Good Shepherd Sunday, in the Aftermath

This is not the sermon I planned to deliver this morning. I had finished a sermon, and even scheduled its posting on the Christ Church Blog: before the siren, the lights going out and the dead air of calm that told me something was terribly wrong. Laura and I got into the interior bathroom with no windows just before the explosion of glass and crash of ceiling that made for the longest ten seconds of our lives. Afterward, Laura and I found the Simmons safe next door, and we gave thanks that no one in our families had been hurt.

Russ got out in the dark, and left me with the reassuring news that the only damage to the church appeared to be a gash in the roof. When we arrived at the church this morning, in the cold daylight, the sad truth became clear: a much bigger hole in the roof, the two side walls of the church both leaning inward, and the entire structure having shifted to the left of the foundation. The 15 or so of us who were lucky enough to get through the trees and traffic stops got the most valuable things out – the altar, the patens and chalices, the prayer books and hymnals – and then we stayed out of a teetering nave.

And then we did what Christians have always done. We broke bread in remembrance, to recall the Resurrected Jesus so that He would be as present with us as he was with his first disciples. In joy and sorrow, war and peace, life and death, Jesus's disciples have obeyed the command He gave us at the Last Supper. We did so in the garden. In the coming weeks, we shall do so in Founders' hall, which escaped the howling winds. Wherever we have bread and wine and faithful people, we shall be able to celebrate the Holy Eucharist.

This Sunday is Good Shepherd Sunday. We heard Jesus say, "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me" (John 10:27). The Good Shepherd called us to that holy place. It is a place of suffering. We all cried at the loss, the more than 100 years of faithful memories come to this sad place. We wept at our loss, and we shall do so again. It is right to grieve, just as Jesus's friends grieved the loss of their Lord and friend.

But the Good Shepherd lives, in each of us who are humble enough to be called his sheep. And his voice of love speaks through each of us who love each other in the name of Jesus Christ. And from that love, our parish will rise. We still have a beautiful and functional space, for worship and service to each other and the suffering community around us. And from the love that has brought Christ Episcopal Church thus far, our Good Shepherd will rise again through each one of us. I look forward to seeing that resurrection with all of you, whom I love dearly, in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.