Use the Gate

Can people be blamed these days for not worrying too much about whether or not they have a shepherd?  The agrarian and pastoral metaphors that Jesus used when he taught speak with very little clarity or urgency to our urbanized society in which farming has been largely industrialized anyway.  I might travel this city from river to river today and find hardly a soul who would want to hear me convince them that they need a shepherd in their life.  When Audrey Evans died, it’s possible that we lost the last person in America who could have convinced anyone at all that they need a shepherd.  Far more likely these days to come up against the counter-argument that shepherds are for sheep, which are stupid, herd-bound, and dirty.  No one goes to the Wharton School - or any of the institutions of higher learning that surround us in this city - because they see themselves as sheep.  Comcast is not looking to hire sheep either.

It’s a good thing that the people who make these choices (not me) ended the reading from this passage of John’s gospel immediately before the place where Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd.”  It’s a curious choice, but I’ll take it.

That choice leaves us, on this so-called “Good Shepherd Sunday,” with another of the “I am” sayings that St. John scatters through the Gospel.  “I am the gate for the sheep,” Jesus says.  “I am the gate.”  For the itinerant Philadelphia preacher going from river to river, it may not be immediately clear that this message has significantly more clarity or urgency with those I might encounter.  If you’re not looking for a shepherd, then what are the chances that you’re looking for a gate?  Well, who knows? If we look closely, and if we don’t take Jesus too literally here, we might find that he has something to say that could mean a lot to a lot of people.

Listen to what Jesus says: “The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd.”  OK, got it: the shepherd goes in, I guess to some enclosure where the sheep are kept enclosed, protected, sort of, but confined.  We don’t know who built this enclosure.  And we don’t even know who put the sheep in there.  All we know is that the sheep are being kept in the sheepfold, within its walls.  Well, we know a little more, we know that even though the sheepfold ought to keep the sheep safe, there are thieves and bandits who can find their way in.  So, the sheep have been confined for their safety (I guess?).  But they are not safe; they are susceptible to the wiles of thieves and bandits who are clever enough to infiltrate the sheepfold, and sinister enough to do God-knows-what once they are in there.

The shepherd is introduced to this situation.  But we have already stipulated that  the shepherd may not be of much interest to the modern person.  Somewhere on her way to heaven, Audrey Evans is sighing a deep sigh that I am not preaching a sermon about the indispensability of shepherds, but she and I will work that out another time.

So, the sheep are enclosed, purportedly for their safety, but still they are not safe.  In fact, there is a sense in which the sheep in this scenario are trapped!  Am I reading too much into this?  I don’t think so.  These sheep (in John’s gospel) are not free, and they are in peril because of the threat of thieves and bandits.  I think you could go so far as to say that the sheep are trapped.  The gate is locked and they have no way out, although thieves and bandits may soon find their way in.  This is a dangerous situation for the sheep.

What does Jesus tell us that the shepherd does?  This is important, I think, in a world like ours that is pretty sure it is done with shepherds and thinks it has little to gain from them.  What does Jesus tell us that the shepherd does?  “He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”

Did you hear that?  Where does the shepherd lead the sheep?  He leads them out!  He leads them out!  I checked the Greek text here, to make sure that I am not making too much of this.  But it’s true that the Greek word here implies being led out of captivity.  Elsewhere in the New Testament the same word is used to remember Moses leading the children out of their slavery, and to Peter being brought out of prison.  In Greek the word is “exagai;” you can hear that it’s an ex word, an exodus word, an exit word; a word about going out, not in.  It’s a freedom word!

“He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”  And before long, Jesus is making the claim that I think could be useful, since apparently he knows that he might be speaking to an audience that is not looking for a shepherd. “I am the gate for the sheep,” Jesus says, “I am the gate.”

Now, here’s the thing: I am not sure we live in a world in which many people think they need a shepherd.  But I am absolutely sure that we live in a world in which people often feel trapped.   Sometimes we know how and why we feel trapped, but not always.  We just discover that we are enclosed and there appears to be no way out.  We are not necessarily sure who built the enclosure we’re in, and we may not know even how we got there.  Maybe it was someone else’s doing, maybe it was our own doing. It may even be that we got trapped because someone thought it would keep us safe.  Maybe not?  But could be.

We might be trapped in a relationship, or in a job, or in a family situation.  We could be trapped in a financial crisis, or in a medical emergency.  Some of us are trapped in our heads where we over-think everything.  Some of us are trapped in the circumstances of an unjust society.  Some are trapped by our own biology.  Some are trapped in addiction, and some by anxiety.  You could be trapped by forces beyond your control, or by forces within your control.  Some are trapped by depression, or by mania.  Some by our inability to learn, or by our refusal to listen.  There are those who are trapped by the cruelty of someone stronger than they are.  Many are trapped by the money we think we need but we don’t have, others by the money we have and we don’t realize we don’t need.  It’s easy to be trapped by a lie that we told, or by a trust that we breached.  Some are trapped by a system that is so much bigger than we are.  Many are trapped by their rent, or their mortgage, or by debt they cannot carry.  You could be trapped by a fear that no one else knows about.  Whatever it may be that traps us, most of us know what it is to be trapped by the thickness and the height of the walls of some enclosure, no matter what those walls are built of, or who built them.

There are ten thousand ways we might be trapped, and then another ten thousand, too.  Most of us have felt trapped to one degree or another at some point: not just lost and unsure of where we are, but cornered, pinned down, with nowhere to turn.  And when we have felt this way, there is hardly a one of us who said to ourselves, “If only I had a shepherd to lead me out of here.”  I’m sorry, but I think this is true.  When you are trapped you are not sitting there praying for a shepherd.  When you are trapped, you are lying there in the dark, praying for a way out.  And you might not call it this at first, but when you are trapped, you are hoping and praying that somewhere, somehow you will find a gate that leads out of this confinement, out of this misery, out of this hopelessness, out of this hell!

You want a gate when you are trapped!  You want a gate!  And the thing about Jesus is that he is such a good shepherd that he knows that sometimes, all the sheep need is a gate!

It is a cruel irony that so many people have been led to believe that Jesus is the kind of shepherd who leads people into narrow, ignorant, constricting, repressive, priggish, self-righteous confinement.  But Jesus himself said that he is the kind of shepherd who leads people out of confinement!  Jesus doesn’t want to put you in prison; he doesn’t want to trap you!  Jesus wants to set you free!  Yes, he wants to protect you.  And once we are free, Jesus wants us to be able to come in and go out and find pasture in places where we can be safe, and come and go as we please.  This is freedom.

Now, look, it’s often true that people don’t know what to do with their freedom when they have it.  We misuse our freedom and make mistakes.  Just ask Adam and Eve.  But also remember that God’s punishment for those two, for the misuse of their freedom, wasn’t to take that freedom away from them; it was to change the circumstances in which they could exercise their freedom, by expelling them from paradise.

And Jesus did not come into the world to restrict the freedom that God gave to his people, either.  Jesus came into the world to try to help us use our freedom better, by teaching us to love one another, and to mark the way of love that will some day lead us back to paradise.

Near the end of the passage we heard today, Jesus uses another word to describe where the sheep may go , once they have been freed by the shepherd.  He says, “I am the gate.  Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.”

“I am the gate, whoever enters by me will be saved.”  The Greek word here is practically the opposite of the exit word Jesus used earlier.  For, once Jesus has led his sheep to freedom, then we are free to enter into his pasture of our own accord, and we are free to come and go as we like.  Yes, Jesus wants us to be free.

It may be the case that not too many people are worried about whether or not they have a shepherd these days. But in a world where it is easy to find yourself trapped by any one or more of ten thousand causes, inflicted by ourselves or others, it is very good news to discover that there is a gate that leads to freedom.  And that Jesus wants to lead us through that gate, out of captivity.

Jesus helps us to break free from all that entraps us - the relationship, the job, the financial crisis, whatever goes on inside our own heads and our bodies, the unjust society we live in, our mental state, our stubbornness, the cruelty of others, our own dishonesty, our debt, our sickness, the systems we live in, and our fears - Jesus helps us to break free from us by giving us a spirit that is meant to be free, by teaching us what it might mean to be free, and by assuring us that God wants us to be free.  Because you cannot get free of all that entraps you without first knowing that you are meant to be free - this is essential! You may not think you need a shepherd.  But Jesus is such a good shepherd that he knows that sometimes all you and I need is a gate.

So Jesus is the gate, too. Which is to say that Jesus is the way to find freedom from the many things that entrap us.  Jesus is the way out.

When you are lying there in the dark, praying for a way out… you are trapped, you are hoping and praying that somewhere, somehow you will find a gate that leads out of this confinement, out of this misery, out of this hopelessness, out of this hell! It hardly matters what it is that has caused your confinement.  The first thing you need to know is that God made you to be free, and that there is a way out.

Jesus said that the good shepherd “calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”

You don’t think you need a shepherd?  Fine.  Just use the gate!

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
30 April 2023
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia

The Beautiful Day

It was a beautiful day. April 25, 1848 was that most precious and rare of things: a blue-sky, warm-sun, early-spring day in Philadelphia. How do I know this? In the same way that Philadelphians have always known things – I read it in the Inquirer.

On April 26, 1848, the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a lengthy piece about the laying of the cornerstone of Saint Mark’s the day before.* The unnamed author begins by writing that it is “gratifying and elevating” to mark the construction of new churches in the city, and mark he does. Not only does he include a list of every item sealed in the cornerstone (basically a Bible, a BCP, a bunch of periodicals, and a blessing), he also provides the complete dimensions of the church; a list of the groups in attendance, including the vestry(men), work(men) and “a large number of ladies;” the full names and titles of the every one of the two dozen clergy(men) present; an outline of the liturgy; a smashing review of what must have been a kind of ecclesiastical pick-up choir; and the entire text of the bishop’s very very, very long prayer.

The author then apologizes for not having room to reprint every word of what I’m assuming was the bishop’s very very, very lengthy remarks. Instead, he shares just a few of the bishop’s stated hopes for this new church. Now it turns out that this bishop was not only a bit verbose, he was also a bit prescient. 175 years ago, he hoped that Saint Mark’s would be an “asylum for the poor and…the afflicted” – check – that “its pulpit…[would] proclaim the unsearchable riches of Christ and him crucified” – check – that the “young might [here] be…taught to remember their Creator” – check – “that the perversity of men would be softened within its walls” – weird wording, but okay, check – that this place would be marked by a “comprehensive system of Christian love,” that it would claim a sacred mission, that future rectors would keep yellow Labs – I mean, the guy was a prophet. The article concludes with the author remarking that the scene on this day “was at once touching and impressive…one of simple, yet sublime Christianity.” With “the blue sky bending above, and the rich sunshine brightening and beautifying the whole” it was a day, surely, to be remembered. 

And remember it we shall, remember it we currently are. But I would like to suggest that there is another date that is even more important to remember. I know, I’m here to celebrate the 175th anniversary of the laying of the cornerstone, but just hear me out. 10 months before the laying of the cornerstone, on June 28, 1847, a small group of Episcopalians met at the home of George Zantzinger, just around the corner. It was a much simpler gathering, just a conversation, really. These people (I’m hoping against hope that there might have been even a small number of ladies present) had been inspired by the Oxford movement in England, whose founders preached the importance of reclaiming the Church’s traditional liturgical practices, the gift and the primacy of the Eucharist, and the idea that the shape of our buildings shapes our faith. These Philadelphians saw in this new movement something they were longing for, something that was absent from their beloved church in their beloved city. They saw that the Church could be bigger than they had imagined – that it could do more, serve more, be more transformational, more holy and real and resplendent than they had ever thought possible. On this June afternoon in 1847, they had the vision to see that the Church could be more; 10 months later, they just started building it.

Now I am not saying that this building with its blessed cornerstone is unimportant. Who could ever stand in this space and say that? We need places in this world that hush us, that make us feel very, very small and very, very loved at the same time. But we also need this 1847 kind of vision in of world. Because our beloved Church is not thriving. We all know this; you heard a sermon about this just a few weeks ago from this very pulpit. We know that the world sees the Church as irrelevant and hypocritical, if not outright harmful. We know that most young people don't even have church on their radar. And we know, too, that a large part of the Church, of our siblings in Christ, has become tragically warped by a misogynistic, anti-trans, backward-looking and unforgiving worldview that has nothing to do with the Gospel. The Church in this and every city is in trouble, and I for one haven't heard many good ideas about what to do about it. 

Paul had a good idea. In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul, or whatever holy poet was writing in his name, says that to build – or rebuild – the Church, we who follow the risen Christ have to do three things: discern our gifts, accept them, and then put them to work. Now, there is a variety of gifts of ministry at Saint Mark’s, there are apostles and prophets and evangelists and pastors galore, but I would like to suggest that Saint Mark’s has a particular vocation to teaching. I suggest this not only because the people of this parish have been some of the most important teachers in my life, not only because people like Sean Mullen and Nora Johnson and Audrey Evans and Kenny Pearlstein and Juli Reddy and Phil Schultz and Vivienne Cowie and Nico McGraw and Kent John Pope have taught me almost everything I know about the priesthood and much of what I know about my identity as a child of God. No, I say this because I think that Saint Mark’s as a whole has a vocation to teach the Church a new vision of itself.

Look at what you have already taught us. You have taught us that an urban parish can, in fact, attract families with young children. You have taught us that ministry to and with those children is not optional. You have taught us that an Anglo-Catholic parish can empower women for ordained leadership. You have taught us that a traditional parish can celebrate the lives and the leadership of our LGBTQ+ siblings. You have taught us that an abandoned property in Northeast Philadelphia can be a hub of learning and hope for a whole generation of children. You have taught us that a beautiful but unwieldy rectory can put church back on the radar for those supposedly uninterested young people. You have taught us that ancient things can be timely, that music is fundamental, that buildings shape faith, that beauty matters. You, Saint Mark’s, have been teaching the world, this city, and the Church truths about the Gospel for almost two centuries. 

And we need you to keep it up. The world needs a gathering of people – inspired by the witness of the past and built upon that foundation with Christ as the chief cornerstone – that has the vision to see that our Church can be more. We need a community that believes that our Church can do more, serve more, be more transformational, more holy and real and resplendent than anyone ever thought possible. We need you to teach us that the Church can speak truth in love, find unity – grow up. We need you to teach us that the Church can be not just a place of comfort for the afflicted but a force to help tear down the systems of racism and prejudice that caused that affliction in the first place. We need you to teach us that the Church has the power to change the trajectory of our national conversation about poverty, about guns, about the environment, about truth. We need you to teach us that ruined cities can still sing, that predictions of impending death are nothing to fear, that resurrection is more than just a one-time event. We need you, my God, we need you to teach us peace. We need you to teach us how to be Saint Mark’s, to believe the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and to proclaim that the very kingdom of God has come near. 

At the end of the Inquirer article, the author writes that part of what made the day so beautiful was that all who stood on this little plot of ground were “animated by one spirit, engaged in one cause.” He was right, of course; the same spirit that inspired that 1st-century proclamation of Blessed Mark the Evangelist was moving through those 19th-century children of God, inspiring them to build this beautiful church and this beautiful church. Beloved, that Spirit has never left this building. That Spirit will never leave her Church. She is here with us, hovering over this altar, empowering us to be bold, to serve in love the hungry, the song of hope proclaim. That Spirit is engaged in one cause, which is to do something new with her Church, to bring light out of darkness, hope out of desolation, life out of death. Beloved, she is about to show us resurrection. She has done it before, and there is nothing we can do to stop her from doing it again. All she asks is that we proclaim that Easter Good News in every way possible, which you, Saint Mark’s, have already been doing for 175 years. So to all the Inquirer reporters in the congregation or watching online, I say mark this date, because it is a beautiful day. Mark this date, because this gathering, animated by the one Spirit, is about to teach the world resurrection. Mark this date, because these Philadelphians have a vision that their beloved Church can be more.  And then just watch what they build next.

Preached by Mother Erika Takacs

Saint Mark’s, Philadelphia

Saint Mark’s Day 2023

*You can find the article here: https://philadelphiastudies.org/2015/09/14/laying-the-corner-stone-of-st-marks-church-1848

The Thomas Problem

A week after Easter, the question of whether Jesus’ resurrection was a hoax, a fake, a ruse remained unresolved for many, probably most, people.

Remember that a guard had been posted at Jesus’ tomb by Pontius Pilate because the chief priests had convinced Pilate that Jesus’ disciples might try to fake a resurrection.  Those details are spelled out by Saint Matthew in his version of the resurrection story, which included the report of the guards who “told the chief priests everything that had happened.”

Let’s review what Saint Matthew said had happened on that Easter morning, while the guard were still at their posts by the tomb.  “Suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.”  This is the report the guards had to give to the chief priests: of a mighty angel who rolled back the stone from the tomb and sat there.  It was not an easy report for them to make.  It was also not an easy report for the chief priests to hear.  Crucially, it does not include actual information about the body of Jesus - whether he was risen, or his body had been carried away.

I think we should take the chief priests seriously.  And we can safely assume that they were sincere in their suspicion that any resurrection of Jesus would have to be a fake.  Their faith and their adherence to their religion was not casual.  And they had not believed Jesus: period.  They were quite sure that he could not be the Son of God, the Messiah, the King of the Jews, or any other title anyone wanted to bestow upon him.  He could be one thing and one thing only, as far as they were concerned at this point: a fake.  And his followers were misguided or delusional, or both.  St. Matthew is the only one of the evangelists who provides those details of the report of the guard, but I think he is reliable.

It’s one thing that the religious authorities of the temple decided that Jesus was a fake and that his disciples must be misguided or delusional; but it’s another thing altogether for one of those very disciples to reach the same conclusions: one of his inner circle, one of the Twelve.  And that story is the story that St. John tells in his account of the resurrection.

Of course, St. John knew of the skepticism of the chief priests.  He traced their animosity toward Jesus back to the raising of Lazarus.  But it wasn’t, strictly speaking, the miracle of Lazarus’s resuscitation that the council of the chief priests and Pharisees objected to.  Their worry was even more profound.  They were deeply concerned that Jesus’ charismatic leadership would provide the context for disaster.  “If we let him go on like this,” they said to one another, “everyone will believe in him…”  And here comes their real fear: “… everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation.”  The Sanhedrin (the council) believed that Jesus may well have been the undoing of the faith of their fathers, the upending of the law that upheld the covenant, passed down from Abraham, generation to generation.  What they had seen and heard of Jesus led them to believe that he was contemptuous of the law (as they read it), and even of the temple.  (He was contemptuous toward neither, but that’s another sermon.). Their perspective had not prepared them for a prophet like Jesus, let alone a messiah like him.  And they were convinced that he could unravel and destroy everything that was good, and just, and holy.  After all, just look at the contempt he seemed to them to have for the Sabbath!  They were wrong about that too, but they were set in their ways; religious people often are.  And they were not wrong about the Romans, who, a couple of generations later, would, indeed, take just such an opportunity to tear down the temple, and massacre Jews.  Their fears were not unfounded.

And so, regardless of what they had seen or heard about Lazarus, they were convinced that Jesus was a fake, and a dangerous one at that!  And any attempt to suggest that he had risen from the dead would also have to be fake and dangerous for people who adhered to the ancient covenant and the law of Moses, but who happened to be misguided or delusional.  But, whereas St. Matthew tells us how the chief priests were skeptical after the resurrection and skeptical about the resurrection, St. John tells us that their deep concern arose before the resurrection, even before Jesus got to Jerusalem.

No, for St. John, it’s not the chief priests and the Pharisees who brought the suspicion of the resurrection-as-fake into the discussion.  Rather, it was one of Jesus’ own closest followers - it was Thomas, Thomas who not long ago was prepared to go and die with Jesus - it was him who raised the suggestion that maybe the resurrection was a fake.

We call him “Doubting Thomas,” and maybe he was, in fact, plagued by doubt.  But maybe he also harbored a sneaking suspicion that this resurrection stuff had all been an elaborate hoax.  Maybe he wouldn’t put it past Peter and John and the others to let their devotion to Jesus and their disappointment at his death get the better of them and come up with some scheme.  Maybe he wondered if they actually had stolen the body as some kind of desperate measure to keep the movement going.  And maybe Thomas saw what the effect on his faith of such a deception would be - the faith he had shared with Jesus, and the faith he shared with all of those to whom Jesus had come.  The effect of such a deception could be devastating, once it was found out.

Well, we know how that all worked out, don’t we?  Thomas come to believe in the truth of the resurrection!  Peter was speaking for all of the apostles, including Thomas, when he said, “This Jesus God raised up, and of that all of us are witnesses.” (Acts 2:32). And the testimony of the Twelve changed the world.  And for a long, long time the church could say, with St. Peter, “Although you have not seen him, you love him,” and that was that.  Happy Easter!

Notice, however, the interesting way that Peter formulates his statement: “Although you have not seen him, you love him.”

I have to wonder if Peter is addressing that same old suspicion that maybe the story of Jesus’ resurrection is a fake, a hoax, a ruse.  Clearly it is on his mind that those fledgling, early Christians are being asked to believe in someone whom they have not seen in the flesh - the resurrected Jesus.  This is the Thomas Problem: how are they to believe in what they have not seen?  But Peter delays the question of belief to consider something else first.  He does not address the Thomas problem right off the bat and tell them, “Although you have not seen him, you have believed in him.”  No, he starts somewhere else altogether.  “Although you have not seen him, you love him.”

“Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy!”  If you move the comma that was put there by editors, I think I like this statement even more: “even though you do not see him, now you believe in him and rejoice.”  Now you believe in him; now that you love him.

In this formulation of faith, belief does not actually rely on what you have seen with your own eyes.  In this formulation of faith, belief relies on love: “although you have not seen him, you love him… and even though you do not see him, now [that you love him] you believe in him and rejoice.”

It does not take much convincing for anyone who has ever been in love to get them to admit that you can love someone you cannot see.  Love survives long separation over time and distance.  Love endures sweet and sorrowful partings.  Love persists long after death has taken lovers apart from one another.  This was not news to the first Christians, who we can assume knew something about love.  They did not need an apostle to tell them they that could love someone whom they had lost and could no longer see.  Enough of them knew this truth firsthand, and those who didn’t had heard the stories about such love, from grandparents and aunties and uncles: that love never ends, and that you can love someone long past the time that you can no longer see them in the flesh.

Different though our lives may be all these centuries later, is it possible that our faith might depend on so simple a shared concept, that you can love someone long past the time you can see them in the flesh?  Is it possible that we became so fixated for a while on the Thomas Problem (now that you have seen, you believe) that we missed the original Peter Principle: although you have not seen him, you love him?   I know it seems as if I may be looking for a workaround for Jesus’ clear admonition to Thomas; but I am not sure it’s that simple.  I think the possibility that our faith has to be first founded on love is entirely congruent with Jesus’ own teaching.

And I know that we live in a world in which many people assume that those of us who put our faith in the risen Lord Jesus are either misguided or delusional, and probably both.  And in such a world, I am not sure you get very far if you only hear Jesus say “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”  I’m not sure there really is any counter-argument to the possibility that Christians in the twenty-first century are misguided or delusional that doesn’t begin with love.  You can’t just make a few quips about artificial intelligence and assume that you have dispensed with the question of whether or not the resurrection is for real.

As far as I’m concerned, there are plenty of misguided and delusional people calling themselves Christians, and touting their beliefs.  What makes me wonder about them is what happened to their love?

Thomas loved Jesus, of that we need have little doubt.  It wasn’t his failure to love Jesus that got in the way of believing.  What he lost sight of was the possibility that he could rely on that love to be a marker for the truth that Jesus really was risen from the dead.

And if the risen Jesus is going to be known by the world in our own day and age, then I suppose that the very same thing must be true for us: love will be the surest marker for the truth that Jesus really is risen from the dead.  And if we have a gospel to proclaim on this day that we remember old Doubting Thomas, maybe we need to hear it through Peter first: Although you have not seen him, you love him.

Having learned to love Jesus - which is to say that we have learned to love all that Jesus does in the world, and especially to love Jesus in the ways we encounter him in other people - having learned to love Jesus, even though we do not see him, now we believe in him and rejoice!

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
16 April 2023
Saint Mark’s Church, Locust Street, Philadelphia