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Long before there were bells. Long before there were churches. Long before there were people. There was sound. Scientists tell us the universe did not begin in silence, but with an explosion, a big bang fourteen billion years ago, a sound that we can still hear pulsing from all corners of the cosmos.
Christian faith has a similar origin story beginning with a sound, or shall I say a “Word.” Spoken. “The Word.” “In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God. And the Word was God. All things came into being through him and without him not one thing came into being.”
That Word was not simply language. It was Logos: meaning, vibration, creative intention. God did not assemble the universe with blueprints. God spoke it into being. Creation happened through sound.
And then, later in the story, the Book of Acts tells us: “Suddenly from heaven there came a sound.” Before the fire of Pentecost. Before the sermon of Peter. Before the early church shared everything in common. There was a sound. And at that sound, people gathered and the church came into being.
There was a source. Then sound. Then gathering. Sound requires something to move, an action, whether seen or unseen; there is always a first mover. When we hear leaves rustle, we know the wind blows. When we hear a bell ring, we know it has been struck. And then the sound moves, and it does so on many levels. Sometimes audibly, and sometimes rumbling forth from a deeper dimension, because sound is never just sound, it is vibration, it is invitation, it is presence. Sound feels like something. There is unity to it. We are connected by the sound of songs sung, prayers said, words spoken.
All of us are first movers at the same time, chosen to be in unity with one another, intentionally gathered here to acknowledge the first mover of all things.
This room was designed for this purpose.
Look at the walls. When you return to your pew this morning after communion run your hand against the brick. Feel the sound.
Tom Foster taught me this. For those of you that don’t know Tom Foster, he was one of the most well-regarded Music Directors in the Episcopal Church. After 26 years as the storied Music Director at All Saints Beverly Hills, he retired to Seattle, and was the quarter time Music Director here when I arrived. I couldn’t believe my luck, it would be like having Tom Brady as your high school quarterback.
My first week at Epiphany, Tom Foster brought me into this sanctuary. The lights were off. We sat right there on the chancel steps. And Tom said, “Doyt, can you imagine what this room could sound like?”
He talked about adding density to the ceiling, changing and adding walls, removing the carpet, adding glass in the back where curtains hung, things like that. I nodded deferentially. I could understand what he was getting at, but I couldn’t actually imagine it.
Tom had something I did not have. He had auditory vision. He could hear the future. And he was right. This room, because of his vision, is now fundamentally different in acoustical character than it was before 2016.
This sanctuary is now fine tuned for sound. High ceilings. Rectangular in shape. Hard surfaces. One of the goals of the 2016 capital campaign was to make this space acoustically perfect so as to facilitate unity in worship for as long as this building remains standing, God willing another thousand years. It is possible.
But whether that is our destiny, it is not for us to say, only that in our time we will step into the line of ancestors who have gone before us to ensure those who come after us have a well cared for place where sound can resonate as the church gathers.
This is our responsibility as the people who today call Epiphany their spiritual home, to care for and attend to this liminal space that sits between heaven and earth, between mortality and immortality, between the temporal and the eternal, connecting all people, those who are with us, those who are yet to come, and those who have gone before us.
That unity which transcends the generations filled the heart of Clyde Summerville five years ago as he stood on the plains of eastern Nebraska at the funeral of his mother-in-law: a cast-iron bell from the old white-walled Lutheran Church sounded. It tolled, piercing the veil between the here and now and the yet to come: the bell tolled, doing what bells have always done: marking the threshold, making the sacred audible, reminding everyone present that we belong to something bigger than ourselves. That behind us, and near us, and out in front of us there is God.
Clyde wondered: “Is there a bell in Epiphany’s Chapel belfry?” And when the answer came back “no,” a journey began that you can learn about from the video Bryan Fiehler so masterfully made and was included in yesterday’s At-A-Glance. Needless to say, that journey led to the bell that you see here today.
It is not a new bell. It has been preserved: brought here from St. James Episcopal Church, Sedro-Woolley, a congregation no longer able to sustain itself.
That is not our destiny. When I came to Epiphany 18 years ago our common goal was that Epiphany would be an enduring Episcopal church in the Pacific Northwest. So far, so good, because of you. Because you come to worship. Because you welcome those who arrive. Because you seek to know Jesus. Because you are inspired by the Holy Spirit. Because you care for this place. There is a groundedness here. A unity we tend to together.
The world needs thriving churches like Epiphany, and that is what we have become for many reasons; one of which is we own our role as caretakers of these buildings and grounds.
10 years ago we significantly invested in them. We are now entering another season of preservation and renewal. Between today and September 13th, we will count the resources God has so abundantly entrusted to each one of us, and then share a portion of that for the care and completion of this church and campus.
We are entering into a capital campaign. And I truly believe we will raise the money needed if 100% of the people who call Epiphany their spiritual home make a financial commitment to this effort. For some that will look like a very large amount of money, and we need those gifts.
But for all of us, I hope, it feels like a significant gift pledged from the context of our God given circumstances. This campaign is not about equal gifts. It is about equal commitment. It is about the unity of this community.
100% participation speaks to that unity which vibrates among us, between us, resonating like the sound of a bell rung through our common life.
That is why the bell is the symbol of this capital campaign. That is why it stands here in this room as a reminder of a sacred reality that here we gather because our God, the God who loves us, who really really loves us, moved the hearts of people in this neighborhood 115 years ago, and the church gathered to build a place where sound moved, and became vibration that turned into invitation, that united the presence of people to worship God and make the world a better place. So far, so good. Well done Epiphany.
And still, there is a lot to do around here. I have sent you a letter on the subject. There will be videos in At-A-Glance. I encourage you to watch them because they are interesting, they are about us, they are stories about our friends and fellow parishioners.
And there will be what we are calling “Chancel Gatherings,” where I hope 100% of the congregation comes to hear the details of this campaign, and have your questions answered. Zach and I will be at every single one of these gatherings.
Why Zach? Because we are going to talk about an organ. Come and see. I think you will be amazed by what you hear, the sound of it, and what it could be in deepening our unity.
So join me to hear the news of what needs to be done and how preserving this place honors faith across the generations. And how, together, we will continue making a sound that resonates the love of the first mover from the big bang down to the day we ring this bell on September 13th at the parish picnic.
It will be a celebration of what God continues to do for us and through us as a thriving Episcopal church in the Pacific Northwest.