Sermon given by Fr Corey French on Sunday, August 27, 2023
This morning we gather together with a sense of heaviness, of loss. Many of us are still in shock, still trying to process the sudden loss of our friend and our bishop, Rommie Starks. There are no magic theological words to clear up the grief, to make this all seem to make sense to us. We feel the bishop’s absence and lament the fact that we will no longer have his familiar, companionable presence among us.
It is fitting that one of the bishop’s last earthly acts was to ordain two men last Saturday. In this, we see that he was fulfilling his ministry to the very end, even though it had become a great physical burden to him in many ways. As most of you know, he spent many of his last years in varying degrees of physical pain and discomfort, which often made it difficult for him to do his work. And yet, he dutifully executed the office and ministry to which the Lord called him.
As many of you know, as well, this was an office and ministry that he was reticent to enter into. For some people, the customary nolo episcopari—“I do not wish to be the bishop”—upon election is something of a coy concession to tradition. They very much want to be the bishop! In Bishop Starks’s case, however, I believe he could have spoken those words in good earnest. As Jerry mentioned to me, the bishop would have been happy always to remain “number two.” And yet in spite of this hesitance, and, I gather, with not a little cajoling from Fr. King, our bishop rose to this call, showing himself to be a pastor and a steadfast worker in the Lord’s vineyard through his diligence, kindness, and, when the situation demanded, his courage. This is not to turn this morning’s sermon into a eulogy. But it is to note how our friend and pastor showed us what it means to be faithful to the Lord’s calling, even if that calling was not what he wanted or desired for himself. He showed us what it means to “be instant [that is to say, persistent] in season and out of season” as St. Paul exhorted Timothy. In spite of his own sense of unworthiness to the office, in spite of the tremendous physical burden it placed upon him, the bishop continued persistently to do the work that was set before him and to do so for the love of the flock over which the Lord had placed him.
It is natural for us to grieve a friend and pastor such as this. Indeed, Our Lord Himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus, even though He knew that He would raise Lazarus from the dead. And yet the Lord wept because He knew that the fact of His friend’s death bespeaks something still amiss, something still awry in the order of His Father’s creation. He came to set that disorder right, to vanquish the foe of death once and for all through His own death and resurrection. He knew all that, and yet He still wept. We know all that, and yet we still grieve.
We still live in this in-between time between the conquering of our ancient enemy and the full and final restoration of all things in Christ. We live surrounded still by brokenness, suffering, and death. In this morning’s gospel, we see the Lord Jesus healing the deaf-mute. He does so not at a distance, not by a word of command, but by drawing near to the suffering man. The eternal Word of the Father, the incarnate Son of God is not above spitting on His fingers and touching a man’s tongue. This is because He is not far from us. This is because He is with us in our brokenness. He is with us in our grief and our loss. He stands alongside us as one who wept at the grave of Lazarus. And yet He is not here to leave us powerless or helpless. He is come to make all things new, to put all things in subjection under His feet, to wipe away every tear from our eyes.
And so this morning, let us give thanks for the steadfast example of our bishop in his faithfulness to his calling. Let us give thanks for his companionship and kindness. And let us be aware of the Lord’s presence here to strengthen and sustain us in the hope of His glorious resurrection.
In the Name + of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
