“Mustard Seeds Of Hope”

October 2, 2022: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard. Amen.

Today we celebrate our Fall Founder’s Fest after the worship service. We don’t do a Homecoming Sunday here, because, well, you all were here through the summer, even if we are in smaller numbers physically present since the pandemic. The Homecoming, or Welcome Back Sunday, was from a time when people would go to a summer place, perhaps worshipping at a summer chapel, and would then return to their regular church in the Fall. But, those days are long ago for most people, and so instead, way back in 2016, we began a new type of celebration – our Fall Founder’s Fest, which is on the first Sunday of October, because we were founded on October 4, 1858.

And so, I was thinking of the long journey of our church, all of that history, as I read the scriptures for this morning. The first reading from Lamentations begins with “how lonely sits the city that once was full of people!” The psalm begins this way “By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept, when we remembered you, O Zion.” And in the gospel, the disciples asked Jesus to “Increase our faith!” and he told them they need only have faith the size of a mustard seed.

The scriptures today truly echo our own journey and that of the many years since 1858.

Those founding parishioners, the ones who gathered in private homes on Sunday afternoons to worship, had faith to plant a church, with great hopes for the future. They labored to build up the body of Christ, and finally raised up a building to house this new parish community. And then, during the time when the Rev. Edwin Augustine White was Rector (Good old Fr. Ed can be seen on the half-shell high up on this wall staring down at our choir every Sunday), anyway, during his time leading the parish – on a snowy, windy night, Jan 15, 1893, the little wooden church these first parishioners worked so hard to build burned to the ground. “Barbara Genin, a parishioner at that time said “I don’t know how it started but when it was finally out, there was little left of Christ Church.”

Yet even they knew, as we certainly know now post-pandemic, that the church is not the building, but is the faithful community of Christ gathered. And so, they did not lose faith – they rebuilt.

The town of Bloomfield was changing then – with the area now known as Glen Ridge emerging on the map (Montclair wasn’t a thing then). So, those faithful parishioners decided to buy property at the corner of Park and Bloomfield Avenues to be more central to both communities, and the second building of Christ Church, the one in which we now sit, began to rise up. It was dedicated in 1893 – with the line between the towns of Bloomfield & Glen Ridge running right through our high altar.

And the church grew and prospered.

But like many churches in the latter half of the 20^th century, Christ Church, this once cardinal parish of the diocese, declined in numbers. Generations of parishioners had provided for the church to stay afloat in those lean years, through endowments given to the parish as part of their estate plans. Yet by 2014, when my path and this church intersected by the grace of God, Christ Church was at a crossroads, with possible closure looming just ahead.

But, what I saw in the eyes of the Search Committee back then were people who had faith – faith the size of a mustard seed, faith that could move mulberry trees – even if they may not have realized it themselves. It seemed to me too that the walls were shouting with the voices of those long ago, reminding us of our resilient past, and urging us ever forward in faith.

You know, the thing about this gospel today is how the disciples are asking for what they think is extraordinary – this incredible faith that would be without doubt, without question – a sort of super-sized, cape wearing super-hero kind of faith – completely perfect and without flaw. Only that is not really faith at all. Jesus tells them tells them that with faith the size of a mustard seed, one could do amazing things, but he then underscores it with a metaphor about faith as the ordinary acts we do in our lives.

And so, back in 2014, we stepped boldly forward into our future together with faith far beyond a mustard seed…and just a few weeks in, we made a decision – a decision that to this day has been a symbol of mulberry tree moving – we ripped the pews out and completely transformed the floors of this church, and made our labyrinth permanent. The floors which had grown very, very old – with holes and chips in the wood, with cracks in the tiles – was made new. And we transformed as well the choir room – steeped in days gone by – and made it new again too. And on top of that, we removed all the old, dirty, plexiglass from the stained glass windows, and let the light of Christ shine through.

Christ Church was proclaiming to the world that we are a church alive, and like our predecessors, we were taking what had been cast down through the ages and making it new again – a sign of faith lived out in ordinary acts of sanding floors and painting walls. And since that time, these floors have borne witness to many baptisms, and our congregation has grown each and every year.

But we were not yet done, were we. A group of us gathered in those early days – people from both the church and the nursery school – to talk about the space challenges each faced. The church needed space for adult formation and the offices to be more accessible. The school had waiting lists in each class and needed to expand. And with faith in what might be, we looked at the opportunities that we had – seeing in spaces used only on Sundays, new possibilities. Imagining from neglected corners a new purpose.

A new vision was developed, and our leadership had the faith to take that vision and make it happen – faith larger than a mustard seed, because more than mulberry bushes were moved to complete it. The project completed in 2016, and up until the time of pandemic, the parish was sowing the benefits from the seeds planted by this work. Even with this project, our endowment spending was brought into sustainable levels. And our vision for the expansion of the school and renovation of our spaces was bearing much fruit.

See the thing about seeds, mustard or otherwise, is that they are a lot like churches. They are planted with hope – hope of roots taking hold, hope of breaking the ground and growing year after year, hope that what was planted will be something that will last and will nourish others, and hope that it may provide seed for more to grow too. That is what a church community is – a place where seeds are nurtured to grow – rooted in Christ – growing in faith. It is something we do together – in community – and with God’s help. It’s a partnership with God and one another.

I am reminded of this little story.

Albert took over an old, run-down, abandoned little farm. The land was overgrown with weeds, the barn was falling down, and the shed was just a frame with broken glass.

During his first day of work, the priest stopped by to bless Albert’s work, saying, “May you and God work together to make this the farm of your dreams!”

A few months later, the priest stopped by again. Lo and behold, it was completely transformed. The barn had been expertly rebuilt, crops were growing in neat rows all over, the shed had been made into a green house, with re-glazed windows, and was full of plump, ripe tomatoes.

“Amazing!” exclaimed the priest. “Look what God and you have accomplished together!”

“Yes, Father,” said Albert, “but remember what the place was like when God was working it alone!”

We have been working in partnership with God these many years, nurturing our mustard seed faith into harvests beyond our imagination through our very ordinary acts, and by God’s grace, we were growing in faith, serving our neighbors, and creating community, in the name of Jesus Christ.

And then pandemic hit, we closed our school, and we could not gather physically. We lost people we loved, we were without the comfort of the physical presence of our parish family, and we were hit economically – losing 2/3rds of our endowment, with no ability to raise income from the school. Even today we are able to gather again in person, and yet, like so many parishes, a great many people have not returned. Like the author of Lamentations, we wonder “how lonely sits the city that once was full of people!” For we know that ours is an incarnational faith – physical presence matters. But there will be no weeping by the waters of Babylon, for we also know our history, and we know our God.

Like our founders, who watched their beloved church, which they had worked so hard to bring into being, burn to the ground, we are setting our hope on Christ. You see, through all the years of this church, our ups and downs, if we have learned anything, it is that sometimes, most times really, faith isn’t about shouting from the rooftops, but about the small whispers of our deepest heart. It is about taking it one day at a time, and “putting one foot in front of the other and walking toward a future we do not yet see but trust God is fashioning. Faith is heading out the door each day looking for opportunities to be God’s partner and co-worker in the world. Faith is imagining that the various challenges put in front of us … are actually opportunities that invite us to grow as disciples and witness to God’s presence and goodness in the world.”[1] Faith is about ordinary acts the size of a mustard seed.

And with faith the size of a mustard seed, we know that Christ is calling us forward into new life, new ministry, new ways of living out the gospel in this place, in our lives, and in our communities.

And so, your leadership has begun to look at our situation in a different way – not looking at what has been, but what may be. We are imagining that in this time, we have gathered to plant a church here just like those earliest founders, and here are the facts of our situation: We have been given this already built beautiful church, sitting in a very busy, accessible, and visible location. The community is growing in droves, with families moving in from all over, and businesses are rebuilding. We already have a thriving primary ministry in place with our school. Visitors walk through our doors nearly every Sunday. We just completed a large solar installation that will reduce our expenses and serve as a model for sustainability and stewardship of God’s creation. And, we have $300,000 in an endowment. GO!

How does that change your perspective? Because the reality is, the possibilities for us are endless – not only because there is much we do have on which to build, but because we have faith the size of a mustard seed, and that can do extraordinary things! We know too that we do not do this work alone, but in partnership with God, for the sake of the gospel of Jesus Christ, in Christ, all things are possible.

And so, as we launch our stewardship season this morning, you will be given a mustard seed nestled in a little charm, which will be blessed at the altar during the Eucharist. Put it on something you will wear, or in a place where you can see it every day. When you do, remember that your little seed of faith matters – to God and to this parish. Allow yourself to think about the importance of this faith community to your life, and to the community we serve, and how your offering of mustard seed faith will help bring forward this new church plant of ours. Think on it also when you are considering the legacy you will leave behind in your own estate planning, for we made it through pandemic only by God’s grace and the bequeaths of those who came before us.

On October 4, 1858, a small group of people came together to form a faith community. The building they first were able to worship in was destroyed. They rebuilt and continued to share the gospel of Jesus, becoming one of the largest parishes in the diocese.

Here we are today in 2022 rebuilding once more, and for many of us, a second time since 2014. And yet, this is not a time for weeping by the waters, but rejoicing in our hope. For unlike those earliest founders, we already know by our history the miracles that are possible. We know that our faith can, has, and will again, do far more than uproot a mulberry tree. The walls are once again shouting with the voices of those long ago, reminding us of our resilient past, and urging us ever forward in faith.

So, we will plant our seeds of hope in our pledge and planned giving.

We will return here to these pews to worship together, and to be renewed in the Eucharist, and in the fellowship of Christ.

And we will build up the body of Christ in this place, that by God’s grace, this parish will continue through the ages to proclaim the good news to a weary world – that all people are made in God’s image – all are beloved of God – and all are welcome in this place!

Amen.

For the audio, click below, or subscribe to our iTunes Sermon Podcast by clicking here (also available on Audible):

Sermon Podcast