A Sermon for Pentecost by Archdeacon Callie Walpole

Archdeacon Callie Walpole addressed the events of this past week in her homily this morning at Grace Church Cathedral by weaving together events from our own history in South Carolina and bringing them to bear upon our present day. Watch it at this link.

The text of the sermon is as follows:

Pentecost—the gift of the Lord of the Holy Spirit to the people of God; that gift of the Holy Spirit is comfort and strength and love and grace and truth—but the gift of Pentecost is also the gift of unity. 

The Spirit is what allows us to feel connected to you all who are watching online and you to us; the Spirit unites us one to another—people from every tribe and nation, yet coming together as one people—one humanity—“one body”—as Paul puts it.

We are one with one another and all humanity.  This recognition can change our lives—as it draws us out of ourselves and into the world--that is the work of the Spirit:

• to disturb our peace, while comforting us--
• to bring order out of disorder--
• movement out of lethargy--
• wholeness out of hurt--
• life out of death--
• justice out of injustice.

I’ve just started reading a book I’ve been meaning to read, which is titled My Grandmother’s Hands—it’s written by a man named Resmaa Menakem.  It is a different sort of book—perhaps that’s why it has remained on my shelf for a while.  Menakem’s premise is that a lot of the racial work that’s been done in our country in the last while has been good—but, he says, our efforts have been focused in the wrong direction.  He writes: “We’ve tried to teach our brains to think better about race.”  “But” he goes on to say: “[racial thought] doesn’t live in our thinking brains.  It lives and breathes in our bodies”—and that we must begin “with our bodies.”

Yes, trauma happens in the mind but trauma happens in the body.

Think about it: One serious injury to the body can cause a person to deal with the effects of trauma for years after the event—perhaps for the rest of an earthly life—and even beyond. 
You remember when Jesus appeared to his disciples after his resurrection—what did he do?—he showed them his wounds.  The wounds remain. 

Such is the nature of trauma—the body’s response to a harmful event—all in an attempt to protect itself—to survive.

With regard to the coronavirus—haven’t we been hearing that sometimes a danger with people who are otherwise healthy who contract the virus is their immune systems go into overdrive—which turns out to be counter-productive and even deadly at times.  These types of auto-immune responses just don’t seem right, do they?  But we know this sort of thing can happen.  It is all instinctive, involuntary, unconscious—the human body can bring about harm—not only to others—but to oneself.

This book—that I’m just beginning to read—discusses the generations of trauma inflicted upon a people—and the effects upon an entire society—a citizenry—in desperate need of healing.
You remember Sarah Grimke—of the famed Grimke Sisters—in the nineteenth century in the years before the Civil War.  Did you know that our own Calvary Episcopal Church actually began in the halls of St Philip’s Church? 

As a young woman Sarah Grimke would teach Sunday school classes for the fledgling congregation of Calvary.  It was in this capacity as a Sunday school teacher for members of Calvary that Sarah first began to question why enslaved peoples could not be taught to read the bible—instead of relying solely on oral instruction. 

Through this experience Sarah—together with her sister Angelina—began to challenge the contradictions—between a Christian faith and the laws and practice of a slaveholding society.
You know the rest of the story: Sarah and her sister would become abolitionists and suffragists and leave South Carolina.  Sarah would also become quite the theologian.

The Spirit disturbed Sarah at her very core—and her life was changed.

The Spirit used the good people of Calvary Episcopal Church to effect this monumental shift in Sarah’s sight—in her insight—in her action.

For generations the Grimke Sisters would be mentioned only in hushed tones—if at all—in much of South Carolina until the last generation or so—when books began to be written about them.

It was Sarah Grimke who would famously say: “I ask no favor. . .All I ask of my brethren is that they will take their feet from off our necks, and permit us to stand upright.”

It’s the body again—meant to work together and with one another to build up, to heal, to restore—and not to harm—simply to permit to stand upright…

The resurrected Jesus breathes on his disciples—an incongruous thought at the moment when we are entering stores and other settings with masks on—to protect others from the particles of our own breath—and us from those of others.

It’s an incongruous thought because breath is life.

Jesus breathes his very Spirit upon his disciples.  
While I breathe, I hope.
While I hope, I breathe.
While I breathe, I live…

Trevor Lawrence, the quarterback for the Clemson Tigers, said this over the weekend: The injustice is clear. . .and so is the hate.  It can no longer be explained away.  If you’re still explaining it [away]—check your heart and ask why.”

Clemson’s brilliant young quarterback is known for his gentle strength and humility.  You notice Trevor is appealing not to the mind—but to the heart—where the Holy Spirit stirs within the body—in order to heal.

We are a nation that was born in rebellion.  And we tend to be proud about that—that we overthrew the oppression of the Crown.  But imagine for a moment—if the British had really listened to us and not overarchingly viewed us—these colonies—and our own South Carolina chief among them—as primarily an economic venture?—but instead as real people with real grievances?—human beings trying to heal after generations of other forms of violence and strife in the lands we left behind…

Imagine if we had been heard…

How is the Spirit moving within you to see and to hear?—and not to explain away hard thoughts--

• to open up and not to close yourself off—for fear?
• to build up, and not to tear down,
• to heal—and help to heal.

Come Holy Spirit, come, and kindle in us the fire of your love.

​                                                                                Amen.