One Prayer at a Time

A sermon for the 40th anniversary of the Ordination of the Rev. Charles Chapman
Commemoration of the 1549 Book of Common Prayer
Wednesday, May 27, 2026, at St. James’ Episcopal Church, Magnolia, AR

Readings: I Kings 8:54-61; Psalm 103:8-12; Acts 2:38-42; Luke 18:16-18

I was tickled the other day, driving from Missouri back to Hot Springs along highway 65. My wife, Molly, is the navigator and the DJ, but she had fallen asleep. Not wanting to wake her, and not wanting to mess with Spotify while driving along the windy highway, I was stuck listening to the playlist she had selected on the way out of Branson. It was what I would call old country: Glen Campbell, Loretta Lynn, Merle Haggard, Dolly Parton. And of course, Johnny Cash. You should know that I’m not a big fan of country, but sometimes you put up with it because that’s what your partner wants to listen to. Some might call that love. Anyway, I came across this Johnny Cash song: “One Piece at a Time.” Maybe you know it. Cash starts to work at a car plant and cooks up a scheme to get himself a Cadillac–one piece at a time. He smuggles a different car part out of the factory everyday in his lunch pale. He says he will get it one piece at a time and it won’t cost him a dime. And with the price of cars today, that doesn’t sound too bad. In the end he is left with something closer to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein than a Cadillac, but it’s drivable and he gets the title. But we’re not here to talk about Cadillacs or Johnny Cash; we’re here to talk about Jesus, and the Prayer Book, and Fr. Chuck. 

The gospel tonight is curious. It comes from Luke 18, which is a collection of Jesus’s teachings about the place of children, the holiness of our relationships, the call to persevere in love, the seduction of wealth and the power many possessions have over us. But our reading tonight kind of leaves us hanging. We read the first sentence–only the first sentence–of the exchange between Jesus and the rich young ruler. He asks, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” But maybe you remember the rest of the passage? Jesus tells the rich young ruler: “Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” The young man can’t do it, and he goes away sad. But we don’t want to get to that part tonight. I wonder why?  

It could be that the question is answered–albeit in a different way than Jesus’s answer–in our other two readings. Our reading from I Kings is about the dedication of the Temple. King Solomon charges the people, and in his charge is a sort of answer to the rich young ruler’s question: “Therefore devote yourselves completely to the Lord our God, walking in his statutes and keeping his commandments.” That could be it. It’s too bad that Solomon, like that rich young ruler, won’t heed his own advice. It’s too bad that Solomon, like me and every child of earth, will be tempted to go his own way. 

Or maybe in our reading from Acts. After hearing the Good News of Jesus Christ, the people, cut to the heart, ask Peter: What must we do? We read St. Peter’s answer tonight: repent, be baptized, be filled with the Holy Spirit. Acts tells us that from that day forward “[t]hey devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” But like Solomon, like the rich young ruler, like me and maybe like you, they will fall short. Annanias and Saphira will lie to the apostles. Infighting will break out between Peter and Paul. Some will claim there’s no room in the church for difference–the Gentiles just cannot come in. It will be bumpy. 

I can see myself in these stories. I ask the question: What must I do to inherit eternal life? And I want to devote myself entirely to Jesus’s way, but I fall short. Like ole Johnny Cash, I want the Cadillac, but I want it on the cheap, one piece at a time, without spending a dime, without making a sacrifice. Time and time again, I walk away from Jesus like the rich young ruler, sad, because I cannot, by my own power, make myself good. “Dear Lord and Father of mankind, forgive my foolish ways.” 

Here’s the Good News–and the hard news–for those of us in this boat, those of us who strive but fall short, those of us who ask the question but can’t bear the answer: There is nothing we can do in ourselves to inherit eternal life. The grace of eternal life, in the ever after and in the present moment, is purely a gift to us from God. Like Solomon and Peter and Paul and all the rest, we respond with bumpy devotion, with uneven dedication. 

To people like that–to people like us–the Book of Common Prayer becomes the most valuable of gifts. Rooted in Holy Scripture and the tradition of the Church, it is a guidebook on this bumpy and uneven ride. It becomes the toolbox to help us, with God’s help, to build a spiritual life devoted to following Jesus. It becomes like Johnny Cash’s lunch pale. We pick up a prayer at a time, a practice at a time, a reading at a time, a canticle at a time. Bit by bit, sip by sip, prayer by prayer, we find that something is coming together–that God is putting something together. And whereas we once thought that following Jesus completely was impossible, we learn that with God all things are possible. And we are converted, changed, sanctified, made new. 

This is ultimately why I am an Episcopalian. It’s because of our little book and its humble approach to the spiritual journey. For I do not aspire to be a spiritual superhero; I see myself too clearly to think that’s possible. I do not aspire to chart my own course, like Magellan across the seas; I am too prone to distraction and getting lost. I do not aspire to be remembered in some book of great people of faith who packed stadiums with crusades; no, being kind at Walmart is hard enough. Instead, I aspire to a daily, real life. Give me a prayer, just for today. Give me a practice, just for today. Give me grace, just for today. Give me a crumb that falls from the Table, just for today. That will be enough for me. And that’s exactly what the Book of Common Prayer does. 

“What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Pick up this book; pray the prayers; love God and your neighbor; and leave the rest to Jesus. For with God nothing is impossible. 

Now on to Fr. Chuck. Being a priest is a strange thing. You’re invited into the lives of parishioners, given trust that you did not necessarily earn, relied on during the hardest of times, invited to share in the most joyous of moments. You are confronted with questions from people like the rich young ruler: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” But we priests don’t have the luxury of being Jesus. We’re sinners, too. We struggle with our own questions, our own challenges of faith. We carry our own sorrow, often out of sight. There is much joy, but there is also much sacrifice. The life of a priest is usually not measured in great accomplishments, but in prayers, conversations, and silence. And at the most basic level, a priest in our tradition is called to pick up the little book, hold it alongside the Holy Scriptures, and point us to Jesus. They give us the prayer, the practice, the grace, the crumb we need, just for today. And in them we come to see Jesus Christ, for they, at their best, embody the Way of Jesus. They become, at their best, a kind of living Book of Common Prayer.  Such is the vocation of one called to the priestly life. 

By the end of his song, Johnny Cash had a Frankenstein Cadillac, built one piece at a time with parts spanning two decades. As for Fr. Chuck, working much the same way, one prayer at a time over four decades–he has something much more beautiful. Chuck has all of us and countless souls on the further shore who can point to him in thanksgiving and say, you gave me the crumb of grace, the prayer, the hope I needed just for today. And in you, Chuck, we have seen Jesus. Thank you for your faithfulness, my friend. Your example has made us all more faithful. Amen? Amen.