples enter holy matrimony. - Commended 151 people we loved into God’s eternal care. - And today will mark our 1,600th time breaking bread together as the body of Christ. As our pastoral relationship comes to an end today, the only thing I truly want to say is - thank you. Thank you for loving my family and wanting the very best for us. Thank you for supporting my sabbath practice and two sabbaticals (four more years Fred!) Thank you for being such a generous hearted community. Thank you for loving Christ in body, mind, and spirit. You are the living embodiment of Christ, here and now, in this place. May God bless you and keep you, this day and every day. Amen.
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 Luke 24:13-35
By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector Our gospel begins with two disciples walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus. They have lost all hope, having truly believed Jesus was the Messiah. His absence left them reckoning with a faith they no longer understood. Along the way, they encounter a stranger who notices their despair. He seems completely unaware of recent events. As the three travel together, the disciples fill him in. The stranger then reframes their disappointment and doubt, by reinterpreting the scriptures to them. Upon their arrival in Emmaus, the stranger keeps walking onward. When the disciples notice this, they urge the stranger to stay with them. He agrees, and they begin to share a meal together. It is in this moment where everything changes. “When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him…” (Luke 24:30-31a) Then the Risen Jesus vanishes from their sight. The Risen Christ was revealed to them in the breaking of the bread. And in that moment, these brokenhearted disciples are made whole. Overwhelmed by the blessing of this encounter, they return to Jerusalem, eager to tell the others. In life, Jesus taught his disciples that when they break bread together in prayer, that bread will be blessed, and in turn they will be a blessing. In death, Jesus, himself is the blessed one, broken open in an ultimate act of love. In resurrection, the Risen Christ shows us he will be revealed to us again and again in the breaking of the bread. Thousands of years later, we maintain the sacrament of Eucharist. We are nourished and sustained by it. This sacred meal is a ritual reminder that even in our brokenness, we are blessed and made whole in Christ. Christ was blessed and broken, just as we are broken and blessed. When I was twelve, we moved to be closer to my mom’s work. At this point, I was in the delightfully awkward years of middle school, while navigating my own internal sense of brokenness. My father had opted out of a relationship a few years prior. I struggled to understand why one parent sacrificed everything so that I might thrive, while the other couldn’t be bothered to call or write. As we do, I took my father’s brokenness, and internalized it as my own. This is where the fertile soil of shame can blossom. We somehow begin to believe not that we’ve done something wrong, but that we - our very selves - are wrong. Broken beyond repair. My deepest hope at that time was that no one would discover my brokenness. Our move to a new community allowed us to connect with a nearby Episcopal Church after some time away. We began to attend services every Sunday. There were painfully long sermons, screeching sopranos in the choir, and an organ that was played like Phantom of the Opera instead of worship. The majority of that 90 minute service was something to endure. That is, until the priest would make their way to the high altar after the peace. In this moment, when shifting into the celebration of the eucharist, things always felt different. Our gothic church was built from Maine’s granite, and featured a rood screen. This is a giant partition separating the congregation in the nave of the church and the altar party in the chancel, with a huge cross in the top center. I always assumed they called it a rood screen because it was a ‘rude’ impediment to seeing what was happening up on the high altar. I learned much later that the spelling was R-O-O-D, which is an old English word for cross or crucifix. This rood screen felt like a veil, separating the people and the mystery of the eucharist. When it was time to receive communion, the ushers would carefully guide us towards the communion line which would enter through this imaginary veil. We would slowly make our way up several steps, past the choir stalls and organist, up still more steps, until we would finally reach the altar rail. In that journey, something would happen that defied logic. And it happened each week without fail. As Jesus blessed and broke bread with his disciples, Christ became the bread, blessed and broken for us. The power of such a tenderly given gift, made it safe to walk through the imaginary veil of the rood screen, while pulling back our own veils. Revealing to Christ our own wounds, our own brokenness. Being reminded once more that we are fully accepted, loved, and forgiven. All while our community stands before and behind us in this communion line. All while the communion of saints surrounds us. Each of us - in all our quirky and tender brokenness - are made whole in the moment of receiving Christ’s presence in the eucharist. That moment is a sacred mystery, and in many ways it defies logic. I am generally filled with an overwhelming sense of peace and unity with God, creation, and the human family. That sense may last a moment, or even days. If we believe in the power of the eucharist, then we believe Christ is somehow really and truly present in that bread and wine. If we believe this, then we believe when we break bread together, and receive the sacrament, we seek Christ to make us whole - if but for a moment. Entering into our hearts, minds, and bodies, so that we may walk more fully in love and faith. Going out into the world, strengthened by Christ’s presence in and with us, all so we might be a blessing to others. Christ was blessed and broken, and we are broken and blessed in this sacred meal we share each week. The practice of regular worship where we break bread together has the power to heal us, shift and change us. Anything is possible when we offer ourselves, to meet the real presence of Christ, in this shared sacred meal. When we engage in this act, we will be renewed, sustained, and nourished. Four years of weekly eucharist, of growing in faith in community, helped me to find my own peace. It helped me differentiate what was mine, and what was my fathers. It helped me to forgive him; to better understand the circumstances that led to his actions. It helped me release the shame that needn’t have been there in the first place. It doesn’t mean these things don’t bubble back up. Yet the pattern of eucharist in community, reaffirming our commitment to the core values of Christ’s Way of Love, are a healing balm empowering us to begin again, and again, and again. Until this earthly life has come to an end, and we enter into eternal life. Where it all shifts from a moment of Christ’s presence in the eucharist to an everlasting experience in the presence of our Creator, Christ, Spirit, and the communion of saints. Our two disciples on the road to Emmaus had given up hope. They assumed they really had gotten it wrong about Jesus, and I imagine it might have stirred up shame, embarrassment, despair, grief, and longing. Yet Christ came to them, walked beside them, and reinterpreted the scriptures so they might better understand God’s saving acts.Then he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread. The disciples left that meal, eager to go and share the Good News. As we prepare to head back into God’s world, to be a blessing ourselves, I would invite us to do some reflecting this week:
Let us pray: Risen Christ, stay with us; be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and awaken hope, that we may know you as you are revealed in Scripture and the breaking of bread. Grant this for the sake of your love. Amen. (BCP 139, adapted).  By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector
Matthew 28: 1-10 Alleluia! Christ is Risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia! Our Gospel begins on the third day following Jesus’ death. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary arise at dawn to visit the burial tomb. They had been waiting patiently to visit Jesus’ grave, ever since Joseph of Arimathea had laid his body there two days prior. While Joseph buried Jesus, two women identified as Mary Magdalene and the ‘other’ Mary, sat across from the tomb keeping watch. When the sun began to set, they needed to return to their lodgings in order to observe the Sabbath. As the sun rose on the first day of the week, the two women were the only disciples to return and visit Jesus’ tomb. The only disciples to find the courage to pay their respects. But they were not the only ones at the tomb. Guards had been assigned by Pilate to keep watch, after those in religious leadership requested this measure of security. Jesus had spoken of dying and rising again on the third day. Those in power were being proactive about quelling such ideas. Jesus was killed for being a disrupter; perceived as fanning the flames of discontent. His enemies - those high up in religious leadership and those governing the region on behalf of Rome - sought to maintain the status quo and keep power in the hands of the very few. And as we witnessed on Good Friday, this cost him everything. One would think the power demonstrated in a Roman crucifixion would have been enough to quell any worries of further talk or action by Jesus’ followers. Yet even in Jesus' death, he invoked fear amongst his enemies. Jesus represented a different kind of distribution of power, a different set of norms and values, ones grounded in God’s love. This was such a perceived threat, that even after his death, those holding the most power do what they can to disrupt the Jesus’ Movement. When the guards report what happens at the empty tomb, they are paid by those high in religious leadership to keep quiet about the truth. They are paid to propagate fake news, and tell people Jesus’ disciples came while the guards were asleep and stole his body. The thing about propaganda and fake news is the truth will always come out. Just as empires with corrupt leaders who use their power for evil ends and the further oppression of others, will always see their reign fall in the end. It may be a fall that breaks little by little, chinks in one armor exposing vulnerabilities that will eventually bring entire empires down. Or it may be more like the destruction of an earthquake that disrupts and breaks down infrastructure of an entire city or region. We do not want to see the suffering of the fall; we do not want to see the destruction of the city - even as we know it is the universe righting itself. As good once more overcomes evil. As love once and for all overcomes death. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary play an important role in this seismic shift that we see on Easter morning. Upon their arrival at the tomb, there is a very real earthquake. It results with a blindingly bright angel appearing before them. The angel rolls back the stone, revealing an empty tomb. The guards are so overcome by fear that they experience temporary paralysis. While fear can be contagious, in this instance, it is not. The women listen with rapt attention, as the angel tells them: Do not be afraid. You are looking for Jesus, but he isn’t here. He has been raised. Come and see where he laid. So the women look in the cool, dark, dank and empty tomb. The space lies in such stark contrast with the angel’s blinding brightness.The angel then tells the women, Do not be afraid. Go. Go and tell the disciples in Galilee, he has been raised from the dead. You’ll see him there. So the women go, embarking on the journey to tell the disciples. Even as a swirling mixture of fear and excitement, courses through them. It seems their beloved teacher and friend has been raised. Imagine how long that day must have been. Eager to know more, to see Jesus, and bring this news to the other disciples. What a relief it must have been when they encountered Jesus on the road. Seeing the risen Jesus, hearing him greet them. The women fall to their knees, grabbing hold of his feet. This is no apparition, but really and truly the risen Jesus. Because Love is stronger than death. Jesus turns to these faithful disciples, reiterating the angel’s earlier message: Do not be afraid. Go. Tell the other disciples in Galilee. They will see me. The women do as Jesus asks. Stopping throughout Galilee to spread the good news to the disciples that Jesus has risen. It was no mistake that the empty tomb was first revealed to Mary Magdalene and the other Mary - followers with no status in the wider culture. Jesus’ ministry has always begun on the margins, with those least visible. Yet when these women show up, in faithfulness and with a deep loyalty to their teacher and friend, their actions become instrumental to the continuation of the Jesus Movement. They become the first evangelists, proclaiming the good news that good has once more overcome evil, and love has once and for all overcome death. Our most beloved stories in literature and film often show what can happen when those least visible, those with least access to power show up for good. It is this first step, the showing up, often in deep faithfulness and loyalty, that we see momentum begin to build so good might overcome evil. And critical for momentum to begin to build, they must realize they are not alone. They are in this work faithfully together - and it lets them move beyond fear so they, too, might go. We see elements of this in the Harry Potter series, in Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia, the Time Quintet, and countless others. Eclectic and unusual folk that do not fit into typical molds, come from the margins of their little worlds to band together and create Dumbledore’s Army, the Fellowship of the Ring, and other movements. All for the sake of good overcoming evil, and a shared vision for a better world. In these stories, it is often the character’s fierce loyalty to one another, and to a greater good, that touch our hearts. Hermione Granger uses a spell on her parents, erasing her existence in their minds, all so she might protect them and support her friend Harry in defeating Voldemort. Sam Gamgee devotes his life to ensuring his dear friend Frodo can fulfill his mission, by repeatedly refusing to leave his side and ultimately carrying him over Mt. Doom. The unrelenting steadfastness and trust these characters demonstrate, helps those they walk beside face any fear and go onward with courage. It is this kind of devotion and faithfulness that we see in Mary Magdalene and the other Mary in today’s gospel. Their love of their friend Jesus, overcomes any fear of the political and religious turmoil at play, any nonsense they might face from the guards or religious leaders. They show up in faith, and encounter first an angel, then the risen Jesus: Do not be afraid. Go. Tell the disciples. And because they do, the Good News of Jesus' resurrection becomes known. Over 2,000 years later we still recall Jesus' final week as a testimony of our belief that love, as made known to us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, is stronger than death. Love will always be stronger than death - yesterday, today, and forever. The events that unfold in our gospel, do so because of five simple words. Do not be afraid. Go. The women are told, first and foremost: Do not be afraid. It begs the question: what fears are holding us back? The ones that leave us feeling paralyzed or frozen like the guards. What fears do we need to name, releasing their power over us so we might step forward in faith? Once released, we can join the women and: Go. Go and tell the disciples. All of it urges us to turn to God in prayer, so we might regularly ask: Where are you calling us to go, God? How are you calling us to share and embody the good news this day? Because right now, the world is hungering to be reminded that good does overcome evil, and that love truly is stronger than death. The world right now is hungry for this good news. Hungry for hope. Hungry for justice. Hungry for peace. Hungry for God’s sense of righteousness. Hungry for a love that is stronger than death. On this Easter morning, the Gospel calls us to respond to this hunger by sharing the Good News of Christ’s Way of Love with those we walk beside in our communities and in the wider world. The question for us is: Will we accept this invitation? Do not be afraid. Go.  By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector
Ezekiel 37:1-14 | Psalm 130| Romans 8:6-11 | John 11:1-45 In today’s passage from Ezekiel, we witness the prophet have an incredible encounter with the living God; a vision that reminds us of God’s omnipotent presence.* Ezekiel writes, “The Lord’s power overcame me…” (37:1). When we are overcome - it is often with shock, or grief, or joy. Our senses become overwhelmed, making it difficult to act or think clearly. In those moments, all we can really do is be present to that singular moment. This is all the more true when it is God’s power that has overcome us. This week I spent some time reflecting when we as a faith community have experienced being overcome by the power of the living God in our time together. There are two instances that arose - and neither will be a surprise. The first experience was in the movement of our liturgy on the day former St. James and former St. Andrew’s became Saints James and Andrew. Each community began worship in their respective sanctuaries. The folks in Turners proceeded to gather particularly sacred and special items, climb into their cars and drive to Greenfield; parking at Federal Street School, where they made the rest of the journey on foot. Meanwhile folks in Greenfield processed out the front doors, gathering on the corner of Church and Federal Streets, singing hymns of praise and welcome as our siblings in Christ walked towards the church bearing their offerings. God’s all powerful and encompassing presence was in full force that day, overcoming two former bodies, as they married to become one new body of Christ. There is a photo that Jason took that day of the altar party processing into the church - with both banners side by side. There is something about that particular photo that for me best captures God’s capacity to overcome us. Particularly when reflecting on all the ways this body of Christ has sought to remain open to God’s presence and to serve as God's vessel, as Ezekiel does in this vision of the valley of dry bones. Next month we mark our 9th anniversary, and I trust the body of Christ at James and Andrew will seek and strive to be faithful servants of God’s vision of love for many years to come. The other instance that arose when reflecting on times we as a faith community have experienced being overcome by the power of the living God related to the pandemic - in different intervals. First - when we were forced to close our doors, but found ways of continuing to be the body of Christ scattered in our various homes. Then even more so when we were allowed to reopen our doors and gather - in person - as the body of Christ. Still further more when after many, many months of fasting from the Eucharist, we could finally break bread together as the body of Christ. The renewed meaning of the sacrament was an experience of being overcome by God’s omnipotent presence, and a glimpse into the vision of God’s dream. In Ezekiel’s encounter with God, he too was overcome. In his out of body experience within God’s Spirit - Ezekiel is shown a valley full of bones. Not just any bones - specifically, very dry bones (37:2). Which is in contrast with a human body alive and well, composed of well over 50% water. We see the stark difference between the lusciousness of life and the very dry bones of death. Bones that are so dry there is nothing remotely alive about them. They are beyond repair, seemingly beyond God, beyond saving. Except that is not the case. God tells Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones: “...Dry bones, hear the Lord’s word! …I am about to put breath in you, and you will live again. I will put sinews on you, place flesh on you, and over you with skin. When I put breath in you, and you come to life, you will know that I am Lord” (37:4b-6). And so Ezekiel does as God asks. He does not second guess whether God is talking to him, or whether he has what it takes to do the job, or whether he’s worthy of God’s attention. In this moment - and maybe because it's a vision instead of our day to day lives which are ripe with self-doubt - Ezekiel understands he is being called by God to do something, and without reservation does as God asks. Suddenly there was a great quaking; and these very dry bones that once filled the valley came together. Then God tells Ezekiel to prophesy to the breath, this time saying, “The Lord God proclaims: Come from the four winds, breath! Breathe into these dead bodies and let them live!” (37:9b). Again Ezekiel does as God asks. Then the holy breath, the lifeforce of God, comes into these once dry bones. God then tells Ezekiel to prophesy to these revived people - people who had once lost hope and perished, “I will put my breath in you, and you will live” (37:14). God’s breath is all we truly need. Breathing God into ourselves, and breathing God out into the world. In this vision of the valley of the dry bones Ezekiel was overcome by the power of God. He accepts God’s invitation to serve as a vessel. In doing so, he breathes God in, and breathes God out. He does so with an apparent ease that can only come from the grace of the Spirit. His willingness to accept his call to a life of service, working in partnership and concert with God, transforms him into a vessel that brings God’s dream that much closer to fruition. All by breathing God in, and breathing God out. This is our call as followers of God in Christ. That we, like Ezekiel, might be overcome by God and accept a call to a life of partnership and service, seeking to help bring God’s dream into fruition. To do so, we must be at the ready, open handed, pliable and agile, nimble and adaptable. Readying ourselves at our best moments to become living breathing reminders that God is all powerful and ever present. As we walk our lives of faith - personally and in community - there will be times when God will ask us, like Ezekiel, “Can these bones live again?” (37:3) Sometimes our bones may be so very dry that our hope may seem lost. Yet we know that taking something as simple as an intentional breath invites the Spirit of the Living God to fall fresh on us. Breathing God in, breathing God out. All the while reviving us and our hope. This life of faith is a great privilege and is grounded in gratitude, where we are regularly overcome by all the blessings of this life. Breathing God in, breathing God out. Dedicating our lives to being a vessel of God’s grace and love. In both the big life changing ways, and more often, in mundane and ordinary ways. This week I was reflecting on all the mundane and ordinary ways those serving on our Vestry, Finance, and Property Committees act as vessels of God’s breath. These particular ministry teams are charged with responsibility, oversight, and stewardship of our facilities, finances, and resources. These committees are often bogged down by budgets, insurance claims, adopting and revising policies and procedures to enhance our effectiveness; all while addressing sinkholes, floods, flying roofs, crumbling ceilings, and long range care for our elderly buildings. Yet these ministry teams do this work not for the sake of preserving resources for our private gain or staying static or insular. They do this work so that we may be a vessel of God’s grace and abiding presence. The number of people that walk the labyrinth, or sit on our benches, or explore our sanctuary, or use our space for their events or businesses, or attend our community meal or outreach programs, or attend concerts - it’s near impossible to measure the impact. And believe me the Episocopal Church tries to do so with the Parochial Report. Yet these buildings, these spaces, our programs and ministry offerings - all strive to be the living, breathing embodiment of God’s breath. So that those who are overcome by the world, might for a moment, be overcome by God’s presence; so that those who wonder if these bones can live again may experience a moment of God’s breath to revive their hope. This body of Christ, our buildings, our ministries - we are an embodiment of God’s all powerful and ever constant presence, and it is our great privilege to serve God’s world in this way. In the coming years, God may call us to shift how we use various buildings or whether we keep them all - and all of that is in God’s hands. All we need to do today and tomorrow - is accept our call, like Ezekiel, to be a vessel of God’s grace. Breathing God in, breathing God out. Reminding one another that God is omnipotent and inescapably present. Reminding our neighbors that there is hope, and that these bones can live. As we prepare to head back into the world today, I wonder if we might do some reflecting this coming week, considering:
Let us pray: Loving God, we give you our humble thanks and praise for the ways you live, and move, and breathe in and through us. May we increasingly become vessels of your goodness, grace, and love; working in concert with you to be restorers of hope through Christ and the power of the Spirit. Amen. * Ezekiel 37:1-14 |
Mission
We believe God is calling us to cultivate a community of love, joy, hope, and healing. Jesus is our model for a life of faith, compassion, hospitality, and service. We strive to be affirming and accessible, welcoming and inclusive; we seek to promote reconciliation, exercise responsible stewardship, and embrace ancient traditions for modern lives.
Office HoursTuesday 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.
Thursday 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. Friday 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. Closed holidays Our gardens and grounds are open from dawn to dusk for the community to pray, rest, be. Please help us take care of this sacred space by following the outdoor ethic & principle of “leave no trace.” |
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