Here Am I – Send Me

What is it like to encounter God? “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God,” wrote the author of the letter to the Hebrews. “He walks with me and he talks with me,” says a popular hymn text. Which is it – utter terror or buddy Jesus? A lot has to do with one’s course of life and frame of mind. The Hebrews author is describing someone who willfully persists in sin. The hymn text has a resurrection setting “in the garden.” As usual, there’s truth in both; the presence of God brings terror as well as joy.

Isaiah’s encounter with God comes under the fearful category. A king of Judah who had reigned over fifty years had just died, and no one knew what would come next. To the north, chaos had overtaken Israel. In the midst of this uncertainty, Isaiah was serving in the temple. There he had a vision. He saw himself in God’s throne room, where fiery seraphim flew about and everything was shaking. Smoke filled the place. Isaiah knew that he could not see God and live, so he cried out in fear. One of the seraphim then took a live coal and seared his lips, cleansing them from all the sinful words he had spoken. Then when God called for a prophet, Isaiah was able to say: “Here am I; send me!”

Nicodemus’ encounter with God was more straightforward but still disturbing. He met God in human form as Jesus Christ, although he didn’t know it. He realized that there was something unusual about Jesus but couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. His fellow Jewish leaders were skeptical, so Nicodemus visited Jesus at night when he wouldn’t be seen. The interview didn’t go very well. Right from the start Nicodemus got lost in Jesus’ words, taking him literally rather than figuratively. It didn’t help when Jesus used a word that could mean spirit or wind or breath, and Nicodemus consistently choose the wrong meaning. He left confused and chastised yet well aware that there was something greater here than he could comprehend.

The Apostle Paul was knocked off his feet when he encountered the resurrected Christ on a Damascus road. It took him three days of nothing but blind thinking to get his big head turned around toward God. Three days for the Spirit of God to penetrate his stubborn wrong-headedness until it finally tapped the depth of spirit within him. When Spirit talked to spirit, Paul could say at last, “Abba! Father!”

This Sunday is Trinity Sunday. It is sometimes described disparagingly as a celebration of a doctrine, but I think of it as celebrating three ways of encountering God, three ways of knowing God. All of them are necessary. Isaiah’s encounter with the powerful, transcendent, and holy God magnifies our smallness and sinfulness. Nicodemus’ encounter with the God-in-flesh challenges us to think and grow in ways we could not have imagined. Paul’s encounter with the Spirit of God shows us depths we did not know existed, places closed to us because of our own blindness.

Encounters with God are life-changing. Isaiah became one of the greatest prophets. Nicodemus the Pharisee helped bury Jesus. And Paul changed the face of Christianity. Three encounters in three ways – yet one response, summed up by Isaiah: Here am I; send me. In whatever way we encounter God, Father, Son, or Holy Spirit, that is the response God waits for. It is as simple as that. Here am I; send me.

[Trinity Sunday: Isaiah 6:1-8; Romans 8:12-17; John 3:1-17.]

Listen to this blog as preached.

Filled with the Holy Spirit

For reasons I’ve never quite understood, some people find the Day of Pentecost threatening. Perhaps there’s an association with Pentecostal churches, ones that aim to generate high emotion with hand waving and speaking in tongues – things that horrify most calm, rational Episcopalians.

That first Pentecost described in the Acts of the Apostles is not quite so abandoned as the Pentecostal churches would have it. The writer of Acts is almost at a loss of words to describe the event, relying on images of tongues of fire and languages from every corner of the known world. Yet it’s also clear that this was not an incoherent frenzy; the hearers understood what the disciples said. The preaching about God’s deeds of power moved the listeners to believe in the good news of Jesus Christ.

Remarkably, Peter’s preaching connected that good news to all of creation. Peter quoted the prophet Joel, an unusual source. The book of Joel begins with a detailed account of a devastating locust plague (using an astonishing number of Hebrew words for various kinds of locusts). In the section quoted by Peter, however, Joel has extended that local disaster to cosmic significance, to the final judgment of God. It is from Joel’s vision of the last days that Peter draws, a time when God will pour the Spirit upon everyone, sons and daughters, old and young. Not only humans, but all creation will be a witness in those days, heaven above and earth below, with fire and smoke and eclipses of sun and moon. (The last especially resonates in a week when there was a “ring of fire” eclipse of the sun.)

The Apostle Paul picks up on this witness of the natural world. Paul knows that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now. What struggles to be born? The final, total redemption of the world, the renewal of all that is. The first fruit of that redemption is the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is the hope God has given to us, the hope that one day we, too, will experience new life.

In the meantime we are here, and here is not always a good place to be. I am especially mindful of that right now, with the recent deaths of four young people on the Mississippi River. It was just last Sunday, while we were in church, that they were finally pulled out of the water. Our hearts and our prayers go out to their families and friends.

At such a time we hear the words of Paul speaking to the depths of our groaning, the groaning of all creation. Paul says that the Spirit helps us in our weakness, interceding with sighs too deep for words. Jesus calls that Spirit the Advocate, the Comforter, the very Spirit coming forth from the depth of God to speak to our depth, connecting creation to Creator. That is the promise given to us by Jesus Christ. That is our hope.

And that is why Pentecost is not a threat. The tongues resting on the disciples are only the outward and visible signs of an inward and invisible grace, a grace that comes to all of us through Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit. That grace, that Spirit, is our hope, the hope in which we are saved. Let us wait for that hope with trust, with patience, with joy.

[The Day of Pentecost: Acts 2:1-21; Romans 8:22-27; John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15.]

In The World

Several items in the news recently caught my attention, all of them involving large sums of money. One was the loss of $2 billion by the investment bank JPMorgan Chase. Another was the initial public stock offering of Facebook, expected to raise $100 billion. That would instantly make Mark Zuckerberg, Facebook’s founder, worth more than $18 billion. In one day he would make more money than most African countries see in a year. If he were generous, he could give most of it to the State of California, which is over $15 billion in debt.

The JPMorgan Chase story falls under the category of “not again!” The chief investment officer bet that the European debt crisis would go one way, and it went another. Boom! The company lost billions, and she lost her $14 million-a-year job. “We made a terrible mistake,” the CEO said, adding that the bank was “sloppy” and “stupid.” Try using those excuses if you ever get audited by the IRS!

Such stories make us shake our heads at the greed of people. Secretly, though, I think many are envious of those who have so much money. Why else would state lotteries be so popular? The bigger the jackpot the more people buy tickets, ignoring the fact that the more tickets purchased, the lower the likelihood of winning. “Well, you can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket!” And if you do win, what then? You discover all sorts of friends and relatives you never knew you had.

Jesus didn’t deal with lotteries or stock offerings or JPMorgan Chase. We don’t really know how he might treat investment bankers, although once he chased after moneychangers with a whip of cords. He never did have a lot of good things to say about the rich, especially those who ignored the poor. In fact, when you come right down to it, Jesus said a lot of things about money that would make us uncomfortable if we took them to heart.

Jesus always had a different way of looking at things. That’s because he saw with God’s eyes. In the Gospel of John he expressed this by making a clear distinction between himself and “the world.” He extended that distinction to his followers. “They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world,” he said. This was not an invitation to withdraw from the world, to wait comfortably for pie in the sky by and by. Rather, it was recognition that the life of Christians should be different.

One way this played out was in choosing leaders, as shown in the Acts of the Apostles. With the death of Judas Iscariot, there was an opening in the Twelve. Until Pentecost that number had to be preserved, so two men were put forth: Joseph/Barsabbas/Justus, a man of many names, and Matthias. After prayer, lots were cast and Matthias was chosen. (I always wondered what happened to the other. Did he, like vestry candidates who aren’t voted in, just melt away?)

This is a rather different method for selecting a leader than the long interviews job candidates usually receive. Should we return to choosing people by lot? Oddly enough, even churches that say they interpret the Bible literally don’t cast lots; perhaps it sounds too much like gambling. Or perhaps they realize that casting lots is only a means. The real focus should be on the process, on grounding decisions in prayer.

This Sunday we are in that peculiar time between the ascension of Christ and the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. It’s a time when again we hear Jesus tell us what would happen: the Holy Spirit will come and witness to the truth already given to the disciples. Jesus will be gone in body, yet the Spirit will come to guide and empower the church. That Spirit will enable the disciples, and enable us, to be in the world but not of it. The choice of Matthias through prayerful discernment reminds us of what that kind of life should be like.

What a contrast this is to the ways of the world! There is no discernment at JPMorgan Chase, only the desire to make as much money as possible. Everyone wants to be part of the Facebook cash cow. The desire for what is not of God resides in us, too. That is why Jesus also prayed to the Father, “I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one.” Evil, however we understand it, is always present to tempt us away from God.

Unlike the Amish, we do not separate ourselves from the world, but rather engage it. At the same time, we are witnesses to another way of life, a way that puts people first rather than money. That way leads through the cross and beyond it, to resurrection, to the very presence of God. It is a lifelong journey, one with twists and turns, missteps and joy-filled clarity. We have the promise of Jesus that the Holy Spirit will come to lead us on the way. May we always follow where the Spirit leads, so that our hearts and minds may ascend to where Jesus is, and with him dwell in the presence of God.

 [Easter 7, the Sunday after the Ascension: Acts 1:15-17, 21-26; Psalm 1; 1 John 5:9-13; John 17:6-19.]

Abide in My Love

At this week’s staff meeting we talked briefly about Gregory of Nazianzus, whose feast day it was. I happen to like Gregory because I once preached a seminary sermon on his explanation of the Trinity. I really like his defense of why he ran away right after his father (a bishop) ordained him a priest. Gregory was overwhelmed by the responsibility and did not feel worthy of the office. I can relate to that. Indeed, “What am I doing here?” should be a question asked by anyone on track for ordination.

Feeling unworthy is not limited to clergy. It is a common human condition. For some it is a consequence of not being part of the dominant culture (i.e., not being a white male). Others grow up hearing they are not good enough, often in comparison to a sibling. Some religious traditions even emphasize unworthiness by teaching the total depravity of humankind or reinforcing guilt in order to fill the offering plate.

In the New Testament, “worthy” never has the moral quality we usually give to it. It has nothing to do with merit. Instead, worth is associated with receiving the good news of Jesus Christ and doing something with it. Christianity is not about worth or merit; the Christian life is all about grace. None of us is worthy of God’s attention, but that’s not the point. God loves us anyway and is ready to fill our lives with grace.

Perhaps that’s why John the Evangelist rarely uses the word “worthy.” Instead, he uses “love” over and over again. “As the Father has loved me, even so I have loved you,” Jesus says in John’s Gospel. “Abide in my love.” John is trying to communicate his own experience of Jesus Christ, one that lies beyond human words or comprehension. He is trying to explain who God is, an eternal relationship of love into which we are invited.

The closest analogy we have on earth is the love of parent for child. Through a godly coincidence, Sunday’s readings will come on Mother’s Day. Both mothers and fathers know what it is to love a child, even when that child makes poor decisions and suffers the consequences. Yet not all adults become parents, and not all parents are able to show love to their children. If no one loves a child, that child will never be able to form loving human relationships as an adult.

Gregory of Nazianzus understood all of this. After he ran away, he began to realize that none of us is worthy, none of us is able to do what God calls us to do. But that’s not what God asks. God asks for love, not worthiness, a return of that love which God first showed to us through other human beings. And God asks for faith, for trust that God’s grace will be sufficient for all that we are called to do.

It all happens because the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are in relationship with one another as though in an eternal dance. They are the Lover, the Beloved, and the Love flowing between them. It is within that love that Jesus commands us to abide. Living there, embraced by joy, how can our own joy be anything but complete?

[Easter 6: Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; 1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17.]

Listen to this as preached on the Sixth Sunday of Easter.

Pruned to Bear Fruit

Last week I talked about pets. This week I get to talk about plants. If I talk about rocks next week, we will have covered all of creation: animal, vegetable, and mineral. Of course, if you know that next week will be about rocks, you will probably skip this blog, so maybe I’d just better stick with pets and plants.

Sunday’s Gospel is about vines, grapevines in particular. Jesus obviously knew how to grow grapes. In a natural environment, grapevines grab onto tree branches and grow upwards until they can spread out all over the forest canopy. That’s good for them, but not the trees, nor anyone who wants to gather grapes and make wine. The ancients used to let the vines sprawl all over the ground, but that’s a problem, too, because rodents can eat the grapes and the uneaten ones will rot. So it wasn’t long before someone figured out how to grow grapes on a trellis. It was also discovered that if their wild growth was pruned back every year, the vines would bear better fruit.

That’s the basic idea behind the Gospel images of grapevines. The most delicate job is pruning, so it’s not surprising that God is the one who does it. Jesus himself is the vine, and we are the ones who get pruned. But what does that mean? Clearly it does not mean that we are cut off; Jesus implies that we remain connected to the vine. The Greek word “to prune” is usually translated “to make clean,” literally to create a place that has been swept. With grapevines, this means cutting the branches back to just a couple of buds, so that the vine’s energy is focused on a few big clusters of fruit rather than a lot of spindly ones. Applying that sense to us, God works to remove whatever is unnecessary in our lives, the overgrowth which saps so much energy that we are not able to bear much faith-filled fruit.

This almost sounds like a Gospel reading for Lent, as it calls for a disciplined life, one that is focused on God, on prayer, and especially on simplicity. The more we have and the more we do, the more God gets crowded out. Working toward a simpler life is a good idea any time, not just during Lent. It’s like charity appeals that suggest giving up one fast food meal a week and sending that money to a worthy cause. We can choose to reorient our time as well. God calls us to be good stewards of all that we have been given.

Yet Jesus is talking about more than just a simpler life, pruning away what is unneeded. He especially focuses on the connection between vine and branches. “Abide in me as I in you,” he says. “Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.” The word used for “to abide” is multivalent. Often it means to remain or stay in place, but also has the sense of endure, hold out, to stand fast against opposition. In the New Testament it contrasts the permanence of God with human changeableness, as in “God’s word abides forever.” John’s Gospel makes this use even more personal. Christ abides in us and we in Christ. It is only by remaining connected to the Word of God that we can produce the fruits of the Spirit.

Branches receive water and minerals when they abide in the grapevine. When we abide in Christ, we also receive nourishment from God. “Those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them,” John writes. The essence of God is love, an enduring, eternal relationship. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are sometimes described as the Lover, the Beloved, and the Love between them. It is into this relationship that we are welcomed when we abide in Jesus. It is out of this relationship of pure love that we produce the fruits of the Spirit.

What are those fruits? I always come back to the Apostle Paul’s list: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  Most of these describe how we should treat one another. Jesus is clear about that, too. It is our relationships with other humans that reveal our relationship with God.

Next week we will read again about abiding in God’s love (not about rocks). It’s a message we need to hear often, that we are loved by God and called to extend that love to all whom we encounter. It’s a lifelong task, really. There’s always some wild growth that seems to come out of nowhere and demand our energy. There’s always a need for pruning. Yet if we abide in Christ, the love of God will continue to flow through us and bear fruit.  “I am the vine, you are the branches,” Jesus says. “My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit.” May we always abide in that love.

[Easter 5: Acts 8: 26-40; Psalm 22:24-30; 1 John 4:7-21; John 15:1-8. Paul’s fruits of the Spirit are found in Galatians 5:22-23.]

Listen to this as preached on the Fifth Sunday of Easter.

Dog Whisperer

I’ve noticed that pet people fall into two types. There are dog-lovers and there are cat-lovers. Of course, there are also people who like all animals and those who like none, but by and large, pet owners fall into one of those two groups. I’ve also noticed that dog and cat owners don’t think much of one another’s pets.

Cat owners like the independence of cats and their ability to take care of themselves. They can’t empty their litter boxes, but just the fact that they use them means that cat owners can be gone all day or even a few days without having to worry. Cats are curious and playful but only with the right sort of people. If they don’t like you, they vanish.

Dogs, on the other hand, are clearly pack animals. They like company. Dogs are very attuned to their owners, recognizing not only their voice, but the sound of their car, and any sound that has anything to do with food. Once when our dog Maggie was still around, R asked me for a plastic sandwich bag. As soon as she said, “I need a Baggie!” the dog came running to see what was in it for her.

The pack mentality of dogs and their devotion to their owner is the closest modern example I can think of to the biblical use of sheep and shepherd. It’s not perfect, of course. Unlike sheep, most dogs won’t run away from a stranger; they’ll bark at them. And somehow to imagine Jesus saying “I am the good dog whisperer” just doesn’t work as well as “I am the good shepherd.” Yet any worthwhile dog owner would do anything to protect their pet, including putting oneself in danger if the dog were threatened. So perhaps we can get some idea of what Jesus means.

At the center of Jesus’ discourse on the good shepherd is a remarkable statement: “I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” There’s more here than a pet simply knowing the master’s voice. As Christians we believe that Jesus was more than a great spiritual leader, someone unusually attuned to God. We believe that Jesus is God, God incarnate, the second person of the Trinity, born in human flesh. So when Jesus says that he knows the Father and the Father knows him, it is a very intimate knowing, a union of wills and desires. What is astounding is that Jesus equates that kind of knowing with what occurs between him and his own – between Jesus and believers, between Jesus and us.

That does not sound like our lived experience. If it were, we would not yearn to know Jesus better, to be more connected with God. When loss or disaster strikes, we may even feel the absence of God, not God’s presence. We know how far we miss the mark of who God calls us to be. Yet Jesus says that we know him as well he and God know one another. How can that be?

The Apostle Paul provided a clue to this paradox in his wonderful hymn on love in the first letter to the Corinthians. “Now I know only in part,” Paul wrote, “then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” Paul realized that we are already fully known by Christ. When we are sealed as Christ’s own at baptism, the Holy Spirit enters into us with the perfect knowledge of God, hidden in our hearts. Because it is there, we yearn to see it more fully. Yet in this life it is as though we are looking through a dirty window. We know that there is a beautiful view out there, but the dusty willfulness of sin keeps us from seeing clearly. Still, our hearts remain a witness to that beauty, to that presence of God within. As John wrote in his letter, “Let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action....And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit that he has given us.”

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether we call Jesus the good shepherd or the good dog whisperer. Besides, we don’t really want to think of ourselves as either sheep or dogs, do we? What is important is that we listen for that voice. We hear it in silence; we see it speaking through others. It is the voice of Jesus that abides in us, calling to us in our hearts. We hear and know it. Let us ever run toward it, so that we may bear its fruit in truth and action.

[4 Easter: Acts 4:5-12; Psalm 23; 1 John 3:16-24; John 10:11-18.]

Listen to this blog as preached on the Fourth Sunday of Easter.

There's Work To Do

The mall’s Easter Bunny has put his costume back into storage. All of the plastic eggs have been gathered up from Easter egg hunts, their candy long gone. Stores are gearing up for Mother’s Day and graduation parties. Can Christmas shopping be far behind?

In the church, meanwhile, it’s still the Day of Resurrection. Every Sunday is a feast of our Lord Jesus Christ, as the prayer book says, but the first two Sundays after Easter take us right back to that day itself. This week two disciples have rushed back from their walk to Emmaus on which they encountered the risen Christ. As they breathlessly tell their story to the others, suddenly Jesus is right there in their midst. This time no bread-breaking is necessary for everyone to recognize him. They’re terrified, of course; how else does one respond when seeing someone known to be dead? They think he’s a spirit.

But Jesus is real flesh and bone. Resurrected flesh and bone, to be sure, but real just the same. He shows them his wounds and invites them to touch him. They are so overwhelmed and overjoyed that they still can’t get their heads wrapped around the fact that he’s actually there. So to prove he’s real, Jesus asks for a bite to eat, then nibbles on some broiled fish. Finally their internal questioning subsides and they are ready to hear him out.

What Jesus says is that this is all part of the plan. The Messiah is supposed to suffer and die and rise on the third day. He’s been telling them that all along, and they still don’t get it. So he opens their minds (a wonderful image) and lays out the scriptures before them. They are to spread the message so that all repent of what they have done, turn back around to God, and let God forgive them. “You are witnesses of these things,” Jesus says. Tell everyone!

Peter and John do just that. Peter heals a lame man and then preaches to the crowd that assembled to see the sight. He tells them exactly what Jesus had poured into his open mind, clear through the part about repentance and turning to God. John is more subtle. “See what love the Father has given us,” he writes, “that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.” John, too, knows that this fish-eating resurrected Christ has changed everything. That fact should change us as well. There’s still a lot that needs explaining, but “what we do know is this….we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”

Several themes come through loud and clear in all of the Easter stories. One is that this is all part of God’s plan. Another is that Jesus will arrive in the midst of fear and say, “Peace to you.” Those two messages we hear. Yet a third is just as insistent: “You are witnesses of these things.” It’s all fine and dandy that God loves us and that we don’t have to be afraid. But there’s no complacency in the Easter message. There’s work to do. It’s not a sit back and bask in the warmth of God’s love like being full of Easter ham and chocolate bunny. It’s more like Christ is risen, now get out there!

That’s the most threatening part of the Easter message. Work is hard enough, but when the work involves talking about Jesus, we’d just as soon eat that chocolate bunny, thank you. It’s especially hard in a culture that associates “Christian” with judgment, with condemnation of others in the name of God.

Yet we don’t have to stand in a crowd and proclaim Jesus like Peter did. We can do it ways other than words. In fact, Jesus provides us a list in Matthew 25 – feed the hungry, water the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit prisoners. Those things witness to the risen Christ just as much as preaching Jesus. And it’s also why we hear about Easter again and again. There’s too much to do to fit into one hour a week. In fact, we spend all of our lives living into the meaning of that one day. That’s the wonder, the glory, the richness of the resurrection. So get going! There’s work to do!

[3 Easter: Acts 3:12-19; 1 John 3:1-7; Luke 24:36b-48.]