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The following sermon was delivered by The Rt. Rev. John Harvey Taylor, Bishop Diocesan, on Wednesday, April 16, at St. John's Cathedral, Los Angeles.
Sharing the honors perhaps just once more at renewal of vows, Canon McCarthy and I join Bishops Brookhart, Gomes, and Little and Dean Sawyer and her colleagues in welcoming you and giving thanks for all the bishops, deacons, and priests of the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles -- especially this week, as you walk with your people through the valley of the shadow of Holy Week and set the table for Easter Day and the magnificent saving glory of Resurrection.
We know the hours are long. And it’s been a long year already. We began in tragedy for hundreds of colleagues and congregants who lost their homes in the wildfires – and for our friends at Saint Mark's Episcopal Church and School and St. Matthew’s School, who lost most of their buildings but none of their spirit.
All of you, and hundreds of your people, opened hearts, homes, and checkbooks. St. Barnabas Eagle Rock offered St. Mark’s a home for worship on Sundays. The Church of Our Saviour made room for the St. Mark’s preschool.
We pray especially for Sylvia Sweeney and Bob Honeychurch of Altadena, Bruce A. Freeman, KC Robertson, and Stephen Smith of Pacific Palisades, Mel Soriano of St. John's Cathedral, and our ELCA colleague, Bishop Brenda Bos – all made homeless in January along with members of their families. We pray for those in recovery at Jubilee Homes who lost one of their precious sober living refuges.
It’s hard to imagine what KC went through losing her home -- and besides that, her fellow cochair of the bishop search committee, Thomas Diaz, was busy with pastoral care at All Saints in Pasadena, where nearly 90 lost their homes. But they and their colleagues barely missed a beat conducting the mighty choir that is working in harmony to help us call our eighth bishop in November.
Of course we’ll also remember January 2025 because ominous smoke began to rise in Washington. Flames are lapping at the foundations of beloved community -- our precious if tenuous civic consensus that our wealthy society really is supposed to pledge itself to liberty and justice for all.
Authors of political novels and TV miniseries have imagined the United States turning to nationalism and protectionism and abandoning the New Deal social justice consensus under which every one of us born in this country have lived our entire lives. It’s not guesswork anymore. It was a commonplace to say we had a lot of work to do to perfect our union. Now we are reversing the process, making an idol of imperfectability -- doing damage that could take a generation to fix, if we even decide to fix it.
It’s easy to imagine our church getting an email from an office somewhere in Washington, accusing us of endorsing fashionable woke principles – just listen to these outrages! – things like “bringing good news to the poor and oppressed, proclaiming liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners.”
This regime could turn on us for saying that government agents shouldn’t raid our schools and arrest children – or come into our churches and arrest refugees.
Or for saying that it’s inhumane, indecent, and immoral to cripple an HIV-AIDS program that saved 26 million lives in Africa and without which over a million could die this year.
Or for saying that our government should stand up for both Israelis and Palestinians.
Or for saying that when the Supreme Court says a man wrongfully deported to a torture prison in El Salvador should be returned to our shores, its ruling should be obeyed.
Or for saying that DEI -- diversity, equity, and inclusion -- exists to keep the promise to all our people of LLP -- life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
Yes, we might well be next. Our government is already extorting law firms, universities, and school districts. They called for defunding and NPR and PBS yesterday. Mind you, Project 2025 didn’t have a chapter on muzzling the progressive denominational church. I checked just to be sure. Maybe they just hadn’t noticed us yet. Taking care of that on the 21st of January at Washington National Cathedral was my House of Bishops tablemate the Rt. Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington.
In Los Angeles, we have taken Mariann’s witness to heart by lifting up our trans and non-binary siblings and supporting Sacred Resistance as it makes sure immigrant workers in our missions, parishes, and neighborhoods know their rights -- and know that we will stand with them when ICE comes knocking, as ICE surely will.
I think we all realize that it’s probably going to get worse before it gets better. And politics will continue to strain bonds of affection in our families and congregations. We’re not for or against candidates. We’re for respecting the dignity of every human being. We don’t follow leaders. We follow a risen Savior who associated himself with those who were most afflicted and marginalized.
We must use our voices, firmly rooted in Holy Scripture, to speak up when gospel values are under assault. And yet our witness also has to build up the household of God. We are to encourage and heal, welcome and enlighten. Folks who attend our churches don’t deserve to feel bad because of the way they voted.
In these darkening days, I’m sure of just one thing. People and communities of faith, across all ecumenical and interfaith lines, are our society’s last reliable repository of witness about inalienable rights and human dignity, values that our politics seem to be on the verge of abandoning. If politicians won’t stand up for love and justice, then we must stand even taller. If we do, we may give hope and encouragement to those in power who do want to put us back on the path to righteousness.
One of the glories of an episcopal transition is that we can decide together how we want to co-lead in this next season of our church and our nation. Before too long, I’ll be speaking just for myself.
On Sunday, I visited St Francis in Palos Verdes Estates and spent a wonderful morning with Jason Shelby, Celeste S. Stump, and their folks. We heard the passion according to St. Luke, and as I listened, I heard the cock crow three times for me, as it did, according to the gospel, for Peter in his weakness. I heard three calls to Holy Week repentance.
First was the way the disciples, on hearing from Jesus that he had been betrayed, immediately began arguing among themselves about who would be the greatest. They had just gotten the bad news that their teacher had been sold out. This was a great opportunity to put the other person first, namely Jesus Christ. And so I repented of all the times I’m tempted to make it all about me.
And if you heard Luke’s narrative, you remember how Jesus told his friends to go out and buy a sword – not because he really wanted to do violence, but because he remembered what Isaiah had said, that the suffering servant would be numbered among the lawless. Jesus wanted to make the prophecy come true. It’s a reminder that he carefully modeled his ministry and moves on the law and the prophets. And so I repented of my neglect of daily study of holy scripture. I heard the cock crowing, “John, get ye to Bible study!”
And at St. Francis, we were all part of the mob that called for the release of Barabbas. He was a violent insurrectionist, no doubt against Rome. If I had been one of the cruelly oppressed people of Palestine, and Pilate gave me a choice between the Prince of Peace and a god of war, I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have said, “Give me Barabbas, because at least he fought for his people and stood up for his country.” So I repented of the times that I forget that love, mercy, forgiveness, and humility are the only things that work – all the times I overlook what the letter of James teaches, which is that my anger does not produce God’s righteousness.
My colleagues, you have your own Holy Week work – service after service, bulletins and Easter egg hunt logistics (one more trip to Michael’s!), and not much time, I fear, for reflection and meditation. And yet I pray that, if not this week, then perhaps during Easter week, you’ll find some sabbath time. Do something you enjoy. Find an opportunity for refreshment and renewal.
Because the risen Christ has never needed you more. When our people are anxious and afraid, they look to us not to be. Sometimes a pastor has to be a factory of hope when we don’t think we have a single morsel of hope to spare. This is why we have to take care of ourselves, so that we can take care of the people around us -- and by the grace of God, receive a measure of their care in return.
So that when we preach, teach, or counsel during these times, folks will reflect on what we’ve said or done. They’ll behold our ministry and example. And they’ll say to themselves, “Times may be tough, but today, at least -- thanks to that kind, empathetic servant of the gospel – today, the scriptures really have been fulfilled in my hearing.”
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