Exodus 22:21-27
Psalm 1
1 Thessalonians 2:1-8
Matthew 22:34-46
In the Episcopal Church things are done decently and in good order. Things, especially during worship, are done right. And the liturgist – the worship planner – is the ‘rightest' of all. It is our prayer together – that ‘common prayer' in the book – that tells us who we are.
So when years ago, as a young mother, I first met the "Master Liturgist" I was in awe of him and very timid in his presence.
The Rev. Dr. Marion Hatchett wrote THE commentary on our prayer book. He was a renowned scholar, held in respect by clergy and theologians around the world. And I was the one covered with dog fur and fingerpaint, holding a squirming baby in the far corner.
We were at an ecumenical institute dinner, for scholars and their families. Father Hatchett was, of course, the one asked to offer prayer. I tried to quiet all the kids, and waited for him to intone some beautiful chant, perhaps from one of the fourth-century church fathers. Marion bowed his head solemnly, put his hands together for prayer, and said, "Rub a dub dub." (Said loudly, rubbing hands together) "Here comes the grub. Yaaaaaay GOD !" (Shouted, waving arms over head.)
That's REAL prayer. That's real thanksgiving and the kids all knew it and cheered too. It was a prayer we could ALL share; prayer held in common: common prayer.
Real prayer can be wild cheering like a football homecoming game. (Appropriate as we St. Stephen's Church celebrate Homecoming Sunday.) Real prayer can be a bit silly, like a nursery rhyme. Real prayer can embrace anything that is real in our lives, wherever our lives may take us.
Marion could have prayed in Greek, the language or the New Testament, or Aramaic, the language Jesus spoke, or Latin, the language of the western Church, and God would have understood the prayer. [Though perhaps only God knows the Greek for "rub a dub dub."] But we, at least the kids and I, could not have prayed with him. Praying an elegant, scholarly prayer can be real, too. It is a way to love God, but it leaves the love of neighbor out of the picture.
All prayer is pleasing to God – a way of loving God. But prayer that leaves some people out of the picture falls short on that second part of Jesus's summary of the law that we heard in today's gospel reading: "Love your neighbor as yourself."
Our Episcopal Church does a marvelous job of loving God with prayer – our worship service is beautiful and holy. Our Episcopal Church works hard at welcoming everyone – people of all sorts are welcome to worship with us. Anyone who reaches out their hands to God will be fed here and that's an incredible gift. But sometimes we forget that for folks who aren't here every Sunday parts of our service can be like asking a young mother, with her arms full of children, to chant in Greek. Oh, we don't pray in Greek anymore; we've even found it meet and right to let go of most of the proper Elizabethan English. . . . Yet we certainly do not vouchsafe to pray in street slang.
But God hears the language of the people. Our reading from Exodus this morning is very clear that God listens to all the neighbors: "if your neighbor cries out to me, I will listen, for I am compassionate."
God hears the prayers of all – the silly, the stumbling, and the saccharin; the ungrammatical prayers that would make your tenth-grade English teacher weep are as welcome and the splendid cadences of our prayer book psalms.
However it is placed before God, God hears the longing and the joy and whatever else we carry in the depths of our hearts. That is real prayer.
God knows how to love our neighbors in all their unimaginable differences, in whatever language and whatever form, even those the groans and sighs too deep for words. God welcomes all prayer.
So, do we toss out our wonderful Book of Common Prayer? Give up our tradition of shared community prayer held in common in favor of the latest cultural trend or some patchwork jumble of assorted prayers so each of us can have something just right for our individual ‘style'?
So far, we in the Episcopal Church have not given way to all the whims of our cultural diversity. We don't throw the baby out with the bath water.
Hear again the words from today's second reading: "We speak, not to please mortals, but to please God." Our traditions of worship and prayer teach us many things that are pleasing to God. And "common prayer" – prayed together as a community is what God asks of us: Even when it's only two or three gathered, God promises to be there.
It is because we value tradition that the church can be place to come home to. It is familiar.... and that is comforting. And neighbors from the past linger here. We meet them in: the stories of the saints, the stories of Jesus and his followers, the stories of our parents and their parents. My 95-year-old friend calls these neighbors from the past "the friendly haunts." They linger in the church and they welcome us home. They pray with us: When we shout "Yaaaaay God," they wave their arms in the air. When we weep for the wounds of the world, their tears fall.
Their stories are part of our stories. This is "the communion of the saints." We pray their old, familiar – and sometimes not so familiar – words; and they pray with us. When we use those old beautiful prayers, we know we are no alone. Common prayer is itself a way of loving our neighbors – it is a way of being neighbors together before God.
We come to church – we come home here – hoping to find something real.
Something real and certain in an uncertain and changing world where airplanes fly in to buildings or crash to the ground killing our neighbors, both friends and strangers, senators and unknowns. We come hoping to find something real and certain in an uncertain and changing world where war and pain and death lurk around the corner, where our neighbors are lonely and hungry and scared.... and so are we.
We come here hoping to find something real.
-- Something simple that we can understand.
-- Something that tells us we are loved.
-- Something that tells us we are not alone.
-- Something that both asks and enables us to love God and our neighbor.
We come here for common prayer.
We come home here when our lives are broken. We come her to give thanks for the gifts and joys that surprise us. We come here even when we are uncertain that God hears us or even exists; we come here to be together in a lonely world; we come here to find God in each other. In community where people struggle to love God and to love each other, we find something real. We find love.
And that is coming home.
(Walking away toward altar.) Home again, home again. Jiggety jig. (Turn and say loudly, waving arms in air.) ALLELUIA !