Somehow, in the past week, as I have moved onto campus here at Good Shepherd, leaving an apartment and church position in Center City, I have garnered twelve new keys. This is a typical part of transitions: you give up old keys and you gain some new ones. Admittedly, I need to do something about my current collection of keys. I have two very full key rings, and roughly ten or so of those keys all look the same.
At the very least, I must label them, because I have recently spent an inordinate amount of time trying various keys until I find the right one that fits the lock on the door before me. As I was writing this sermon, I discovered that I had inadvertently double-bolted a lock on the parish office door, and a parishioner couldn’t get in. Locks, doors, and keys are complicated. Sometimes, we shut people out of buildings without ever intending to do so.
In some ways, the metaphor of a key ring is apropos to what we in the Church spend a lot of time doing. We unlock and lock the doors of this parish church routinely so that people can be welcomed into this place as friends in Christ. But we also lock the doors at the end of liturgies so that the church can be kept safe.
If we extend this metaphor a bit further, we could say that in an age where the Church often seems to be unpopular, we are constantly in search of the right key to fit the lock, the lock to a new era of life in the Church, where God’s mission is reinvigorated, where pews are once again filled, and where Sunday once again becomes a day dedicated to the Lord.
And yet, I imagine that we frequently feel like I do, standing at one of the many doors on campus, fiddling with my key rings, and trying to find the right key for the lock in question. In the midst of this interminable pandemic, we have had to lock doors that we would ordinarily wish to remain open. We have had to shut the doors to large numbers of people, asking people to register for Mass online so that we can do contact tracing and avoid getting more than twenty-five people in this building. And from the perspective of the Gospel, it all feels quite wrong, although it’s, of course, the right and necessary thing to do for the safety of all. The Church, by the authority entrusted to her by Christ himself, should be in the business of unlocking doors.
This morning, the lectionary has handed us a famous passage in the Gospel according to Matthew. It probably goes without saying that these eight verses from Matthew have been some of the most hotly contested ones in Church history. And sadly, these verses, more often than not, have been used to divide Christians.
When Jesus entrusts Peter with the keys of the kingdom of heaven, he is also giving these keys to the Church herself. This Church, whose cornerstone is Christ, this Church who is built on none other than Jesus Christ the Righteous One, this Church has been given immense authority and power. But such power and authority are a double-edged sword, if you will, where the keys of the heavenly kingdom can be used for good or they can be used for ill.
Part of the reason that the Church sometimes lives in fear behind locked doors these days is because many have seen authority abused by her. Many have witnessed keys that should be opening doors turned into keys that lock people out. And this is precisely why the keys to the kingdom of heaven should be treated with reverence and awe. Those who hold the keys can build up the Body of Christ, or they can tear it down, perhaps even without realizing it.
Scripture tells us these keys of authority involve binding and loosing. You might recall that just two chapters later in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus will connect the powers of binding and loosing to practical behavior within the Church, where her members are charged with holding one another accountable in love. It is the God-given responsibility of the Church to treat the keys that bind and loose with holy reverence.
And judgment is bound up with the authority Christ has given his Church. I’m not speaking about a view of judgment in which Peter serves as gatekeeper at the pearly gates, deciding who’s in and who’s out. I’m talking about God’s judgment, in which the present life intersects, if only in glimpses, with eternal life. It’s a judgment that holds us accountable for how closely we choose to conform our lives to Christ’s so that all people become alive with God’s glory.
When, in this life, we choose to be bound by the grievances we hold against others, the doors to paradise can seem locked to us. When, in this life, we decide to be bound by old ways of doing things that have us beating our heads on the wall, it is hard to see an unlocked door letting in some of that light from heaven. When, in this life, we tightly grip our ring of keys and lock the door to those whom we fear or who threaten us with their different ways, the gate of heaven seems to be far in sight.
And it could be that especially in this time of civic unrest, worldwide violence, and pandemic, we might find doors closing that need to be closed, while other doors open before us. But if we peer through such doors, a new, redeemed future awaits.
We, here at the Church of the Good Shepherd, on a warm Sunday in August, stand at the threshold of such a door. In my first day here, I have just joined you at that threshold. And together, we hold the keys to open the door, because God has charged us to do so.
In this historic parish that has witnessed to the faith of Christ for over 150 years, we know there have been difficulties, challenging times, and sorrow. I don’t need to tell you that. Some of you, who have been here much, much longer than I, have seen doors close and others open. You have seen keys change hands many, many times. Perhaps you have even, from time to time, wondered if the doors of this very building would be closed forever.
But thanks be to God, these exquisite church doors are standing proudly open. And before they were closed for public safety due to the pandemic, they were open daily for private prayer. And with God’s help, these doors will remain open to many more years of worship, service, and fellowship.
So, as we stand on the threshold of this new door with our keys in hand, let’s look through together to see what it might be like on the other side. Imagine this.
Imagine these lovely wooden pews filled with people of all kinds, from many walks of life, young and old, rich and poor, lifelong Christians and newcomers to the faith, people with varying perspectives, but all of whom long to be united together around something larger than themselves. Do you see the children playing in the Children’s Space at the back of the nave? Do you hear the laughing voices of children heading off to Sunday School to receive those seeds of faith, planted and watered by us but given growth by God? What about the college students, seeking to hold their changing worldviews with something more true than mere secularism? I see, too, the parishioners who have been here for decades kneeling here at the Communion rail to receive the Blessed Sacrament. Do you smell the sweet incense floating to the rafters, while our brilliant Organist and Choirmaster improvises and the glorious choir raises its collective voice in song?
And across the way at 19 Montrose, you will find Chris, our new Director of Operations, warmly greeting guests to the Parish Office. See, too, the dedicated vestry in their conversations about caring for this parish. In another room, a group of faithful parishioners meet for adult formation, or for now, maybe they’re on the porch outside or in a Zoom meeting room. And perhaps on some future day, on the second or third floor of 19 Montrose, there is outreach to those in need by utilizing the wondrous gift of public space.
I could stand all day at this threshold and look into this glimpse of heaven on earth. I wonder if you see the same things I do, and I wonder what you see that I don’t see yet. We know all too well that heaven is not fully here and that this world does its very best to block the gate to it. But if we look carefully, we can get a foretaste of paradise to come, breaking in by fits and starts.
If we loose the bonds of old burdens, if we forgive the enemy and welcome the stranger, if we loose the constricting bonds of a haunted past and look to a redeemed future, and if we remain ready to unlock doors of new possibilities, God can do anything.
We pray to hold our ring of keys reverently, for we know that they can be used for ill or used for good. We rejoice in the responsibility and authority that Jesus has entrusted to his Church on earth. We pray that God will fill us with his life-giving Spirit so that we can unbind the fetters of injustice and oppression and unleash the powers of freedom and peace.
Let’s not be naïve, either. We will, from time to time, stand trembling with keys in hand, feeling like the powers of death are more than we can manage. We may shiver with fear because the future seems overwhelmingly against us. We may shake with anxiety over our troubled past, but hear this good news and take it to heart: Christ has made a promise to us, and Christ always keeps his promises. We, as living members of his Body, have made our home on a sure foundation. And the powers of death and darkness have no authority here, none. With God’s help and through the redeeming power of the resurrected and ascended Christ, it is never foolish to hope.
Now, if you will, let’s stand bravely on the threshold, hold your keys with holy awe, and let’s unlock the door to a future already known to and prepared by the God who makes all things new. Thanks be to God.
A Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
August 23, 2020
The Church of the Good Shepherd, Rosemont