In twenty days, we will have finished our 50th Year as a Parish. We can now only imagine that Living Room where twelve devout men gathered to plan a parish for their families then, and ultimately, for us now, for our descendants and successors in the future, those Faithful anticipated by the Psalmist when he imagined "the generations to come and the children yet unborn". (Psalm 78:6)

We can however, catch a genuine photographic glimpse of the very first of the three churches in which this parish has worshipped. We have our best documentation of the second building, but we do have one grainy picture of the first, which I displayed this Sunday, as our countdown to the Jubilee gathers speed and grace.

How different the two settings for the parish life and liturgy, then and now, that tiny cramped place and this spacious open space. And how different all the rest as well, the Mass itself, the ministries permitted and celebrated, the growth in that unfolding divine truth our Lord promised as he assured his followers that a Holy Spirit would be given to lead them into more and more truth, indeed, "into all truth". So much has changed since then, is changing still, and will change in the years ahead. Our whole Episcopal Church may be no more identical to what it was then, than those first and second and third buildings of our parish were to each other. Indeed, even our much beloved name itself changed from those first days, when we were founded as the Anglican Mission of the Holy Cross, until Bishop Kinsolving himself asked for it to be "St Mary's Church" instead. A tiny remnant of that first name is left and now preserved in the name of our precious little chapel, the Chapel of the Holy Cross.

Yes, surely so much has changed, so, so much - lifting the hopes of some, troubling the spirits of others. But all of that change - in parish, neighborhood, National Church, in the world itself - all of that breathtaking change pales into insignificance in comparison with what is not changing and never will - "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever" as Scripture declares. (Hebrews 13:8)

In my twenty-nine years as a priest, I have never taken any liturgical notice of Columbus Day, much less the Solemn Eve of Columbus Day, but I did remember that it is tomorrow, and that brought to mind a passage that once intrigued me, and I managed to dig it out. The Introduction to the great historian Samuel Eliot Morison's biography of Christopher Columbus: Admiral of the Ocean Sea. A dazzling insight and one perhaps very apt for our own time - a description that just might have something to say to those of us who have a timid heart and a troubled spirit in 2006.

"In 1492", Morison writes, "men were exceedingly gloomy about the future. Christian civilization was shrinking and dividing into hostile units. For over a century there had been no important advance in natural science, registration in universities was shrinking and the instruction they offered became increasingly lifeless. Institutions were decaying, people were growing cynical or depressed, Islam was expanding at the expense of Christianity. The Church had become corrupt, any reform within the Church was being increasingly suppressed. and the Church was losing all moral leadership. A book of the time, The Nuremberg Chronicle, ended with: "Conditions have become so abominable that no man can lead a good life."

And then, then, a tiny ship, the Nina, which had set out earlier with the Pinta and the Santa Maria, sailed into Lisbon harbor with news of a discovery, a new world that had been sighted. And so far, seen only by a few. Morison goes on in an understated but thrilling way: "In a few years we find the mental picture completely changed, strong leaders are stanmpming out renbellions and conspiracies, the Church, purged and chastened by the Reformation has put her house in good order, faith in God revives and the human spirit is renewed. The change is compelte and astounding - men are no longer sighing after a golden age that lay long in the past, but eagerly speculating as to the golden age that lies in the coming future."

A small boat had sailed into harbor, with news of a discovery, a new world. What small boat is sailing toward us even now, as we doubtless share some of the worry and fear, the sadness and despair, of those men in 1492, with an equal worry about our poor world, and how so much seems only to be getting worse, not better. A new little Nina is coming toward us, God willing, and I do believe with all my heart and soul that God is indeed willing, willing and able, and even now doing a mighty thing.

We will look with reverence and gratitude at the golden past of the last fifty golden years. But not as the men of 1492 did, who had no imagination, no confidence that something might be about to redeem their world, make it new and fresh and grand and hopeful once again, with the Church renewed and people's faith revived, with the state made strong and safe again, and life filled with hope and excitement and wonder.

At the end of this month we will remember all that God has done for us here, and it will not bring sadness or nostalgia or wistfulness for those good days of the dear old Eisenhower years and the bright, ruined promise of the early Kennedy years. We will remember and rejoice in all of that, and look with confidence to some Nina which we cannot expect or imagine, and we will look with greater more secure confidence to a God whose grace and mercy, compassion and love we know, but also can hardly imagine, fathom, or understand. We simply believe with gathering strength and building faith, that the future is in his hands, and in that future we do expect to soon see a little boat, guided by God, bringing word of new discoveries new worlds, new ways, new hopes, new dreams - and we too, in our turn, will begin to speculate in wonder and hope, in faith and grace, about the golden age in the years to come, safe and secure in God's hands and in his love.