Dear Lord, as we sit with you, teach us how to walk
As we walk with you, teach us how to see.
As we see with you, teach us how to love.
As we love with you,
Teach us. Amen

There are only three Sundays left in the church year – this one, which is also Veteran’s Day on our secular calendar… and then two more Sundays.  We know that the annual liturgical cycle is arranged to teach us the faith and, hopefully, we learn as we go. So, every year’s journey begins with the expectation of Advent – then Christ’s birth, then the Light of the world – Epiphany, then the inward soul-searching of Lent…and then the joy of Easter, followed by teachings about the gifts of the Spirit during this long – it’s 26  Sundays – season of Pentecost. Now, we’ve come nearly full circle to this theme - the coming of God’s Kingdom.
And in today’s Gospel the Sadducees are messing with Jesus again as they ask a trick question about God’s Kingdom, meaning the Kingdom of  Heaven, the one after this life, after the Resurrection.  These Sadducees were the men, the priests, who were biblical literalists, and they did not believe in the Resurrection. Moses hadn’t written about it.

 And then they pose the trick question to lure Jesus into a debate..“So, Rabbi,  if a woman marries seven times, [the law of Moses said a widow marries her husband’s brother if the  husband dies…we need children you know…and this happened seven times] Rabbi, whose wife will she be in the resurrection in the  Kingdom of God, in the Kingdom of Heaven?”

Jesus answers that life after death will be different from what we have known on earth…he’s not very specific…at that point they are equal to angels, he says…. And for some, this lack of specificity is troubling – a blank canvas  on which some picture must be painted.

But as our faith deepens over the years, maybe  we can come to the place where Jesus’ vision is enough…we will be persons equal to the angels, who will see God as a friend, not as a stranger.
Glimpses of the Kingdom of God, the Kingdom of Heaven.

A seasoned and revered Episcopal school headmaster was fond of telling parents: "Our mission is not to get your child into Harvard, Princeton or Yale, Stanford or even University of Virginia; our mission is to get your child into the Kingdom of Heaven. After experiencing his school's ethos, the parents discovered that he wasn’t talking about a reward following graduation or in the afterlife. What he meant was that all the members of the school family - teachers, students, parents, trustees and alumni - understood that school life or parish life is an opportunity for full time "ministry."  There was an understanding that all the constituencies were interconnected and that any moment in the life of the school had the potential to be a "Transfiguration" experience. This understanding of the ministry of Episcopal schools was so central to everything done in the classrooms, on playing fields, in meetings and at school activities on or off campus, that one might ultimately say; "The Kingdom of Heaven is near," or, as the disciples declared in the midst of their experience of the Holy on the Mount of the Transfiguration, "It is good that we are here."  Ministry in this context does not mean the work of "a person officially charged to perform spiritual functions in the Christian Church" but rather that the work of all of us in that school, in this parish, in the world really, has as its foundation the care of each other, no matter who the other is, based on a connection with the inner life and with God.

And, you know, sometimes, almost despite ourselves, we are able to catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven.  Who’s wife will the woman be?

Last Sunday  Dawn spoke of her three years of seminary at Yale….years in which intentional spiritual formation happened because that community’s life was centered in prayer, in God, in Christ, rather than in self.  Transformation…transfiguration…God’s kingdom.

You probably know that the study requirements in seminary are something like law school - three academic years, three years of community life, after college… and summer training experiences are  part of the journey too. One summer, in 1967, we interned as rookie chaplains in hospitals or prisons or mental institutions. The second summer we were assigned to parish churches, to serve under seasoned rectors who could “show us the ropes.”

I was assigned to my hero/priest…Father Bob, in West Virginia. My admiration so great was for Bob that  I desperately wanted to perform well …for him. But it was really all about me…I wanted to be the best summer seminarian that parish had ever had!

As one of my first assignments, Bob asked me to go out to visit the parish’s “shut-ins,” those who couldn’t get out and about because of age or illness. He tried to see each of them once a month.

OK, great. I can do this. And so, I laid out my strategy – got a city map, laid it out into quadrants, marked all of the shut-ins addresses with blue dots, taped the map to the ceiling of my VW bug, prayed for red lights along the way so I could check the map…and headed off to quadrant one, number one…a Ms. Margaret Shannon. Four quadrants, 8 weeks, I could see all of these folks twice! I would be awesome.

When I found Margaret Shannon’s bungalow, I got a case of the nerves. This was a cold call. What would I say?  How do you start? Opening lines, please. Last time I had done something like this, the line had been “Trick or Treat?’ I paced back and forth on the sidewalk and finally screwed up enough courage to mount the porch and ring the doorbell.

When she came to the door she was about 4.5 feet tall, I remember slightly blue hair, and … “Oh you must be Mr,. Bowen. Come in, come in, come in! I am so glad you came…it’s just us  in this old house – Mr. Shannon passed years ago - the war, you know…and Father Bob comes each month…I do get a little lonely…oh, there’s Earl next door - the old grouch…always complaining about the yard boy…oh, and there’s my grandson in that photo up there…a choirboy at the National Cathedral. Imagine!”

Margaret’s monologue relieved my anxieties …she seemed desperate for company, caged up there. I began to look around her living room…and I noticed some things – it was kind of dark in there…but there were doilys on the arms of the old couch which had lions’ feet and curliecue wood at the ends of the armrests. But I noticed some strange things too. Little, tiny furniture…all over the place …little H.O. Gauge furniture – a little chair over on the bookcase, a tiny see saw on the window sill, a little mirror over there, a small bell hanging on the fringe of the Victorian lampshade.

I caught a break in the conversation. “Ah, Mrs. Shannon, I’ve noticed all the little furniture placed around this room. What’s that all about?” “Oh, my goodness, Mr. Bowen, I almost forgot to introduce you…they’re for Peetie.”  “Peetie?”  “Why yes, he’s right over there.” She was pointing to the fireplace mantle. And there, not in a cage, but right there on the mantle, was a little, blue budgie parakeet.

“Call him to you, Mr. Bowen.” “Call him? Come here Peetie.”  And the little bird, fffrrrrt,  flew right to my shoulder.

“ Give him a kiss, Mr. Bowen.” “A kiss?” [three years of graduate school for this] So, I puckered and Peetie kissed, a little peck on my lip, and fffrrrrtt, back to the mantle he flew.

“He means the world to me, Mr. Bowen. He really does. He’s like, well, like a son.” So, we talked pets for while. I was doing very, very well here I thought…and then it was time to go…blue dot number two, quadrant one was next; and so I began my exit, promising to return again. I said my goodbyes, standing there with the screen door slightly ajar.

Well, Peetie saw his chance, and he took it. It happened so fast, I couldn’t react. Like blue lightning he flew right past my nose. Paralyzed, I couldn’t move. Sirens were going off in my ears…I remember… I dream about this…him flying up and out up through the trees, a blue dot.  Gone.

And then, Mrs. Shannon, pushing past me with superhuman strength I couldn’t believe… out onto the porch…and down the sidewalk she teetered…”Oh my God, oh my Dear Jesus, oh God ….my son, my son, Peetie, Peetie!

We called the fire department, the police, the rescue squad. Even old Earl from next door came over, and when I left, he was sitting on the doilied couch, his arm around Margaret’s shoulder.

I skipped blue dot number two on the map. My first parish call…what a disaster. The best seminarian ever. I  drove back to the parish office that afternoon, and there was the rector, my hero, Bob. “Well Bowen, how’d it go out there today?” “Not so good.” I was sure a saw a bit of a smirk on his face as I retold my sad story.  I felt just awful. What could I do? Maybe I could by her a new pet: a turtle or something. What a mess.

Some time went by. I worked on. It might have been a few days, not a week. But, one day the parish office phone rang and it was for me. And on the other end of the line, was an hysterical woman. She was all excited, out of her mind excited, saying: “Mr. Bowen, he is BACK! He is back! I went to the kitchen window this morning and right there, sitting on the window sill…was Peetie! I opened the window, and in he came!! Praise Jesus he is back! He is back. And Mr. Bowen, we’re having a Peetie Party!  I’ve invited that nice policeman and the fireman and Earl…and even you!”

And so, I was sure to get down to the pet store before that party and I bought a ten pound box of Hartz Mountain bird seed.
I returned to Alexandria for my last year of seminary that September. It was just as the leaves were falling, just about this time of year, when  the phone rang one evening in the  dormitory hall. It was for me.
“Bowen, it’s Bob. How’s it going back there on the Holy Hill?” “Doing  fine, Bob, thanks” “Well, do I ever have some news for you!” He said. “I had a wedding this weekend. You’ll never guess who it was.” “Right….who was it?” “It was Margaret Shannon and Earl, you know, the old fellow who lived next door?  Nice job, Bowen.”

Sometimes, almost despite ourselves, we are able to catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven.  Amen.