Presiding Bishop preaches at St. Francis, San Jose

Posted May 4, 2015

[Episcopal Church Office of Public Affairs press release] Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori preached the following sermon on May 3 at St. Francis Episcopal Church in San Jose, California.


St. Francis, San Jose, CA
3 May 2015

The Most Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori
Presiding Bishop and Primate
The Episcopal Church

The Ethiopian hears his own experience in what he’s reading from Isaiah, and says, “Look, here’s some water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?”[1] Philip and the Ethiopian were traveling a desert road, through the wilderness. Today that part of Israel is rocky, steep, and grows scrawny bushes at the most. No lush green meadows or palm trees. The great biblical images of peace speak about springs of water in the desert and rivers of life – for the people in that part of the world live in a desert, and struggle over water to this day. Water is an immensely powerful image of abundant life.

Imagine a time when the Ethiopian wouldn’t have found a stream for his baptism. The early Christians expected to use living water for baptism – a river, or at least a spring, and not simply a puddle. The water has to give evidence of being alive, and in creative motion. We can miss that sense of abundant life when we use just a few little drops to baptize.

It’s shocking to see the dead and dying trees along the streets here, and how many are deeply stressed – in places the brown and drying leaves look more like fall. The grassy hillsides look more like September than May. And even if there is still a little snow in the mountains, it’s likely to be a very dry year.

At Easter this year, I was in a church that has a fairly new font that’s a good 15 feet across – it’s shaped something like a cross, and it overflows at the corners in four lively streams as a fountain of life. The pump was turned off on Good Friday, and when it began to flow again in the early dark of Easter morn, the sound added immensely to the joy of bells and Alleluias! Those baptized in its waters got thoroughly soaked.

The drought is making everyone much more aware of how precious and essential water is. It’s likely to generate more conflict over how, when, where and who gets to use water. It invites us to remember that water is part of a great, living system on this planet, and like life itself, it dies and rises again in a new form. It doesn’t disappear forever, even when we can’t find it where we expect to. Like the residents of Frank Herbert’s Dune, we’re learning to recycle water so completely that every drop can be used for life. Drought can be an opportunity for deep awareness, creativity, and thankfulness.

Thirst for that deep connection prompts the Ethiopian to say, “Now, here, in this water, I can find life that lasts!” He goes down into the water, and then goes on his way rejoicing. That lively, grateful awareness is what keeps us connected to the source of all life – like branches to the vine.

How do we stay connected? Where do we find moisture to re-enliven our consciousness and gratitude? Finding our place in the story seems to be essential. Through re-membering, literally connecting the members to the larger body, we discover that we’re not all alone, not cut off or dry or barren like the Ethiopian had been. Like discovering moisture in the desert by looking for green and growing things, those connections help us find our place in the creative web of life.

I was in Costa Rica recently for the 150th anniversary of the first non-Roman Catholic church in Central America. Costa Rica was a diocese of this Church from 1947 until 1998, and that first congregation began through the efforts of an English coffee merchant who brought Bibles to San José (another San Jose!) and took a number of young people back to England and funded their university educations.[2] Those young adults became a significant part of the leadership of the nation. The congregation this layman gathered in San José included founders of the first banks and railroad builders, and had a great deal to do with the development of a democratic nation. Today the Episcopal church in Costa Rica is a strong and growing branch of the vine. It shares a good deal with El Camino Real in history, age, and context – particularly its creative and entrepreneurial spirit.

On Friday a number of people joined your bishop on a pilgrimage to learn about some of the early history of this diocese. We started in Jolon, down south in rural Monterey County, where St. Luke’s began through the work of James McGowan, who came here with no financial support but an urgent understanding that he was supposed to share the good news and gather the faithful. He started St. Paul’s in Salinas by sitting in the bar and conversing with the poker players. One of them volunteered that he wanted nothing to do with church because he didn’t understand the Trinity.

“I think I can get you to admit that you believe some things that you cannot explain,” down went the cards from every hand and a voice called out, “Let’s hear it.”

            “When I was coming from Watsonville,” I proceeded, “I saw an ox eating grass. Do you believe this statement?”

            “Yes, of course,” came the reply.

            “Now, on the ox the grass becomes fur; on the sheep, wool; and on the goose, feathers. Can you explain this?”

            No, I can’t” the man replied.

            “Then you believe some things that you cannot explain,” I told him, and those seated around the table clapped their hands and told my doubting brother to “take a back seat.” Some of these men attended my service that afternoon, and we were always good friends after that.[3]

McGowan went on to found six other churches in the southern part of this diocese, connecting branches to the vine by linking their experience and questions to the larger stories of God’s life-giving creativity.

I had an experience like that coming back from Costa Rica. My seat mate on the plane was an old man in his 90s, and he couldn’t figure out how to open his tray. I spoke to him in Spanish and showed him how it worked. He responded in English and began to tell me something of his story. He’s a WWII vet, who served in Philippines as a Seabee. When the war was over, he came back and studied biochemistry at UC Davis, where he met and married a woman from Costa Rica. He wanted to do research, but ended up working for Borden on health issues in the dairy industry, like TB in cows. Later he did extensive consulting throughout Latin America.

He told me about growing up on a ranch in New Mexico, and spending part of the year on the ranch and going to a very inadequate rural school. When the workload lessened, his father would send him to Santa Fe to board at a Presbyterian school. I asked about how his family came to New Mexico, and heard that he’s descended from Spanish colonists who came with Coronado in the mid-1500s.

Manuel Abeyta is still a Presbyterian, and his theology is a lot more deterministic than mine, but he’s still a pretty engaged and engaging missionary – a water-carrier and life-giver. He lives in SFO part of the year, and part of the year in Costa Rica. He buried his mother not long ago at the age of 107, and it looks to me like he might live as long himself, still connecting people to the life he knows in Jesus.

We’re all connected to that vine, and we are re-membered to the vine by telling the stories of our origins. Our very life and liveliness comes in discovering those interconnections. How have you found your place in the story? Who helped connect you to the source of life? Sharing your own story will be life-giving water for one who is thirsty.

[1] Acts 8:36

[2] William Lacheur

[3] “Mission to California,” James S. McGowan. Transcript of handwritten diary, available from Diocese of El Camino Real.


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