Trinity & St. Philip’s Cathedral, Newark NJ
October 8, 2022
The Funeral of The Rev. Canon Dr. David H. Hamilton
Isaiah 61:1-3
Psalm 23
1 Peter 5:1-4
John 21:1-14
Resurrections
I guess about twenty years ago, the now-famous St. Peter’s University in Jersey City erected a statue of its patron saint, right in front of the campus on Kennedy Boulevard.
The statue is a classic depiction of Saint Peter. He’s wearing the “Keys to the Kingdom” and he’s hauling a net filled with the day’s catch.
Peter is presented as a strong man with a full beard and a face that looks like it’s seen a few things, weathered both by the sea and by the storms of life.
Among Jesus’ disciples, we know the most about Peter.
His life as a simple but hard-working fisherman was interrupted by the sudden and unexpected and life-transforming call of Jesus.
Jesus nicknamed him Cephas – “the Rock” – though often he didn’t seem rock solid, exactly. The truth is that Peter made quite a few mistakes, including one that was catastrophic. Not only did Peter abandon Jesus in his greatest moment of need but he denied that he even knew Jesus, denied his Lord three times.
What must it have been like for Peter during those hours between the heartbreak of Good Friday and the indescribable joy of Easter morning?
For Peter, during that in-between time, death might have seemed preferable to living with his shame, fear, and regret.
But, we know what happened next.
On the first Easter morning, Jesus is raised from the dead – but not just Jesus!
The disciples, led by Peter, they will be raised, too.
Soon they will be brought back to life, no longer fearful people hiding behind locked doors but now bold apostles of the Good News.
In today’s gospel lesson we hear a story that sounds to me like Peter’s shame being washed away in the water – a story that ends with a meal hosted by the Risen Christ – a celebration that sure sounds like Holy Communion, with a side of abundant fish.
Resurrection happens all the time.
The Rev. Canon Dr. David H. Hamilton was Rector of St. Paul’s Jersey City when St. Peter’s put up its statue, just a few blocks away from the church.
Dave really liked that statue – and, in fact, later it became the destination of his post-open heart surgery walks, as he regained strength, maybe inspired by Peter’s own example of resurrection.
And, although Dave was rector of two churches named in honor of St. Paul, the truth is he was always more of a St. Peter guy – he loved the sea, and he really loved the Shore.
Most of all, the story of Peter’s resurrection resonated with Dave – the amazing grace of Jesus that saved Peter – the amazing grace that saved Dave – the amazing grace that saves us all.
Sue and I first met Dave at St. Paul’s Jersey City on the Second Sunday of Advent in 2000.
We lived just a few blocks away from the church, and at the invitation of Patty Nickerson - a St. Paul’s parishioner who was also one of my teaching colleagues - we were there to check out this interesting-looking church and also its priest, who Patty was convinced we would like a lot.
Now, my St. Paul’s family has heard me tell this story a million times, but please bear with me.
That first Sunday, I was dazzled by the beauty of the building, the excellence of the music, the diversity of the people, the compassion and intelligence of the sermon, and, most of all the warm welcome of the people.
Sue and I will never forget that first passing of the peace – everyone out in the aisle seemingly delighted to see one another – and right there in the middle of the action was Dave. Like any good priest, he had spotted these two newcomers and so he made his way down the aisle to our pew – where we must have looked more than a little overwhelmed – and Dave stretched out his hand to us and said,
“I’m Dave. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”
Sue and I didn’t know it at the time, of course, but that encounter was a fork in the road for us, sending us off in a direction we could have never imagined.
It was the beginning of a particularly close friendship between Dave and me – father and son – brothers – mentor and mentee – all of it mixed up together.
Dave made us part of his family where we got to know Cheryl and Lori, his pride and joy.
By the time we met Dave, his face was a little weathered, too.
Like Peter, he had endured the storms of life. Like all of us, he made his share of mistakes, but by the amazing grace of God, he had reached the safety of the shore at last.
Dave loved telling the story of his return to the church.
He was doing the hard work of getting sober and regaining his health, and so he made an appointment with Bishop Spong to see about getting back into ministry.
Dave waited, nervously, in the reception area. Then the bishop’s office door opened and out he came. Without saying a word, Bishop Spong stretched out his arms and embraced Dave, welcoming him back into the fold.
In that amazing moment, Bishop Spong was a light along the shore for Dave, guiding him back to safety.
Resurrection happens all the time.
I’m convinced that Dave’s troubles and losses made him a better priest.
(Actually, he thought so, too!)
Like Peter, perhaps, Dave’s travails made him more patient with the failures of others, less judgmental, more forgiving, and just more easygoing about the whole thing.
To me, Dave was the embodiment of the “wounded healer,” a leader unafraid to show his scars – a leader authentic enough to admit that he didn’t have everything figured out – a leader humble enough to say that he was a pilgrim on the road just like the rest of us – a brother who stretched out his hand in welcome and friendship and said, come on, let’s walk together.
Dave was also really funny – one of the best parts of being friends with him was the laughter.
My friend Laurie Wurm tells the story of sitting beside Dave at some probably overly long and really boring church meeting when Dave leaned over to her and deadpanned, “Thank God I’m sober.”
Back when I was coming through the ordination process, I used to worry that there wouldn’t be enough church jobs to go around. Dave used to reassure me that it would all turn out OK. “There are always good jobs for good people,” he’d say. But then one year at convention, when all the postulants and candidates for Holy Orders stood to be introduced, he looked at the long line and said, “My God, I don’t know, Tom, maybe you’re right. That IS a lot of people!”
And he could laugh at himself, too.
In his early days he was quite conservative and vocally opposed the ordination of women. At some church meeting he stood up and said something like, “May my hand wither if I ever participate in the ordination of a woman!” Well, a few years later, after he had a change of heart on that subject, he did indeed participate in the ordination of a woman. And after the part of the service when all the priests lay hands on the ordinand, the bishop remembered Dave’s earlier bold declaration and asked him, “Hey Dave, how’s your hand?”
And after each joke or funny story there was always Dave’s laughter – laughter that started in his belly, and ended as a coughing fit.
When I was coming through the ordination process, I always imagined that Dave and I would serve as priests together, that he would lean over to me at some boring church meeting and say something like, “Thank God, I’m sober.”
But, having been through a lot and dreaming of days at the Shore, he decided to retire right around the time I was ordained.
I remember I once gently suggested that he retire closer to us, suggesting maybe a nice condo in Bayonne.
“Bayonne!” he roared and then came the coughing fit.
But, retirement was not what he had hoped and the last fifteen years were hard ones for Dave and his family as he faced one ailment and setback after another.
Here’s the thing, though: each time I counted him out, God would raise him from the dead once again and he would somehow find new ways to do ministry – working with a Roman Catholic deacon to bring Communion to the homebound – appointing himself unofficial chaplain of his assisted living facility – finding meaningful work at St. Mark’s in Keansburg where he got to once again celebrate the Eucharist and preach and spent time hanging out with the folks who came to the church’s community meals, offering that same hand of welcome and friendship, just like old times.
And then, a few years ago, Dave surprised me by asking if he could come and preach and celebrate the Eucharist with us back at St. Paul’s in Jersey City.
It was a day we won’t ever forget, as a frail but somehow also incredibly strong David Hamilton – like a diminished but indomitable Saint Peter – stood in the aisle and preached from his heart without notes, sharing the amazing grace that he had experienced in his own life and had shared with so many of us over the years.
And, when we stood at the altar – brother priests, at last – it felt like a journey that had begun with a hand offered in welcome had come full circle with a hand now extended in blessing.
Over the past year, it had become increasingly clear that Dave’s life was drawing to a close, although, because he had experienced resurrection so many times, I half-expected him to surprise us once again.
But now, our brother and friend is finally at rest, welcomed no doubt by his kindred spirit, Saint Peter.
Dave is at rest, waiting for one last resurrection, that great day when we will all be reunited.
If he were preaching today, I think he’d tell us to be not afraid, to trust in the Risen Christ, and believe that resurrection happens all the time.
And he would add, “I don’t have to believe it, because I’ve seen it.”
Amen.
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