A hundred paces from Augustine, the Saxon King halted and his retinue closed in to protect him. A stranger to his realm, Augustine stood before him with a cross upon his shoulder and only a few unarmed companions. In one long look, the eyes of Augustine and Æthelbert held. Æthelbert, with courteous dignity, bid his visitors to sit. It was 597 and Augustine had been sent to see the cross firmly replanted upon English soil.
Gregory the Great sent Augustine to the court of Æthelbert to convert the Saxons of their Teutonic heathenism. He commended those going with Augustine, “Under God’s guidance you have commenced, knowing that great toil is followed by the glory of an internal reward. Obey in all things humbly Augustine your Provost, who is returning to you, whom we also appoint your abbot.” This great toil would be the establishment of monasteries in England through the gift of lands and resources from the King.
The Venerable Bede tells us nothing of what Augustine said in the meeting between the two, but he does provide Æthelbert’s response: “Fair, indeed, are the words, the promises, you bring us. But they are new and not certain…You do verily believe this Gospel to be true and supremely good. Therefore, I will you no harm. Nay, I receive you in kind hospitality.” Æthelbert gave a silver drinking cup, two woolen cloaks, and asked for the prayers of Augustine and his companions.
Fourteen hundred and twenty three years later, on Sunday, August 16th, I waded into the shallows of the Little River in the Smokey Mountains, taking my godson, Cooper, in my arms, to continue the mission that Gregory the Great had given to Augustine of Kent—that Jesus had given to his followers. The Gospel preached to the Kentish king is still being proclaimed to us today; by his resurrection, Jesus Christ has conquered sin, put death to flight, and given us the hope of everlasting life. Or as we boldly proclaim each and every Eucharist:
Christ has died.
Christ is risen.
Christ will come again.
The words are familiar, but they thrill us us each time we say them. It is the thrill of hope. The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews tells us, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” Jesus who turned water into wine at a wedding feast in Cana of Galilee is the same who healed, and forgave, and made a new world with a new commandment, that we love one another. He is the same who trod the slopes of Calvary’s rock and asked his father’s forgiveness on our behalf. He is the same who conquered death and hell and by that authority commissioned his followers to tell everyone what he had done with the words, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”
He is the same who walked with Augustine into the unknown on England’s shores.
He is the same who walks with you now into a different kind of unknown.
Some of you are returning to school this week—either as a teacher or a student, or like me, a parent hoping for the best. Some have lost work. Some are grieving this new way of living. Some are anxious about elections and legislation, economics and politics. Some are working through strained relationships. All of us are facing uncertainty.
Jesus is the same even still. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. And he walks with us wherever we go.
Peter+
