Good morning! It does not seem to me it was very long ago that we were here at Old St. Anne’s at the end of our first full week of school. It was the end of the beginning of the year. Today, with a full week of classes to go, commencement, and final examinations—for some—ahead of us, I would say it is the beginning of the end of the year. We end the beginning and begin the ending of our year here at Old St. Anne’s to keep continuity with St. Andrew’s history.

The chapel opened in its current location in the school in 1948, and until then, the boys at the school walked here each Sunday, to St. Anne’s, which at the time was the local Episcopal parish. Now, as we begin to end the school year, we find ourselves back in these pews.

This space always inspires me to think about how long history really is. Built in 1768 to replace a church built in 1705, this building has no electricity, no heating or cooling, and no running water, much less internet or a thermostat. You are sitting in pews that were designed to hold heat, so that churchgoers during all the colder months could bundle up with their families in the pews and try to keep the heat within those wooden boxes. Here in Old St. Anne’s, you can’t help but feel the passage of time.

And this morning we must recognize that time has passed since we were last here. Some of you may feel the school year has gone by quickly. I am in that camp. I feel like I have barely blinked an eye and here we are back at Old St. Anne’s. Some of you may feel that time has stretched, and it has been a long journey to the end of the year. Whatever you feel, there is no denying that time does move inexorably forward. We will all say goodbye to each other soon. In one week from today, the seniors will leave St. Andrew’s, retaining strong and lifelong ties to all of us in Middletown. In two weeks from yesterday, we will say goodbye to the rest of you. The campus will grow quiet, and it will be strange without your presence. I will be able to walk all the way across campus, and not a single person will ask me to take them to Dairy Queen. We will begin to count the days until your return. But for now, we will begin to say goodbye.

Today’s gospel is about a long goodbye, too. Jesus has been around with his disciples since his resurrection but is now preparing to go be with God—he says, “Little children, I am with you only a little longer…” and “where I am going, you cannot come.”

The disciples are adults, of course, but Jesus addresses them as “little children.” When you were a younger child—or maybe still—when your parents left you at home, wouldn’t they always give you some final instruction? Like, “don’t touch the stove,” or “be nice to your sister,” or “don’t set the house on fire.” (That last one is what my parents always said. And one time I did set the house on fire—but that is a story for another time.) When your folks dropped you off at a friend’s house when you were small, they’d say, “be polite,” or “be good,” “be sure to share,” or “say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.” These admonishments are standards, standards that speak to who we are, how we are perceived as a family, how we are known. Underneath, as children, we are meant to understand this: you may be young, but you represent us. You are a reflection of our values and our priorities. This is a big responsibility and an empowering one for a small child. We feel proud to be able to make our families proud; to be known by the way we conduct ourselves.

Jesus has this kind of moment in today’s gospel, and I think it applies to us here as we say our goodbyes: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” As parents do with children, the new commandment is designed to say, “this is who we are.” Every family has core values that they treasure. In every family and tribe, there are characteristics that are treasured parts of our identity as a group.

Let’s take this lesson for our goodbyes over the next few weeks. How will people know us, Saints? How do we show them who we are? You’ll disperse soon to places as far-flung as can be. To Singapore and Australia, to San Francisco and Austin, to Middletown and Maine. When you get there, have love for one another and show love to those around you. Let’s assume good intent in those around us. Let’s be curious and ask more questions and keep learning. Let’s be patient and understanding. Let’s draw a large circle and include in it everyone we meet. And let’s do all of this in the name of love—in the knowledge that we see the divine in each person, that we see their humanity and know that every person we meet is loved by God and deserves our love, too.

That’s who we are, and those are our family values. As we say goodbye, none of us can go where the others are going, but everyone can know we are Saints.

May it be so. Amen.