Sermon: RIP James P. Dalton-Thompson

IN MEMORY OF A PRIEST, MENTOR, AND FRIEND:
THE REVEREND CANON JAMES P. DALTON-THOMPSON
SERMON NOTES OF THE REVEREND CANON ROBERT A. PICKEN
THE CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF ST. LUKE
PORTLAND, MAINE
MONDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2010


Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

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Some of us knew him as Jim; others as James; many as Fr. James; or, in Long Island, where he worked for so many years, he was simply called – ‘Fawtha.’ Regardless of what we called him, we gather today to remember an incredible man.

To truly know James, you have to understand first his incredible devotion to his family. Al, simply put, you were his best friend for 30 years. I know he looked forward to your visits – even if it simply because he couldn’t figure out how to hook up the VCR and the BlueRay Player to his new TV. Rocky and Alyssa, he always spoke of you with such, as he would say, “avuncular” pride: Even when you, Rocky, appeared on the TV show “Blind Date,” of which he said, “It just makes you so proud, doesn’t it?.” And, of course, Alyssa, we know that you two didn’t exactly hit if off when you were born and he didn’t agree with your mother that you “were the most beautiful baby in the world.” This lead to your very unique nickname. George, you represent his upbringing in Michigan and so much of the family that he cherished even though he, in recent years, was not as geographically close. In the last couple of months, he spoke often of your coming to the Northeast. Holly, I can count the number of times on one hand that one of our AT&Tinis (James’ term for a conversation on the phone with a cocktail in hand) was not interrupted by him saying, “Oh, that’s Holly, gotta go.” You were his closest confidante and his best friend, and the two of you were the best comedic cooking show not on TV. Though he took his role of ‘big brother’ seriously, you were, frankly, the only person who could tell him exactly what to do… and he would do it. Even though I am an only-child, I would suggest that your relationship was the type that any siblings should want to emulate. All of you were his life-giving foundation, his inspiration, and his refuge. I cannot begin to imagine the hole his death leaves in your lives, but I am confident that I speak for everyone here when I say, “thank you.” Thank you for sharing him with all of us.

Bishop, I bring with me the greetings and condolences of the Bishop of Long Island. In the recent weeks, he has heard so many good things about James from members of the Staff of the Diocese, as well as clergy and lay people from throughout the Diocese, that he asked me, “How do I get him back here?”.

In speaking of James last week, someone remarked to me that, “James had such a wonderful personality. He was the type of guy that when he was in the room, you knew it.” I quickly replied that I thought it was not an accurate description. Instead, I said, “No, when you were in the room he knew it.”

Whether as brother, uncle, teacher, colleague, friend, or pastor, it was about him making you know that you were loved by him and by God. It was his identity as a priest: “to minister the Word of God and the Sacraments of [the Church so] that the reconciling love of Christ may be known and received.”

A few years ago, while still on Long Island, James was beginning to discern his call to St. Mary’s. Understandably, this made some of his parishioners and colleagues concerned, even to the edge of angry disappointment. (After all, in addition to his vision, leadership and pastoral skills, who else could host a cocktail party like him? They were tenuous times.) James preached a sermon on the ministry and mission of the whole people of God, and remarked, of course being very specific, “Were I to be hit by a bus crossing the street tomorrow on my way to get a Greek salad for lunch, I would want a couple of things to happen. First, I want a liturgically great funeral. And, next, I would want you to get on with the work of the Church.” For him, it was never about himself, it was about God and others.

For James, the liturgies of the Church were the source and summit of all that we are called to be in God’s kingdom. Whether it was in joy or sorrow, agreement or disagreement, James followed the Elizabethean belief that the Church needed to always pray together. He prayed the daily office with incredible devotion. (And, I’m confident in these last few weeks, he was comforted knowing that you of St. Mary’s were praying Morning and Evening Prayer.) His greatest joy, of course, was to be able to stand at the Altar celebrating the Eucharist with all the people of God charged to his care.

Of course, he had some very specific desires for today’s liturgy. Actually, as the Bishop learned last Tuesday, they weren’t desires as much as orders. (To the point that when I was on the phone with Holly on Wednesday discussing some plans, another call came in and as I looked at my phone, it read: Call From James Dalton-Thompson [complete with his Facebook photo]). I thought, “Oh my goodness, even from the afterlife, James is making sure this liturgy will go according to his plan.” It turned out it was Fr. Illingworth calling from the St. Mary’s office.)

He is joining our song today from that far more distant shore… and he still doesn’t have his hymnal open yet he is singing every verse to every hymn – in harmony. Now, I have joked about his orders, but he gave them for a reason.

In the Gospel passage chosen for today, we encounter a very distraught, and angry Martha meeting Jesus. Her brother, Lazarus, a friend of Jesus’ has died. The author portrays this encounter too neatly: I have always imagined Martha running to meet Jesus, hair and clothes a mess, tears streaming down her face, pounding her fists in anger on his chest, yelling almost uncontrollably, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

I know that is how many of us may feel today: A life seemingly taken too soon; Another good colleague lost; A flock without a shepherd. Why couldn’t something have been done? Many of us will feel this way for days, weeks, and months to come. And, that’s okay.

Just before his death, James called his office. Ever the pastor, he calmly said, “I know where I am going. It’s OK.” Though we share in Martha’s anger and confusion, we, like James, can take comfort in Jesus’ words: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”
James had a profound faith. He believed in the resurrection and he believed firmly that “when our mortal body lies in death, there is prepared for us a dwelling place eternal in the heavens.” James now rests from his labors. But, we cannot.

James strived for a Church where all were welcome and all could know the love of God. Inspired by his example, we the saints on earth must work to make the love of Christ known in word and deed. We must continue to be Christ’s hands and feet in the world: feeding the hungry, visiting the sick, comforting those who mourn, and welcoming the outcast.

The reading from the Old Testament, the call of Isaiah, was taken from the ordination rites. Almost 26 years ago to the day, this was read in the parish church of St. Gabriel’s in Hollis, Queens at his priestly ordination. On a chilly Sunday afternoon, in the dark stone church, in the midst of an Advent season like now, the preacher held up this crystal that reflected light in all different colors throughout the church. It was symbolic of the fiery coal that touched Isaiah’s lips in this heavenly vision.

Just a few years ago, James gave me this “coal” when he preached at my first Mass. He reminded me that like Isaiah I had responded, “Here I am, send me.” This “coal” was to remind me of my call. And, as this crystal reflects light, I was to reflect the light of God, who is the Christ, in all my life.

This crystal sits on my desk besides my icon of the resurrection. When I look at it now, I will always be reminded of James’ reflection of the light of Christ, his love for me and for all God’s people. Inspired by his profound faith, hope and love, we are called to reflect God’s light to our broken and sinful world so that all may know God’s love until Christ returns in glory.

Each of you have memories like mine which you have shared and will continue to share with one another. Treasure them and let them inspire you to respond, like James, to God’s call and say, “Here I am send me.”

Lastly, in our time of grief, we can take comfort that James, who once showed us the face of God, now sees God face-to-face. As he once raised his voice in prayer and praise on earth, he now joins the heavenly chorus whose voices ring through eternity. And, as he once welcomed us to God’s Altar on earth, he feasts now at that Heavenly Table – at that Heavenly Table where even God Himself is asking James about the intricacies of the Royal Family.

Alleluia. Christ is Risen. The Lord is Risen Indeed. Alleluia.

Amen.

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