All Saints’, Dorval
May 4, 2025
Teresa’s selfie with Victor-David and Deborah from Saturday
I apologize in advance if this sermon makes no sense. It was written barely twelve hours before the early service, after an already very long day.
That long day was, of course, the electoral synod of the diocese of Montreal, which chose our next bishop yesterday afternoon. As an increasing number of people know, the lead-up to the election was a great deal more dramatic than anybody wanted, to the extent that it was covered in the church press in three countries. Four of the nine members of the search committee resigned in protest when they were told that they could not exercise their judgment and discernment to keep a candidate about whom there were grave concerns off the ballot. Rumours were flying, about that candidate and others, and I’m still reluctant to use actual names in a public context like a sermon (even though most of you will probably know who I’m talking about, and the others can easily find out). Not only am I generally not in the habit of calling people out as individuals from the pulpit, but those candidates has shown himself to be very willing to throw around threats of lawsuits at anyone who wants to discuss his behaviour publicly. (I will, however, happily have that conversation face-to-face, as always.)
If I’ve seemed unusually on edge over the past two or three months, it’s partly because I’ve been scared, and also devoting a remarkable number of hours to doing all I could to prevent a bully and serial sexual harasser with massive conflicts of interest from becoming the next bishop of Montreal. Thankfully, our new Coadjutor Bishop-Elect is not that person – and more on that in a minute.
Rereading the lesson from Acts today, I was freshly struck by the interchange between Ananias and God. First of all, Ananias is granted the full Old Testament prophetic treatment: he hears God calling his name and he replies, “Here I am.” And once God has spoken, Ananias, understandably alarmed at being told to go and heal a man who has been sending his friends to prison and to death, objects; God’s reply is, “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel.”
This interaction jumped out at me because of one memorable element of the nomination process. Peter Lekx, whom most of us know and love, was one of the nominators of the problem candidate. When the degree of concern that the search committee felt about being forced to allow this candidate to stand became clear, I contacted Peter, and he explained to me that when he was asked to make the nomination, he prayed extensively, and eventually what he perceived the Holy Spirit’s answer to be, was “Make this nomination, and it will be part of a process of healing for the diocese.”
And I believe that, if we continue to be honest, courageous, and loving, that that can be the case. The process up to this point has been frankly disastrous, but it has started a very necessary and long-overdue conversation which I pray will lead to major changes in both how we elect bishops, and how we handle allegations of clergy misconduct. And that begins with telling the truth, and with changing from policies that mostly protect people with power, to policies that support and give voice to those who have been victimized.
I don’t know whether the work that I and others did behind the scenes – and the preparations that we made to take more extreme measures if they had become necessary, which thankfully they did not – actually changed anything. But I could not have lived with myself if I hadn’t made those efforts. When it comes to things like synods and elections and canons and governance, I tend not to be someone who sticks my neck out, but in this instance, it really didn’t feel like I had a choice.
I’ve always sympathized with the disciples during Jesus’ trial and crucifixion, honestly. Running away seems like an entirely logical and understandable response to what was happening. But except for Judas, who goes to his own place before Jesus gets the chance to offer him forgiveness, all the others get to try again – and they rise to the occasion. In fact, our readings for Easter season are largely the accounts of those encounters in which they get to try again.
And in today’s reading from John, they go fishing. And Jesus takes Peter aside and explicitly offers him a threefold opportunity to say that he loves him, in order to balance and counteract the threefold denial that Peter gave in a panic in the middle of the night beside the fire in the High Priest’s courtyard.
Jesus doesn’t give Peter an elaborate agenda. He just says, “Feed my sheep. Tend my lambs.”
And Peter does.
Having experienced what it was like to be a coward, he resolves that no amount of hard work, fear, suffering, or danger could be worse than feeling like that again, and so from this point forward he is all-in on obeying Jesus’ instructions.
Sometimes it really is that simple. Feed my sheep. Tend my lambs.
I confess: by the fourth and fifth ballots, I really wanted my friend Deborah Meister, whom I’ve known, loved, and deeply respected since we met in seminary more than half my life ago (when she was an intern at my childhood church), to be our next bishop. So I’m still figuring out what I think about the election of Victor-David Mbuyi Bipungu, Priest-in-Charge of the Église de la Nativité, Rosemère, and the Parish of St. Simon & St. Bartholomew, Laval. Victor-David also currently serves as the Archdeacon of St. Andrews. And most of the reason that I don’t feel like I know so much about him as a colleague, is that he will be the first bishop of this diocese to be an actual native Francophone; he comes from Congo, and his English, while a great deal better than my French, is not fluent. We’ve almost had an ongoing joke at clergy events where I try to talk to him in French for as long as I can manage, which usually isn’t very long. (French is actually Victor-David’s second language, after Lingala; English is his fourth.)
It’s going to be interesting to see what unexpected impacts this has on the diocese, but I’m impressed by our collective courage to do a new thing. Victor-David spoke once his election was confirmed, humbly expressing how very surprised he was to be actually elected, and once the synod was adjourned I offered my congratulations and said, “Vous êtes beaucoup plus courageux que moi.” The idea of either having to minister substantially in my second language or be a diocesan bishop is terrifying, let alone both.
Victor-David himself called his election “a miracle” from the Holy Spirit, and I distinctly remember that at one point during a break in the balloting, when he and Deborah were the last two candidates remaining on the ballot, I passed the two of them as they were sitting – together – in the back row of seats, and was struck by how the two of them seemed to be practically glowing from within. At that point I felt a deep reassurance that all would be well.
We still have much to do. But we are, God willing, on a path to healing, and to doing better. And we have been reminded that our primary work is to tell the truth, listen for the Spirit, and feed God’s sheep.
Amen.
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