I recently completed an extra-credit assignment for my homiletics class in which I was required to explore how physical landscape and place can influence the development of my sermons. I chose, in doing this assignment, to visit a nearby cemetery in Alexandria, and I found the exercise meaningful enough that I thought I would post my reflections here.
Three considerations upfront. First, the texts I worked with for this assignment are the readings for the second Sunday in Advent, year C in the Episcopal Church.[1] Second, I decided to go to a cemetery in order to dislocate myself from the text as much as possible – the other three locations suggested were all places I had visited before. Third, the specific cemetery I visited is the Ivy Hill Cemetery in Alexandria.
When I first arrived, I was immediately aware of the silence of the place. This was really striking to me as Ivy Hill is located on King Street which is usually quite noisy with traffic. The cemetery is surprisingly large and extends back into the property for a decent way. As I walked further and further away from the busyness of King Street, and in some sense the world, toward the still silence of Ivy Hill, my recitation of these scriptural passages became more central to my experience. I eventually found myself reading the passages aloud among the graves. Two of the passages particularly seemed to connect with my experience, and a third passage made a shocking appearance.
First, I was drawn to the language of the passage in Baruch. A portion of the reading says, “Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height / look toward the east / and see your children gathered from west and east / at the word of the Holy One, / rejoicing that God has remembered them. / For they went out from you on foot, / led away by their enemies; / but God will bring them back to you, / carried in glory, as on a royal throne.” I was reminded of the imagery in which all creation is gathered into God and the anticipation of the last days in which all will be made right and anew. I was also reminded of the Orthodox iconography of The Harrowing of Hell, in which Christ has loosed the chains of death and is raising Mary and Joseph from the grave.
Second, I was also drawn to the Lukan passage wherein John is the voice crying out in the wilderness preparing the way of the Lord. I thought about all the generations of believers that have come before us and prepared for us the tradition of the Faith and have instructed us and our forebears in the truths of God.
Third, and finally, I was focused especially on the Baruch and Lukan passages as I was walking around the cemetery, and had honestly let the Philippians passage and the Canticle slip from mind. As I was reflecting on the first two passages, I came upon a gravestone that had etched into it “Philippians 1:3.” Momentarily pondering the significance of this passage, I happened to glance down at my readings only to discover it was right in front of me! Philippians 1:3 reads, “I thank my God every time I remember you…” While I had let the passage slip from mind, I was immediately brought back to it.
The passage reflects the power that one holds when participating in the proclamation of the Gospel. How many people, and generations of people, have come before us as proclaimers of the Gospel? These who share the light of Christ, these to whom our own formation in the faith is dependent. How often do we thank God when we remember them?
As I am continuing to work on my sermon around these themes, I am also thinking about Christmas on the horizon and the familial emphasis of it often has in our own culture, and the ways in which we use that emphasis to remember our departed loved ones.
[1] Baruch 5:1-9 (or Malachi 3:1-4 – though I’m working with Baruch); Canticle 4 or 16 (working with 16); Philippians 1:3-11; Luke 3:1-6
Ad Orientem 