Shine
With the Radiance:
The
George F. O’Pray Legacy Society
A sermon preached at
St. Luke’s Church
Jamestown
,
New York
by
The Rev. Canon Denis
M. O’Pray,
Rector
The Church of Our
Saviour
San Gabriel
,
California
January
19, 2003
I
hope I can adequately express how happy I am to come home, especially on a day
of white lawns and brown sugar streets, to
join you in honoring my father. I am grateful to your rector and to
Donna Vanstrom
and the Planned Giving Committee for
inviting me to help you celebrate the inauguration of the George
F. O’Pray Legacy Society. Dad
must be proud of the honor, but even happier to know that you share his
commitment to keep the church strong for its future work;
he considered that so important. Indeed,
during his whole career my father always kept tomorrow in mind.
For him, the church always existed for more than its members and for
longer than today.
Most
of you, of course, don’t know me from Adam’s off ox, and may not have known
Dad, either. If you do remember me,
then the bad news is that you’re getting older, because it was more than 51
years ago that the O’Prays came to St. Luke’s, and it was all of 51 pounds
ago when I left. But St. Luke’s raised me, as it is raising you and your
children, as it has been raising others for nearly 175 years now. Think of it:
think what the generations before us had to do -- and give -- in order for us to
have the church we love. It is
mindful of the passage in Isaiah: “Come
buy milk and bread without price.” That is, what we need, God provides. We
inherit this place; we didn’t build it; and now like the generations before
us, we must provide for its future. I
say “we” because Lyn and I are joining the Legacy Society today with the
promise of an estate gift to St. Luke’s. Perhaps
in this way we can give back something for what I have been given here, in my
church home.
And
what a home it is. This is where I
learned the tenets of the faith from a succession of brave Sunday School
teachers Brian Sisak and I drove to distraction, but whom we nonetheless
appreciated because we knew that they cared for us and they taught us well.
Indeed, Dad and the Christian educators in this parish developed their
own curriculum – a huge job, beautifully done.
At the time, it was probably the best Sunday School program in the
country, and it may still be. A
generation of us have lived in faith ever since, for having been shaped by
it.
This
is where, even as a youngster, I came to understand that I am important to God
and important to the church. Whether
washing dishes for church suppers, or helping Kenneth Eddy our sexton to keep
the coal hoppers full for the boiler, or making my own pastoral calls on Annie
Oates and Bonny Dean, my vocation as a Christian and my service to the church
began here, as did my abiding commitment to care for the community in which I
live. My whole life has been shaped
and my career set by the clear direction and loving support of this remarkable
parish. Thank you. And who shall I
thank, but God, for the enduring friendships that began here and still
strengthen my life?
The
temptation to reminisce today is nearly irresistible, so rich are my memories of
life in Jamestown and at St. Luke’s, but Lyn and I have three wonderful boys
who have brought two magnificent women and three beautiful grandchildren into
our lives, and it’s really their job to put up with the stories of a
sentimentalist, not yours. So,
I’ll limit myself to a few words about Dad since it is he you are honoring
today.
To
understand Dad’s impact on this parish during his 25 years as rector, you must
first understand the impact of another church on him – and I’m not thinking
here of St. Simon’s in South Buffalo where when he knelt to lead morning
prayer he kept catching the glance of the young choir soprano across the
chancel. Elsie Slater sang her heart
out for that young curate, married him, and by his side gave herself for this
church which she, too, loved so much. Yes, Mom and my sister Maureen, both gone
now, would be as proud as my brother Terry and I are today – and as full of
rich memories.
No,
I was thinking about St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church,
Park Avenue
,
New York City
. Imagine
this: my father was 10 when his
father died, leaving Grandma with 6 boys, the oldest 11.
She was only 25; you do the math. She
started quite young. They lived in a
walk-up flat in the Murray Hill district of Manhattan, just south of St.
Bartholomew’s. What chance did
that single-parent, Roman Catholic family, living in poverty, have, except that
St. Bart’s had a very active social outreach into the community.
That church took those boys off the streets, turned them loose in the
church gymnasium to play basketball, helped them find jobs to support the
family, got them through school, and, eventually, made them Episcopalians.
In Dad’s case, they sent him to
Hobart
College
and then to General Seminary. I later followed him to
Hobart
, and, though I didn’t go to seminary, I do
serve on the Board of Trustees at General. One
path in our family, well worn.
The
church was doing its job, being Christ’s presence in the world, and the church
saved my father’s family. By its
example, St. Bartholomew’s taught my Dad something about what a church ought
to be. The church was transforming
the world, one heart at a time, and Dad spent his life saying thank you and
fiercely calling the congregations he served to do the same.
I
say fiercely, not because Dad was ever but gentle and loving, but because I’ve
never known anyone capable of such focus, intention, clarity, determination as
my father. When he knew what had to
be done, he was tireless in his efforts to get it done.
A bit of a bull dog! His first
Vestry
discovered that the hard way.
I
suppose all the members of that
Vestry
are gone now.
Those men – all men on the
Vestry
in those days – discovered this ferocity
the night Dad literally locked them in the church and would not allow them to go
home until a binder had been drawn to place insurance on this magnificent
property which in those days was neither magnificent – rundown would be a
better word – nor insured, as my father had discovered.
Mother got several nervous calls from
Vestry
wives late that night, wondering why
husbands were not home yet. They
weren’t home, because Dad expected responsible action from church leaders, and
stayed until he got it.
Attention
would be paid! Property inherited
from another generation would be cared for, and that little skirmish over
insurance was the beginning of a huge renovation program to repair, restore, and
protect this property. Even more
than caring for the property, Dad insisted that the people who went to church
here would also be cared for. Lovingly,
but systematically, my father made his way to every home in the parish, a system
of calling that continued for Dad and his clergy staff, all the years Dad served
as
Rector
. To
be a member of St. Luke’s was to be known and cared for, especially if one
needed hospitalization. In the hospital, one
received a daily call from clergy, whether one wanted it or not. No one made the
journey of life alone if Dad could help it. And that care wasn’t limited to
church members. Dad use to say that
the church doesn’t exist for the sake of its members; its members exist for
the sake of the world.
Not
that Dad was all business; he loved his friendships at St. Luke’s and
throughout the larger church; and though he was usually quite serious, he was
always willing to have fun and to touch the lighter side of life.
I remember the time he and a couple clergy cronies, dressed in their
clericals, stopped in a diner for lunch after a Diocesan meeting in
Niagara Falls
. It
happened to be a Friday, back in the days when Roman Catholics didn’t eat meat
on Fridays. The waitress brought the
burgers they had ordered, assumed she was serving Catholic priests, and asked,
“Father, can you eat meat on Fridays?” Solemnly,
Dad opened the bun, made the sign of the cross over the hamburger, and said,
“Thou art fish.” Assuming that a
secret power of the priesthood had just been revealed to her, she asked,
“Father, can you do that?!”
Lest
this story telling should distract you to think I am only indulging in fond
memories, let me be clear: I am
telling you about the core values of Dad’s ministry at St. Luke’s, and in so
doing I am affirming your choice to honor him in the Legacy Society.
A church that promises to walk the walk with you, a church that
competently helps you raise your children in the faith, a church that
consistently stands beside you in your hour of need, a church that cares for the
community around it and is committed to making a better world for all persons, a
church that is a good steward of the property and resources that have been
entrusted to it is a church that has the right to ask you to provide for its
ministries today and in perpetuity, with a contribution to the permanent
endowment.
Mrs.
Ashwell and others who have given selflessly to create the church’s endowment
do not do so with the thought that then the church will be good to them; the
church is good to them and in their gratitude they make sure that the church has
the wherewithal to be good to others, forever. It’s a wonderful cycle, how one
generation gifts another. That is how for two millennia, Christianity has
thrived. We don’t invent the church; we inherit it.
We don’t possess the church; we pass it on to the next generation,
strong and ready for ministry.
Let
me close with a gentle corrective to make sure that we don’t make too much of
one man. Dad was a wonderful father
and faithful husband. He really was
a great priest and very effective rector. By
any measure, he did a fine job at St. Luke’s, and he surely honored the
investment St. Bartholomew’s had made in him. He was a good preacher, a loving
pastor, and a community leader. He
was mostly humble, always hardworking, and just as fragile and flawed as the
rest of us. What he knew and what we must not forget is that the success of his
ministry at St. Luke’s was not about him, but Christ within him.
Let
me put it to you this way: Were you
up early enough yesterday to see the bright full moon setting to the southwest,
and an equally gorgeous Venus rising in the Southeast?
You know that neither glows of its own brilliance, but rather each
reflects the white hot beauty of the Sun.
And
you heard today’s collect: Almighty God,
whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ is the light of the world: Grant that your
people, illuminated by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of
Christ’s glory….
George
O’Pray was not illuminated from within. He
lived his life kneeling before the light of the world, reflecting some of
Christ’s beauty, casting a bit of reflected light into the dark places of the
human journey. He was illuminated by word and sacrament, but also by the love
and commitments of his companions on the way. From time to time, along with this
faithful flock, he did shine with the radiance of Christ’s glory.
Honor
him today if you will in the Legacy Society, but honor the more he whose light
Dad so often reflected. And
prayerfully commit yourself to the work of the church today and with your gifts
assure the work of the church tomorrow that you too may shine with the radiance
of Christ’s glory and be a source of light in the world.
