SERMON PREACHED BY THE REV’D ALLAN B. WARREN III AT THE CHURCH OF THE ADVENT,
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 2007, THE SOLEMNITY OF ALL SAINTS

The Church of the Advent began with a short walk on Bowdoin Street. A short walk, but a rather purposeful one. In a late autumn evening of 1843, Richard Salter, a physician, walked from his office at No. 4, Bowdoin Street, to the office, No. 2, of a friend and colleague, William Coale. Having been received there, he, as he himself put it, “rather abruptly” proposed, “Doctor, what should you think of forming a new Episcopal Church?” This was an odd thing for him to do, for Dr. Salter was not an Episcopalian. In fact, he was a Congregationalist, but here he was proposing to a man who was an Episcopalian, Dr. Coale, that they should form an Episcopal Church. But even odder still was the kind of Church the two men agreed to found at their meeting that evening. It was to be a Church, to quote them, “formed in the spirit and according to the principles of the Book of Common Prayer,” and it was to be a Church open to all, with free seats, supported by the voluntary, free-will offerings of those who worshipped there. It was, in short, to be an Episcopal Church like no other in the City of Boston.

You may find these two intentions for the new church surprising. Surprising because today they are the norm: Episcopal Churches today may use the Prayer Book in an astonishing variety of ways, but they do use it, and today Episcopal Churches are supported by the free will offerings, that is to say the stewardship, of those who are members. But it was not so in Boston in the 1840’s. Boston was a Puritan city and even the Anglican/Episcopalian clergy were imbued with the prejudices of that grim sixteenth-century movement. One of these was a suspicion of the Prayer Book itself, over which many battles had been fought. However, it was more than just a suspicion of the Prayer Book; it was a dislike of any set form at all for the Church’s worship. Dr. Salter, the Congregationalist, had become dissatisfied with his own denomination, which was Puritan through and through, and began visiting Episcopal Churches seeking for something different. But what he found was the same as what he had left: cold, disorganized, lifeless services. Worship in name only, no part of which touched, or inspired, or affected the worshipper. And the Book of Common Prayer, with its sacraments and its discipline of prayer, largely ignored. And so he proposed a new kind of Episcopal Church: one that actually used its Prayer Book.

And it was to be open to all. But how, one might ask, can a church be closed? That question is answered by a look the system universally used in those days to support the operation of a Church: set fees for the use of a pew – which in effect made a church a kind of club or religious theatre. Individuals, families, rented their pews from year to year. The best seats commanded the highest prices, of course, and the sums were not inconsequential. One of our neighboring parishes, Emmanuel Church on Newbury Street, recently made a study of pew rents there in the 1860’s. And what they found was that the choicest seats – in the front, of course – were rented yearly for what would be in today’s currency about $19,000. $19,000 for a pew in church!

And so, if you sat in the balcony of one of these churches on a Sunday and surveyed the crowd below you, what you would see was an image of the hierarchy of Boston society: the rich in the front, the not-so-rich and the middle class in the middle, the poor in the back, and those without means standing at the rear or sitting beside you up in the balcony. All those things which separate people in the world – rank, privilege, fortune – were there in microcosm every Sunday in a church. Dr. Salter and Dr. Coale agreed that in the new church it would not be so. There would be no distinctions between people for the attendance would be free.

This would be a risky business, for such a system of voluntary contributions had never been tried. A risky business, indeed. Could such a thing possibly succeed? Those who founded the Church of the Advent ventured to give it a try and find out.

Other meetings followed Dr. Salter and Dr. Coale’s first abrupt evening together, and other people joined them. And finally a little over a year later, on September 24, 1844, the Parish was formally organized and a constitution was adopted. Its first article stated – most of you have heard this before but it’s worth hearing again – that the intention of those forming the new Church of the Advent was “to secure to a portion of the city of Boston the ministrations of the Holy Catholic Church; and more especially to secure the same to the poor and needy in a manner free from unnecessary expense and all ungracious circumstances.” We have lived by that intention ever since. It is as close to the heart of the Church of the Advent now in 2007 as it was then in 1844.

And so you see, good people, from the very beginning the Church of the Advent was conceived of as a gift. It was a gift to the city of Boston of a church with devout and affecting worship – something which was unknown, but ardently desired. It was the gift of a Church where the godly order of the Kingdom of Christ, not the privileged order of the world, would be a principle of its life.

The Church of the Advent is a gift. Originally a gift to the city of Boston; now a gift to you and me and all who come here to worship. The Church of the Advent is a gift and it is a community of giving which spans the one hundred and sixty-three years of its existence. Everything around you in this wonderful building was given. The Great Rood which reigns, as it should, over the interior of the Church, given in 1924 by a Mr. William Richardson. The seven hanging lamps which burn before the Altar given in 1864 by a Mrs. Charles Cobb. The reredos which towers over the Altar given in 1890 by Isabella Stewart Gardner. The font in which Eleanor Gray was baptized this morning given by a Miss Perkins in 1850. Everything around you – glass, this pulpit, the vestments, the sacred vessels – everything was given by someone at some time and those gifts continue to give to you and me today and they will continue to give to those who will come after us.

Come by the Church on a Saturday morning and you will see any number of people giving their precious time and their talent to make possible what will take place on Sunday. And on Sunday the Choirs, the servers, the teachers in the Church School, the ushers, those who prepare Coffee Hour, all giving of themselves to this community. On Tuesday evening for twenty-five years a hot meal and an opportunity for companionship has been provided to the poor and the lonely. Given. Throughout the week space here is available for classes, for meetings, for AA. Given. The Church began as a gift and it continues to be a gift – to those who worship here and, as at the beginning, to the city itself.

And so, good people, here is the punch line. You’ve all seen it coming, I’m sure. This gift, the Church of the Advent, depends upon your giving, depends upon your stewardship of God’s bounty, depends upon your returning to God what God has given to you through a pledge to the Church of the Advent. Think about this. Pray about this and make a pledge.

* * * * *

In the Gospel this morning we heard the story of Zacchaeus. He was a tax collector in the city of Jericho, and he was rich. Jesus was passing through the city and so Zacchaeus, curious, went out to the road to get a glimpse of the rabbi from the country who was making such a stir. He was a short man, so he climbed a tree to see over the crowd. He must have been very surprised when Jesus stopped, stared at him, and invited himself to dinner. Surprised, but joyful too, for most people despised tax collectors and shunned them. At dinner Zacchaeus stood and said to Jesus: “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.” And Jesus answered, “Today salvation has come to this house…” (Luke 19:8,9)

One of the things that St. Luke’s Gospel is showing us in this story is that receiving Jesus, having fellowship with Jesus results in repentance and restitution – “if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold” – and results as well in generosity, in giving – “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor.” That is what receiving Jesus does to us – it issues in repentance and it issues in giving – and, it seems, this is part of what it is to be saved, for Jesus responds to Zacchaeus’ promise by announcing to all around, “Today salvation has come to this house.” Our salvation, our new life in Jesus involves giving, for Jesus is God’s gift to us, and that gift within our hearts both causes and allows us to give. Our Lord Jesus opens us up. He frees us within. His love and his presence are our security and this allows us to let go of an inordinate and selfish attachment to the things of this world. That makes us alive. And this means that there are few things more poisonous to the soul than stinginess, and that there are few things more life-enhancing, liberating, than giving, generosity.