To Whom Can We Go?

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 25, 2024

Year B, Proper 16: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

1 Kings 8:1, 6, 10-11, 22-30, 41-43

Psalm 84

Ephesians 6:10-20

John 6:56-69

To Whom Can We Go?

I’ve mentioned to you before that one of the requirements to get ordained is something called Clinical Pastoral Education.

For most of us, Clinical Pastoral Education – CPE – means spending a summer working in a hospital as a chaplain trainee.

We do this work with others in the ordination process, usually with people from other denominations and faiths, all of us learning how best to support people in distress, while also facing some of our own issues – our own experiences and fears that can get in the way of ministering to others.

I was fortunate that my CPE program was actually in Jersey City, in a busy urban hospital, walking distance from our house – and, I have to tell you, those walks really helped me prepare for what I was going to face that day or night in the hospital - and to reflect and decompress after I was done.

More than any class I took, it was CPE that best prepared me for the work of being a priest.

Even after nearly twenty years, I draw on those experiences all the time – and many of the patients I met during that summer are seared into my memory – people I’ve often mentioned in sermons.

There was the woman named Paula, about my age, with a couple of teenage children. She had suffered with terrible cancer for several years.

She told me that when she first got sick, she asked, “Why me?” But then, after being in and out of the hospital and doctor’s offices so much and seeing so many other sick people, now she asked, “Why not me?”

And then there was the old woman, very sick, a feeding tube up her nose, mostly out of it. One day, when I was sitting with her, she suddenly snapped to attention, looked at me intently and said with great urgency, “I never knew I could love my children so much.”

And then there was another older woman, very bright and sophisticated, who carefully and in great detail explained to me the problems with her life. Essentially, she had trouble making connections with people and was very lonely.

I was listening as carefully as I could and nodding along sympathetically, asking open-ended questions, trying to use the chaplain skills I had been learning.

When she finished laying out her troubles, she looked at me expectantly and said, “And now you will tell me what I should do!”

Well, the very first lesson we learned is that we can’t fix other people’s problems, but she looked at me with such hope and confidence that I couldn’t resist making what I’m sure were not very helpful suggestions.

Sometimes when I would first enter a hospital room and introduce myself, the patient would wave me off – “No, no, I don’t need to talk to a chaplain” – but, almost always, if I persisted just a little and asked people to tell me their story, they would forget their reluctance and we’d be off and running.

A lesson I learned: it’s not very often that someone will just sit and listen – really listen – to us – and most people are eager to tell their story.

The saddest and most difficult patients to deal with were the people who had no particular beliefs - people who, in many cases, had never given much thought to ultimate things – often they didn’t really even have the words to talk about it - and now that they were in distress, it was very difficult to make up for lost time.

Over the past couple of decades, I have made countless visits with people in hospitals, nursing homes, and rehab facilities.

And, as best I could, I’ve drawn upon the lessons I learned during my long-ago summer of CPE.

I’ve also often wondered what kind of patient I would be.

What would it be like if I were the one lying the hospital bed?

For all those years, that was as purely hypothetical question – sometimes I even thought that maybe I would be spared any illness serious enough to land me in the hospital.

And, you know, I had a really long-running streak going until just a few weeks ago when my office began to spin around me and, eventually, I finally found myself lying in a hospital bed, answering lots of questions, undergoing several tests, including being slid into an MRI to have my brain examined.

And that will get you thinking, all right.

And I remember thinking, well, here it is, the day I’ve long wondered about has arrived.

But I also thought about all the support I was already receiving, how Sue was back in my room waiting for me – and I thought about all of you, the prayers that were already being offered, the texts of concern I had been getting, and the couple of you who let me know that you knew a good vertigo guy.

And, I thought about words that I have said to so many people over the years but had never really applied to myself.

God is not going to let go of us, no matter what.

And I believe that – I know that – because I’ve encountered Jesus here with all of you and with so many other people along the way.

For the past few weeks, in our lessons from the Gospel of John, we’ve been hearing Jesus talk about bread, describing himself as the Bread of Life – bread that satisfies us, bread that gives us the food we need for enteral life.

On one level, this is a reflection on the Eucharist – the Bread of Heaven that we feast on here each Sunday.

And on another level, this is a reflection on following Jesus so closely, eating him up, so we become one with him.

Elsewhere, Jesus famously says that his “yoke is easy” and his “burden is light.”

But, at the same time, we know that following Jesus is demanding – loving our neighbor as our self – loving our enemies – these are no easy tasks.

I remember one time in Jersey City after we had a Baptism and renewed our Baptismal Covenant – promising to seek and serve Christ in all persons and respecting the dignity of every human being – someone said to me, “It’s hard work to be an Episcopalian.”

It IS hard work to be an Episcopalian, hard work to be a Christian.

As we all know, it’s only possible with God’s help.

But, as hard and challenging as it is to walk the way of Jesus, the ways of the world – the ways of selfishness and distraction are so much harder and, ultimately, self-defeating.

At the conclusion of Jesus’ long teaching on bread, we’re told that many of his disciples found it all too hard. They left Jesus and looked elsewhere for answers.

And, in a very poignant moment, Jesus asked the Twelve, who seem to be the only ones left, “Do you also wish to go away?”

And it’s Peter – Peter who so often messed up, just like us – it’s Peter who gets it exactly right:

“Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

So, with God’s help, let’s continue following Jesus.

        Let’s continue breaking bread together, taking Jesus into our bodies and hearts.

        Let’s continue loving one another, loving more generously than we ever thought possible, being there for each other in our times of trouble. 

        Let’s continue listening – really listening – to each other’s stories.

        Let’s continue trusting the God who will never let go of us, no matter what.

Amen.