From the Bishop's Chair

Rochester, NH - February 14, 2009 - The Rt. Rev. Brian R. Marsh

Greetings and blessings to you all. The message of today is one of welcome; welcome to each and everyone: to the many friends who have traveled to this place, to clergy from other dioceses and jurisdictions. And to the strangers who may have simply wandered in, wondering what all the fuss was about. Welcome and be welcomed.

On this particular day, the church celebrates and acknowledges the permanence of the church universal. Today we recognize that the spiritual leadership of this diocese continues faithful to the ancient tradition of our Anglican Church. Though the temporal leadership may change and a different man may hold the office of bishop in this diocese, we — as the church celebrate the form of truth that the ancient and priceless teachings and theology of our church will continue unchanged.

 This is as it should be. In a time of great temporal change, it is vital that the teachings of God's church be a solid, safe, and secure place where all can find spiritual refreshment and renewal. May we who profess the faith of Jesus Christ always offer that safe haven to all of God's children. May we always — now and forever — be a place of welcome a place where the weary traveler may ever find renewal, refreshment, and grace.

We celebrate this important occasion by assuming the episcopal throne, an ancient symbol of the church's teaching office. It is my hope to offer at this time a brief glimpse of the hopes and dreams I have for this diocese, its clergy, and all its people.

But first I would like to begin with a quote.

No, it will not be a quote from St. Augustine, or Thomas Cranmer, or even from John Henry Cardinal Newman. Rather, I will quote my wife, Ljuba, who said to me some three months ago: "You're taking me where on Valentine's Day?"

Yes, most of the world refers to February 14th as St Valentine's Day, but today is also called the feast day of Sts. Cyril and Methodius. When I first suggested to the clergy of the diocese that they should reserve the feast day of Sts. Cyril and Methodius, they invariably knitted their brows and cast their eyes toward heaven, as if imploring God to reveal to them the date; and only one of our clergy could name the date precisely. True, these saints, Cyril and Methodius, may be slightly obscure, but I think that no one present will ever forget their feast day. And, over time, it may catch on; perhaps even becoming more famous than that other saint who claims the same day.

Saints Cyril and Methodius were very important indeed. They sought to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to all people, and they dearly wished to bridge the gulf between the Eastern and Western churches, healing the great schism that still exists, bringing people together, unifying them under the gospel of Jesus Christ. Cyril and Methodius were the first ecumenists. They embraced much. In that way, they were very Anglican in their approach to the church. We, too, embrace much in our work. We, too, seek to bring unity to God's church.

I have been asked to speak about my vision for this diocese. The first vision I have is for us all to embrace the gospel, to take it into our hearts, to let it transform us and make us new. The first and most important thing we must do is preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. We are all evangelists. We have all been given gifts by God. We are required to use these gifts. As Samuel Johnson once said, "The Lord God put us here to DO something, not just stare about."

There are many things that I have thought about as I have contemplated the approach of this day, and a thought that has come to me over and again, a thought that is often in the hearts and minds of clergy: "Why, God, have you called me to this office?" God alone knows the answer. My task is to be faithful to God's call and to assist in the building of the church.

To the clergy of this diocese, I pledge to you my love. True, it is required of me to do this. And I will do it to the best of my ability. But I also CHOOSE to love you in the way that Jesus has taught us to love. You, my brothers in Christ, have a challenging task. But it is also a joyful task. Let us approach our work with great love and joy, and —  in the unique way that only Anglicans can —  with supreme good humor. This does not mean that, should any of you decide to preach a revisionist or heretical doctrine, that we will have a jolly conversation, you and I, but it does mean that I will always care for you.

To all the congregations of this diocese, to all those who serve God's church with such dedication, know that I hold you all in my prayers each day. Let us teach each other the love of God in our work within this church this great gift we have received from God.

Let me close my address to this gathering with a brief story. It is the story of a bishop I saw many years ago. I saw him for perhaps thirty seconds. I never knew the man's name. Years ago I attended graduate school in Ohio, a part of the country that has come to be called the rust belt, but the part of the state where my school was located was actually filled with farms. At the time I drove a wonderful car. It was a '62 Chevy, a three twenty-seven. Boy, could that car move! I'd take it out on Sundays and drive through the corufields at an excessive rate of speed. The speed limit on Route 90 in that part of Ohio was 80 miles an hour. Nobody seemed to mind if you exceeded the limit just a little. The land was flat, the roads were perfectly straight, and, after all, what were cars for?

But, every so often, a driver would need to get off the highway and slow down a bit. You might even encounter a red light. That happened to me on a certain Sunday morning. Forced to stop at a red light, though wishing to charge ahead with all the youthful enthusiasm and horsepower my wonderful machine could muster, I was a bit frustrated. That's when I saw the bishop. Close to where I stopped was a church. A procession had formed outside the building and was beginning to move. The bishop, according to ancient custom, came last. A family had stopped to watch this strange procession, a couple with two small children. They took a few tentative steps toward the church, then stopped. They may have wondered about the strange creature with cope and mitre who carried a stick. Why had he been dropped into their town? Had they never seen a bishop before? But the bishop saw them, and he did something unexpected. He did something guaranteed to increase the stomach acid of every priest and master of ceremonies anywhere. He left the procession, went over to this small group of people and began to talk to them. Meantime, the procession disappeared into the church, and, as the light changed, I caught sight of all five of them walking toward the church.

It was a very brief image; a showing of something spiritual. The great 14th Century mystic, Julian of Norwich, wrote a book called "Showings". She wrote about the brief glimpses of God's love that are available to us all.

Thirty-five years ago, that little scene didn't mean much to me. It was a brief event to be seen, then forgotten, but the image stayed with me. It has grown, and it has fed me. What was it that happened on that day? I like to believe that there were people, strangers perhaps, who were gathered into God's family; people whose hesitant steps had brought them to the doors of a church, and who needed only a moment of God's grace to enter in.

Above all, my brothers and sisters in Christ, share that love, that love that has been poured out to us freely and with an abundance of grace. Love God. Love your neighbors as yourself.