Tag Archives: Communion of Saints

So Jung, you are remembered

Before her death in January of this year, my friend the Rev. Dr. So Jung Kim, who served the PC(USA) as the associate for theology in the Office of Theology and Worship, said to me in very low moment, “No one will remember me.”

I told her she was wrong.

On Sunday, St. Andrew Presbyterian Church, where my son Eric serves as transitional pastor, will include So Jung among the saints they name. I am grateful.

If your congregation is naming saints, I am sure you have many individuals to remember. I give thanks for each one of them.

And if you are so inclined, please include the Rev. Dr. So Jung Kim and help demonstrate that we do remember her.

For the Rev. Dr. So Jung Kim and all the saints – thanks be to God!

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I Believe in the Communion of Saints

Hebrews 12:1-3
I Believe in the Communion of Saints

August 7, 2022
First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone
The Rev. W. Mark Koenig

         The movie Amistad aired a day or two ago.

          It tells the story of a rebellion by a group of Africans on the Spanish ship La Amistad in 1839. The Africans, of the Mende people, had been illegally taken into slavery near Sierra Leone by Portuguese. They were taken to Cuba where they were sold to the Spaniards commanding La Amistad.

          As the ship sailed to another port, some of the Mende people escaped their shackles and killed most of the crew. They tried to force surviving crew members to sail them back to Africa, but they were tricked. Eventually the ship was seized by the forerunner of the U.S. Coast Guard.

          Trials followed. The issue pivoted on whether the Mende were free people being enslaved or not. To trade in human beings was illegal at the time. Enslavement was allowed. People born enslaved remained enslaved. People already enslaved could be sold to others for further enslavement. But the small step of banning the trade of free people had been taken. Were the Mende people on La Amistad free when they had been taken? A court decided they were, and the people should be released.

          The U.S. government, fearful of starting a civil war, appealed. The court again ruled in favor of the Mende.

          The U.S. government, fearful of starting a civil war, appealed again. To the Supreme Court.

          At this point, former President John Quincy Adams became involved. He was serving in the House of Representatives at the time. The abolitionists and lawyers representing the Mende people had approached him earlier and he had declined. Now, he said yes.

          I do not know if it happened this way in real life, but there is a scene in the movie where President Adams is speaking to Cinque, the leader of the rebellion. It happens shortly before the final arguments with the Supreme Court. Cinque is nervous. Adams seeks to reassure him. “You are not alone,” Adams says. He refers to himself and the other attorneys and the abolitionists supporting the Mende people.

          Cinque draws himself up to his full height. Speaking through a translator, he says, “I know. My ancestors will be with me. I have summoned them.”

          I had seen Amistad before. A couple times. But somehow I had missed this Communion of Saints moment.

          I believe in the Communion of Saints.

In the wooden pews of the Neville Island Presbyterian Church, l breathed in the aroma of pipe tobacco that permanently permeated my father’s clothes and joined my family and the congregation in affirming, “I believe in the Communion of Saints.”

I did not understand what that meant. I could have been no more that eight or nine years old. With no understanding, I affirmed the words. I believed.

Understanding has grown somewhat over the years. Belief has deepened profoundly.

Here is the basics of what I understand.

In the Reformed tradition, we do not believe that saints are holy people. People somehow better than the rest of us. People to set apart and place on pedestals.

Saints are everyone of us. Ordinary people. Believers who seek to follow Jesus as well as we are able. Believers of every time and every place.

Look around you at the people gathered here this morning – whether in person or on Zoom. You are seeing Saints.

When you have a chance, look in a mirror. You are seeing a Saint.

When you think of family, friends, acquaintances in other places, you are thinking of Saints.

When we celebrated Bill’s life yesterday, we celebrated a Saint.

When we call to mind those who have gone before us into death, our ancestors to use Cinque’s term, we call to mind Saints.

The Communion of Saints surrounds us at all times. We may not always be aware of it, but we live and move and have our being within the Communion of Saints.

From time to time, the reality of the Communion of Saints breaks into my head and heart and spirit with overwhelming power and grace. Usually when I least expect it, the understanding that in Christ, by the Holy Spirit, we are bound together in God’s love flows over me.

When we share a meal together. When friends and strangers help us with our daily lives. When we know that no matter how far apart Whitestone and Louisville may be, we are tied to one another in the love of Jesus Christ.

At times such as these, the Communion of Saints, some living and some in God’s nearer presence, began to swirl around me.

          It happened yesterday as we celebrated Bill’s life. I don’t know about you, but as I gave God thanks for Bill, so many people whose lives had touched Bill’s were present. Maybe, like Mary, they had gone before Bill in death. Maybe like Malinee and Lisa, they had other responsibilities. But they were all with us in the Communion of Saints.

          Three things that I believe we should do because we are part of the Communion of Saints.

          Give thanks to one another when we can.

          The Rev. Dr. Gayraud Wilmore was a giant in the world of theological education in the Presbyterian Church. I never met him. But I read his books. And many of the people I quote on a regular basis in my sermons studied with him.

          This year’s General Assembly gave Dr. Wilmore with an award for Excellence in Theological Education. Wonderful things were said. Important milestones celebrated. It was a touching moment.

          Except that Dr. Wilmore has been dead for two years.

On the one hand, it is never to late to say or do the right thing. On the other hand, there is blessing in letting people know what they mean to us when they can hear our words. I thank each of you and all of you for being part of my Communion of Saints. I am grateful to God for you.

Remember.

As my friend and mentor, the Rev. Dr. Otis Turner says, “The Communion of Saints consists of people everyone knows, people known to only a few of us, and people whose names we have never heard but are written in God’s book of life.” In almost every area of the church’s life and ministry, we are part of a long line of witnesses linking us to the past and moving into a future we can only imagine, knowing our imagination will fall short of what God has in store.

Remain open to what God is doing.

The Communion of Saints reminds us that God’s people are an evolving people. Learning. Growing. Being changed by the Holy Spirit. Again and again, drawn out of ourselves to something more faithful … more just … more peaceful … more loving. Drawn by a God who did new things and who is not finished with us yet. We are part of an evolving people. It is who the followers of Jesus have been. It is what the followers of Jesus have done. It is who Jesus calls us to be. It is how the Holy Spirit gifts us to be. We recall the past. We make our way in the present. We look forward to what God is doing in us and in our community.

I believe in the Communion of Saints.

For all the saints and what they teach us. Thanks be to God.

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All Saints’ Day

Bread is broken,
wine is poured,
space transcended,
time torn;
and all in Christ
are one.

On All Saints’ Day – November 1, 1995, I had the privilege to worship at St. Paul’s Anglican Church in Cape Town, South Africa. I had talked and preached about All Saints’ Day often. I have deep appreciation for the Communion of Saints. It is an important and profound dimension of my faith. Still, this was the first All Saints’ Day service I ever attended. It included the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper and led me to write these words.

For all the saints, thanks be!

Cape Town, South Africa
2 November 1995

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Samuel Johnson

I remembered Samuel Johnson today and I was revived.

The Samuel Johnson I remembered was not the English author – I did not pick up a copy of Boswell. I met this Samuel Johnson almost fifteen years ago during a hot summer week in Orangeburg, SC. He and I have been accompanying each other in the Communion of Saints ever since.

On Palm Sunday of that year, in a quiet grove of trees about eight miles outside of Orangeburg, the Butler Chapel AME Church burned. Four young men admitted responsibility for the fire, although they maintained that it was accidental. The fire did not totally destroy the church. It did cause enough damage that the church could neither be used nor repaired. After a season of prayer and discussion, the members of Butler Chapel determined to build a new church.

Volunteers came from across the country to work on the church; their labor coordinated by the Church of the Brethren. That August, a group of us went to Orangeburg from Cleveland; some of my friends from Louisville joined us. We spent a week working in extreme heat. We installed insulation and drywall and windows. We finished drywall. We laid brick. Each day was a little different. Each day had some elements in common – mostly the people of Butler Chapel – the wonderful people who welcomed us and fed us, prayed with us and worked beside us. Among them was Samuel Johnson.

Samuel Johnson was a big man. Once he had been a strong man. A long-time member of Butler Chapel AME Church, Samuel had attended school in the building as a child. Samuel worked throughout his life. Worked well and hard. . . as a farmer . . . for the gas company.

When I met him, a stroke had stolen much of his strength. He walked with a cane.  He walked better when he can use his cane and someone’s shoulder. I remember. A couple of times he used mine.

Although the stroke had taken much of his one arm and leg, it did not take his mind or voice or spirit. Unable to stay away while his church was being rebuilt, he came to the work site as often as he could. He watched. He visited. And from time to time, his eyes filled with tears of frustration as he wished that one more time he could swing a hammer.

Toward the middle of a hot afternoon (they were all hot – I can’t remember which one), I was working alone on insulation. A friend’s voice interrupted me.  “Mark, go to the fellowship hall.”

“I’m busy.” I said.  “I want to get this finished.”

Bob persisted.  “Mark, stop what you are doing.  Go to fellowship hall.  You have to see what is going on.  Take a camera.”

Reluctantly I got up. I found the camera went to the fellowship hall.

There, on a 2” x 10”  board that rested on two overturned five-gallon paint buckets, sat Samuel Johnson.  Around him, on the concrete slab, sat many of the young people of our group.  Softly and slowly, Samuel spoke . . . telling them of his life . . . his family . . . his work . . . telling them of Orangeburg and his beloved church.  As he spun stories and answered questions, tears filled my eyes.  I was helping build a physical church; Samuel was building Christ’s body.

Why did I remember this story today? Who knows?

Perhaps it is because I have been thinking about the hurts of God’s people – the violence in Gaza and Israel, the children who flee Central America to come to the United States, bombing in South Kordofan, hunger around the world particularly in South Sudan and North Korea, gunfire on our country’s streets, on and on the list goes. It does not seem to end.

In the face of such violations, suffering, and pain, my efforts seem so small and insignificant. But Samuel Johnson reminds me of the importance of perspective.

I can look at life in terms of what I do not have – what I lack – what I cannot do. This is the view of scarcity.

In the case of Samuel Johnson, such a view has little time for an older man whose physical abilities appear to have been limited by a stroke. It would say he no longer has much to offer.

Alternately, I can choose to look at life in terms of what I have – what I can do – what I can share – the gifts I bear. This view is the view of abundance. When viewed in this way, the incredible gifts that Samuel has and shares leap into view. Samuel’s presence is an inspiration; Samuel’s prayers a source of strength; Samuel’s stories create and nurture community.

For me, the assumption of abundance frees me from working about what I cannot do – to focus on doing what I can – whatever that might be.

Remembering Samuel renews my spirit and challenges me to look at the gifts I have and figure out how to use those gifts. That work has begun and will continue and I expect I will bump into Samuel and a whole bunch of other saints as I do.

See you along the Trail.

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Justice: 10 May 2014

Justice 07 03 11 Advocacy Workshop Big Tent

3 July 2011
Advocacy Workshop, Big Tent
Indianapolis, IN

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I need to try again

Communities of accountability have a way of intersecting.

The same people often appear in different communities to which we are accountable. A person may play a key role in one community and stand on the periphery of others. Or a person may hold a key place in several communities.

Make rosters of my communities of accountability and you will find Merdine T. Morris on many of those lists. A few years ago, I described her in these words:

Merdine T. and I have been friends for more than 20 years. Friend really does not do our relationship justice, she is my mentor, teacher, challenger, comforter, disturber of my peace, guide, anchor . . . the list goes on.

Today I add, Merdine T. Morris is practically a one person community of accountability for me.

Three years ago, Merdine T.’s health failed and I reflected on what I thought might be our last visit.

Merdine T. recovered.

On Tuesday, Tricia, Eric and I went to see her. We arrived and told the receptionist we wanted to visit Merdine T. She paused a moment and said, “I don’t think Merdine T. is here.”

She checked a list and informed us that Merdine T. had gone to lunch with a group. On the one hand, this was disappointing. On the other, it was great, good news.

I carry Merdine T. in my heart and head and will always do so. But I give thanks to know that she can get out and around.

And I need to try to see her again before I leave for New York.

See you along the Trail.

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Missing Clint, giving thanks

I clicked on the Facebook link to the birthdays of my friends. Usually I discover a surprise on the list as I have very few of those days memorized. Heck, I have to stop and think about the birthdays of my family. Often the surprise proves pleasant as it affords me the opportunity to remember someone.

Today’s surprise brought a Communion of Saints moment.

Clint McCoy’s name appeared. Executive for partnerships of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)’s Synod of the Northeast, Clint died suddenly on September 12, 2010 of a massive heart attack. His family has not closed his Facebook account.

A pang of grief pricked my heart. I followed the link to his page and found a number of comments by family members and friends. I remembered conversations and interactions. I smiled. And I gave thanks, grateful to have been Clint’s friend and colleague in ministry. Thanks be to God.

See you along the Trail.

 

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Thanks for all the saints

Today (Sunday 30 October – I write in Folsom, California) provided a great reminder of the Communion of Saints – a wonderful experience on Reformation Sunday and the day before All Saints’ Day.

Today brought the privilege of speaking at Davis Community Church – an experience that reminded me of the saints who are part of my life.

Mary Lynn Tobin, the pastor of Davis, and I attended college together – just a couple of years ago.

Nancy Eng MacNeill, colleague and friend, served as my chauffeur. Her family has put up with me and will continue to do so for the next few days.

Jewel Kinney, who attended a seminar that Rachel Pedersen and I led at Ghost Ranch, greeted me during the worship service.

David Rue, a friend from Cleveland where we engaged in antiracism work together, stayed for both my presentations.

Tom and Joanne Haller, long-time peace activists and acquaintances, came to the presentations as well.

Alice Nishi, who served on the task force to study reparations, made it to my first presentation.

Ripples of friendship, collaboration, and shared living, extend widely from each of these people – moving through my life, calling to mind countless individuals who have touched my life and who continue to journey with me in the Communion of Saints.

We do not live alone but within a web of relationships that transcend space and time. And that is good. Very, very good.

For all the saints – those I remember, those I forget, those I have never met – for all the saints, thanks be!

Nancy Eng MacNeill took the picture.

Yes, I need a haircut.

Yes, I need to trim my beard.

See you along the Trail.

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September 11, 2011

On this day of sadness and pride, remembrance and looking forward, St. James Presbyterian Church used the worship resources for the 10th Anniversary of September 11, 2001 today during worship. We shared in the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

Members of the congregation had the opportunity to make Ribbons of Hope which were delivered to Battery Park (my pictures from there did not work).

As often happens, a number of international visitors joined the congregation.

It was a blessing and an honor to worship with and preach to the saints of St. James.

See you along the Trail.

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Not alone

Not alone, we stand together,
for alone one could not stand.
Not alone, we stand together,
soul to soul and hand in hand.
Not alone,  we stand together,
aching hearts, but spirits strong.
Not alone, we stand together,
watching, waiting, working,
when others turn away;
seeing, hearing, feeling,
what others would avoid.
Not alone, we stand together,
facing suffering, sharing pain,
seeking justice, pursuing peace.
Not alone, we stand together,
wounded,
surely wounded,
sorely wounded,
still we stand.
Not alone, we stand together,
armed with faith
and armed with laughter,
hope and weeping,
dreams and love.
Not alone we stand together,
for alone we could not stand.

26 July 2001
Colorado National Monument, Fruita, CO and Orem, UT
with thanks to Diana Cheifetz

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