It’s easy to say things that we don’t mean, or at the very least, say things that we forget we ever said. There are several liturgies in the Book of Common Prayer in which the congregation says two very important words: “we will.” I wholeheartedly believe that the congregation, when they say these words, does mean them. But I also firmly suspect that the people in the congregation soon forget that they ever said them. You will find this congregational promise in the rites for Holy Baptism, Confirmation, Marriage, and the Ordination of Bishops, Priests, and Deacons.
We often treat the words “we will” as if they are “we do.” Everyone gathered on a particular day in a church to witness the marriage of a couple, baptism of an infant, or ordination of a priest is, presumably, there to support the person in question (i.e., we do support this person, now, in this moment in time). But to say “we will” is harder. In the response, “we will” lies the real test of Christian discipleship. Will those present at the wedding in 2024 and who blithely say, “we will,” be just as willing to support Luke and Pamela or Mark and David in 2030 when they are struggling with financial bankruptcy? Will those who smiled as little Margaret was baptized as an infant and confidently said, “we will” be just as willing to help her when she’s dropped out of college and trying to get back on her feet?
All the above-named liturgies are public rites of the Church. They aren’t meant to occur in private; they’re meant to be celebrated by the entire gathered people of God, which promises its support. In truth, nothing of our lives is really private in the Church. Of course, the sins we confess to a priest are protected by the seal of the confessional, but they have been spoken to the Church in the presence of a priest, and in that sense, they aren’t private. The point here is that when we “sign up” to be a disciple of Jesus, we are embraced by a larger family. We’re intended to know the joys and trials that our fellow companions are experiencing. We’re meant to be there in good times and in bad for those who share our life in Christ together. We see this most vividly played out on the parish level.
The parish, for better or worse, is our family, a microcosm of that larger Body of Christ. But as I said in a sermon a couple of weeks ago, although we must live in the world that thinks in lines of greatest to least, we must stand in those lines as if they’re circles, circle that aren’t closed and tribal but open, always containing room for more people. As we at Good Shepherd live out our identity found in our life in community, we say “we will” to everyone in this community, as well as to those who will eventually find their way here. We aren’t, and should never be, a closed circle.
Our promises to support and uphold one another find their roots in the Mass. The Mass isn’t the only way we worship, but Christians since the death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus have sought their unity and deepest communion in the sacrament of the Mass. At its heart is a mystery oriented around giving and receiving. Christ gives us himself in the Mass, and we gladly receive his Real Presence, having given “our selves, our souls and bodies,” as well as our money and all the messes and joys of our lives to God to be made holy. To participate in the mystery of the Mass is to learn how to receive well, even as we give imperfectly. And so to be with other followers of Christ in this parish before God’s altar, we learn most fully how to be in loving relationship with one another, where we give of ourselves sacrificially to each other and receive that love in return. There’s no substitute for the Mass and for regular participation in it. For us Christians, it has primacy of place in our lives. Missing Mass then becomes a rare exception due to illness or extraordinary circumstances, because we are most fully human and most completely growing into who God calls us to be when we’re at Mass. If you’re still wondering why the Mass is so important, please attend Sunday’s adult formation after Sung Mass, which I’ll be leading. We’ll talk further about the theology of worship.
When any of us are absent from Sunday Mass at Good Shepherd, we’re missed. Of course, all of us will travel and be sick from time to time, but I hope that as we uphold our promises to each other—to support, love, and care for one another—we will see our faithful participation in the Sunday Mass as the center of those actions. If this is so, then when we’re away from Good Shepherd on a Sunday, we’ll probably feel incomplete in some way. I can certainly say that when any of you are missing from Sunday Mass, I miss you!
I was recently talking with a parishioner, who reminded me that in the Orthodox tradition it’s customary (perhaps more than we reserved Episcopalians care to admit!) to tell the parish priest all manner of things: when you’ll be traveling, when you’re sick, or when you’ll be away caring for an aging parent or sibling. Letting one’s priest and other parishioners know these things means that we share aspects of our lives with the community of the faithful. Importantly, it enables us to pray for one another in particular ways. But it also means that when someone misses a Sunday Mass, we know why they aren’t there. We also know whether we need to be concerned if someone doesn’t show up. So, I’m personally grateful when parishioners tell me why they’ll miss Mass the next week because they’ll be traveling, even if I’m sad that I won’t see them. It tells me that their attendance at Sunday Mass is important to them and to the parish. And on a practical level, I know not to worry when they miss church next week.
I do believe that this rigorous commitment to one another as fellow disciples has been lost in much of western Christianity. We see our attendance in church as an individual choice or decision, as one option among many. But the early Church would have had no such understanding of Christian discipleship. Our decision to be together in community is an intentional one, and we in the Church might see less falling away from the Church, fewer broken marriages, and fewer abuses of clerical power if we remembered the promises we once made in our liturgies. We will support one another. We’re in this journey of Christian discipleship together, not alone.
It’s my prayer that at Good Shepherd, we’ll come to embody this corporate journey more intentionally. I would love to know when you’ll be traveling or away, and I hope you’ll notice who is missing among us, not so we can judge them but so we can be invested in supporting them in their own lives of discipleship. This is what it means to share life in community. I’ll look forward to seeing you at Mass on Sunday.
Yours in Christ,
Father Kyle