Bishop Sutton addresses the 236th Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Maryland
“Where is God in All This?”
Diocesan Convention Address by Bishop Eugene Taylor Sutton
Given at the Cathedral of the Incarnation, Baltimore, Maryland
September 12, 2020
My Sisters and Brothers, and All Members of our Diocesan Family: grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
On April 27, 1996, I was ordained a priest at St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Trenton, New Jersey. Even though I had already been ordained a minister in the reformed/presbyterian tradition 15 years before then, one of the many things that made my priesthood ordination so memorable was the sermon for that occasion given by one of my friends, the Rev. Rod Kochtitzky, an Episcopal priest and director of The Pastoral Center for Healing in Nashville, TN, whom I had gotten to know well from my teaching days at Vanderbilt University Divinity School.
I’ll never forget one of the things he said to me in that ordination sermon. He said, “Eugene, in your years ahead as a priest, I charge you to never forget to be sad.”
What was that? Sad? On one of the happiest days of my vocational life, the preacher is telling me to embrace “sadness”? Of course, Fr. Rodney was speaking from his years of experience, and from knowing me for several years by then. He knew well that I was facing a number of difficulties, setbacks and losses in those years, but he said in my preaching, teaching and other areas of my ministry one would never know it. He was inviting me to not always be in the mode of the joyful and jolly priest, always smiling and abounding in faith and optimism, no matter how tragic the circumstances. He was inviting me to be more…well, me! “And sometimes, Eugene,” he said, “you just need to be sad. It’s okay.”
My friends, these are sad times. As I speak, our nation and our world is in the grip of a global pandemic that has afflicted almost 30 million people, resulting in almost one million deaths, almost 200,000 of whom have died in this country alone. We lead the world in total cases, and in the total number of deaths from the disease. That’s a lot of sickness; that’s a lot of death. That’s sad.
The pandemic has brought countries to a standstill, disrupting economies with massive job losses, and bringing many people to the point of financial ruin. In the days ahead we will see more homelessness, and we will see more hunger. And the emotional cost is hard to measure. What will be the effect on our children, teenagers and young adults who have not been able to play freely with their friends and schoolmates since March? And for many of our seniors and shut-ins? How much isolation and loneliness is tolerable for a society that is already traumatized? How many lives will be lost from the lack of touch, much less a hug or long embrace, for months and months on end? That’s all sad.
If you, like me, are tempted to avoid sadness at all costs, perhaps it is because we modern, educated and sophisticated people have forgotten how to lament. We’ve come to believe that having a good lamentation is not good – neither for our souls individually, nor for the soul of the nation. But in our Scriptures, however, prayers of lament directed to God are all over its pages. The Old Testament patriarchs and matriarchs lamented. The Psalmist sang songs of lament. The Prophets lamented. Kings and queens, priests and poets, rich and poor, the old and the young, all knew how to lament. Even our Lord Jesus in the hour of his suffering on the cross, cried out his lament to the heavens saying, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”
Do you lament? What are you lamenting today? Let me give you some of the things on my list. I lament…
…fearing suffering and death, and the psychological and emotional toll that COVID-19 places on me. How many nights have you awakened in fear – fear of the loss of your own health and that of your loved ones. (I’ve had my share.) How do you deal with that kind of extreme stress?
…not going to weddings, baptisms and other celebrations, and the pain of not being able to say goodbye to and bury loved ones who’ve died. Have you? That’s sad.
…not being able to freely hug my mother, now widowed and living alone, for fear that I might make her sick. This absolutely pains me.
…my Friday “date nights” with my wife when we’d typically eat out at a restaurant and then see a movie, play or go to a concert.
…not going to Camden Yards to groan at another Baltimore Orioles loss – unless, of course, they’re playing my hometown Nationals. (What…did I just hear boos over the internet?)
…not seeing all my staff at the same time, live and in-person, talking, singing together, and laughing. I miss them.
…not being able to go to church. I miss kneeling, reverencing the altar, singing in church, holding out my hand to receive the Sacrament of the Body of Christ, seeing the cup of salvation. I miss sharing the Eucharist with everyone.
…and miss making visitations to all your parishes, sitting down with your vestries and advisory boards to hear about the good things happening in the church and to lament with you the challenges that seem so overwhelming and have no obvious or easy answers. I miss hugging you, shaking your hands, and talking with your kids. I miss those early Sunday morning drives through the city streets and country byways of Maryland. I miss y’all…I miss all of it, and that makes me sad.
…I lament the ugly state that my beloved country is in right now. I lament the anger, hatred and violence in our city streets and small towns, with people not able to have honest and civil conversations about race, poverty and racism in America.
…having to explain and defend the depth of the anger and pain I feel when I see another unarmed black person killed by a policeman. And I despair that some of my white brothers and sisters will just never get it – or refuse to get it.
Here is an email sent to me and other staff members of color from Sally Swygert, diocesan receptionist, on 6/2/20 following the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis:
“I don’t know what else to do except to tell you, from the bottom of my heart, I’m going to do everything I can to invoke change in my world. I’m not a reader, but I’m going to read and learn. I’m not an activist, but I’m going to protest. I’m not quiet, so I’m going to speak. It’s overwhelming but I wanted you to know how much I love you.”
…I lament the unhappy divisions we are in, and dread the prospects of what that will mean for both the nation and our churches after whoever wins the presidential election on November 3 – or more probably, the days or weeks – yes, weeks, if it is a close election – after Nov. 3 when all the votes are counted (and recounted), and a winner is declared. I lament the fact that already some are predicting violence no matter which candidate wins, and that our centuries of worshiping at the altar of the gun will increasingly yield its unholy offerings. I lament that some of our church members may refuse to worship any longer with other members of a different mindset about these things either politically or theologically, and they’ll leave the church altogether. This all makes me unbearably sad.
My friends, much of my prayer life this season – such as it is, untethered by its usual rhythms and routines – is a prayer of lament. My book in the Bible in times like these is the Book of Lamentations, written when the people of God were driven out of the places of their comfort into exile. And even though its authorship is uncertain, (although ancient Jewish and Christian tradition ascribes it to the prophet Jeremiah,) he was inspired by the Holy Spirit, and crying out from the depths of his heart, saying in chapter one:
Look around and see
if there is any sorrow like my sorrow
which was brought upon me…
For these things I weep
and my eyes overflow with tears.
No one is near to comfort me,
no one to restore my spirit;
My children are desolate,
because the enemy has prevailed.
(Lamentations 1:12a, 16)
Yes, we are in a season of lament. The coronavirus, church buildings closed, racial strife, economic hardship and political impotence prevail, and it seems like they are winning the day. We miss the past, we’re uncomfortable in the present, and we are afraid of an uncertain future.
But is that all there is?
David Boyce, a member of St. Margaret’s, Annapolis and one of the lay members on our diocesan Standing Committee, recently shared this with us:
“Human beings are compelled to live in the past. But all of our anguish comes from bringing our past into the present – and then making up stories about the future.”
It is true, isn’t it, that our anguish about the present time in the church is all wrapped up in what we remember the past to be. We miss the past, we lament the past, but that doesn’t mean that we have to bring the past into what this present moment is trying to bring to us.
The past, my brothers and sisters, is gone. We remember it, we rightfully lament its loss, we honor and cherish its memory…but then we must bury it. The past is past! We live in the present now. This present moment is the only reality we’ve got to live in right now. The past does not fit into the present. The present is here, right now, and we are where we are.
What is the present trying to say to us?
This present moment is telling us that church of Jesus Christ is on the move! I want you to know that in the past six months since most of our live in-person worship services have been suspended, I have seen the Diocese of Maryland at its absolute best as witnesses of the power of the resurrection of Christ.
…I see our people coming together in old ways and in new ways.
…I see us reaching out to people more intently, forming small groups, making connections.
…I see us coming to realize that “virtual worship” is REAL WORSHIP, attracting worshipers not bound by time or geography to form REAL COMMUNITIES of persons transformed by the love of Christ. Just because our buildings are closed doesn’t mean our churches are closed. We are evangelistically spreading the good news of the gospel more and more through the communications technology and media that are available to us.
…I see us still feeding the homeless, calling on the sick, the lonely and the forgotten. I see us taking pastoral care even more seriously among the most vulnerable in our communities.
…I see what this Convention just did in voting for the Racial Restitution and Reconciliation resolution as a very important moment in the life of our Diocese. I am so proud of this Church for committing some of its financial resources to building up impoverished black communities. Is it going to hurt us? Yes, and it ought to. It’s in recognition of our collective complicity in contributing to that impoverishment. I had nothing to do with enslaving persons. “I’m not guilty of that, but I have a responsibility. I didn’t have anything to do with the wiping out of the first peoples, Native Americans, but it’s left to me and my generation to do something about that. I had nothing to do with how many of our residents in Western Maryland were raked over by the coal companies and people out East here. Is it not my problem, though? Because my brothers and sisters are hurting out there and I have a responsibility to help them, too. You don’t know how much it means to me, as your bishop, with what we did a half hour ago.
We are a leader in this rugged old Church in this regard, and many other dioceses have taken notice. While we may not all agree that this is the best vehicle to make amends, we all do agree I’m sure that we will do all we can to eradicate the sin of racism off the face of the earth and repair the damage this that it has done for centuries. Thank you!
…In short, I see our Diocese of Maryland, this “community of love” shifting its focus away from defining itself as a federation of separate entities, defining ourselves in terms of our buildings, to being the Sacrament of Christ to the world. We have not retreated into the past, believing that that replicating what we’ve always done is the best way to live into the present.
I believe that the present darkness in the world is also the dawn of a new day. Folks, the evidence seems to indicate that the Church is on the verge – dare I say it – of a new birth, a new consciousness, a new resurrection! As writer Joyce Rupp puts it [in Little Pieces of Light: Darkness and Personal Growth]:
“There are numerous ways in which the darkest moments of our spiritual life are teaching us and guiding us to new vision and deeper living.”
Because of the pandemic we really are lamenting and walking “through the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23), but we aren’t staying there! We believe that light overcomes the darkness, love overcomes hatred and racism and violence, faith overcomes fear, life overcomes death, and the past will not shackle us from living and thriving in the present “now”. We will not only get through this at some point, we are getting through this, right now.
What about the future? Well, I am not going to paint a rosy picture for you about what’s going to happen. The road before us is not going to be easy. There will be successes ahead as well as many failures. Some of our churches will not make it in the transition from the past to the present, and on into the future. To get back to the earlier quote: I will not make predictions; I will not “make up stories about the future.” (Been there, done that.)
But I can hope. I can dream. I can envision a future that is not yet, but yet to come. What are your hopes and dreams for your congregation? Don’t lose those dreams…work for them! Do the hard work necessary for your dreams to come true.
In each of our congregations there is some heavy lifting that needs to be done. You’re going to have to put your backs into it, my people; these are critical times. As Canon Scott Slater stated at our last (almost) biweekly clergy and wardens zoom meeting: we encourage all clergy and lay leaders to do one new adaptive practice in the next 90 days for your church congregation. It doesn’t have to be big, it doesn’t have to change the universe. It could be starting a new bible study, a new worship service or liturgical practice, a new pastoral care team, or a new neighborhood initiative. I know it’s hard right now to think of doing anything else when perhaps you’re tired and fatigued either mentally or physically. But don’t give up now. You will find that your one small new effort will energize you and your community – not deplete it.
Church, we have been here before. The Church of Jesus Christ for the past 2,000 years has gone through many persecutions, famines, plagues, wars, depressions, financial ruin, and countless setbacks in every age. The Diocese of Maryland went through a few years of not being able to fully function as a worshiping community during the devastating Great Influenza pandemic of 1918-1919, which killed somewhere between 20 and 40 million people. It has been cited as the most devastating epidemic in recorded world history. We, as a Church survived that, and we will survive this one. God has not left us now anymore than God would abandon God’s people in any age.
13Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth;
break forth, O mountains, into singing!
For the Lord has comforted his people,
and will have compassion on his suffering ones.
14But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me,
my Lord has forgotten me.”
15Can a woman forget her nursing child,
or show no compassion for the child of her womb?
Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.
16Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are continually before me.
(Isaiah 49:13-16)
In summary, my friends, in this annual “state of the church” address that the bishop is to give every year, I want you to know that the Episcopal Diocese of Maryland is alive and well. All but a few of our congregations have figured out some way to offer worship either online or outside in person, or both. Our diocesan committees are meeting and functioning well given the circumstances. Our staff is working very hard to help you maintain your ministries. In short, the Holy Spirit has equipped all of us in the diocese with everything we need right now to be the Church. We may prefer things to be different; we may want more people and more worship services and people and technology and money, but there is nothing we lack. What you are seeing today, in this first-ever online Zoom diocesan convention, is REAL CHURCH.
Allow me now to take a moment to say what a pleasure it is to share my episcopal ministry with my predecessor, Bob Ihloff+, as my assisting bishop. This was not the plan, as you can imagine, when I put out a search for an assistant bishop who might fit in well here, at least for a few years. But when Bishop Bob and I started talking about it, and he offered to help in any way, a light bulb went off! Why not him? The Standing Committee agreed, and so since January of this year the thirteenth bishop of Maryland and the fourteenth bishop of Maryland have become a good team, and we enjoy working together. I like to think that if you have any questions, between the two of us you’ll get one good answer! Thank you, Bishop Bob!
And thank you to all those who put themselves forward as nominees to our various diocesan offices and committees, and did not win. We are all grateful for your humility, courage and vulnerability in offering your service to God and the Church. And a hearty congratulations and gratitude for those who ran and won. All of you candidates may find that those who won may sometimes feel like they got the short straw, and those who lost their elections may end up with wider smiles than those who won. But our notions of winning and losing are only from our finite human point of view. What really matters is that we trust the Holy Spirit to help us find what we are supposed to be doing in the Church at this time. We are all called to follow and serve Christ in some way, and we just have to stumble into it.
Finally, I want to acknowledge and applaud each of you for the work you are doing for Christ and his church in your congregations, in your communities, and for the Episcopal Church through the Diocese of Maryland. As I said last week in the clergy & wardens call, some of us are paid to do this work – and thank God for that, as the Scriptures teach us that laborers deserve to be paid. But others of us are working very hard – VERY hard – for no pay for the advancement of the reign of God. I’m speaking to you, our deacons, who are leading us to still encounter Christ everywhere and to engage in God’s mission of reconciliation in the world. I’m speaking to you lay leaders – wardens, vestry members, teachers and other volunteers – who earn (or have earned) your money in other ways, but always in thanksgiving to God for the ability to work. On behalf of the Episcopal Church: THANK YOU.
But none of us, either paid or unpaid, work in this vineyard for the money. We are driven by a higher purpose, a nobler vision. We do it because we are called – called by God to offer our talent, our service, for the sake of others. We, in the final analysis, do it because there is a song in our hearts that only God can give us, no matter how challenging the times.
Sing your song in these challenging times. Keep that song of God’s victory in your hearts!
WATCH VIDEO: Bishop Sutton addresses the 236th Convention
of the Episcopal Diocese of Maryland