Holy Saturday Th Great Vigil - The Rev. William Seth Adams-April 19, 2025

Blessed be the Name of God

         There’s a story told about a young woman hiking in Ireland, a rambler she would have been called. Coming upon a local farmer, she asked, “Could you tell me how to get to Kilkenny?”  The farmer replied, “To tell you the truth, if I wanted to get to Kilkenny, I wouldn’t be startin’ from here.”  

“Startin’ from here.”

And, of course, every “here” comes with its own “now.” We don’t get to choose our “here” and our “now.”  They come to visit us.  We find ourselves, like the rambler, we find ourselves where we are, here and now.

         So it is with us tonight.

My first Easter was spent at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Fort Smith Arkansas.  I was 10 months old.  I had been baptized at St. John’s six months earlier.  Tonight and tomorrow will mark my 85th Easter.  You will know then that I have said, “He is risen” that many times, and restored the “Alleluia” equally so, sometimes with energy, conviction and deep understanding, sometimes not.  Since perhaps age three or four, I have sung, quite happily, the                                                                                                                                                                                                    hymns that typically fill our hearts and voices--“Hail thee festival day,” “Jesus Christ is risen today,” “Welcome happy morning!” “O sons and daughters, let us sing.”

         In some measure and to varying degrees, I suspect most of you will have something of the same experience, similar history though likely shorter in duration.

         It is also true to your experience and to mine, that circumstances at a given time and place will have their way with these seasonal occasions, recurring as they do. We’re always starting from “here.” It’s always “now.” No matter how filled with familiar content of their own, they occur, annually, in a new setting, a new time, each time around as if the first time. Unlike before or after, they occur in their own time. So it is for us this evening.

         The question is, then, where is “here” just “now?”  What has this Easter brought us? As we open the Book of Life tonight, what do we find?

         Happily, on the first page, we find Alex, newly baptized. Tomorrow morning, at St. Stephen’s, we will baptize two more young people, sisters Ameerah and Lilliana, older than Alexandra, but still quite young compared to most of us. Alex, Ameerah and Lilliana, their collective membership in the Body of Christ will change the shape of the Church forever. These children, still wet with the waters of baptism, are signs of God’s welcome.  And they will forever be accompanied by our Alleluias.

They will be setting off on a life in this household of faith.  In so doing, we hope and pray, that in time, they will accept the responsibilities of the ministry of Jesus, the responsibilities you and I have accepted and affirmed. The care of the sick and dying, the safety of the dispossessed, the protection of the weak and vulnerable. 

If we keep our focus tightly fastened on the baptisms of these beautiful children, then our Alleluias will have full force, be undiluted and express our confidence in the Life of Promise.

It is also Jenny Cleveland’s birthday, and we give joyful thanks for her and the good God does through her, here in this place.

On the next page, surely, we find our “here” and “now” resident on this beautiful island in this abundance, and this abundant spring.  Early rhododendrens and camelias and flowering trees!  Bulbs, dormant as death over the winter, finding life and coming to expression as if a great long-awaited surprise. If you travel the back roads of the Island, you can very easily smell the beauty of the place!

Think, also, with gratitude of the work of the Whidbey-Camano Land Trust, Pacific Rim Institute and St. Augustine’s own Greening Committee in the care of our island.

Then add into this glad list, the vitality of the ministry of the Episcopal Church on Whidbey Island.  We are, collectively and together, committed to the ministry of Jesus in various rich ways.  The energy and impact of that ministry is perhaps attested to by the fact that the pride flag hanging from St. Stephen’s Church has been torn down more than once! Alleluias/Hallelujahs easy to come by.

But, as we turn the next pages, our focus will necessarily broaden a bit, then other realities intrude and our acclamations risk dilution and, at least for me, they are harder to come by. What about alleluias in a time such as ours? On this page and those to follow, the mood is darker and more challenging.

“It’s hard to hope,” she said.  “It’s hard to be buoyant,” she said, she for whom buoyancy comes as naturally as breathing.  Yes, Dear Ones, it is a hard time, or so our household finds it.  We do our best to shield ourselves for the political oppression of the moment, all the while struggling against it.  How do we welcome strangers if deportation is the order of the day?  How do we tolerate the news of humiliation, distrust and oppression?  How do we accommodate the re-writing of history and the banning of books?

It’s exhausting and debilitating, at least for some.  And for us, for Amy Donohue and me, it’s frightening and demeaning. Makes us angry!

What of the damage being done to Palestine and Israel by their respective governments, at such great cost, particularly to the people of Gaza?  What of the invasion and attempted destruction of Ukraine?  What of the favor our own government shows to dictators around the world?  What of the continued and unrelenting presence of gun violence and the prevalence of addictions of various sorts?  So it goes…

Yet, [and this is a pivitol word], yet, in the face of all this, and more, struggle and protest as we may, the preacher is compelled and obliged to remind you, as the poet Jack Gilbert as taught us,

         We must risk delight…

We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of the world…

We must admit there will be music despite everything…

                                                               [“A Brief for the Defense”]

All this, you see, is our obligation as people of the Resurrection.

         Then we turn another page, moving from the newspaper to the calendar.  A week ago tomorrow, Diane Lantz died.  Often, over time, Amy and I met Diane carrying Cassie along one of the trails in the Community Park, son Jonathan alongside.  We always had a small but rewarding visit.  She is at rest.

         Also tomorrow, we mark the second anniversary of the death of Peter Rood, former rector of St. Stephen’s, former student of mine, dear friend to Amy and me, the preacher at our wedding 30 years ago.  Except for my dear wife, Peter knew me better than anyone. He is at rest.

         One more thing, for Amy and me.  Two months ago, last Wednesday, February 15th, our granddaughter, Fiona, died in a car accident. She was 22 years old. On her way from work at a veterinary clinic, her car and a bridge abutment had a deadly encounter.  She died instantly.  Like Diane and Peter, she too is at rest.

         So the “here” and “now.” Joyful baptisms and birthdays, the beauty of spring, the faithfulness of our parish ministries, the politics of domination, the savagery of war, the prospect of violence, the death of ones we love. Then add climate change, the stock market, the misadventure of our bodies, and  even shopping at Rite Aid!

It's real life, our “here” and “now.”

When I was very young in this ministry, I fell in with a hippie couple, Joel and Zoe, at the small college I served as Episcopal chaplain. I was a frequent guest in their home.  Their most common art form was posters, the largest of which was a close-up photograph of Janis Joplin. It was Janis who, in the words of Kris Kristofferson, taught us that “freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose.” Wisdom worth remembering I have always thought.

More importantly, however, and this is the saving point, next to Janis was a poster with the power to give us some ease.  The poster was fashioned by the poet and activist Kenneth Patchen. A reviewer said of Patchen, “there is a voice of anger—outspoken rage against the forces of hypocrisy and injustice in the world.” [From NYT Book Review quoted in “Kenneth Patchen,” www.poetryfoundation.org.] Patchen died in 1972!

The poster announced very artfully, “Hallelujah Anyway.”

         “Hallelujah Anyway.” Say it with me, “Hallelujah Anyway.”

         For many years and in countless situations, I have reminded myself of this testimony, never more urgently, never more than right now.  “Hallelujah Anyway.” This remembrance has oftentimes helped me stay focused and afloat.  So, on this my 85th and most difficult Easter, I give you this as a present. No matter what, right “here” and right “now,” “Hallelujah Anyway!”

Blessed be the Name of God

wsa