A sermon for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 18
Rally Day and 1924 Tornado Commemoration
September 8, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs
Sometimes, especially on difficult days, I think about the Rev. Mr. Charles Frederick Collins. That’s what he would have been called when he served as rector here from 1918 to 1938. His name is inscribed on the feeding of the 5,000 window at the back of the nave with the honorary title, pastor to the community. He must have been remembered for feeding the people with Word and Sacrament. I don’t know a lot about him beyond that. His son–we know plenty about him. The Rev. David Collins was born and raised here at St. Luke’s. He was ordained here. He would go on to serve congregations in West Memphis and Marianna; he would serve as the chaplain at my alma mater Sewanee; and he would serve as the Dean of St. Philip’s Cathedral in Atlanta. He would also serve as the President of the House of Deputies and Vice President for the entire Episcopal Church. When David died in 2016 at the age of 94, it was big church news. He got his start right here.
We know a lot about David. But I don’t know much about his father Charley beyond what’s in that window: pastor to the community, 1918-1938. I think about the Rev. Mr. Collins (Charles, not David) because–well, to be frank–I would not have wanted to be the priest here during that time. Think about it: Spanish flu, WWI, Prohibition, gangsters, Great Depression. Oh–and not to mention the church was blown away by a tornado in 1924 with nothing left before property insurance was a thing. Charles Collins must have been a man of grit, of steadfastness, of prayer, of faith. How else could you be a pastor to an entire community, and not just a church, during such a time.
Mr. Collins would have prayed the prayers we are praying today, from the very prayer book I will use, at the very altar at which I will stand. I imagine him sifting through the rubble after the tornado on September 19, 1924. I imagine his wife Agnes telling him, as mine has told me before, that he needed to hold it together for the sake of others–and that she knew he could do it. I imagine him standing before this reredos of the triumphant and transfigured Jesus ascending, and praying for strength in that dark hour. And I imagine his smile, his joy, his pride as this very building was consecrated on September 12, 1926. His son described that day as the highpoint of his father’s professional life. The windows weren’t here yet. But the reredos was here–and the cross, the prayer book, the eagle lectern. But most importantly, the people were here, and Jesus was here. He never left.
In our Old Testament lesson today, we read about the promise of restoration. Many of the people in Babylon have made it back to Israel after a long captivity, but not everyone. They are far from the full promise of restoration for which they have been waiting. And they are tired of waiting. They are tired of crying. They are tired of it all being so hard, and they are looking for God to show up again.
Hey, Rev. Mr. Collins: Can they get a witness? Maybe you have been there, too? Back up against the wall, nowhere to turn, tired of running and trying and crying, needing a break and a little help, hoping for restoration, wondering when God will show up in the rubble, amidst the unpredictable storms that leave ruins and pain.
Isaiah promises: God will show up. Things will change. New life will come to people and to the whole world. The promise will be fulfilled, for God is faithful. It may not happen on our timeline, but all things will be made new. There is yet a future.
People of God, hear me: there is yet a future. That was the promise for Israel. That was the promise for the Syrophoenician woman and her daughter and for the deaf man. That was the promise for James’s church seeking to live by faith. That was the promise for the Rev. Mr. Collins and St. Luke’s in 1924. That is the promise for us, too, for God always shows up.
Today, we’re looking back. We are praying the liturgy they would have prayed in 1924, using the altar and prayer book they used. Fr. Marcus and I are even dressed like the Rev. Mr. Collins would have been dressed. We are thanking God that St. Luke’s has stood as a witness since 1866, for 158 years, in this community. We are thanking God that we survived that tornado 100 years ago, and had the courage to rebuild.
But we are not just looking back. We must also look forward to the future to which God is calling us. The Rev. Mr. Collins did not look back as he sifted through the rubble. With the promise of Jesus’s never-failing presence, he looked forward to restoration, to the future in God’s vision, to the work God was calling him and St. Luke’s to do in this community.
God is calling us forward, too. In this world, there is hopelessness and heartache. There is despair and hurt. The whole world is in need of healing and wholeness and restoration. God has promised it. You and I–St. Luke’s today–we are called to proclaim that boldly. To proclaim that God’s love has not failed. That God is still good. That God’s grace has not run dry. That the death and resurrection of Christ has redeemed the world, saved us from sin and death, and called us into new life right now. That God is alive and among us to make all things new. That there is yet a future for us and the whole human family.
Dean David Collins, the Rev. Mr. Collins’s son, is remembered for saying, “the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.” I bet he learned that from his father. That must have been how the Rev. Mr. Collins made it. He and St. Luke’s kept the main thing the main thing. And the main thing is no thing at all, but a person: Jesus Christ our Lord. The main thing kept them through uncertainty, through heartache, through rebuilding, and into their future.
God is not done with you, or me, or St. Luke’s. God is not done with Hot Springs. God is calling us forward, to work in this world, to be heralds of good news, beacons of grace and mercy, messengers of love and peace, evangelists of new life, ambassadors of heaven’s kingdom. We will do that by keeping Jesus Christ at the center of our lives–the main thing, the main thing. And come what may–come hell, high water, fire, or flood; come trial or tribulation, test or tornado–by God’s grace, we will go forward into the future of God’s making. A future of grace; of faith, hope, and love; of healing and wholeness, inclusion and belonging; of peace and a universe restored.
Storied Grace 