Grace and peace to you, a word of welcome on this always-wonderful
Sunday, as we observe the festival of our patron saint, Andrew the
Apostle.
A little like a birthday party,
or a homecoming weekend, an anniversary, and certainly a time to pause for a
moment to think about how the spirit of this great place, St. Andrew’s--175
years old this year, to talk about anniversaries—about how the spirit of this
great place is and has become a part of who we are. I’ve seen a number of constructions. St. Andreans is what I prefer, since the name
in Greek is “Andreas”-- though there were a few around here for a while who
preferred “St. Andrewsians.” For some
reason I remember Ruth Cover always preferring that one.
And I occasionally hear from the direction of the Star Trek section of
the Choir, “St. Androids.”
But in any
event, a particular and distinctive and peculiar species, DNA passed down in
some mystical invisible way generation by generation, despite all kinds of
differences of background, perspective, life experience. “Every breed of cat,” as I like to say about
the parish by the zoo. Democrats and
Republicans, vegetarians and omnivores, people who love baseball and, hard as
this is to believe, people who don’t. Chamber
music and country, Handel and Hendrix. People
who will describe their lives and families and communities and interests and
even to say their Christian faith in a multitude of vocabularies. But in the midst of those differences,
something shared. An inclination to be
here, to be together, prompted by our Better Angels, I think. Whispers of encouragement. Stirrings of the heart that take place in such
quiet ways that we don’t even notice them at first.
Grace and peace then, St. Andreans, St. Andrewsians, St. Androids. As Dickens’s Tiny Tim will solemnly pronounce
again this year, “God bless us, every one.”
And welcome old friends and new, with a special greeting and
appreciation again this year to our friends of the Syria Highlanders. Thank you for the gift you bring us in
stirring up these ancestral memories on this St. Andrew’s Day, and thank you
for the opportunity you share with us in support of the wonderful work of the
Shriners’ Hospital. Certainly the pioneers of this place back in
1837 were aware of St. Andrew’s role as patron saint of Scotland. Perhaps they were recognizing and honoring in
those days the large Scotch-Irish population that had been such a large part of
the first European settlers in this region.
And so to hear the pipes again across the neighborhood and ringing
through the church—it is for us an old and familiar song.
Andrew is the patron saint indeed of Barbados,
Scotland, the Ukraine, Russia, Romania, Patras in Greece, Amalfi in Italy, Luqa
in Malta, Esgueira in Portugal. Patron
saint of Prussia, and of the Order of the Golden Fleece (I looked that up in
Wikipedia—an order dating from the 15th century comprising members
of the royal families and high nobility of old Europe). And the emblematic St.
Andrew’s Cross appears on the flags as well of Scotland, and so on the British "Union Jack," and then Australia, New
Zealand, Nova Scotia, Tenerife, Galicia, and the state flags of Florida and
Alabama, among others. Andrew is also,
to note this one week after our observance of Veterans Day, the patron saint of
the U.S. Army Rangers.
So he got around, apparently. This St. Andrew of ours. How beautiful are the feet of those who
bring good news!—as St. Paul writes in Romans 10.
We’ve heard one story about the calling of Andrew
and Peter, here in St. Matthew this morning.
Leave your nets and come, fish for people . . . . The story in St. John has Andrew as a
disciple of John the Baptist, who with another John the Baptist follower hears
John speak about Jesus and follows after him to see what he’s all about, and
who then goes and finds his brother Peter to say, “come and meet the person we've been waiting for all our lives.” Then
again in St. John, when the multitudes have followed Jesus into the
countryside to hear his teaching, and when evening has come and the people are
beginning to get hungry, and nobody seems quite sure what to do, Andrew brings
to Jesus a little boy who has brought his lunch from home, five loaves of
bread, and two fish. And later still, at
a moment of crisis on the journey toward the cross, some Greeks come, seeking Jesus,
and it is Andrew to whom they speak first, and he brings them to him.
All we know about what happened for Andrew after
Pentecost Sunday is pious tradition, but certainly it must have followed along
the same pattern. Meeting people where they are, and leading them to
Jesus. A ministry, we might say, of introduction and
evangelism. Commending Jesus. Inviting others who haven’t met him yet to
come into his presence, to experience for themselves his tender mercy, his
forgiveness, and the healing and new life and real and substantial hope that
flow from the knowledge of his resurrection.
Andrew, always ready to say a good word about Jesus. How beautiful are the feet of those who bring
good news!
For 175 years under his banner as this community
of Christian people. Pilgrims. Men and women, boys and girls. All sorts and conditions. And somehow here good Andrew keeps doing his
work, his team, fishing for people, taking them by the hand and bringing them
to his friend. "Come, let me introduce
you to the person you’ve been waiting all your life to meet." Inspiring us, at this font and at this Table,
sustaining us, equipping us, as the Word
is proclaimed and studied, as we meet Jesus here, and as we continue to meet
him and to walk with him then from this great place to all corners of the
neighborhood and city and region around.
How beautiful are the feet of those who bring
good news! Blessings on this St.
Andrew’s Day, friends, for those of us who are here today, and for those whose
first Sunday in this great place will be next Sunday, or the Sunday after
that. Perhaps the neighbor who slips in
by the side door a few weeks from now to watch and listen as our children tell
in their pageant the story of the Savior’s birth. Perhaps the friend who accepts our invitation
to attend the beautiful offering of Lessons and Carols. Perhaps the one who decides after years of
frustration and resistance and sadness and hurt to give the Christian message
and that Bethlehem Baby another hearing at midnight on Christmas Eve. Perhaps a neighbor in Lima Peru, in a conversation
with John and Susan Park, or in a time of prayer with a community Five Talents
solidarity circle. Perhaps a neighbor
right around the corner, whose hard road to recovery is made a little easier by
the friendship and helping hand of one of our Off the Floor Pittsburgh Saturday
mornings.
How beautiful indeed are the feet of those who
bring good news—and the news that Andrew had to share, the news that we have to
share, the best news ever. Come and meet
him. He is the one we have been waiting
for. May the next 175 years of our life together
continue the story and announce the good news in great and new ways, always to
bring honor, glory, and praise, through Christ our Lord.
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