A People Who Feed

A sermon preached with the people of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Ayer, Massachusetts on the occasion of the Celebration of New Ministry recognizing the Rev. Mia Kano as the congregation’s new rector.

Context note: It is hard to believe that Mia and I met almost exactly a decade ago, at the Episcopal Church’s General Convention in Salt Lake City, where we helped out with a march led by the group Bishops United Against Gun Violence. The following year, we became seminary classmates – both transplanted from New England, living and studying together in Berkeley, California. In the years since, she and her husband Aaron have honored me in so many ways. Serving during their beautiful wedding; the gift of my godchild, Auggie; being invited to baptize sweet Fiona; and of course, this celebration.

It is a great honor to be with you this evening on this joyful occasion. Thank you, Rev. Mia, for this invitation. And thank you Bishop Whitworth — I am feeling the warm welcome of the Diocese of Massachusetts. I bring greetings from my congregation, St. John’s, Oakland in the Diocese of California.

Those of you who, like me, are guests here have likely already been touched by the hospitality of this place, St. Andrew’s. And let me tell you, there is more to come. I had the pleasure of hanging out here all day, and I know that an absolute feast awaits us in the parish hall. Tables are set with flowers. There is chicken and roast beef and roast pork, and vegetables of all kinds. I heard one member say that she’s never peeled so many potatoes in her life. There are drinks and desserts and coffee and tea. Every corner and every surface is sparkling. Oh, and just wait until you see the loaves of communion bread. What an occasion this is!

And now. Imagine. Just at this moment, a bus pulls up right outside. And this sanctuary starts to fill up with new people. Becomes standing room only, bursts out the doors, even. And, people start whispering to one another, trying to figure out what’s going on.

Eventually it becomes clear that the bus is full of displaced people – people of all ages. We’re not sure their exact circumstances; not sure how they got here or why. But the sputtering bus had only a few miles left in it when they saw there was a church, with lights on and people gathered, even at this evening hour. And they thought, “maybe this will be a place to rest. Maybe even to eat.”

St. Andrew’s: your new rector described you to me as “a people who feed.”

And indeed, I bet many of you already have ideas and plans running through your minds as to how so many more might get fed here this evening. I know that trusting in Christ’s presence and starting with what you already have prepared, these people would get fed. I know it.

What I also I know is that if the evening unfolded this way, this liturgy would likely conclude right here at this point, as you made sure everyone got what they need. And, there would perhaps be a sting of grief about that. But I suspect there would ultimately be more joy in knowing that a beautifully and carefully planned Celebration of New Ministry became … a beautiful new ministry, as these travelers’ needs became better understood, and met.

On that day in Galilee, depicted in the signature window in this room and on the front of your bulletins, I suspect there was a moment after your patron Andrew noted that a child had bread and fish, that at least some of the disciples thought, “maybe we should just buy what the kid has, and tip toe out of sight.” I wouldn’t blame them. How would they continue in their mission and ministry with grumbling stomachs? They had a plan! And they needed their resources to carry it out.

But if someone did have those thoughts, we know they didn’t win out. And instead, that evening, the disciples entered into a new ministry we might argue continues to this day, in the breaking of the bread we will share in just a few moments. A ministry expanded through time and space, more than they could have ever imagined.

Jesus calls us to be a church that is always ready to pivot. Always ready to respond. Always ready to give up our carefully crafted plans, to be generous with our resources in ways that might not seem prudent or easy at first— that may even cause a sting of grief.

John uses the word “test” to describe what Jesus was up to when he wondered out loud how his little ministry could possibly feed all those people.

And church, you know we are given these tests over and over and over – in big ways and small: when 5,000 or 500 or 50 unexpected hungry people show up. When the electricity goes out on Easter Sunday (happened to me!). When the population of the town shrinks or demographics change. When the outreach ministry outgrows the parish. When a pandemic forces us all inside. When the cultural landscape and political setting changes in ways we did not predict.

But we see, again and again, that when we come to understand what John calls “tests” as opportunities for new ministry, that new ministry will be an expanded ministry.  

I must tell you, St. Andrew’s, from what Mia has told me, and what I saw and heard today, I feel you are in one of those “new ministry moments.” Inside that grassy place of stained-glass depiction.

It is simply in the air. You have taken a leap of faith in the future of St. Andrew’s in calling a new rector. Your trust in Christ’s presence with you, rootedness in your deep and notable history, and openness to the new is evident. And it is exciting.

And you have made a wise call in this particular rector:

Mia is the priest you want to take the test with. She is the one you want to accept that invitation and walk with you into new ministry. Not once. But over and over. As I wrote this sermon, I chuckled knowing how fast and efficiently she would jump into action in this “feeding of the bus-load scenario.”

She is a collaborator. A prayerful, careful, studied and open mind; the best of thought partners. She is an asker of questions. Never making assumptions and always wondering. She is a pastoral heart and a warm presence.

She is a person who, perhaps more than anyone I know, takes her vows seriously. I promise you she has pondered and prayed about each and every word and phrase in each and every vow she has ever made, including those she, along with you, will make in the Covenant of Mutual Ministry in just a few moments.

She is a person who loves and trusts God. So completely. So unwaveringly.  

And finally, she is a person who loves you. You should know she texts me regularly to brag on you and all the amazing things you are doing.

And so, she would be quick to jump in here – maybe she’s about to! – to say that this celebration is not about her.

It is about you. All of you. Together. Each one of your particular gifts is required in order to answer the call to new ministry. What we celebrate tonight is a whole community of ministers. A people who feed. With sustenance. And through service, advocacy, and spiritual care. A people who welcome all.

The tests will keep coming – things will change. Circumstances will surprise. The unexpected will happen.

And I know that you, St. Andrew’s, along with Mia, will remain committed to your feeding work, jumping into new and newer and even newer ministry, together.

I cannot wait to hear all about it.