Be Thou Our Guide
O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home. Be Thou our guide while life shall last and our eternal home. Amen.
When I first arrived at this Cathedral nearly ten years ago, the needs of this place felt overwhelming. The budget had been in the red for years. The list of deferred maintenance and long-delayed projects seemed endless. Yet look at what, by God’s grace, has been accomplished since then.
Because of the generosity of thousands of people like you — and the faithful work of our board, our volunteers, and this extraordinary staff — we have not just stabilized but flourished. Every fiscal year since 2016, we have lived within our means and balanced our budget. We weathered a global pandemic and, in the midst of it, built an incredible digital community of friends and worshipers who join us from all over the world.
We completed a comprehensive capital campaign that raised $185 million — resources that not only funded our operations but money that enabled us to finish $50 million worth of earthquake repairs, replace our aging sound system, and restore and rebuild the great Cathedral organ, virtually untouched since the 1930s.
We renovated and reopened the long-closed College of Preachers, transforming it into the Virginia Mae Center: a beautiful guest house and retreat space that now anchors so much of the Cathedral’s programmatic work.
During this time, we have also been able to confront some of the painful truths of our own story. Thoughtfully and prayerfully, we removed two stained glass windows, installed in the 1950’s, that glorified Confederate generals, and in their place now shines the breathtaking artistry of Kerry James Marshall — one of America’s great living artists. Windows that challenge us to never forget that the struggle for human rights around the globe is ongoing.
Along the way, we have welcomed Presidents and laid Presidents to rest. We have prayed with the nation in times of grief and celebration. We have held thousands of services, welcomed hundreds of busloads of pilgrims, and embraced more than a million of worshipers and visitors. And through it all, God has been faithful.
We have been blessed in more ways than I could ever have imagined, and I feel so privileged to be the Dean of this grand Cathedral. But on this Cathedral Day, 118 years after the laying of the cornerstone, we need to ask ourselves where are we going and what are we being called to do?
The history of the Christian church is, in part, the history of an institution that constantly loses its way. And throughout the centuries great individuals have had to step forward in order to reform this institution, to remind it of its purpose. In the 16th century, Martin Luther stood against the church in Rome to remind us that salvation could not be purchased with indulgences. In the 18th century, John and Charles Wesley stood against the church in England to remind us that simply reciting the right liturgical words on Sunday morning was no substitute for the need to personally encounter God. At the beginning of the Second World War, Dietrich Bonhoeffer reminded the church in Germany that being faithful to God meant much more than being obedient to the German nation. And then later that century, Martin Luther King Jr. reminded the church that, “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.” That no one is free until we are all free.
Like Jesus cleansing the temple the church constantly needs to be swept clear of that which perverts it from its true purpose – from serving God and God’s Kingdom.
On this Cathedral Day, one of my greatest worries for this Cathedral is that because of our grandeur and beauty, because of the investment of time, talent and treasure in the creation and care of this incredible space, we will forget our purpose, forget who we are. One of my worries is that Washington National Cathedral, the institution, will overshadow Washington National Cathedral, the body of Christ.
First and foremost, we exist to worship our Lord, to build the Kingdom of God, to come together in mutual love and support as a community of prayer, sacrament, and service. From this base, we are called to go out into the world as the hands and feet of Christ. Everything else is secondary. As Archbishop Welby once said, “We will only endure – this building will only be what it should be – if we are built on Jesus. There is no compromise with that message. Without it this is a museum of interesting social anthropology. With Jesus as its focus and center it is a channel for the breaking in of the kingdom of God.”
There is an old prayer that goes: Dear Lord, so far today I’ve done all right. I’ve kept my mouth shut, I haven’t gossiped, haven’t lost my temper, haven’t been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or over-indulgent. I’m really glad about that. But in a few minutes, Lord, I’m going to get out of bed, and from then on, I’m probably going to need a lot more help.[1]
It is not easy being a Christian if you take faith seriously. As St. Peter reminds us this morning, much is expected of us. We are supposed to, “Rid ourselves, . . . of all malice, and all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander. Peter is reminding us that discipleship involves not only the discipline of faith, but it calls for the discipline of right behavior as well.
It is hard to love our neighbors as ourselves. It is hard to give as we have been given to. It is hard to forgive those who have hurt or wronged us. It is hard to be like Christ in the world. But that is exactly what we are called to do – to be like Christ.
These are trying times we are living through, times when it seems like the very norms and standards that hold our country together are coming apart all around us. We are seeing a rise in hate speech, political violence and extremism. We are seeing a resurgence of racism that is so blatant, bold and ugly that I am not sure if I am living in 2025 or 1935. Our leaders unashamedly lie, proclaim their hatred for their political enemies, and look for what they can tear down rather than what they can build up. I believe now more than ever that one of the most important things the church can do, that this Cathedral can do, is to speak into these times with the values of our Christian faith that abhors racism, violence, dishonesty and hatred.
I have said it many times, but the health and well-being of our democracy depend upon the presence of our Judeo-Christian values as the rock upon which this country stands. David Brooks reminded his readers of just this two days ago when he wrote: “The founders (of this country) believed that democracy could survive only if citizens could restrain their passions, be obedient to a shared moral order and point their lives toward virtue. They relied on religious institutions to do that moral formation. As John Adams put it, ‘Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.’”
That is why we say this Cathedral stands at the intersection of the sacred and the civic. That’s why we have focused our programming on finding a better way, – a better way to live together, to listen to one another, to find common cause. This is not about making America a Christian nation, such an idea is an anathema to our Constitution, we are a nation of many religions. But our behavior, our politics, needs to be anchored in a common set of values that promote justice, peace, love of neighbor, and respect for every human being. Our country needs this Cathedral and every other religious institution of good will to stand up, speak out and demand the return of such values.
So here we stand — 118 years after faithful men and women gathered on this hilltop, set a cornerstone, and prayed that a house of prayer for all people might rise to the glory of God and the healing of the nation. Their world was also divided, anxious, and searching for hope. Yet they built anyway — stone by stone, gift by gift, prayer by prayer — because they believed this Cathedral could help call a country to its better angels.
Now it is our turn. Our turn to remember that we are not curators of a monument but stewards of a mission. Our turn to make sure this house is not merely admired, but alive with worship, alive with compassion, alive with truth spoken in love. May we, who have inherited so much, dare to give as boldly as those who came before us. May we be the living stones who build upon their foundation. And may God, our help in ages past and our hope for years to come, guide this Cathedral and each of us into the future with courage, faith and love. Amen.
[1] From St. James’ Church, Kent, Washington as found in The Anglican Digest, 1997.