Religious Life

A Homily on Religious Life Sunday

I delivered this sermon at St. Luke’s Church, Forest Hills, NY, on Sunday, January 26th, 2025. The text has been lightly edited from a speaking format to a reading format.

The scripture readings for that Sunday were: Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; and Luke 4:14-21.

In the sermon, I speak of my membership in the Franciscan Community of Compassion. I am currently transitioning to membership in a sister community, the Community of Francis and Clare.

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Let the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable in your sight,
O LORD, my strength and my redeemer.

Today is Religious Life Sunday. Established in 2022 to be held each year on the 3^rd Sunday of Epiphany, Religious Life Sunday celebrates the Episcopal Church’s best kept secret: that we do, indeed, have monks, nuns, friars, brothers, and sisters of a wide variety of religious orders and communities.

Sister Ellen Francis, of the Order of Saint Helena, wrote about attending General Convention wearing her religious habit. Someone came up to her saying how nice it was to have Roman Catholic sisters there as observers. When Sister Ellen replied that indeed she was a sister, but that she was an Episcopalian sister, the person answered, “But you can’t be; I’ve been an Episcopalian all my life, and we don’t have them.” After that encounter, Sister Ellen found some “Proud to be an Episcopalian” bumper stickers and stuck them to the front and back of her habit for the remainder of the Convention. Thankfully, you all have seen me parading around in my habit enough that I don’t think I’ll need bumper stickers here at St. Luke’s.

So, what is this religious life we’re celebrating today? In a sense, all of us here lead religious lives. We attend church faithfully, reflect on scripture and on the creeds, and joyfully partake of the Eucharistic feast. But, like every industry and institution, Church has its own jargon. In churchy language, “religious life” has a specific meaning: it refers to people who have joined together communally, usually under some form of formal vows, for mutual support in their spiritual journeys, for growth in their life in Christ, and for extension of mission.

Under the Canons of the Episcopal Church, religious life takes two distinct forms: Religious Orders, and Christian Communities. Members of Religious Orders live together in monasteries or friaries, give up all their possessions under a vow of poverty, and are celibate. Members of Christian Communities live in their own homes, take a vow of poverty interpreted as simplicity (meaning they don’t give up all their possessions) and take a vow of chastity that permits one to choose whether to be celibate or to live in a committed relationship with a spouse.

I am a religious of second form, a brother of the Franciscan Community of Compassion, abbreviated FCC (no, I do not allocate radio frequency spectrum—that’s the other FCC). As such, I live in my own home, I work at my regular job, I have my own possessions, and if I want to get married, I can do so. We meet on Zoom several times a week for evening prayers, attend monthly Zoom chapter meetings, and join together in person for an annual retreat. We wear our formal habit for appropriate occasions, but our day-to-day “habit” is the Tau cross, a traditional Franciscan emblem, worn with our regular street clothes.

Why have a formal habit? Mostly, tradition, but the habit also has underlying spiritual significance. The gown is a reminder of my baptismal vows. When I was baptized, I wore a white gown, symbolizing a pure and innocent soul. This one, however, is grey, the color of Ash Wednesday’s ashes, reminding me that after nearly 67 years, my soul is not so pure and innocent. The cincture (a fancy name for this rope around my waist) is a reminder of my religious vows, the ones I professed upon becoming a full brother of my community. You may have noticed that one end of the cincture has three knots tied into it. These represent the three Franciscan vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience.

I’ve already touched on what poverty and chastity mean in a Christian Community context. What about obedience? Obedience is more than just following orders. The word “obey” has a cloudy etymology, but probably comes from a Latin root meaning to listen. Ultimately, obedience is about listening for God’s voice and following where it bids me to go.

After all, listening to God’s voice is what got me into this habit in the first place. In Churchy language, I had a calling to this ministry, to this vocation. Paul, in today’s epistle, talks about the many ways each of us is called. None are more important than another, because to thrive as a church we need people with all sorts of different gifts. We need teachers, healers, priests, deacons, bookkeepers, benefactors, caregivers, carpenters, masons, musicians— the list of needs is endless, as anyone on the Vestry can confirm.

But most of all, most of all, we need your love of God. Even those who believe they have nothing to give but their posteriors in the pews—well, God bless you, because it is a gift beyond measure that you are here, sharing God’s love with us. As Paul says, “The members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.” Look into your heart and find what God is calling you towards. Whatever it is, whatever form it takes, you will know when you find it.

When you do, it is a powerful experience. I know it was with me. A little over 22 years ago, I faced a crisis in my life. I won’t bore you with the specifics, but I will say that it sent me into a spiral of self-doubt and self-abnegation that could have ended my life. But people reached out to me, lifted me up and proved to me that I was loved. And, here’s the thing: the majority of those who reached out to me were church people. Through them and in them I gradually perceived the love of Christ. Jesus teaches us to love one another as He loves us, and that love is manifestly infinite and unconditional.

How amazing is that!

Then it hit me: not only did I receive that love, but I was commanded to respond to it, to share that love. Like Jake and Elwood Blues, I was on a mission from God! One small problem. What, exactly, is the mission? How do I figure out what I’m being called to? Falling back on churchy language again, this process is called discernment. I like that word, because to discern something is to realize it’s already there, that it has been there all along.

It took me almost 20 years to discern my calling. Over that time, I slowly began to focus on the religious life, reading up on things like the Rule of St. Benedict and the life of St. Francis. I did retreats at Holy Cross Monastery and Little Portion Friary, and was deeply impressed by those communities. But, reluctantly, I discerned that the life of a monk or friar in a religious order was not for me. Then, one Sunday here at St. Luke’s, Deacon Joe gave a sermon. He was wearing a grey habit with a traditional Franciscan cincture, and talked about having just recently professed vows in the Franciscan Community of Compassion. He spoke of the Franciscan charism, which I already knew a little about, and of how his community implemented it.

Instant goosebumps. I knew that was what I had been looking for all this time.

Jesus, of course, knew it all along. His plan for me was written long ago—it just took time for me to discern it. Jesus, filled with the Holy Spirit, saw me in the desert surrounded by temptations. He entered my heart and read a small portion of that plan to me. Then, rolling up the scroll, He looked me square in the eye and said, “Today this has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Amen.