• After my correspondence with him following Cody’s death, The Rt. Rev’d Michael Smith, Bishop of North Dakota, asked me to offer a homily at the Diocesan Memorial Eucharist for Fr. Cody. This sermon was preached at St. George’s Church, Bismarck, ND, on that occasion. The lessons for the day were Isaiah 25:6-­9, Psalm 46, 1 Corinthians 15:50-58, and John 11:21-­27.

In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

From Cody’s description of himself:

I am a baptized Christian. Above all else, this is what shapes the person I am.

I am still evolving, still being fashioned according to the likeness of Christ.

In my thinking, and in my ministering, I identify almost exclusively-and quite proudly-with the Catholic tradition in Anglicanism.

I am also an ordained priest of Jesus Christ, proudly serving in the Episcopal Church. Holy Priesthood is my calling, my joy and my delight.

But I am a baptized Christian first.

Over the last two weeks, my mind has inevitably been drifting back to the many conversations Cody and I had over the years, on any variety of topics. Since we first met at General Seminary, where I was preparing for ordination and Cody had just finished a Masters in Sacred Theology and was just starting work on a doctoral degree – the topic of liturgy and identity came up quite often. Both Cody and I have a natural inclination to interpret almost everything through the lens of our worship and liturgy – because worship, as he often reminded me, is primary theology – theology of the sort that you just can’t get only from reading Paul, or Augustine, or Aquinas – as life-giving, crucial and wonderful as this reading and study is – because worship is active – it is theology made present, theology enacted, theology lived. And so, from that moment at Holy Baptism when we are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever, the very nature of everything is changed, because at every moment, we live knowing that we have been joined to the body of Jesus Christ, and knowing that Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again. In this light, every moment becomes an act of worship, and life takes on a Paschal character[1] – and it certainly did for Cody. Therefore, as the Psalmist says in today’s lesson, we shall not fear, though the earth be moved; though the mountains crumble into the uttermost parts of the sea.[2] And so, Cody’s own self-description, his own credo, becomes the ultimate way to celebrate his life and ministry among us: “I am a baptized Christian first.”

Every since Cody fell ill so suddenly on Easter Friday, and then entered the Church Triumphant a week and a half later, I would imagine that our mindset must be awfully similar to Martha’s in today’s gospel, in which she says to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” More times than I can count – on the trips from my home in Brooklyn to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in Manhattan, on my trips to Bronxville to plan Cody’s funeral liturgy, in my meditations on his funeral sermon, even yesterday on my flight here to Bismarck, I keep having Martha’s thoughts echo in my head, albeit in paraphrase: Jesus, if you had been here, Cody would not have died. Jesus, if you had been here, the most gifted and talented thirty-six year old I’ve ever met would not have fallen ill and died with so much to offer to you, to me, to the church, to the academy, and to the world. Jesus, if you had been here, I wouldn’t have to be here. Jesus, if you had been here, I could be back at home, knocking on the door of the room in my Rectory where Cody was to have lived this summer as he worked on his dissertation, and found him there, instead of encountering the emptiness that palpably fills that space now. Jesus, if you had been here…

Noted author and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel once was asked what his favorite quote or phrase was. “And yet…” he responded. “And yet…” I think this is Jesus’ answer to Martha’s statement, and Jesus’ answer to the longings of all our hearts since Cody’s untimely death. “And yet…”

“And yet…” Paul writes in today’s epistle. “And yet… I tell you a mystery! We will not all die, we will all be changed… in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye… we will be changed. Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!”[3]

“And yet…” Paul writes in his letter to the Romans. “And yet… do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life… For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”[4]

“And yet…” Jesus tells us today. “And yet… even though Cody is not with the church militant here on Earth, at his baptism, he was made forever mine.. Because, before all else, Cody was baptized into my death, he is mine. And because I live… he lives!”

“Jesus lives!” the great Easter hymn proclaims, “Jesus lives! thy terrors now can no longer, death, appall us; Jesus lives! by this we know thou, O grave, canst not enthrall us. Alleluia!”[5] Because Jesus lives, Cody lives. And because Jesus lives, we, too, live.

This is why Cody’s own self-description – “I am a baptized Christian first” – is so telling. Because even here, at the edge of the grave, the waters of baptism are the very stuff of life itself. Through the waters of baptism, at nourished by the heavenly food of this table, Cody lived his life in joyful obedience to our Lord, rejoicing in every moment as an opportunity for praise, worship and adoration. And if Cody is to impart one message to us in his death, I imagine it would be just this: because, like him, we are baptized into Christ Jesus, and are buried with Jesus in his death and was raised with Jesus in his resurrection – we should live like it. We should walk each day in newness of life, ever being awed by the grace which wholly covered us at our baptism, and covers us anew each day.

In fact, this was the final lesson he imparted to me. On the day before his burial, I left Christ Church, Bronxville with Cody’s vestments, and made the short drive to the nearby funeral home that handled his arrangements. It had fallen to me to be the one to vest him as a priest before his parents came to say their final goodbyes, and before he was brought to the church for his Vigil and Funeral. Funeral homes are terrible places – sterile and stale, with a slight whiff of preservative chemicals in the air. The funeral director led me to the room where Cody lay, and with the help of two others, I vested him in the way he wanted. When the vesting was complete, the others left the room, so I could have a couple of moments to say my goodbyes to my dear friend. The room felt like death. It had that stale odor of a funeral home, and Cody himself looked paler than he ever did in life. For some reason, that morning, I felt compelled to bring some Chrism to anoint him after the vesting. Whether it was liturgically correct, I didn’t know – and honestly, I stilll don’t know, and quite frankly, don’t care. And so I pulled the oil stock out of my pocket, and anointed Cody. First, as is appropriate for a priest, I anointed his hands – the hands with which he baptized and celebrated the Eucharist. Finally, I anointed his forehead, and recited that great phrase from the Baptismal rite: “Cody, at your baptism, your were sealed by the Holy Spirit, and marked as Christ’s own forever.” Then I sat, wept, and made my final goodbyes. I screwed the cap back onto my oil stock, and went to leave the room. And yet… something was different. I paused for a moment, and tried to figure out what it was. Then I realized – the room no longer had that stale odor. Because instead of getting a whiff of chemicals, my hands now smelled like Chrism – that unique combination of olive oil and herbal essences used at baptism that has an unmistakable scent all its own. My hands smelled like baptism. Like new life, new birth in Our Lord. And, for knowing Cody, I’m not sure he would have wanted me to leave that room with any other thought – for as he said, “I am a baptized Christian above all.”

Jesus lives! our hearts know well
naught from us his love shall sever;
life, nor death, nor powers of hell
tear us from his keeping ever.
Alleluia![6]

And so, thanks be to God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, who gives us the victory of life and gives us the grace, even at the edge of the grave, to make our song – Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Amen.