“If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him – that she is a sinner.” What is a prophet? What do you think a prophet is? More to the point, what did Simon think a prophet was? He was a Pharisee, steeped in the Mosaic Law. He wanted fervently to be a good and faithful Jew. Thus, he was especially concerned with keeping himself free of ritual defilement and with observing as many of Moses’s 613 commandments as possible. Simon surely also knew his Scripture. He might have been skeptical of Jesus’ teachings, but he surely also knew that a prophet is much more than someone who knows who is touching him. Of course, Jesus did not need to be a prophet to know that the woman touching him was an outcast of society. He could see how she sneaked into the house through the back door. He could see how the pious men drew back from her to avoid her touch. And he could see how she flung herself at his feet and began to weep.
So what is a prophet, and what could it mean to think that someone might be a prophet? From your own hearing of Scripture, you know that a prophet is not someone who foretells the future. Purporting to read the future is fortune-telling not prophecy. Our word “prophet” comes from the Greek prophetes, which means someone who speaks God’s word intelligibly (as opposed to speaking in tongues or some other unintelligible language), or someone who has insight into the divine mind. In Hebrew, the word for prophet is navi, i.e., “someone who is called.” We can relate to that: think of some of the call stories in the Old Testament: Samuel being called as a boy, while lying beside the sleeping old Eli; Isaiah in the temple having his lips cleansed with a live coal and being sent out to proclaim God’s message; Jeremiah hearing God’s call and protesting, “But I am only a boy.” Along with the other prophets, all were called to speak for God and to act as God’s intermediary with the people.
Our lections today give us two powerful examples of prophets who spoke for God, Nathan in our first lesson, and Jesus in our Gospel lesson. In the Hebrew Bible the writings of the prophets were collected and edited over many centuries. All of them spoke to particular times, places, and issues. Yet their words were deemed universal enough to be worth preserving for succeeding generations. The earlier prophets tended to be private counselors to kings. Most of the later prophets, prophets like Amos, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Micah, and others, proclaimed their words publicly. They were often in conflict with the rulers, often speaking against injustice and for the poor and the outcast.
Nathan was one of the earlier prophets. As such, he was a private counselor to King David. David has committed adultery with Bathsheba. To cover up Bathsheba’s pregnancy, David has sent her husband Uriah to his death at the front lines. Enter Nathan. Speaking for God, Nathan calls David to account. By means of a poignant parable, he enables David to see how wrongly he has acted, and how deeply he has transgressed God’s law. Unlike Simon in our Gospel story, David readily admits his guilt. Nathan continues to speak for God as he pronounces God’s forgiveness. Even so, he reminds David that, even with God’s forgiveness, he may not be able to escape the consequences of his sin. As the story plays out, the illegitimately conceived child dies, while David’s taking Bathsheba as his wife causes turmoil in the rest of David’s family.
Our Gospel lesson reminds us that Jesus’ prophetic role is a continuing motif in Luke’s gospel. In Luke’s Jesus, we especially come to understand that Jesus is a prophet in the later tradition, i.e., he is one who speaks for God through public proclamation. More important, Jesus is a prophet who is especially called to speak truth to power, i.e., to speak God’s word to the powerful on behalf of the powerless. In the scene before us, Jesus clearly knows who this woman is. Luke gives her no name, nor does he identify her sin. There is no evidence that she is a prostitute, although later tradition has read that into the story. In that society, her sin could be anything. She could be living with someone without marriage. Clearly she was wealthy enough to afford an alabaster jar of costly ointment, so perhaps she was an unscrupulous businesswoman. Perhaps she cooperated with Roman authorities. Whatever her sin is, it is well enough known for the polite guests at Simon’s dinner party to be scandalized not only by her appearance, but by what she does to Jesus. Only Jesus is not scandalized. Speaking for God, in response to her courageous gesture of repentance and deep love, Jesus proclaims that her sins are forgiven. Actually, through his parable, Jesus proclaims that Simon’s sins are also forgiven. Indeed, Jesus proclaims God’s acceptance of all who throw themselves on God’s mercy. Whether one is repenting sins of pride and arrogance, as Simon might, or whether one is repenting other transgressions of God’s law, as the woman presumably does, all debts are forgiven for those who acknowledge their need for God’s forgiveness.
Who are the prophets in our time? Who speaks for God now? Jesus was the prophet par excellence. But did prophecy cease when Jesus was nailed to the cross? If prophets are called to reach out to outcasts, as Jesus did with the woman in our story, if prophets are called to speak to the powerful on behalf of the powerless, then prophecy is still very much alive in our time. It’s not hard to think of those who were directly called by God to the prophetic role. Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, and Abraham Joshua Heschel, who was a prominent scholar of the Hebrew Bible, frequently testified to the connection between their faith and their commitment to the Civil Rights movement. Since the 1970s, feminist theologians have argued passionately for the full inclusion of woman and other marginalized people in the leadership of the church. In this century, Diana Butler Bass, Brian McLaren, Rob Bell, and others are calling us to look again at how we view God, how, how we care for the poor, and how we relate to other faith communities.
However, I’d like to share with you a story from the middle of the last century that demonstrates the way that those with only modest social standing can speak and act for the powerless. In the late 1930s, as Nazi tanks were rumbling across Europe, André and Magda Trocmé were living in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon in south-central France. André was a pastor in the French Protestant Church, who had been assigned to a small obscure parish because of his pacifist views and anti-Nazi preaching. In 1938, he and the Reverend Edouard Theis founded the Collège Lycée International Cévenol in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. The lycée was initially founded to prepare rural students for university entrance. However, it soon became a home for Jewish refugee students who were flooding into France.
After France fell to the Nazis in 1940, André and Magda became part of a wide network that rescued Jews fleeing the Nazi Final Solution. Trocmé and other area ministers encouraged their congregations to shelter "the people of the Bible". Through Trocmé’s advocacy, the area around Le Chambon became a unique haven in Nazi-occupied France. Inspired by their faith, the Trocmés established "safe houses" where refugees fleeing the Nazis could hide. The Trocmés and other families enabled many refugees to escape to Switzerland following an underground railroad network. Along with the rest of the village, they took in under false names children whose parents had been sent to concentration camps. Trocmé himself spoke truth to power. "We do not know what a Jew is. We only know men," he said when asked by the Vichy authorities to produce a list of the Jews in the town. In 1942, Vichy gendarmes came into town to locate "illegal" aliens. Fearing his own imminent arrest, Trocmé urged his parishioners to "do the will of God, not of men". He reminded them of Deuteronomy 19:2–10, a passage calling the Israelites to give shelter to those who are persecuted. Fortunately, the gendarmes left the village without any “illegals.” Trocmé was eventually arrested in 1943. He was released after only four weeks. He went underground and continued his rescue work until the end of the war. Because of his leadership, about 3500 Jewish refugees were saved by the small village of Le Chambon and the communities on the surrounding plateau, as he and people like him refused to give in to Nazi rule
In January 1971, the Holocaust memorial center in Israel, Yad Vashem, recognized André as Righteous among the Nations. In July 1986, Magda Trocmé was also recognized. Several years later, Yad Vashem honored the work of the village of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon and the neighboring communities. Today, the Plateau Vivarais-Lignon and Le Chambon-sur-Lignon have become symbols of the rescue of Jews in France during World War II.
“If this man were a prophet….” Who speaks the prophetic word for you? Is it one of the prophets of the Hebrew Bible? Is it Jesus? Is it a contemporary prophet? As one of Jesus’ followers, to whom might you speak the prophetic word?
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Who Are the Widows?
What do you do when you see a funeral procession? The Ohio Revised Code requires the cars in a procession to have their headlights on and carry purple or orange identifying pennants. The ORC allows the procession to travel through intersections regardless of stoplights and requires the rest of us to yield to the procession. So what do you do when you see one of these processions, or when you wait on the other side of the intersection while the procession crawls through? Do you fret and fume, “Just my luck to get stopped by this?” Do you say, “I wonder who that is?” If I can remember to do so, when I see a funeral procession, I offer up a prayer for the soul of the deceased and ask God to comfort his or her family and friends.
In this country, we put the dead away in coffins and hearses, while the mourners hide themselves from passersby in their cars. In India, in contrast, you could often see shrouded bodies being borne on handcarts along the streets, the Hindu dead to the riverside cremation grounds and the Muslim and Christian dead to their respective cemeteries. Whichever faith community, lines of chanting or wailing mourners would walk behind the carts. Oxcarts, bicycles, trucks, country busses, and cars would grind to a halt, while pedestrians respectfully acknowledged the dead person’s family. Those Indian funeral processions came to mind as I confronted today’s Gospel story. Can you picture all those people clogging the narrow streets of Nain? There’s Jesus followed not only by his disciples but also by a large crowd of curious wannabes. Coming towards him is the bier with the dead man, the grieving mother, clearly a widow, and the large crowd of mourners. For a few seconds time stops as the two crowds face each other.
This is the second of a pair of stories of unexpected healing. We heard the first one last week, in the story of the sympathetic centurion who sought Jesus’ help through religious leaders and friends. Actually, much of Luke’s Gospel presents us with the unexpected. Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she would bear God’s Son, Mary’s hymn of praise in Elizabeth’s house, and Jesus’ first sermon in Nazareth all hint that God is doing a new thing.
Now surrounded by the crowds, Jesus does something totally unexpected. As the chattering of his disciples and the wailing of the mourners dies out, Jesus stops the funeral procession. He sees the mute and grieving widow, and he has “compassion for her.” Without having to be told, Jesus understands the desperate straits this widow is now in. Already without the support a husband would have provided, and now deprived of the safety and support that her son would have provided, this woman now has absolutely no livelihood. Without handouts from grudging relatives or struggling friends, she is herself in danger of dying. No wonder the Hebrew prophets – whose writings Jesus would have known well – constantly shouted out that care for the “widows and orphans” was a mark of the nation’s holiness, a reflection of the nation’s mercy and justice.
As the onlookers on both sides hold their breaths, without being told, without even being asked by the widow, Jesus does something else unexpected. Risking ritual defilement by touching a corpse he touches the dead man and calls him back to life. In so doing, not only has he resuscitated the dead man, but, what is much more important, he has restored the widow to life, to the prospect of having the support of a son and her proper place in society.
What are we, as Luke’s readers and hearers, to make of this story? We hear the answer in the reaction of the crowds – on both sides. At first struck dumb with holy fear and awe, the people then realize that they are in the presence of a great prophet. Shouting, “God has looked favorably on his people,” they acknowledge that God has begun to fulfill God’s promises, and that their world has begun to change. God has come to God’s people. The Kingdom of God has broken into this world in Jesus, who is both prophet and king, who is God’s anointed one. Most important, we hear this: God comes first and most mightily to those on the margins of society. God has compassion on those who are discarded and despised by polite society. God does not come first to the rich and powerful. God does not come first to us respectable and pious middle class folks. God does not come first to the scion of a patriarchal house or the beautiful, jet-setting entertainer. God comes first to those who are desperate, to the poor, the prostitutes, the tax collectors, the least, the lost, and the left behind. Make no mistake. Luke’s message throughout the Gospel is this: we see God most powerfully at work – and others can see God most powerfully at work through us – when the needs of the most neglected and vulnerable people among us are being met.
Which leads me to ask myself who are the neglected “widows” among us? Certainly, there are still many parts of the world where the situation of widows is scarcely better than it was in Jesus’ time. Traditionally among Hindus in India – and probably still in many places – widows were expected to dress in plain white clothes – the color of mourning – for the rest of their lives, wear no jewelry, eat once a day if that, and spend their days in prayer, secluded in their husband’s family’s houses. In Italy, Greece, and other parts of the Mediterranean world, you can still see older women, widows presumably, dressed all in black.
But you don’t have to go to South Asia or Europe to find women in desperate straits. In this week’s very issue of the Christian Century, in an article entitled, “Poor and Unwanted,” Amy Frykholm describes the work of sociologist Susan Crawford Sullivan.1 For a recent book entitled Living Faith: Everyday Religion and Mothers in Poverty, Sullivan interviewed a diverse group of poor women, asking them about the challenges of raising children, working, and getting by on a meager income. Although many had strong religious beliefs, they seldom went to church. How come? The simple answer, Sullivan found, was that they felt “unwanted.” If they did venture into a church, they felt looked down on because they smoked, or they didn’t have the right clothes. Some were ashamed of being on Medicaid or using food stamps. Some had been in jail – most for using drugs – and were sure no church would welcome them as felons. And truth be told, many church members, though good-hearted people, didn’t quite know how to relate to women living at the poverty level. Speaking to pastors, Sullivan tells the story of “Rebecca.” A religious woman, Rebecca lived in a shelter. She was dependent on public transportation – such as it was. She prayed and read the Bible. On the few occasions when she went to church, she knew she didn’t fit in. Without a family and permanent home, she had no community, and the churches seemingly had no way of helping her to find one. Sullivan wonders: is there a better way?
I don’t have an answer to Sullivan’s question. However, I myself recently had an experience that perhaps is pointing me towards an answer. As part of my Wellstreams program, this past semester I’ve had a class on the practice of prayer, which was an introduction to all different kinds of prayer. The best part of the class was the requirement to actually practice every day for the two weeks until the next class the form of prayer learned in a session. One week the topic was prayer on the outer limits, i.e., praying for those on the margins of society. As part of the class, we went to actual places in Columbus where people were ministering to those in need. I went to a recovery meeting in a Methodist church. The meeting began with a hot dinner. The clientele looked like most of the folks who come to Loaves and Fishes. I took my dinner to one of the tables, told the other diners my first name, and learned their first names. One woman and a couple of the men shared their stories with me. During the recovery meeting, they all shared something with the larger group, either something for which they were thankful or something for which they needed prayer. As part of my prayer practice for the next week, I prayed intentionally for all the people at my table. In one way, it felt odd to pray for them, since I didn’t know much about them besides their names, and obviously I was in no position to materially help them. Indeed, I ran the risk of doing what the writer of the Letter of James warns against: “If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?” (2:15-16). Even so, it felt important to pray for them. And it’s possible that I was one of the few people in their lives actively praying for them. Would any of those folks have felt welcome here at St. Peter’s? I don’t know.
If God truly comes first to those on the margins of society, if Jesus ministered first to widows, prostitutes, and task collectors, as his disciples where are we? Are we out there with him? If not, why not?
1. 130, 12, June 12, 2013, 10-11.
In this country, we put the dead away in coffins and hearses, while the mourners hide themselves from passersby in their cars. In India, in contrast, you could often see shrouded bodies being borne on handcarts along the streets, the Hindu dead to the riverside cremation grounds and the Muslim and Christian dead to their respective cemeteries. Whichever faith community, lines of chanting or wailing mourners would walk behind the carts. Oxcarts, bicycles, trucks, country busses, and cars would grind to a halt, while pedestrians respectfully acknowledged the dead person’s family. Those Indian funeral processions came to mind as I confronted today’s Gospel story. Can you picture all those people clogging the narrow streets of Nain? There’s Jesus followed not only by his disciples but also by a large crowd of curious wannabes. Coming towards him is the bier with the dead man, the grieving mother, clearly a widow, and the large crowd of mourners. For a few seconds time stops as the two crowds face each other.
This is the second of a pair of stories of unexpected healing. We heard the first one last week, in the story of the sympathetic centurion who sought Jesus’ help through religious leaders and friends. Actually, much of Luke’s Gospel presents us with the unexpected. Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she would bear God’s Son, Mary’s hymn of praise in Elizabeth’s house, and Jesus’ first sermon in Nazareth all hint that God is doing a new thing.
Now surrounded by the crowds, Jesus does something totally unexpected. As the chattering of his disciples and the wailing of the mourners dies out, Jesus stops the funeral procession. He sees the mute and grieving widow, and he has “compassion for her.” Without having to be told, Jesus understands the desperate straits this widow is now in. Already without the support a husband would have provided, and now deprived of the safety and support that her son would have provided, this woman now has absolutely no livelihood. Without handouts from grudging relatives or struggling friends, she is herself in danger of dying. No wonder the Hebrew prophets – whose writings Jesus would have known well – constantly shouted out that care for the “widows and orphans” was a mark of the nation’s holiness, a reflection of the nation’s mercy and justice.
As the onlookers on both sides hold their breaths, without being told, without even being asked by the widow, Jesus does something else unexpected. Risking ritual defilement by touching a corpse he touches the dead man and calls him back to life. In so doing, not only has he resuscitated the dead man, but, what is much more important, he has restored the widow to life, to the prospect of having the support of a son and her proper place in society.
What are we, as Luke’s readers and hearers, to make of this story? We hear the answer in the reaction of the crowds – on both sides. At first struck dumb with holy fear and awe, the people then realize that they are in the presence of a great prophet. Shouting, “God has looked favorably on his people,” they acknowledge that God has begun to fulfill God’s promises, and that their world has begun to change. God has come to God’s people. The Kingdom of God has broken into this world in Jesus, who is both prophet and king, who is God’s anointed one. Most important, we hear this: God comes first and most mightily to those on the margins of society. God has compassion on those who are discarded and despised by polite society. God does not come first to the rich and powerful. God does not come first to us respectable and pious middle class folks. God does not come first to the scion of a patriarchal house or the beautiful, jet-setting entertainer. God comes first to those who are desperate, to the poor, the prostitutes, the tax collectors, the least, the lost, and the left behind. Make no mistake. Luke’s message throughout the Gospel is this: we see God most powerfully at work – and others can see God most powerfully at work through us – when the needs of the most neglected and vulnerable people among us are being met.
Which leads me to ask myself who are the neglected “widows” among us? Certainly, there are still many parts of the world where the situation of widows is scarcely better than it was in Jesus’ time. Traditionally among Hindus in India – and probably still in many places – widows were expected to dress in plain white clothes – the color of mourning – for the rest of their lives, wear no jewelry, eat once a day if that, and spend their days in prayer, secluded in their husband’s family’s houses. In Italy, Greece, and other parts of the Mediterranean world, you can still see older women, widows presumably, dressed all in black.
But you don’t have to go to South Asia or Europe to find women in desperate straits. In this week’s very issue of the Christian Century, in an article entitled, “Poor and Unwanted,” Amy Frykholm describes the work of sociologist Susan Crawford Sullivan.1 For a recent book entitled Living Faith: Everyday Religion and Mothers in Poverty, Sullivan interviewed a diverse group of poor women, asking them about the challenges of raising children, working, and getting by on a meager income. Although many had strong religious beliefs, they seldom went to church. How come? The simple answer, Sullivan found, was that they felt “unwanted.” If they did venture into a church, they felt looked down on because they smoked, or they didn’t have the right clothes. Some were ashamed of being on Medicaid or using food stamps. Some had been in jail – most for using drugs – and were sure no church would welcome them as felons. And truth be told, many church members, though good-hearted people, didn’t quite know how to relate to women living at the poverty level. Speaking to pastors, Sullivan tells the story of “Rebecca.” A religious woman, Rebecca lived in a shelter. She was dependent on public transportation – such as it was. She prayed and read the Bible. On the few occasions when she went to church, she knew she didn’t fit in. Without a family and permanent home, she had no community, and the churches seemingly had no way of helping her to find one. Sullivan wonders: is there a better way?
I don’t have an answer to Sullivan’s question. However, I myself recently had an experience that perhaps is pointing me towards an answer. As part of my Wellstreams program, this past semester I’ve had a class on the practice of prayer, which was an introduction to all different kinds of prayer. The best part of the class was the requirement to actually practice every day for the two weeks until the next class the form of prayer learned in a session. One week the topic was prayer on the outer limits, i.e., praying for those on the margins of society. As part of the class, we went to actual places in Columbus where people were ministering to those in need. I went to a recovery meeting in a Methodist church. The meeting began with a hot dinner. The clientele looked like most of the folks who come to Loaves and Fishes. I took my dinner to one of the tables, told the other diners my first name, and learned their first names. One woman and a couple of the men shared their stories with me. During the recovery meeting, they all shared something with the larger group, either something for which they were thankful or something for which they needed prayer. As part of my prayer practice for the next week, I prayed intentionally for all the people at my table. In one way, it felt odd to pray for them, since I didn’t know much about them besides their names, and obviously I was in no position to materially help them. Indeed, I ran the risk of doing what the writer of the Letter of James warns against: “If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?” (2:15-16). Even so, it felt important to pray for them. And it’s possible that I was one of the few people in their lives actively praying for them. Would any of those folks have felt welcome here at St. Peter’s? I don’t know.
If God truly comes first to those on the margins of society, if Jesus ministered first to widows, prostitutes, and task collectors, as his disciples where are we? Are we out there with him? If not, why not?
1. 130, 12, June 12, 2013, 10-11.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Web of Faith
It was August, 2004. Ray Johnston lay in a coma in Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas.1 Ray had always loved basketball. In 1999 he had lettered as a walk-on point guard at the University of Alabama. However, his college basketball career ended after that first season. He went on to graduate with a degree in marketing and landed a job with a mortgage company in Dallas. In Dallas he played a lot of pick-up and, through a friend, even managed to play a summer season with the Dallas Mavericks. On August 26, 2004 a collision with another player left him with a painfully swollen leg that landed him in the hospital. By the time medical personnel diagnosed him with acute promyelocytic leukemia, a rare form of cancer, Ray’s lungs were filled with fluid, his kidneys had failed, and he was in a coma. However, when doctors told Ray’s mother that his chance of survival was one in a million, she defiantly replied, “Then you’re looking at the one that’s gonna make it.”
Ray stayed in a coma for the next ten weeks. His mother stayed by his side. Friends sent out calls: “Pray for Ray,” and congregations in Dallas and Alabama responded. Other friends vowed to forgo shaving until Ray woke up. Finally, the prayers hit their mark: on the 70th day Ray woke up. Two weeks later, Ray left the hospital with no visible brain damage and a treatment plan for the leukemia. Once in remission, Ray went on to found the Ray Johnston band and began touring the country telling his story. Ray’s cancer recurred in 2009. Through the use of an experimental drug, he is once again in remission. At thirty-four, Ray has big plans for the band, but he’s also happy to just be “smiling and breathing.”2 Is Ray Johnston’s continued survival a “miracle?” Of course it is, it’s a miracle that medical science and the prayers of all those who love Ray Johnston have helped bring about.
And it’s a miracle that would not have surprised the community who first heard Luke’s gospel. We have returned to Luke, which will give us our gospel readings from now through the end of the liturgical year. Luke’s gospel is distinctive in its emphasis on Jesus’ humanity. As you hear the various readings, try to get a glimpse of the actual man teaching and ministering to those around him. Luke’s gospel also reminds us of the importance of an inclusive community of faith that excludes no one from God’s love.
Today we have heard the first of two stories of unexpected healing, stories that are actually meant to be heard together. (When you hear the story next week of the healing of the son of the widow of Nain, I’ll remind you of what you’ve heard today.) Following his first sermon in Nazareth, his ministry in Capernaum, and his “sermon on the plain,” Luke’s parallel to the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus has returned to Capernaum, where today’s story begins.
Perhaps you noticed something surprising about this story: no one in it is alone. Jesus is surrounded by his disciples, his friends, and the women, mentioned in Luke 8:2, who travelled with the Twelve and “provided for them out of their resources.” More important, the rest of the principal characters, including those we don’t see, are also part of a web of human relationships. The invisible ill slave is a valued member of the centurion’s household. We may shy away from confronting the ancient world’s institution of slavery, conveniently forgetting, of course, how similar the modern-day scourge of human trafficking is. Unquestionably, the slave has economic value. Even so, perhaps there is also enough of a human connection between this servant and his master for the centurion, a gentile, to dare to ask the famous rabbi to heal the slave.
The centurion himself is part of a social web, of the hated Romans who ruled over Israel. As a gentile, he has no obligations to the Jews around him, all of whom must submit to their Roman masters. However, the centurion surprisingly seems to also be embedded in a web of faith, as the Jewish leaders explain, when they rationalize their bringing his need to Jesus’ attention. Perhaps the centurion was a “God-fearer,” a gentile who was attracted to Judaism because of its monotheism but was prevented by the requirement of circumcision from converting. Clearly, as the leaders stress, he was a benefactor of the local Jewish community: he “loves our people,” and he even built a synagogue. The centurion is sensitive to the realities of relations between Jews and gentiles. Anticipating Jesus’ reluctance to interact directly with a gentile, he lets the delegation of religious leaders press his case. The centurion is also part of a web of “friends,” who convey to Jesus the centurion’s wish to avoid embarrassing Jesus by forcing him to decide whether or not to risk ritual pollution by entering the centurion’s house. Finally, as the friends’ report so eloquently conveys, the centurion is also embedded in the community of those who recognize Jesus’ authority. Comparing himself with those who are under him, the centurion implicitly recognizes himself as one of those who are under Jesus, and who ultimately must seek Jesus’ favor.
It’s a challenging story. Of course, the gospel always challenges us to ask whether we are under Jesus’ authority, and whether our faith has any impact on the rest of our lives. But this story of the invisible centurion challenges us in another way: it challenges our contemporary perception that faith is a solitary endeavor. Ever since the Reformation, Christians have, for better and for worse, believed in their own ability to understand Scripture, theology, and Christian practice, irrespective of the teachings of a community. Where disagreements occurred, people have simply gone their separate ways. Witness the proliferation of denominations! In our own culture of extreme individualism, we are convinced that faith is personal and private. We “shop” for a church, we hesitate to commit ourselves to a particular community, and we don’t hesitate to leave one faith community for another when the minister or some other aspect of the community does not please us. We shy away from offering each other or receiving from each other pastoral care or spiritual guidance. Perhaps we even hesitate to pray for each other – or to let others know that we are praying for them!
That is not the life that we are called to live as Jesus’ disciples. As Ray Johnston’s story and the centurion’s story remind us, we are – or should be – embedded in a web of faith. As baptized members of Christ’s Body, we too are – or should be – members of a community that supports all its member, a community whose members willingly offer and receive help from one another and offer pastoral and spiritual care to one another. We are – or should be – a community of faith that together reaches out to serve others – even those on the margins of society, even today’s equivalents of slaves, gentiles, prostitutes, or hated tax collectors, even those whom we might not consider “worthy” of God’s love.
How might we begin doing that? I’d like to propose three possibilities. The first is that we continue to pray for those who need our prayers, especially for those who are sick. Perhaps those who have requested our prayers might make sure the rest of us know why. For example, we are currently praying for the wife of our web master. He sends me periodic updates on her condition. Right now, she does not have a clear diagnosis. Secondly, I suggest that we become more intentional about offering pastoral care. We have several members of this parish whose physical limitations, temporary or permanent, prevent them from worshipping with us. We have talked about visiting shut-ins, possibly even those in nursing homes. We have licensed Eucharistic visitors. I can always train more. Can we form perhaps a committee, or a team, that will take responsibility for helping to coordinate pastoral care?
Third, our physical plant is a great gift to the community. As most of you know, “anonymous” groups meet here almost every day. Other groups also use our facilities. Some time back, we had talked about becoming a disaster relief center. The tragedy in Moore, Oklahoma reminds us yet again how much such a facility might be needed. Parishes have responded to disasters like the one in Moore through immediate pastoral care, longer-term rebuilding efforts, and the gifts of prayer and financial support. Recently, our diocese began a relationship with the Lutheran Disaster Response of Ohio. Mary Woodward is now the Disaster Coordinator not only for the Lutheran Church (through Lutheran Social Services of Central Ohio) but also for our diocese as well. Our bishop has expressed the hope that we have at least one person in every congregation trained by Woodward to serve as a volunteer at the time of disaster. Who among you might be willing to pursue this possibility with me? During last summer’s derecho, could our building have been used by those who had lost power? Might it be available in a coming disaster?
We are not isolated dots. We are part of a web of faith. A lived faith is one that is truly part of a community, a community that supports its members and that together reaches out to the rest of the world. With God’s help, and with the prayers of the faithful, St. Peter’s can be such a community.
1. Based on “Ray of Hope,” Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Lima OH: CSS, 2006), 108-10.
2. http://abcnews.go.com/Health/CancerPreventionAndTreatment/experimental-drug-maverick-shot/story?id=13668311#.UaecB5z4ItA (accessed May 30, 2013).
Ray stayed in a coma for the next ten weeks. His mother stayed by his side. Friends sent out calls: “Pray for Ray,” and congregations in Dallas and Alabama responded. Other friends vowed to forgo shaving until Ray woke up. Finally, the prayers hit their mark: on the 70th day Ray woke up. Two weeks later, Ray left the hospital with no visible brain damage and a treatment plan for the leukemia. Once in remission, Ray went on to found the Ray Johnston band and began touring the country telling his story. Ray’s cancer recurred in 2009. Through the use of an experimental drug, he is once again in remission. At thirty-four, Ray has big plans for the band, but he’s also happy to just be “smiling and breathing.”2 Is Ray Johnston’s continued survival a “miracle?” Of course it is, it’s a miracle that medical science and the prayers of all those who love Ray Johnston have helped bring about.
And it’s a miracle that would not have surprised the community who first heard Luke’s gospel. We have returned to Luke, which will give us our gospel readings from now through the end of the liturgical year. Luke’s gospel is distinctive in its emphasis on Jesus’ humanity. As you hear the various readings, try to get a glimpse of the actual man teaching and ministering to those around him. Luke’s gospel also reminds us of the importance of an inclusive community of faith that excludes no one from God’s love.
Today we have heard the first of two stories of unexpected healing, stories that are actually meant to be heard together. (When you hear the story next week of the healing of the son of the widow of Nain, I’ll remind you of what you’ve heard today.) Following his first sermon in Nazareth, his ministry in Capernaum, and his “sermon on the plain,” Luke’s parallel to the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus has returned to Capernaum, where today’s story begins.
Perhaps you noticed something surprising about this story: no one in it is alone. Jesus is surrounded by his disciples, his friends, and the women, mentioned in Luke 8:2, who travelled with the Twelve and “provided for them out of their resources.” More important, the rest of the principal characters, including those we don’t see, are also part of a web of human relationships. The invisible ill slave is a valued member of the centurion’s household. We may shy away from confronting the ancient world’s institution of slavery, conveniently forgetting, of course, how similar the modern-day scourge of human trafficking is. Unquestionably, the slave has economic value. Even so, perhaps there is also enough of a human connection between this servant and his master for the centurion, a gentile, to dare to ask the famous rabbi to heal the slave.
The centurion himself is part of a social web, of the hated Romans who ruled over Israel. As a gentile, he has no obligations to the Jews around him, all of whom must submit to their Roman masters. However, the centurion surprisingly seems to also be embedded in a web of faith, as the Jewish leaders explain, when they rationalize their bringing his need to Jesus’ attention. Perhaps the centurion was a “God-fearer,” a gentile who was attracted to Judaism because of its monotheism but was prevented by the requirement of circumcision from converting. Clearly, as the leaders stress, he was a benefactor of the local Jewish community: he “loves our people,” and he even built a synagogue. The centurion is sensitive to the realities of relations between Jews and gentiles. Anticipating Jesus’ reluctance to interact directly with a gentile, he lets the delegation of religious leaders press his case. The centurion is also part of a web of “friends,” who convey to Jesus the centurion’s wish to avoid embarrassing Jesus by forcing him to decide whether or not to risk ritual pollution by entering the centurion’s house. Finally, as the friends’ report so eloquently conveys, the centurion is also embedded in the community of those who recognize Jesus’ authority. Comparing himself with those who are under him, the centurion implicitly recognizes himself as one of those who are under Jesus, and who ultimately must seek Jesus’ favor.
It’s a challenging story. Of course, the gospel always challenges us to ask whether we are under Jesus’ authority, and whether our faith has any impact on the rest of our lives. But this story of the invisible centurion challenges us in another way: it challenges our contemporary perception that faith is a solitary endeavor. Ever since the Reformation, Christians have, for better and for worse, believed in their own ability to understand Scripture, theology, and Christian practice, irrespective of the teachings of a community. Where disagreements occurred, people have simply gone their separate ways. Witness the proliferation of denominations! In our own culture of extreme individualism, we are convinced that faith is personal and private. We “shop” for a church, we hesitate to commit ourselves to a particular community, and we don’t hesitate to leave one faith community for another when the minister or some other aspect of the community does not please us. We shy away from offering each other or receiving from each other pastoral care or spiritual guidance. Perhaps we even hesitate to pray for each other – or to let others know that we are praying for them!
That is not the life that we are called to live as Jesus’ disciples. As Ray Johnston’s story and the centurion’s story remind us, we are – or should be – embedded in a web of faith. As baptized members of Christ’s Body, we too are – or should be – members of a community that supports all its member, a community whose members willingly offer and receive help from one another and offer pastoral and spiritual care to one another. We are – or should be – a community of faith that together reaches out to serve others – even those on the margins of society, even today’s equivalents of slaves, gentiles, prostitutes, or hated tax collectors, even those whom we might not consider “worthy” of God’s love.
How might we begin doing that? I’d like to propose three possibilities. The first is that we continue to pray for those who need our prayers, especially for those who are sick. Perhaps those who have requested our prayers might make sure the rest of us know why. For example, we are currently praying for the wife of our web master. He sends me periodic updates on her condition. Right now, she does not have a clear diagnosis. Secondly, I suggest that we become more intentional about offering pastoral care. We have several members of this parish whose physical limitations, temporary or permanent, prevent them from worshipping with us. We have talked about visiting shut-ins, possibly even those in nursing homes. We have licensed Eucharistic visitors. I can always train more. Can we form perhaps a committee, or a team, that will take responsibility for helping to coordinate pastoral care?
Third, our physical plant is a great gift to the community. As most of you know, “anonymous” groups meet here almost every day. Other groups also use our facilities. Some time back, we had talked about becoming a disaster relief center. The tragedy in Moore, Oklahoma reminds us yet again how much such a facility might be needed. Parishes have responded to disasters like the one in Moore through immediate pastoral care, longer-term rebuilding efforts, and the gifts of prayer and financial support. Recently, our diocese began a relationship with the Lutheran Disaster Response of Ohio. Mary Woodward is now the Disaster Coordinator not only for the Lutheran Church (through Lutheran Social Services of Central Ohio) but also for our diocese as well. Our bishop has expressed the hope that we have at least one person in every congregation trained by Woodward to serve as a volunteer at the time of disaster. Who among you might be willing to pursue this possibility with me? During last summer’s derecho, could our building have been used by those who had lost power? Might it be available in a coming disaster?
We are not isolated dots. We are part of a web of faith. A lived faith is one that is truly part of a community, a community that supports its members and that together reaches out to the rest of the world. With God’s help, and with the prayers of the faithful, St. Peter’s can be such a community.
1. Based on “Ray of Hope,” Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Lima OH: CSS, 2006), 108-10.
2. http://abcnews.go.com/Health/CancerPreventionAndTreatment/experimental-drug-maverick-shot/story?id=13668311#.UaecB5z4ItA (accessed May 30, 2013).
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Holy, Holy, Holy
“Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty! Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee: Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty, God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!” What a grand old hymn – one of my favorites for this day. Lutherans sing it, as do Presbyterians and many others. It was written by English priest and missionary bishop Reginald Heber, who was born in 1783 and died in India in 1826. Heber actually wrote more than fifty hymns during his life, of which four others besides this one are in our hymnal, but this one is probably his best known.
But why are we singing this grand old hymn at all? What on earth are we celebrating today? We’re halfway through the church year. In the first half of the year, from Advent to Pentecost, our Sundays mark events in the life of Jesus: his birth, his discovery by gentiles, his baptism, his ministry, his death, his resurrection, and, finally, his gift of the Holy Spirit. Tomorrow we begin the second half of the church year. Episcopalians call this time, “Sundays after Pentecost.” Roman Catholics and others call this “ordinary time.” However we name it, this second half of the year is a time of spiritual growth, a time in which we support each other in strengthening our bonds to God and serving the world.
Today we stand poised between the two halves of our year, celebrating not an event, or even a holy person, but an idea. Today is the only day in the church year when we are asked to pay attention to a paradox, the “mystery of faith”: that the God whom we worship is a Trinity, one God in three “persons.” From the time that the framers of the Nicene Creed agreed on its wording in the fourth century – and maybe even before that – the church has been wrestling with this mystery. The number of treatises and books about the Trinity would fill this sanctuary. I myself spent a semester in seminary reading some of them, but I’m not going to treat you to a learned disquisition on the Trinity – or impress you with all the wonderful Greek words I learned to describe it. I will leave that to the theologians! Of course, even for the most learned theologians, God is still ultimately a mystery. Try as we might to find words to describe our experiences of God, God will always be, in Walter Brueggemann’s phrase, “One who is other than us.”
Even so, we still feel compelled to use this language of “trinity.” After the events of Jesus’ life, after his death and resurrection, and after the coming of the Holy Spirit, Christians began to try to put words to what they had discovered about God through these events. Since Greek was the common language of the early church, they used Greek words to express their new understanding. One of the words they used is translated into English as “person.” Hence, “God in three persons, blessed Trinity.” Now the word “person” is problematic for us, since in modern English, “person” connotes a distinct individual. So, do we believe in three Gods, as some think? Barry Howard suggests that it might be helpful to think about the three ways of experiencing God as three divine roles, rather than distinct personalities.1 He turns to Marcus Borg, who reminds us that the word translated as “person” originally meant a mask, i.e., a mask worn by an actor in a Greek theater that identifies the character that the actor is playing. Thinking about God this way, we realize that we know God in three different ways: as God the Source of All Being, as God the Word made flesh in Jesus, and as God the abiding Spirit. Since God is one personality, one God behind the three masks, these three roles are in complete unity with each other and eternally interact with each other in complete love.
These roles are all analogies to be sure, but perhaps they are not totally incomprehensible to us. God the Source of All Being, is God the Creator, the unknowable origin of all that is, God beyond all gender, beyond all attributes that we can think of, God who gave birth to all creation. This is the God of Genesis and most of the rest of the Hebrew Bible. This is the God who spoke to Moses, whose name could only be rendered as “I Am Who I Am,” or “I Will Be Who I Will Be.” Every culture has a creation story, for we instinctively realize that some other power besides ourselves must be the source of all life. Even scientists, who relentlessly probe the origin of the universe, and who have given us the Big Bang as a plausible explanation, admit that ultimately the source of matter, the source of the laws of the cosmos, and the source of the principle of evolution by which the development of life on earth been guided, is still a mystery.
God the Incarnate Word, God the Word made Flesh, is a little more familiar to us, since, as Christians, our central claim is that God the Word deigned to take human form in Jesus of Nazareth. As all the Gospels assert, and especially the Gospel according to John, which we heard through Eastertide, Jesus is God with skin on. Indeed many of us are so aware of Jesus’ divinity that we often find it hard to reckon with Jesus’ humanity. Next week we return to readings from the Gospel according to Luke. As you hear them, try to remember that the Word made Flesh was truly both, Word and Flesh.
God the Holy Spirit is perhaps the least known to us. Unlike the Eastern Church, the Western Church scarcely mentions the Holy Spirit after the day of Pentecost itself. And yet in some ways it is God the Holy Spirit who is most central to our lives as followers of Jesus. For in essence the Holy Spirit is God within us, inspiring and empowering us in our attempts to live out our faith. The idea of God within us is not something that Christians invented. The Hebrew Bible is full of examples of God’s Spirit at work within either individuals or the community. Here’s just one example: in the midst of exile, the prophet Isaiah reminds his people that, “Though YHWH may give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide from you anymore; your eyes will see your Teacher. And when you turn to the right and when you turn to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way – walk in it’” (30:20-21, The Inclusive Bible).
What Christians discovered after Jesus left them – and here is the really good news – is that Jesus did not leave them alone. They discovered that God the Spirit is now within us, within us as individual disciples of Jesus, and, what is more important, within the community of the followers of Jesus. As Jesus promised his friends after his last meal with them, and as his friends discovered, either on Easter Even or Pentecost, depending on whether you read John or Acts, God the Holy Spirit now resides within the church, within the community of believers. We do not flounder about on our own. Indeed, the Holy Spirit works within us just as Jesus would if he were still physically present to us. The Holy Spirit brings God’s care and compassion for us into our midst. Through the Holy Spirit we come, as individuals and as a body, to deeper understanding of who Jesus is and who we are called to be as his disciples. Sanctification, i.e., perfection in holiness, both for individuals and the church as a body, is still an ongoing process, is still unfinished. God still “has yet more truth to reveal.” It is God the Holy Spirit who continues to guide us, to teach us, to inspire us to do things we never thought possible, and to lead us into an ever-deepening relationship with God.
Are there ways to glimpse the Holy Spirit at work among us? Last week we exuberantly celebrated the Spirit’s power to upend us by wearing red, sporting fancy hats, singing “Happy Birthday” to the church, and being a little bit silly. Yes, the Spirit does call us to joy and energy, to singing, dancing, hugging, shouting, and proclaiming, as she did among Jesus’ first friends. But we can also begin to notice the Spirit at work among us in daily prayer, in being still, in silently listening for the Spirit’s faint notes. This week, take a few minutes in your own prayer to silently reflect on ways you have sensed the Spirit at work in your life. Take a few minutes in silence in church to reflect on how the Spirit has guided the life of this parish.
In the end, we run out of words in the face of the ineffable mystery of God. As we acknowledge our limited understanding of God’s true nature, of the reality and meaning of the Trinity, we can still join hands in the Spirit. We can still draw nearer to God together. We can still grow in our understanding of God’s purposes and strengthen our bonds with each other. We can still cry, “Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty! All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth, and sky, and sea; Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty, God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!”
1. “Reflections on the Lectionary, Christian Century, 130, 10, May 15, 2013, p. 21.
But why are we singing this grand old hymn at all? What on earth are we celebrating today? We’re halfway through the church year. In the first half of the year, from Advent to Pentecost, our Sundays mark events in the life of Jesus: his birth, his discovery by gentiles, his baptism, his ministry, his death, his resurrection, and, finally, his gift of the Holy Spirit. Tomorrow we begin the second half of the church year. Episcopalians call this time, “Sundays after Pentecost.” Roman Catholics and others call this “ordinary time.” However we name it, this second half of the year is a time of spiritual growth, a time in which we support each other in strengthening our bonds to God and serving the world.
Today we stand poised between the two halves of our year, celebrating not an event, or even a holy person, but an idea. Today is the only day in the church year when we are asked to pay attention to a paradox, the “mystery of faith”: that the God whom we worship is a Trinity, one God in three “persons.” From the time that the framers of the Nicene Creed agreed on its wording in the fourth century – and maybe even before that – the church has been wrestling with this mystery. The number of treatises and books about the Trinity would fill this sanctuary. I myself spent a semester in seminary reading some of them, but I’m not going to treat you to a learned disquisition on the Trinity – or impress you with all the wonderful Greek words I learned to describe it. I will leave that to the theologians! Of course, even for the most learned theologians, God is still ultimately a mystery. Try as we might to find words to describe our experiences of God, God will always be, in Walter Brueggemann’s phrase, “One who is other than us.”
Even so, we still feel compelled to use this language of “trinity.” After the events of Jesus’ life, after his death and resurrection, and after the coming of the Holy Spirit, Christians began to try to put words to what they had discovered about God through these events. Since Greek was the common language of the early church, they used Greek words to express their new understanding. One of the words they used is translated into English as “person.” Hence, “God in three persons, blessed Trinity.” Now the word “person” is problematic for us, since in modern English, “person” connotes a distinct individual. So, do we believe in three Gods, as some think? Barry Howard suggests that it might be helpful to think about the three ways of experiencing God as three divine roles, rather than distinct personalities.1 He turns to Marcus Borg, who reminds us that the word translated as “person” originally meant a mask, i.e., a mask worn by an actor in a Greek theater that identifies the character that the actor is playing. Thinking about God this way, we realize that we know God in three different ways: as God the Source of All Being, as God the Word made flesh in Jesus, and as God the abiding Spirit. Since God is one personality, one God behind the three masks, these three roles are in complete unity with each other and eternally interact with each other in complete love.
These roles are all analogies to be sure, but perhaps they are not totally incomprehensible to us. God the Source of All Being, is God the Creator, the unknowable origin of all that is, God beyond all gender, beyond all attributes that we can think of, God who gave birth to all creation. This is the God of Genesis and most of the rest of the Hebrew Bible. This is the God who spoke to Moses, whose name could only be rendered as “I Am Who I Am,” or “I Will Be Who I Will Be.” Every culture has a creation story, for we instinctively realize that some other power besides ourselves must be the source of all life. Even scientists, who relentlessly probe the origin of the universe, and who have given us the Big Bang as a plausible explanation, admit that ultimately the source of matter, the source of the laws of the cosmos, and the source of the principle of evolution by which the development of life on earth been guided, is still a mystery.
God the Incarnate Word, God the Word made Flesh, is a little more familiar to us, since, as Christians, our central claim is that God the Word deigned to take human form in Jesus of Nazareth. As all the Gospels assert, and especially the Gospel according to John, which we heard through Eastertide, Jesus is God with skin on. Indeed many of us are so aware of Jesus’ divinity that we often find it hard to reckon with Jesus’ humanity. Next week we return to readings from the Gospel according to Luke. As you hear them, try to remember that the Word made Flesh was truly both, Word and Flesh.
God the Holy Spirit is perhaps the least known to us. Unlike the Eastern Church, the Western Church scarcely mentions the Holy Spirit after the day of Pentecost itself. And yet in some ways it is God the Holy Spirit who is most central to our lives as followers of Jesus. For in essence the Holy Spirit is God within us, inspiring and empowering us in our attempts to live out our faith. The idea of God within us is not something that Christians invented. The Hebrew Bible is full of examples of God’s Spirit at work within either individuals or the community. Here’s just one example: in the midst of exile, the prophet Isaiah reminds his people that, “Though YHWH may give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide from you anymore; your eyes will see your Teacher. And when you turn to the right and when you turn to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way – walk in it’” (30:20-21, The Inclusive Bible).
What Christians discovered after Jesus left them – and here is the really good news – is that Jesus did not leave them alone. They discovered that God the Spirit is now within us, within us as individual disciples of Jesus, and, what is more important, within the community of the followers of Jesus. As Jesus promised his friends after his last meal with them, and as his friends discovered, either on Easter Even or Pentecost, depending on whether you read John or Acts, God the Holy Spirit now resides within the church, within the community of believers. We do not flounder about on our own. Indeed, the Holy Spirit works within us just as Jesus would if he were still physically present to us. The Holy Spirit brings God’s care and compassion for us into our midst. Through the Holy Spirit we come, as individuals and as a body, to deeper understanding of who Jesus is and who we are called to be as his disciples. Sanctification, i.e., perfection in holiness, both for individuals and the church as a body, is still an ongoing process, is still unfinished. God still “has yet more truth to reveal.” It is God the Holy Spirit who continues to guide us, to teach us, to inspire us to do things we never thought possible, and to lead us into an ever-deepening relationship with God.
Are there ways to glimpse the Holy Spirit at work among us? Last week we exuberantly celebrated the Spirit’s power to upend us by wearing red, sporting fancy hats, singing “Happy Birthday” to the church, and being a little bit silly. Yes, the Spirit does call us to joy and energy, to singing, dancing, hugging, shouting, and proclaiming, as she did among Jesus’ first friends. But we can also begin to notice the Spirit at work among us in daily prayer, in being still, in silently listening for the Spirit’s faint notes. This week, take a few minutes in your own prayer to silently reflect on ways you have sensed the Spirit at work in your life. Take a few minutes in silence in church to reflect on how the Spirit has guided the life of this parish.
In the end, we run out of words in the face of the ineffable mystery of God. As we acknowledge our limited understanding of God’s true nature, of the reality and meaning of the Trinity, we can still join hands in the Spirit. We can still draw nearer to God together. We can still grow in our understanding of God’s purposes and strengthen our bonds with each other. We can still cry, “Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty! All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth, and sky, and sea; Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty, God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!”
1. “Reflections on the Lectionary, Christian Century, 130, 10, May 15, 2013, p. 21.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Come, Holy Spirit
(From the back of the Church) What are you waiting for? Jesus’ disciples were waiting and wondering. What are you waiting for?
There they were, gathered in Jerusalem. There they were, waiting, waiting, patiently waiting. Jesus had told them to wait. Most of them had seen him after he’d been raised from the dead. Some of them had been with him ten days ago, when he was taken up from them, when he’d told them to go back to Jerusalem to wait. Just before leaving them, he’d reminded them that he would send them what the Father had promised them. He reminded them that John had baptized them with water, but that they would be baptized with the Holy Spirit. He told them that they would be his witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. They prayed in the temple, they chose another leader of their group to replace Judas, and they waited. Now it was fifty days after Passover. It was the day of Pentecost, one of the three great Jewish festivals. It was the day when, as Jews, they’d offered the first fruits of their harvest to God, and they’d celebrated God’s gift of the Law, the Torah, on Mt. Sinai. Now they were all together, perhaps 120 of them, the twelve and all those others, some women, some men, some younger, some older. Probably even some kids. Perhaps they were gathered in someone’s courtyard after their temple worship.
They were good Jews who knew their Scripture. They knew about the fire on Mt. Sinai when Moses received the law. Perhaps some of them remembered the other times God came to people in fire: when God sealed the covenant with Abraham; when God spoke to Moses out of the burning bush; when the Pillar of fire led the people through the desert; when the angel purified Isaiah’s lips with a burning coal as God commissioned Isaiah to be a prophet.
Perhaps some others remembered how God came to people as wind: how the east wind sent by God allowed the people to cross the Sea of Reeds from Egypt; how God spoke to Job out of the whirlwind; how Elijah was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind. In their temple worship perhaps they had heard the lector read the passage telling of Ezekiel’s vision of how God commanded the four winds to breathe new life into the dry bones of the house of Israel. And they all knew the psalms. Perhaps they sang the psalm we said today. Perhaps they remembered that God sends forth God’s spirit and creates the entire world, that God continually renews the face of the earth. As they sat there, perhaps they remembered Jesus’ that he had made when he was at dinner with them for the last time, his promise that, because he was going away from them, he would send a Paraclete, a helper, to guide them and lead them into all truth.
And then it happened! They felt something like a great rush of wind. As they looked at each other, they all seemed to be on fire! They knew that God was with them, and that Jesus’ promises had come true. They rushed out of the courtyard and starting addressing the people who had gathered round, people from all over the Jewish Diaspora, who had come to Jerusalem to worship on Pentecost. They were empowered! They were filled with the Holy Spirit! They were out there laughing and dancing, hugging, and singing. They spoke in new languages. They might have been Galileans, but they could talk about God’s mighty acts in Jesus to everyone, whoever they were! And then Peter gave a wonderful sermon, telling how they were all doing what the prophet Joel had promised they would, explaining that it was God’s Spirit through Jesus crucified and risen who was empowering them. After it was all over, 3,000 people believed Peter and were baptized!
Could such an event happen again? Did it ever happen again? It did, believe it! The Holy Spirit was there when St Francis heard Jesus’ command to rebuild his church, and when Julian had her visions, lying, as she thought, mortally ill. Don’t you think the Holy Spirit was there when John Wesley felt his heart “strangely warmed” at the Aldersgate meeting? The Holy Spirit was certainly present to Zilpha Elaw, an African American Methodist preacher. Zilpha was 27 when the Spirit literally knocked her down at a camp meeting in 1817. Lying on the ground she felt her own spirit ascend to heaven and a voice assuring her that she was sanctified. After she recovered from her vision, she began to lead those around her in prayer.
Could such an outpouring of the Spirit happen here? Like the disciples, we’re all gathered together. We’ve heard readings from the Scripture. We’re singing songs and praying. We’ve been hearing all these fifty days again what it means to be disciples of a risen Lord. We’ve heard Jesus’ promises. We know about the Holy Spirit. What are we waiting for? Are we sitting on our hands waiting for throngs of new people to find their way through the red doors? Wait a minute. Suddenly we too feel something like a mighty wind blowing through us. In the sanctuary the light fixtures begin to shake, the wonderful old windows begin to rattle, and we worry about the stained glass. The electric power flickers, and we feel caught up in something mighty and overpowering. We feel as if fire is coursing through us. We want to shout out loud. We want to dance and sing. We want to shout, “Hallelujah!” Then we rush out through the doors and run down to the park. There’s a crowd gathered out there, people from all over, black and white, rich and poor, young and old, native-born and immigrants. They’re just milling around, as if they’re waiting for something to happen. We start talking to them about Jesus! Some of them think we’re drunk – perhaps we’ve had too much of that Episcopal communion wine -- but others get it! The church is alive, and they want to join it! And they do, hundreds of them! The pastors can’t keep up!
Can’t happen here, you say? Not so. The Holy Spirit doesn’t work that way anymore? Yes, she does! Believe it! The Holy Spirit is still very much alive in our churches, in us as the priesthood of all believers, in us who were sealed with the Spirit in baptism and born anew. She has changed our born flesh with her touch, and she is still leading us into all truth. She is still calling us to be prophets. She is still teaching us how to proclaim the good news of God’s love for us and God’s promises of renewal for all creation. She is still sending us out into the world to tell everyone that God’s kingdom has come near, that God’s future has broken into our present, and that we have a glimpse of that future in Jesus and in the communities gathered in Jesus’ name. She is still sending us out to remind people that God is remaking the world, and that we are empowered to share with God in God’s great work. She is still teaching us not to be “however” people: people who see, for example that children are hungry and say, “However, we can’t….” The Holy Spirit is teaching us to be “therefore” people: people who see that children are hungry and say, “Therefore, let’s….”
And our churches are reborn. Wherever we gather, to hear Scripture read, to pray with every fiber of our being, to sing with all the fullness of our hearts, to thank God for God’s great gifts to us, to share God’s love with those around us, whenever we trust God to do more than we can ask or imagine, there the Spirit joins with us, renewing and rebirthing us. And we cry out, O come, Holy Spirit, move us, blow us away, make us laugh, shout, dance, sing, speak, preach, make us joyfully seize your presence among us.
“We name you wind, power, force, and then,
Imaginatively, “Third Person.”
We name you and you blow…
blow hard,
blow cold,
blow hot,
blow strong,
blow gentle,
blow new…
Blowing the world out of nothing to abundance,
blowing the church out of despair to new life,
blowing little David from shepherd boy to messiah,
blowing to make things new that never were.
So blow this day, wind,
Blow here and there, power,
Blow even us, force,
Rush us beyond ourselves,
Rush us beyond our hopes,
Rush us beyond our fears, until we enact your newness in the world.
Come, come spirit. Amen.”1
1. Walter Brueggemann, Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press), 2003, p.167.
There they were, gathered in Jerusalem. There they were, waiting, waiting, patiently waiting. Jesus had told them to wait. Most of them had seen him after he’d been raised from the dead. Some of them had been with him ten days ago, when he was taken up from them, when he’d told them to go back to Jerusalem to wait. Just before leaving them, he’d reminded them that he would send them what the Father had promised them. He reminded them that John had baptized them with water, but that they would be baptized with the Holy Spirit. He told them that they would be his witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. They prayed in the temple, they chose another leader of their group to replace Judas, and they waited. Now it was fifty days after Passover. It was the day of Pentecost, one of the three great Jewish festivals. It was the day when, as Jews, they’d offered the first fruits of their harvest to God, and they’d celebrated God’s gift of the Law, the Torah, on Mt. Sinai. Now they were all together, perhaps 120 of them, the twelve and all those others, some women, some men, some younger, some older. Probably even some kids. Perhaps they were gathered in someone’s courtyard after their temple worship.
They were good Jews who knew their Scripture. They knew about the fire on Mt. Sinai when Moses received the law. Perhaps some of them remembered the other times God came to people in fire: when God sealed the covenant with Abraham; when God spoke to Moses out of the burning bush; when the Pillar of fire led the people through the desert; when the angel purified Isaiah’s lips with a burning coal as God commissioned Isaiah to be a prophet.
Perhaps some others remembered how God came to people as wind: how the east wind sent by God allowed the people to cross the Sea of Reeds from Egypt; how God spoke to Job out of the whirlwind; how Elijah was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind. In their temple worship perhaps they had heard the lector read the passage telling of Ezekiel’s vision of how God commanded the four winds to breathe new life into the dry bones of the house of Israel. And they all knew the psalms. Perhaps they sang the psalm we said today. Perhaps they remembered that God sends forth God’s spirit and creates the entire world, that God continually renews the face of the earth. As they sat there, perhaps they remembered Jesus’ that he had made when he was at dinner with them for the last time, his promise that, because he was going away from them, he would send a Paraclete, a helper, to guide them and lead them into all truth.
And then it happened! They felt something like a great rush of wind. As they looked at each other, they all seemed to be on fire! They knew that God was with them, and that Jesus’ promises had come true. They rushed out of the courtyard and starting addressing the people who had gathered round, people from all over the Jewish Diaspora, who had come to Jerusalem to worship on Pentecost. They were empowered! They were filled with the Holy Spirit! They were out there laughing and dancing, hugging, and singing. They spoke in new languages. They might have been Galileans, but they could talk about God’s mighty acts in Jesus to everyone, whoever they were! And then Peter gave a wonderful sermon, telling how they were all doing what the prophet Joel had promised they would, explaining that it was God’s Spirit through Jesus crucified and risen who was empowering them. After it was all over, 3,000 people believed Peter and were baptized!
Could such an event happen again? Did it ever happen again? It did, believe it! The Holy Spirit was there when St Francis heard Jesus’ command to rebuild his church, and when Julian had her visions, lying, as she thought, mortally ill. Don’t you think the Holy Spirit was there when John Wesley felt his heart “strangely warmed” at the Aldersgate meeting? The Holy Spirit was certainly present to Zilpha Elaw, an African American Methodist preacher. Zilpha was 27 when the Spirit literally knocked her down at a camp meeting in 1817. Lying on the ground she felt her own spirit ascend to heaven and a voice assuring her that she was sanctified. After she recovered from her vision, she began to lead those around her in prayer.
Could such an outpouring of the Spirit happen here? Like the disciples, we’re all gathered together. We’ve heard readings from the Scripture. We’re singing songs and praying. We’ve been hearing all these fifty days again what it means to be disciples of a risen Lord. We’ve heard Jesus’ promises. We know about the Holy Spirit. What are we waiting for? Are we sitting on our hands waiting for throngs of new people to find their way through the red doors? Wait a minute. Suddenly we too feel something like a mighty wind blowing through us. In the sanctuary the light fixtures begin to shake, the wonderful old windows begin to rattle, and we worry about the stained glass. The electric power flickers, and we feel caught up in something mighty and overpowering. We feel as if fire is coursing through us. We want to shout out loud. We want to dance and sing. We want to shout, “Hallelujah!” Then we rush out through the doors and run down to the park. There’s a crowd gathered out there, people from all over, black and white, rich and poor, young and old, native-born and immigrants. They’re just milling around, as if they’re waiting for something to happen. We start talking to them about Jesus! Some of them think we’re drunk – perhaps we’ve had too much of that Episcopal communion wine -- but others get it! The church is alive, and they want to join it! And they do, hundreds of them! The pastors can’t keep up!
Can’t happen here, you say? Not so. The Holy Spirit doesn’t work that way anymore? Yes, she does! Believe it! The Holy Spirit is still very much alive in our churches, in us as the priesthood of all believers, in us who were sealed with the Spirit in baptism and born anew. She has changed our born flesh with her touch, and she is still leading us into all truth. She is still calling us to be prophets. She is still teaching us how to proclaim the good news of God’s love for us and God’s promises of renewal for all creation. She is still sending us out into the world to tell everyone that God’s kingdom has come near, that God’s future has broken into our present, and that we have a glimpse of that future in Jesus and in the communities gathered in Jesus’ name. She is still sending us out to remind people that God is remaking the world, and that we are empowered to share with God in God’s great work. She is still teaching us not to be “however” people: people who see, for example that children are hungry and say, “However, we can’t….” The Holy Spirit is teaching us to be “therefore” people: people who see that children are hungry and say, “Therefore, let’s….”
And our churches are reborn. Wherever we gather, to hear Scripture read, to pray with every fiber of our being, to sing with all the fullness of our hearts, to thank God for God’s great gifts to us, to share God’s love with those around us, whenever we trust God to do more than we can ask or imagine, there the Spirit joins with us, renewing and rebirthing us. And we cry out, O come, Holy Spirit, move us, blow us away, make us laugh, shout, dance, sing, speak, preach, make us joyfully seize your presence among us.
“We name you wind, power, force, and then,
Imaginatively, “Third Person.”
We name you and you blow…
blow hard,
blow cold,
blow hot,
blow strong,
blow gentle,
blow new…
Blowing the world out of nothing to abundance,
blowing the church out of despair to new life,
blowing little David from shepherd boy to messiah,
blowing to make things new that never were.
So blow this day, wind,
Blow here and there, power,
Blow even us, force,
Rush us beyond ourselves,
Rush us beyond our hopes,
Rush us beyond our fears, until we enact your newness in the world.
Come, come spirit. Amen.”1
1. Walter Brueggemann, Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press), 2003, p.167.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
That They May Be One
The film “Chocolat” tells the poignant story of Vianne, a single mother, who arrives during Lent in 1959 in a rigidly traditional French village. Despite the villagers’ commitment to Lenten fasting and self-denial, Vianne, a chocolatier, sets up a small shop and begins to introduce the villagers to the delights of chocolate. During the course of the story, Vianne befriends the wife of a brutal alcoholic, welcomes a group of river gypsies who camp nearby, endures the hostility of the mayor, and faces down the alcoholic husband when he threatens to destroy her shop. Towards the end of the film, as Easter approaches, Vianne resolves to leave the village. However, when a group of villagers shares with her their gratitude for her generosity and open heart, she changes her mind. As if affirming her decision, in his Easter sermon, the young priest Pere Henri tells the villagers, “ I want to talk about Christ’s humanity, I mean how he lived his life on earth: his kindness, his tolerance. We must measure our goodness, not by what we resist, or whom we exclude. Instead, we should measure ourselves by what we embrace, what we create, and whom we include.”
“Whom we include.” We are coming to the end of Easter tide. The feast of the Ascension this past Thursday reminded us that Jesus, while no longer physically present to us, is now present to us in a way that transcends time and space. Pentecost, when we joyously celebrate God’s gift of the Holy Spirit, is still ahead of us. During this Easter tide, in our Scripture readings we have been pondering all the ways in which Christ’s resurrection makes a difference in our lives. Today, in our reading from John’s gospel, we hear Jesus’ very last words to us before his acceptance of crucifixion and death. Having washed his friends’ feet and eaten dinner with them, Jesus has instructed them about how to continue their lives together without him. He has given them his peace, he has commanded them to love each other as he has loved them, and he has reminded them that he is the vine, and they are the branches. Now he concludes his after dinner speech with a prayer: a prayer for them, and through them, for every community of disciples that will come into being after his resurrection.
In this prayer Jesus is no longer speaking with his friends. He is not commanding them to do anything. Indeed, he has already given them a new commandment. Here Jesus is in communion with his Father, and he is expressing to his Father his deepest desires for his friends and, by extension, for us. If you read all of Jesus’ prayer in chapter 17 of John’s gospel, you may find it convoluted and hard to follow. Although Jesus seems to be circling around his requests, at least one of Jesus’ requests to God on behalf of his friends stands out clearly: that “they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be completely one….”
What is this oneness for which Jesus prays on our behalf? I believe that we can think about this oneness along three dimensions: oneness with God, oneness with each other, and oneness in service to the world. It’s almost like the sign of the Cross, isn’t it? As Jesus’ friends, as members of his Body, we are already in this life united with God. Oneness with God is not something we strive for, it is something we already have. We can begin to experience this oneness with God in our own personal prayer time. As we sit in stillness, waiting in silence on God, as we voice to God our deepest aspirations for those we care about, as we share with God our grief and frustrations, as we ponder our day and thank God for God’s gifts to us, God may grace us with a sense of union with God, and we may know more surely that we are and have never been anything but God’s beloved children.
We appropriate even more surely our oneness with God when we approach God together with our fellow disciples. Deepening our own personal relationship with Jesus is certainly an important part of maturing as disciples. Yet our personal relationship with God is never the end of Christian life. The Christian life is never solely about “me and sweet Jesus.” We have been baptized into Christ’s Body. As members of Christ’s Body, we are also called to pray and worship together. Believe it or not, even silent prayer is deeper and richer when done together with others in a praying community. As members of the Episcopal Church we are especially called to corporate worship, as we pray from a book of common prayer, a book intended for all. Figuratively, if not literally, as Anglicans we stand around the table together. We know that whatever divides us, together we worship God. And we sense more deeply our oneness with God as all of us together partake of the one bread and drink from the one cup.
The second dimension of oneness Jesus prays that we will experience is oneness with each other. It is ironic – or perhaps prescient – that the writer of John’s gospel should have Jesus offer this prayer, as the community to which John was writing was deeply divided. Nevertheless, here Jesus prays that we will recognize, as members of Christ’s Body, our fundamental oneness with each other. On the parish level, we understand ourselves to be part of a community that supports its members both spiritually and pastorally and whose invitation is open to all. Indeed, a parish our size cannot afford the luxury of conflict and schism, but, rather, is called to graciously include all who come through the red doors – or even the glass doors. Our Common Ministry team has recognized our desire to live into our oneness as a community. For that reason, the team has surveyed our gifts and strengths as a parish, begun the Second Sunday potlucks, and suggested a gala celebration next week for Pentecost.
Our oneness with fellow disciples extends beyond the parish. As Episcopalians we are also part of a diocese, the Diocese of Southern Ohio, which is made up of 25,000 people who attend eighty different parishes in the southern half of the state. This past Wednesday we received a powerful reminder of our oneness with the rest of the diocese, as representatives from five parishes from different parts of the diocese gathered to induct new members of the Society of St. Simeon and St. Anna, including our own Alice and Jimmy Salyer. We are also members of the wider Episcopal Church in the United States. Last month, I was graced to experience our ties to the Church of the Resurrection, the parish on Long Island that has been adding children’s clothes and equipment to our diaper distribution program. Through our ecumenical efforts here at home and through the Anglican Communion, the World Council of Churches, and other church bodies, we are reminded of our oneness with all our sisters and brothers in Christ. Our oneness with fellow Christians even transcends time and space, as we know ourselves to be surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, fellow disciples in the communion of saints, who have gone before us as members of Christ’s Body.
Finally, in his great priestly prayer, Jesus prays that we will experience oneness with those whom we serve, those to whom we give sacrificially of ourselves, as he gave himself for us. When we are at our best, we experience that sense of oneness with those whom we serve at the Loaves and Fishes dinner. We don’t just tolerate our diners. We don’t just welcome them. We invite them, and we embrace them as God’s children, sisters and brothers for whom Christ died, sisters and brothers who are as beloved of God as we are. We are also at one with those whom we serve farther away. When Hurricane Sandy destroyed homes, businesses, and churches six months ago, many dioceses and individual parishes understood their oneness with east coast communities and stepped in with aid. The Episcopal dioceses of Easton, New Jersey, Newark, New York, and Long Island are among those who are even now generously helping impacted communities recover from the devastation. As many of you know well, our oneness with our fellow human beings extends well beyond our borders. Our care and concern for others transcends lines of faith communities and ultimately national boundaries. In the Episcopal Church, for example, the diocese of Atlanta has played a major part in the fight against malaria, both historically in the United States and now as a major force in the Nets for Life Inspiration Fund, the church-wide, grassroots effort of Episcopal Relief and Development to raise awareness and support for malaria prevention.
“We’re all just walking each other home,” says American spiritual teacher Ram Dass. As we go, Jesus prays that we will turn no one away, and that we will walk hand in hand, one with God, one with each other, and one in service to all who need our love and care.
“Whom we include.” We are coming to the end of Easter tide. The feast of the Ascension this past Thursday reminded us that Jesus, while no longer physically present to us, is now present to us in a way that transcends time and space. Pentecost, when we joyously celebrate God’s gift of the Holy Spirit, is still ahead of us. During this Easter tide, in our Scripture readings we have been pondering all the ways in which Christ’s resurrection makes a difference in our lives. Today, in our reading from John’s gospel, we hear Jesus’ very last words to us before his acceptance of crucifixion and death. Having washed his friends’ feet and eaten dinner with them, Jesus has instructed them about how to continue their lives together without him. He has given them his peace, he has commanded them to love each other as he has loved them, and he has reminded them that he is the vine, and they are the branches. Now he concludes his after dinner speech with a prayer: a prayer for them, and through them, for every community of disciples that will come into being after his resurrection.
In this prayer Jesus is no longer speaking with his friends. He is not commanding them to do anything. Indeed, he has already given them a new commandment. Here Jesus is in communion with his Father, and he is expressing to his Father his deepest desires for his friends and, by extension, for us. If you read all of Jesus’ prayer in chapter 17 of John’s gospel, you may find it convoluted and hard to follow. Although Jesus seems to be circling around his requests, at least one of Jesus’ requests to God on behalf of his friends stands out clearly: that “they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be completely one….”
What is this oneness for which Jesus prays on our behalf? I believe that we can think about this oneness along three dimensions: oneness with God, oneness with each other, and oneness in service to the world. It’s almost like the sign of the Cross, isn’t it? As Jesus’ friends, as members of his Body, we are already in this life united with God. Oneness with God is not something we strive for, it is something we already have. We can begin to experience this oneness with God in our own personal prayer time. As we sit in stillness, waiting in silence on God, as we voice to God our deepest aspirations for those we care about, as we share with God our grief and frustrations, as we ponder our day and thank God for God’s gifts to us, God may grace us with a sense of union with God, and we may know more surely that we are and have never been anything but God’s beloved children.
We appropriate even more surely our oneness with God when we approach God together with our fellow disciples. Deepening our own personal relationship with Jesus is certainly an important part of maturing as disciples. Yet our personal relationship with God is never the end of Christian life. The Christian life is never solely about “me and sweet Jesus.” We have been baptized into Christ’s Body. As members of Christ’s Body, we are also called to pray and worship together. Believe it or not, even silent prayer is deeper and richer when done together with others in a praying community. As members of the Episcopal Church we are especially called to corporate worship, as we pray from a book of common prayer, a book intended for all. Figuratively, if not literally, as Anglicans we stand around the table together. We know that whatever divides us, together we worship God. And we sense more deeply our oneness with God as all of us together partake of the one bread and drink from the one cup.
The second dimension of oneness Jesus prays that we will experience is oneness with each other. It is ironic – or perhaps prescient – that the writer of John’s gospel should have Jesus offer this prayer, as the community to which John was writing was deeply divided. Nevertheless, here Jesus prays that we will recognize, as members of Christ’s Body, our fundamental oneness with each other. On the parish level, we understand ourselves to be part of a community that supports its members both spiritually and pastorally and whose invitation is open to all. Indeed, a parish our size cannot afford the luxury of conflict and schism, but, rather, is called to graciously include all who come through the red doors – or even the glass doors. Our Common Ministry team has recognized our desire to live into our oneness as a community. For that reason, the team has surveyed our gifts and strengths as a parish, begun the Second Sunday potlucks, and suggested a gala celebration next week for Pentecost.
Our oneness with fellow disciples extends beyond the parish. As Episcopalians we are also part of a diocese, the Diocese of Southern Ohio, which is made up of 25,000 people who attend eighty different parishes in the southern half of the state. This past Wednesday we received a powerful reminder of our oneness with the rest of the diocese, as representatives from five parishes from different parts of the diocese gathered to induct new members of the Society of St. Simeon and St. Anna, including our own Alice and Jimmy Salyer. We are also members of the wider Episcopal Church in the United States. Last month, I was graced to experience our ties to the Church of the Resurrection, the parish on Long Island that has been adding children’s clothes and equipment to our diaper distribution program. Through our ecumenical efforts here at home and through the Anglican Communion, the World Council of Churches, and other church bodies, we are reminded of our oneness with all our sisters and brothers in Christ. Our oneness with fellow Christians even transcends time and space, as we know ourselves to be surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, fellow disciples in the communion of saints, who have gone before us as members of Christ’s Body.
Finally, in his great priestly prayer, Jesus prays that we will experience oneness with those whom we serve, those to whom we give sacrificially of ourselves, as he gave himself for us. When we are at our best, we experience that sense of oneness with those whom we serve at the Loaves and Fishes dinner. We don’t just tolerate our diners. We don’t just welcome them. We invite them, and we embrace them as God’s children, sisters and brothers for whom Christ died, sisters and brothers who are as beloved of God as we are. We are also at one with those whom we serve farther away. When Hurricane Sandy destroyed homes, businesses, and churches six months ago, many dioceses and individual parishes understood their oneness with east coast communities and stepped in with aid. The Episcopal dioceses of Easton, New Jersey, Newark, New York, and Long Island are among those who are even now generously helping impacted communities recover from the devastation. As many of you know well, our oneness with our fellow human beings extends well beyond our borders. Our care and concern for others transcends lines of faith communities and ultimately national boundaries. In the Episcopal Church, for example, the diocese of Atlanta has played a major part in the fight against malaria, both historically in the United States and now as a major force in the Nets for Life Inspiration Fund, the church-wide, grassroots effort of Episcopal Relief and Development to raise awareness and support for malaria prevention.
“We’re all just walking each other home,” says American spiritual teacher Ram Dass. As we go, Jesus prays that we will turn no one away, and that we will walk hand in hand, one with God, one with each other, and one in service to all who need our love and care.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
The Spirit Will Teach You Everything
There’s an old story about a king who decided to create a special holiday to honor the greatest subject in his kingdom.1 When the day came, a large crowd gathered in the palace courtyard. The judges brought four finalists forward, from whom the king would choose the winner. The first person the judges presented was a wealthy philanthropist, who had generously given away much of his wealth to the poor and supported many humanitarian efforts. The second person was a celebrated physician, who had faithfully and conscientiously spent his life serving the sick. The third person was a distinguished judge, who was known for his wisdom, fairness, and brilliant decisions. To everyone’s surprise, the fourth person to come forward was an elderly woman. Her manner and dress were very humble. Was she really someone who would be honored as the greatest subject in the kingdom? What chance could she have had, compared with the others who had accomplished so much? Yet, there was something about her: she seemed to radiate love, understanding, and quiet confidence. The king was intrigued, yet also puzzled. He asked who she was. The answer came, “You see the philanthropist, the physician, and the judge? Well, she was their teacher!”
Those of you who were or are teachers know the importance of your work. If you’re fortunate, you occasionally got or get a glimpse of your impact on others – always, we hope, for good. And all of us should be able to remember the teachers who influenced us, the teachers who taught, encouraged, advised, and helped us.
The reason we know anything about Jesus is that he left us a teacher, the greatest Teacher there is. Throughout Easter tide we have been getting glimpses of the impact of the resurrection on the lives of Jesus’ first followers, and on our lives as his disciples. We have been pondering the question, “What does it mean to be disciples of the risen Christ?” Each week, the first lesson from the book of Acts has provided snapshots of the expansion of the first group of Jesus’ followers. Similarly, the reading from the Gospel according to John has reminded us of Jesus’ promises to his followers about what their lives would be like. It’s important to remember that John’s gospel was written in the late ‘80s or early ‘90s. Its audience was a community in conflict with both the Jewish religious leaders and the Roman civic leaders, a community that desperately needed reassurance that they had made the right choice in becoming followers of Jesus.
Today’s gospel lesson is a portion of Jesus’ last words to his friends at his last meal with them. Jesus knows that he is leaving them, and they probably do too. They are confused, upset, fearful, and full of questions. “Where are you going? “Show us the Father, they demand.” Today’s portion actually immediately follows a question posed by the other Judas: “Lord, how is it that you will reveal yourself to us, and not to the world?” Jesus doesn’t really answer the question. Instead, he tells his friends – and the audience of John’s gospel – what they really need to hear. Jesus makes a promise to them. He reassures them that they will not be left alone. They will not disappear as a community. They will not forever be weak, marginalized, and bereft of God’s presence with them.
Rather – and here’s the good news – Jesus assures his friends that after his death and resurrection, they will have a new way of experiencing his presence. Though he will no longer be physically present to his disciples, he will send them a Teacher. In Greek, the word is parakletos, “paraclete,” or Advocate, as our translation has it. The Greek word is a legal term meaning someone who is called to stand beside a person in a legal proceeding. But a better translation is “teacher,” since the paraclete is really called to teach, not to defend. Here Jesus can already see what his friends cannot as yet see. He promises his followers that the Teacher that will come to them will clarify everything that they don’t yet understand. The Teacher will remind them of everything that Jesus taught them. The Teacher will come to communities of the faithful to instruct and witness to them. The Teacher will give them all the resources they will need to continue as Jesus’ followers. Most important, the Teacher, the paraclete, the Holy Spirit will be Jesus’ ongoing presence with the community of disciples after the resurrection. When the faithful gather together in Jesus’ name, the Teacher will help them to experience the Holy One in their midst, will help them to know that they are connected to both the Father and Jesus.
In John’s gospel, the disciples received the Holy Spirit immediately after Easter, when Jesus came and breathed on them in the upper room on Easter even. In the synoptic gospels, the Holy Spirit came to the gathered disciples fifty days after Easter, at Pentecost. However, it happened, what is clear is that Jesus’ first followers did indeed receive the Holy Spirit, and that the first communities of Christians did indeed continue to be taught by the Spirit. The Holy Spirit helped Jesus’ first followers to spread the good news of Jesus’ death and resurrection. The Holy Spirit helped them discern how to incorporate gentiles into what was initially a community of faithful Jews. Even as the good news spread, as we’ve been hearing in our lessons from Acts, the Holy Spirit continued to instruct the new churches and enable communities of the faithful to see the world around them more clearly.
Much has changed in the church since Jesus first promised the gift of the Holy Spirit to his followers. Christianity became a favored religion in the late Roman Empire. The Eastern Church separated from the Western Church. The Western church splintered yet again during the Reformation. In 1620, as the community of Pilgrims was about to depart from Leiden for North America, John Robinson, their spiritual leader, told them in his farewell address, “I Charge you before God and his blessed angels that you follow me no further than you have seen me follow Christ. If God reveal anything to you by any other instrument of His, be as ready to receive it as you were to receive any truth from my ministry, for I am verily persuaded the Lord hath more truth and light yet to break forth from His holy word.” And so the Holy Spirit continues to this day to guide faithful Christian communities.
I believe that we are witnessing a time in which yet more truth and light are breaking forth from God’s holy word. The church is in yet another period of upheaval and transition. We have already witnessed the abolition of slavery and the breakdown of barriers based on ancestry, ethnicity, gender, and sexual preference. We are seeing liturgical change. I think that we will see institutional changes during this century, as the Holy Spirit shows faithful Christians new ways of gathering, organizing themselves, and reaching out to others. We must not resist change. We must not fear it. We must remain faithful to Jesus. We must continue to pray, study Scripture, serve those in need, and allow the Holy Spirit to teach us how to love. We must find ways both in the wider church and in this parish to make the changes in our church lives that the Holy Spirit is calling us to make. We must find new means, whether through social media, QR codes, Instagram, or media we cannot yet imagine, to communicate the good news. We must new times, places, and reasons for gathering together as Jesus’ followers. Above all, we must have faith that the Holy Spirit will continue to be in our midst and will continue to teach us all that we need to learn.
In a lovely sculpture, Vermont artist Jerry Geier gives us a wonderful picture of Jesus’ last meal with his friends. Unlike most renderings of this scene, Jesus and the disciples are dressed in modern clothes and are shown sitting around an ordinary dining table. Jesus’ back is towards us, so that we can focus on the faces of all his friends. Don’t they look like people you might meet at Foodland? They certainly don’t look as fearful in this sculpture as they seem to be in John’s gospel. Perhaps that is because they can already feel the changes that are coming. Notice the open window behind them. The curtains are already stirring, and a breeze is beginning to blow through that window. The promised Teacher will soon show up.
My friends, “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” Have faith that the Holy Spirit will continue to teach us and lead us. We have Jesus’ promise.
1. Based Gregory L. Tolle, “The Great Teacher,” Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series V, Cycle C (Lima, OH: CSS Publishing, 2006), 97-98.
Those of you who were or are teachers know the importance of your work. If you’re fortunate, you occasionally got or get a glimpse of your impact on others – always, we hope, for good. And all of us should be able to remember the teachers who influenced us, the teachers who taught, encouraged, advised, and helped us.
The reason we know anything about Jesus is that he left us a teacher, the greatest Teacher there is. Throughout Easter tide we have been getting glimpses of the impact of the resurrection on the lives of Jesus’ first followers, and on our lives as his disciples. We have been pondering the question, “What does it mean to be disciples of the risen Christ?” Each week, the first lesson from the book of Acts has provided snapshots of the expansion of the first group of Jesus’ followers. Similarly, the reading from the Gospel according to John has reminded us of Jesus’ promises to his followers about what their lives would be like. It’s important to remember that John’s gospel was written in the late ‘80s or early ‘90s. Its audience was a community in conflict with both the Jewish religious leaders and the Roman civic leaders, a community that desperately needed reassurance that they had made the right choice in becoming followers of Jesus.
Today’s gospel lesson is a portion of Jesus’ last words to his friends at his last meal with them. Jesus knows that he is leaving them, and they probably do too. They are confused, upset, fearful, and full of questions. “Where are you going? “Show us the Father, they demand.” Today’s portion actually immediately follows a question posed by the other Judas: “Lord, how is it that you will reveal yourself to us, and not to the world?” Jesus doesn’t really answer the question. Instead, he tells his friends – and the audience of John’s gospel – what they really need to hear. Jesus makes a promise to them. He reassures them that they will not be left alone. They will not disappear as a community. They will not forever be weak, marginalized, and bereft of God’s presence with them.
Rather – and here’s the good news – Jesus assures his friends that after his death and resurrection, they will have a new way of experiencing his presence. Though he will no longer be physically present to his disciples, he will send them a Teacher. In Greek, the word is parakletos, “paraclete,” or Advocate, as our translation has it. The Greek word is a legal term meaning someone who is called to stand beside a person in a legal proceeding. But a better translation is “teacher,” since the paraclete is really called to teach, not to defend. Here Jesus can already see what his friends cannot as yet see. He promises his followers that the Teacher that will come to them will clarify everything that they don’t yet understand. The Teacher will remind them of everything that Jesus taught them. The Teacher will come to communities of the faithful to instruct and witness to them. The Teacher will give them all the resources they will need to continue as Jesus’ followers. Most important, the Teacher, the paraclete, the Holy Spirit will be Jesus’ ongoing presence with the community of disciples after the resurrection. When the faithful gather together in Jesus’ name, the Teacher will help them to experience the Holy One in their midst, will help them to know that they are connected to both the Father and Jesus.
In John’s gospel, the disciples received the Holy Spirit immediately after Easter, when Jesus came and breathed on them in the upper room on Easter even. In the synoptic gospels, the Holy Spirit came to the gathered disciples fifty days after Easter, at Pentecost. However, it happened, what is clear is that Jesus’ first followers did indeed receive the Holy Spirit, and that the first communities of Christians did indeed continue to be taught by the Spirit. The Holy Spirit helped Jesus’ first followers to spread the good news of Jesus’ death and resurrection. The Holy Spirit helped them discern how to incorporate gentiles into what was initially a community of faithful Jews. Even as the good news spread, as we’ve been hearing in our lessons from Acts, the Holy Spirit continued to instruct the new churches and enable communities of the faithful to see the world around them more clearly.
Much has changed in the church since Jesus first promised the gift of the Holy Spirit to his followers. Christianity became a favored religion in the late Roman Empire. The Eastern Church separated from the Western Church. The Western church splintered yet again during the Reformation. In 1620, as the community of Pilgrims was about to depart from Leiden for North America, John Robinson, their spiritual leader, told them in his farewell address, “I Charge you before God and his blessed angels that you follow me no further than you have seen me follow Christ. If God reveal anything to you by any other instrument of His, be as ready to receive it as you were to receive any truth from my ministry, for I am verily persuaded the Lord hath more truth and light yet to break forth from His holy word.” And so the Holy Spirit continues to this day to guide faithful Christian communities.
I believe that we are witnessing a time in which yet more truth and light are breaking forth from God’s holy word. The church is in yet another period of upheaval and transition. We have already witnessed the abolition of slavery and the breakdown of barriers based on ancestry, ethnicity, gender, and sexual preference. We are seeing liturgical change. I think that we will see institutional changes during this century, as the Holy Spirit shows faithful Christians new ways of gathering, organizing themselves, and reaching out to others. We must not resist change. We must not fear it. We must remain faithful to Jesus. We must continue to pray, study Scripture, serve those in need, and allow the Holy Spirit to teach us how to love. We must find ways both in the wider church and in this parish to make the changes in our church lives that the Holy Spirit is calling us to make. We must find new means, whether through social media, QR codes, Instagram, or media we cannot yet imagine, to communicate the good news. We must new times, places, and reasons for gathering together as Jesus’ followers. Above all, we must have faith that the Holy Spirit will continue to be in our midst and will continue to teach us all that we need to learn.
In a lovely sculpture, Vermont artist Jerry Geier gives us a wonderful picture of Jesus’ last meal with his friends. Unlike most renderings of this scene, Jesus and the disciples are dressed in modern clothes and are shown sitting around an ordinary dining table. Jesus’ back is towards us, so that we can focus on the faces of all his friends. Don’t they look like people you might meet at Foodland? They certainly don’t look as fearful in this sculpture as they seem to be in John’s gospel. Perhaps that is because they can already feel the changes that are coming. Notice the open window behind them. The curtains are already stirring, and a breeze is beginning to blow through that window. The promised Teacher will soon show up.
My friends, “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” Have faith that the Holy Spirit will continue to teach us and lead us. We have Jesus’ promise.
1. Based Gregory L. Tolle, “The Great Teacher,” Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series V, Cycle C (Lima, OH: CSS Publishing, 2006), 97-98.
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