God First: A Motto for Altar Guilds

Here's a Transfiguration sermon aimed directly at us, the ones who polish and press and set the Table each Sunday.

It is good that we are here. On a mountain top, Peter, James and John are given a glimpse into the true nature of Christ. In the flash of a moment, in a kind of divine sensory overload, they see Christ in glory, shining with a brightness that is not of this world. Those three men of Jesus' 'inner circle' are able to experience the transcendent reality of the One whom Thomas will so rightly acclaim on that first Easter evening, 'My Lord, and my God.'

Put very simply: to be in the presence of the holy is to be transformed, redirected, to be given a new perspective on living and loving. We cannot be surrounded for very long by that which is holy without having a new vision of this finite and fickle creation which is, nonetheless, so cherished, so absolutely loved, by our God Without Borders.

Of course, I don't need to warn you about being changed when you enter into the realm of the holy: when you handle holy things to be used in the service of God, holy things that help to deepen the faith of those who would see Jesus. You already respond to the psalmist's call to worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness. That is why you are here. Never underestimate the effect and importance of your ministry.

Never for a moment imagine that, in the greater, cosmic scheme of things, your service counts for very little. Never forget that the care and the caring that you bring to what some might label 'the trivial round, the common task,' reflects the Essence of God. You offer your best to Christ and to Christ's Church, and in so doing you affirm to us that God's own Being calls forth from us our first and best gifts, joyfully and humbly offered.

I speak from personal experience, having made the journey to Christ and to Christ's church as a teenager. It was in the little church called St. Stephen's in Troy, Michigan. I had been going, and going, and checking it out, and I found myself, as our British friends would say, absolutely gabsmacked by the liturgy. But my transformation truly began one Saturday morning when I went there, arriving early for some pre-baptismal instruction, and I sat in the church proper as the Altar Guild was preparing for Sunday.

I had never experienced anything quite like that reverence. Of course, that was in the mid-60's, and even though the rector fancied himself on the 'liturgical cutting edge,' the women of the guild wore smocks and little hats which, admittedly, would have elicited guffaws in another setting.

But now in that small church on an early spring Saturday morning, smocks and matching tams; bowing to the altar whenever they would pass in front of it. And not just a quick little 'nod-on-the-run', but a full stop, turning to reverence the Lord's Table. The women handled vessels and linens with the same precious care as a mother, holding her newborn for the first time. They didn't gossip or chat; and they began and ended their work with prayer, kneeling at the altar rail which it was their job to polish, and where the next day they would be nourished and strengthened by Christ's Body and Blood.

Watching them was, for me, a transfiguring moment: without knowing a purificator from a lavabo towel, and knowing that a corporal was a noncommissioned officer. I knew that what they were doing was special, that they were engaging in work that was sacred. I was carried beyond earthly vestment and vessel to glimpse the eternal beauty of God.

That spring morning sealed it. I knew, then and there, that I wanted to be able to experience that kind of holiness in my own life. The beauty of holiness held me, and it has yet to let me go.

Dear friends, I don't need to tell you that we live in a throwaway, disposable world, where the altars of 'immediate relevance' and 'cutting to the chase' are where many people come to worship. Who cares if that corporal is folded into nine even squares? So what if that cassock-alb looks like a miniskirt with ring-around-the-collar? So the corners of that purificator don't line up? Well, it's good enough, and I'm not paid for this, you know!

But you are here today because you do care, and you know within you that others care, too. To treat God's sanctuary as just another place, to view the Eucharist as just something else to schedule on Sunday, working around soccer and a trip to Roosevelt Field, is to cheat oneself out of a powerful interaction with the One who was, and is, and is to come.

A gathering that resembles a Kiwanis club meeting with a little bread and wine thrown in is not likely to make someone thirst for Living Water. But to enter into sacred space, to walk upon holy ground, to know that both care and prayer have been offered up to provide holy things for holy people - it is at that moment that a life can begin to be changed. I know. Mine was.

Let me close with a story about the late, legendary Archbishop of Canterbury, Michael Ramsey. He was an imposing man with huge caterpillar eyebrows and an unbridled habit of talking aloud, albeit to himself, no matter the occasion.

As Archbishop, he was called upon to attend or preside over many a state occasion. He was a caricaturist's dream when he would wear a frock coat, a great purple apron and gaiters-those full-length, form fitting tights that were less than flattering wrapped around his ungainly legs.
Physically comic, perhaps, but even more a man of deep faith, to whom the glory of worship was paramount, whose entire life had been shaped by his encounters with the trappings of holiness.

At one great state occasion in Westminster Abbey, he processed up the aisle toward the sanctuary. Protocol dictated that, as he passed the Queen he should stop, turn to her and bow. He did not. Archbishop Ramsey walked up the aisle, seemingly ignoring the Queen and made a deep bow to the altar. Only then did he turn around, retrace his steps and bow to his sovereign. Those in proximity heard him muttering, to no one in particular but with passionate conviction, 'God first! God first!'

God first. Should the Altar Guild of the Diocese of Long Island need a motto, I offer that as a suggestion. God first. By your commitment to serve your Lord in holiness, you have chosen God first; and by your care and dedication to God's own sanctuary, who knows the impact you may have in leading others to put God first.

If you close your eyes and listen closely, you may just hear the whoosh! of seraphim's wings, or hear them as they proclaim, 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of Hosts!'

Holy indeed. Lord, it is good that we are here!

This article appeared in the NAGA Epistle, Winter 2005, and is excerpted from a sermon by the Very Rev. James P. Dalton-Thompson, Chaplain to the Altar Guild of the Diocese of Long Island, at the Church of the Ascension, Rockville Center, in April 2005, in observance of the Long Island DAG's 70th anniversary.