|
First
Reading
|
Psalm |
Epistle |
Gospel |
| Acts 16:9-15 |
Psalm 67 |
Revelation 21:10, 22–22:5 |
John 14:23–29 |
I’m sometimes asked why the doors of St. John’s and many Episcopal churches are painted bright red. As good an answer as any, is that we want them to stand out as entrances into the heart of the Good News. The church is called to show the world the doors and gates that lead people out of confinement, out of imprisonment, into Christ’s abundant life. The bright doors are a sign of the invitation to the access of God’s love that the Gospel promises every human being on this earth.
If one had been confined to a cave all one’s life, seeing a door open into bright sunlight would likely appear frightening and make one to retreat back into darkness. In a similar fashion, it is tempting on many occasions not to want to venture out of doors, or to avoid going through a customary barrier and taking a path to a new destination. Just as some members of the tribes of ancient Israel hesitated to leave slavery in Egypt solely on the promise that their destination would lead them to a homeland of their own, inevitably there is powerful comfort to want to stay right where we are, inside a small area. A former bishop of Colorado (William C. Frey) liked to say that we tend to spend most of our time figuring out ways to survive on the road we are on. Yet when we hold up the image of Jesus as a door or entrance to a new life, it may be that we will discover Jesus is calling us off the road we’re on or out of the restricted space where we are and showing us another route to another place, another passage not just to further basic survival, but to discover genuine joy.
We are fortunate that the complier of the books of Luke and Acts realized the story of Paul and the vision that led him to Macedonia was such a good example of how doors of the Gospel swung open and created wonderful new opportunities. The journey that would take Paul and his companions to the city of Philippi would eventually set in motion the spread of the Gospel westward into Europe.
At Philippi, Paul met Lydia. Lydia was a prominent and presumably well-established dye merchant of quality fabric in the city. She attended the local Synagogue there, and when she heard Paul teaching the Gospel, she and her household became Christians and strong supporters of Paul’s work. Paul and those with him usually paid their own room and board out of their own pockets, but in this case Paul accepted the gracious hospitality of Lydia and her household. Lydia became the midwife-mother of the church there and the community at Philippi became one of the most flourishing of Paul’s missionary efforts and the most satisfying to Paul personally.
If you ever wanted a patron saint for our present mother’s day, I can think of no better candidate that Lydia, a self-confident, professional woman with a household and whose generosity played a key part in the spread of the Gospel. (Incidentally Paul often gets bad press with women these days, but it took some moxie on his part to recognize and accept Lydia’s extraordinary gifts.)
Despite what you might read on websites and local articles, many of the roots of the legacy of Mother’s day are grounded in the liturgical practices of England. For centuries, a Sunday in spring has been set aside to recognize both mother church’s role and of all the women who serve to nurture and guide us as children and who help to bring us to mature adulthood.
I began by mentioning the front doors of the church. We will shortly be giving plants to mothers in the congregation, but if I could have found enough of them, my wish was to include with each plant one of these. It is an old fashion type of kitchen utensil that was found in every household and popular before the days of flip top cans and twistable bottle caps. I know what some of you are now thinking and I’m not reticent in stating that mom probably deserves a cold one this afternoon, but don’t bother to write the bishop because that is not why I wanted to give them out. It is no accident that this is called a church key, partly because the top of it seems to resemble a pointed gothic arch, but also because it is a mult-purposed opener. That’s what the church is called to be – an opener. Our doors are for opening. Hence today we offer thanksgiving for those who have virtually opened life to us, and for the work of the Gospel that opened to us larger and more abundant life than any of us could imagine.
And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.
