St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL
Psalm 27:8
1 John 4:7–21
John 17:6–19
Today the Church remembers
two people you’ve probably never heard of,
and that’s okay.
Richard Meux Benson
and Charles Gore.
The two of them
both helped bring monastic communities
back to life in the Church,
but they lived very different lives,
did very different kinds of work,
and served God in very different ways.
And yet . . .
the Church remembers them together
because—together—
they teach us something important:
they teach us that
two things can be true
at the same time.
* * *
Richard Benson was a priest
who believed the most important thing we can do
is to make time to be quiet with God.
He believed prayer was not a luxury,
not a reward for getting everything else done,
but the place where we remember
who we are and whose we are.
Conversely,
Charles Gore was a bishop
who believed the Church has to show up
in the real world.
He cared about education, poverty, politics,
and how Christian faith actually shapes
the way we live together as a society.
He believed faith that stays private
is not the faith Jesus gave to us.
One focused on prayer.
One focused on action.
And to both,
the Church says:
yes.
* * *
Today’s psalm helps us see why:
“Your face, Lord, will I seek.”
Not answers.
Not certainty.
Not control.
Just God.
And when we seek God,
something happens.
We are steadied.
We are held.
We are lifted up
even when life is hard.
The letter from John makes it even clearer:
“God is love.”
And that love shows up
not in our good intentions,
but in how we treat one another.
And then Jesus, in today’s Gospel,
prays for his followers:
not that they be removed from the world,
but that they be protected within it.
* * *
That matters.
Because some days
the world is simply too loud.
The news keeps coming.
Anger piles on anger.
Fear multiplies.
Lines are drawn.
Lives are lost.
And our nervous systems,
our hearts,
our souls
can only take so much.
On those days,
we need quiet.
We need prayer.
We need a place
where we don’t have to
react,
post,
argue,
or decide anything at all.
We need to sit before God
and remember
that we are not God.
But then, there are other days
when silence becomes a way of hiding.
Days when cruelty is being normalized.
When people are treated as disposable.
When power is used to threaten instead of protect.
When violence and fear are waved around
as if they are the solutions.
On those days,
prayer does not pull us away from the world.
Prayer pushes us back into it
with clearer eyes
and steadier hearts.
Some days
we come to church worn down,
grieving, anxious, overwhelmed,
needing to be held together again.
And some days
we are sent back out
to speak truth,
to show mercy,
to refuse the dehumanization of others,
even when the pressure to do so is intense.
We don’t always know
which kind of day it is.
So the Church teaches us
not to choose one posture forever,
but to practice both.
To pray deeply
so our actions are not driven by rage or fear.
To act faithfully
so our prayers do not become an excuse
to look away.
This is how we live in a moment like this.
Rooted.
Awake.
Neither numbed
nor consumed.
Held by God,
and still responsible
for how we love our neighbors.
That is not easy.
But it is possible.
Anglican/Episcopal faith
has always made room for both.
* * *
Benson reminds us
that we cannot give love
if we never receive it.
Gore reminds us
that love, once received,
has to have somewhere to go.
And Jesus promises
that we are not left
to manage this on our own.
“All mine are yours,” he says.
“You belong to God.”
That is what holds us together.
That is what sends us forth.
Two things can be true at the same time.
Amen.