The First Sunday After Pentecost: Trinity Sunday Proverbs 8: 1 – 4, 22 – 31
May 30, 2010 Romans 5: 1 – 5
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 16: 12 - 15
What is man that you should be mindful of him?
Psalm 8: 5a
St. Asaph’s is truly a remarkable parish and one of your many great gifts is your desire to be with one another sharing corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day, roasted lamb and bitter herbs at the Seder Supper, shucked oysters at the Oyster Roast, barbequed chicken at the Chicken-Q, and sausage and eggs on Mothers’ Day. You all enjoy one another’s company and I have been graced to share in that fellowship with you these past weeks. Today on this Trinity Sunday, as we celebrate the revelation of God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, a divine communion of love, we are bearing to witness to the reality of human being – we are made for communion. Our desire for fellowship with others is rooted in the very nature of God, God who chooses not to exist in solitary splendor, but rather as a relationship of love as Father and Son.
Our desire to be with others is rooted in the very nature of who we are as human beings, beings created by God to be with others, created by God who said: “It is not good that a man should be alone; I will make him a helper to be his partner.” We are created for relationship, graced with the capacity for language so we can speak to one another, blessed with ears so we might be able to listen to one another, given hands so we might touch one another and faces that we might see one another. “It is not good that a man should be alone” and God has physically formed us so that we need not be alone, left to roam the face of the earth as solitary individuals.
But after two short chapters in Genesis we learn what we already know: being with others is the single greatest challenge we face as human beings. The serpent tricks Eve leading both Adam and Eve to hide from God because they were afraid and Adam blames the whole mess on Eve. By chapter four, Cain kills his brother Abel and we are left to wonder if God’s desire for us to be with one another will remain only a dream God once had.
Following the crucifixion, the early church found themselves together in a new way. This new community created by a common conviction that God had acted through Jesus of Nazareth knew they were bound together by a power which was not their own. This new community of Jews and gentiles, slaves and free men, men and women, rich and poor, outcasts and paradigms of righteousness, knew that their common life could not be sustained by any human power - humanity had ably demonstrated how incapable we are of loving one another. This new community attributed their common life to the work of the Holy Spirit, God’s presence among them drawing them together. Left to their own devices, life would have been much easier without one another.
The Church needed three hundred years before the Church was able to say that the very possibility of such communion, of mutual fellowship among different people, lay in the nature of God. Grounded in the witness of scripture which testifies to an intimate relationship between Jesus and God whom he calls “Father,” the Church could say that God is a communion of love, One being in Three Persons, an eternal relationship of self-giving love as Father and Son.
The doctrine of the Trinity was, and remains, a theological explosion. The doctrine of the Trinity is the distinctively Christian claim about God. The God we worship, the God of Trinity, is not the God of the Jews or the Hindus or the Buddhists or the Muslims or even, the God enshrined on our dollar bill. To say that God exists as One being in Three Persons is a very specific claim, one we have at times preferred to forget rather than celebrate.
Following the great debates about the nature of God in the early centuries of the church, the world moved on, and so did the church. And dust began to settle on those early controversies. The doctrine of the Trinity, although enshrined in the liturgy in the words of the Nicene Creed, was increasingly viewed as an irrelevant relic of the past.
The Enlightenment came and went, and “man,” not God, became the measure of all things. And then, the world fell apart, engulfed by two world wars and the reality that six million people were systematically and very efficiently “terminated.” And many, but for sure not all, “good” Christians stood idly by as their Jewish neighbors were loaded onto cattle cars and sent to their deaths in the gas chambers. Whatever glory God had bestowed on humankind appeared in the aftermath to be lost forever.
About that time, a Protestant theologian by the name of Karl Barth began to ponder anew this strange doctrine of the Trinity and what that doctrine might mean to us as we seek to live out our faith. What Barth and others who followed after, came to appreciate was that the doctrine of the Trinity has profound implications for the way we understand ourselves and what makes us tick.
You and I live in a world that assumes we are individuals who can have relationships. We are, we believe, autonomous selves who can choose to be in relationship with others or not. Relationships are a kind of an added extra to our existence as human beings.
What Barth and others gleaned from those early debates about the Trinity was that relationship with others is what makes us human, what makes us “persons” – one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable, unique creations of God. We are not individual selves who have relationships; rather in and through our relationships with others, we become “persons” - non-repeatable, particular, distinctive creations of God. Consider your most intimate relationships. Could anyone replace that particular “person”? One human being has become for you what they have always been to God - a cherished, non-repeatable, particular, very distinctive creation.
We know we are not all alike; we know we are different one from another. “I” am not “you” and “you” are not “me.” But for Barth, I can only know who “I” am with “you,” not without you. For Barth, “me,” my unique personhood, is not a given, but a gift, a gift we receive from being in relationship with others.
Unfortunately, we often draw back from one another, fearing, often with good reasons, that “you” will want to make me more like “you,” which I do not want to be. Love is not supposed to make “you” like “me.” Love is supposed to make you more you. Unfortunately, we often try to turn others into clones of ourselves. At that point we are not loving others, but simply doing what comes naturally – loving ourselves.
The strange logic of the Trinity – God is Three Persons and One Nature – tells us that God is and exists only as relationship, a relationship predicated upon difference – the Father is not the Son and the Son is not the Father. Bound together by the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of love, they become one, not the same, but not divided. You and I are created in this image, an image of communion in which we do not lose but rather receive our distinctiveness.
The glory of God, the glory of the Trinity, is that differentiation and distinction indwells the very being of God. We are not the same, we were not created to be like anything or anyone else. What we are created to be, however, are beings who can enjoy communion with one another, beings who in and through relationship with others can become the irreplaceable “persons” God created us to be. Chicken-Q’s and Oyster Roasts will not, we all know, bring in the Kingdom of God. But if, through our fellowship with one another, we begin to glean our very distinctive and one of a kind places within this community then I believe we are enfleshing the truth of the Trinity.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
May 30, 2010 Romans 5: 1 – 5
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 16: 12 - 15
What is man that you should be mindful of him?
Psalm 8: 5a
St. Asaph’s is truly a remarkable parish and one of your many great gifts is your desire to be with one another sharing corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day, roasted lamb and bitter herbs at the Seder Supper, shucked oysters at the Oyster Roast, barbequed chicken at the Chicken-Q, and sausage and eggs on Mothers’ Day. You all enjoy one another’s company and I have been graced to share in that fellowship with you these past weeks. Today on this Trinity Sunday, as we celebrate the revelation of God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, a divine communion of love, we are bearing to witness to the reality of human being – we are made for communion. Our desire for fellowship with others is rooted in the very nature of God, God who chooses not to exist in solitary splendor, but rather as a relationship of love as Father and Son.
Our desire to be with others is rooted in the very nature of who we are as human beings, beings created by God to be with others, created by God who said: “It is not good that a man should be alone; I will make him a helper to be his partner.” We are created for relationship, graced with the capacity for language so we can speak to one another, blessed with ears so we might be able to listen to one another, given hands so we might touch one another and faces that we might see one another. “It is not good that a man should be alone” and God has physically formed us so that we need not be alone, left to roam the face of the earth as solitary individuals.
But after two short chapters in Genesis we learn what we already know: being with others is the single greatest challenge we face as human beings. The serpent tricks Eve leading both Adam and Eve to hide from God because they were afraid and Adam blames the whole mess on Eve. By chapter four, Cain kills his brother Abel and we are left to wonder if God’s desire for us to be with one another will remain only a dream God once had.
Following the crucifixion, the early church found themselves together in a new way. This new community created by a common conviction that God had acted through Jesus of Nazareth knew they were bound together by a power which was not their own. This new community of Jews and gentiles, slaves and free men, men and women, rich and poor, outcasts and paradigms of righteousness, knew that their common life could not be sustained by any human power - humanity had ably demonstrated how incapable we are of loving one another. This new community attributed their common life to the work of the Holy Spirit, God’s presence among them drawing them together. Left to their own devices, life would have been much easier without one another.
The Church needed three hundred years before the Church was able to say that the very possibility of such communion, of mutual fellowship among different people, lay in the nature of God. Grounded in the witness of scripture which testifies to an intimate relationship between Jesus and God whom he calls “Father,” the Church could say that God is a communion of love, One being in Three Persons, an eternal relationship of self-giving love as Father and Son.
The doctrine of the Trinity was, and remains, a theological explosion. The doctrine of the Trinity is the distinctively Christian claim about God. The God we worship, the God of Trinity, is not the God of the Jews or the Hindus or the Buddhists or the Muslims or even, the God enshrined on our dollar bill. To say that God exists as One being in Three Persons is a very specific claim, one we have at times preferred to forget rather than celebrate.
Following the great debates about the nature of God in the early centuries of the church, the world moved on, and so did the church. And dust began to settle on those early controversies. The doctrine of the Trinity, although enshrined in the liturgy in the words of the Nicene Creed, was increasingly viewed as an irrelevant relic of the past.
The Enlightenment came and went, and “man,” not God, became the measure of all things. And then, the world fell apart, engulfed by two world wars and the reality that six million people were systematically and very efficiently “terminated.” And many, but for sure not all, “good” Christians stood idly by as their Jewish neighbors were loaded onto cattle cars and sent to their deaths in the gas chambers. Whatever glory God had bestowed on humankind appeared in the aftermath to be lost forever.
About that time, a Protestant theologian by the name of Karl Barth began to ponder anew this strange doctrine of the Trinity and what that doctrine might mean to us as we seek to live out our faith. What Barth and others who followed after, came to appreciate was that the doctrine of the Trinity has profound implications for the way we understand ourselves and what makes us tick.
You and I live in a world that assumes we are individuals who can have relationships. We are, we believe, autonomous selves who can choose to be in relationship with others or not. Relationships are a kind of an added extra to our existence as human beings.
What Barth and others gleaned from those early debates about the Trinity was that relationship with others is what makes us human, what makes us “persons” – one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable, unique creations of God. We are not individual selves who have relationships; rather in and through our relationships with others, we become “persons” - non-repeatable, particular, distinctive creations of God. Consider your most intimate relationships. Could anyone replace that particular “person”? One human being has become for you what they have always been to God - a cherished, non-repeatable, particular, very distinctive creation.
We know we are not all alike; we know we are different one from another. “I” am not “you” and “you” are not “me.” But for Barth, I can only know who “I” am with “you,” not without you. For Barth, “me,” my unique personhood, is not a given, but a gift, a gift we receive from being in relationship with others.
Unfortunately, we often draw back from one another, fearing, often with good reasons, that “you” will want to make me more like “you,” which I do not want to be. Love is not supposed to make “you” like “me.” Love is supposed to make you more you. Unfortunately, we often try to turn others into clones of ourselves. At that point we are not loving others, but simply doing what comes naturally – loving ourselves.
The strange logic of the Trinity – God is Three Persons and One Nature – tells us that God is and exists only as relationship, a relationship predicated upon difference – the Father is not the Son and the Son is not the Father. Bound together by the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of love, they become one, not the same, but not divided. You and I are created in this image, an image of communion in which we do not lose but rather receive our distinctiveness.
The glory of God, the glory of the Trinity, is that differentiation and distinction indwells the very being of God. We are not the same, we were not created to be like anything or anyone else. What we are created to be, however, are beings who can enjoy communion with one another, beings who in and through relationship with others can become the irreplaceable “persons” God created us to be. Chicken-Q’s and Oyster Roasts will not, we all know, bring in the Kingdom of God. But if, through our fellowship with one another, we begin to glean our very distinctive and one of a kind places within this community then I believe we are enfleshing the truth of the Trinity.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Day of Pentecost Genesis 11: 1 – 9
Sunday, May 23, 2010 Acts 2: 1 – 21
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 14: 8 – 17 (25 – 27)
And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting.
Acts 2: 2
Today is the feast of Pentecost and unlike Christmas and Easter, usually does not attract a lot of attention from Episcopalians. Pentecost Sunday is yet another Sunday followed by the real sleeper, Trinity Sunday, and is always encumbered by Memorial Day weekend, the last of the out of season prices on vacation cottages, the beginning of good weather, and, well, the start of summer. That today we will extinguish the Paschal Candle which has burned for seven weeks and begin the long season of Pentecost is for the most part lost on most of the prevailing culture and often on us.
But today is a big day and because today is a big day, the sanctuary looks a bit different and our service of worship includes some unusual elements – readings in different languages and the renewal of our baptismal covenant. Today in the life of the church is a big day – today we celebrate God’s gift of the Holy Spirit, the power of God which gave birth to the church.
For fifty days, ever since our Easter celebration on April 4, we have been celebrating the resurrection, the presence of the risen Christ. For fifty days, the paschal candle has burned, a reminder that: The Lord is risen! Alleluia! The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia! Now God pours out the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Christ, who we no longer see but can know in mysterious and unpredictable ways. Today we hear how the disciples, empowered by the Holy Spirit were able to proclaim the good news of the resurrection to all people, to all nations, in every language.
Fifty days ago, I called our Easter proclamation - The Lord is risen - madness. For fifty days we have lived in this new and crazy world and today, we hear how the disciples were empowered to make this mad claim to others, others who knew nothing of Jesus’ life and death and who, like all of us, would find the news of the resurrection unbelievable.
Those first disciples should have faded away quietly. The Roman Empire thought they were trouble makers and killed their leader. The Jewish rabbis didn’t know what to do with these witnesses to a Messiah who broke most of the Jewish laws and eventually threw them out of the synagogues. And the disciples themselves were nothing to brag about, a rag tag band of fishermen who fairly consistently misunderstood the man they followed. The crucifixion should have put out whatever fire Jesus had set in the hearts of those who knew him.
Quite the opposite happened. And we here today are witnesses to that undeniable fact. Something happened, the church was born and Christian communities sprang up throughout the Roman Empire. Something enabled this besieged community to survive and if the witness of scripture is true, it wasn’t Peter or even Paul or the women who found the empty tomb. Something happened and the church for centuries has affirmed that what happened was an act of God, the work of the Holy Spirit.
We, in the Episcopal Church, have historically been a bit reticent to speak about the work of the Holy Spirit. To claim that God is at work in the world through the power of the Holy Spirit suggests that we are not completely in control, that what happens to us and among us may not always be of our own making. We like to think of ourselves as reasonable, rational, and logical creatures, and to suggest that perhaps there are powers afoot in the world moving us in ways we do not always wholly understand, makes us a little nervous.
I remember my Episcopalian grandmother rolling her eyes in disdain at those she called “holy rollers,” Christians who waved their arms in church, probably prayed in tongues, and fell out fainting into the aisles. Such folk were to be avoided. Such folk were crazy. It was O.K. to say we believed in the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost but it was not O.K. to believe in ghosts, in spirits, in anything that might move you to do something out of the ordinary, the usual, the predictable.
Recently, some in the church have made note of the fact that while membership in mainline denominations is declining, interest in things “spiritual” is rising. Outside the church, folks are looking to crystals, tarot cards and psychics to put them in touch with worlds beyond this one in which we live. Inside the church, Celtic and Taize services on Saturday or Sunday evenings are becoming popular. Many folk are finding that candles, silence, and simple chants enable them to experience the presence of God in ways other than a celebration of the Holy Eucharist on Sunday morning. Folk are seeking something we call “spirituality” and not always finding it in the institutional church.
Anglican Bishop Tom Wright comments: “If the contemporary quest for spirituality is based on the idea that that there’s someone or something “out there” with whom (or with which) we can be in contact, and if that idea is after all completely mistaken (so that we humans are alone in the cosmos), then spirituality might not be simply a harmless pursuit. It might actually be dangerous, if not to ourselves, then at least to those whose lives are affected by what we say and do.” For Bishop Wright, to believe in and to seek out the Spirit of God could wreck havoc on our carefully ordered and predictable world. I believe my grandmother would agree.
Pentecost is a dangerous celebration, an affirmation that the Spirit of God is at work in us and among us. But how do we distinguish the Spirit of God, whose will it is that we all may be one from the spirits which move folk to become suicide bombers and religious fanatics? The good and the bad news is that we can never say with absolute certainty – “this is the work of God.” We can never be so sure, so convicted, so certain that what we believe God is calling us to do is beyond question, immune from challenge, an individual decision that we alone can make. Discerning the Spirit of God is the work of the church, a communal discernment and never simply a “private affair.”
But that means we must trust one another, trust one another to listen to our deepest yearnings, our wildest dreams, our really crazy ideas. We must trust that others will not walk away shaking their heads, wagging their fingers, telling us we have lost our minds. As we seek to give birth to the Spirit at work within us, we need to know others will not abort that new life before the Spirit comes to term. We may be crazy, half-cocked, reacting to our personal histories rather than responding to the work of the Holy Spirit within us. We will need others to listen to us and to help us discern the work of God which is never solely about us and our well being but is always about the well being of all of God’s creation.
Our celebration of Pentecost this morning marks the beginning of the longest season in the church year. After today, the altar hangings will turn to green and green will hang on the altar until Advent with some exceptions, like next Sunday, Trinity Sunday, and All Saints’ Day in November. The season of Pentecost which begins today in the Church begins for all of us at our baptism, when we are “sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.” By the power of the Holy Spirit, we are enabled to show forth in our lives what we profess with our lips: Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! And in the words of Saint Paul, “May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore.”
Sunday, May 23, 2010 Acts 2: 1 – 21
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 14: 8 – 17 (25 – 27)
And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting.
Acts 2: 2
Today is the feast of Pentecost and unlike Christmas and Easter, usually does not attract a lot of attention from Episcopalians. Pentecost Sunday is yet another Sunday followed by the real sleeper, Trinity Sunday, and is always encumbered by Memorial Day weekend, the last of the out of season prices on vacation cottages, the beginning of good weather, and, well, the start of summer. That today we will extinguish the Paschal Candle which has burned for seven weeks and begin the long season of Pentecost is for the most part lost on most of the prevailing culture and often on us.
But today is a big day and because today is a big day, the sanctuary looks a bit different and our service of worship includes some unusual elements – readings in different languages and the renewal of our baptismal covenant. Today in the life of the church is a big day – today we celebrate God’s gift of the Holy Spirit, the power of God which gave birth to the church.
For fifty days, ever since our Easter celebration on April 4, we have been celebrating the resurrection, the presence of the risen Christ. For fifty days, the paschal candle has burned, a reminder that: The Lord is risen! Alleluia! The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia! Now God pours out the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Christ, who we no longer see but can know in mysterious and unpredictable ways. Today we hear how the disciples, empowered by the Holy Spirit were able to proclaim the good news of the resurrection to all people, to all nations, in every language.
Fifty days ago, I called our Easter proclamation - The Lord is risen - madness. For fifty days we have lived in this new and crazy world and today, we hear how the disciples were empowered to make this mad claim to others, others who knew nothing of Jesus’ life and death and who, like all of us, would find the news of the resurrection unbelievable.
Those first disciples should have faded away quietly. The Roman Empire thought they were trouble makers and killed their leader. The Jewish rabbis didn’t know what to do with these witnesses to a Messiah who broke most of the Jewish laws and eventually threw them out of the synagogues. And the disciples themselves were nothing to brag about, a rag tag band of fishermen who fairly consistently misunderstood the man they followed. The crucifixion should have put out whatever fire Jesus had set in the hearts of those who knew him.
Quite the opposite happened. And we here today are witnesses to that undeniable fact. Something happened, the church was born and Christian communities sprang up throughout the Roman Empire. Something enabled this besieged community to survive and if the witness of scripture is true, it wasn’t Peter or even Paul or the women who found the empty tomb. Something happened and the church for centuries has affirmed that what happened was an act of God, the work of the Holy Spirit.
We, in the Episcopal Church, have historically been a bit reticent to speak about the work of the Holy Spirit. To claim that God is at work in the world through the power of the Holy Spirit suggests that we are not completely in control, that what happens to us and among us may not always be of our own making. We like to think of ourselves as reasonable, rational, and logical creatures, and to suggest that perhaps there are powers afoot in the world moving us in ways we do not always wholly understand, makes us a little nervous.
I remember my Episcopalian grandmother rolling her eyes in disdain at those she called “holy rollers,” Christians who waved their arms in church, probably prayed in tongues, and fell out fainting into the aisles. Such folk were to be avoided. Such folk were crazy. It was O.K. to say we believed in the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost but it was not O.K. to believe in ghosts, in spirits, in anything that might move you to do something out of the ordinary, the usual, the predictable.
Recently, some in the church have made note of the fact that while membership in mainline denominations is declining, interest in things “spiritual” is rising. Outside the church, folks are looking to crystals, tarot cards and psychics to put them in touch with worlds beyond this one in which we live. Inside the church, Celtic and Taize services on Saturday or Sunday evenings are becoming popular. Many folk are finding that candles, silence, and simple chants enable them to experience the presence of God in ways other than a celebration of the Holy Eucharist on Sunday morning. Folk are seeking something we call “spirituality” and not always finding it in the institutional church.
Anglican Bishop Tom Wright comments: “If the contemporary quest for spirituality is based on the idea that that there’s someone or something “out there” with whom (or with which) we can be in contact, and if that idea is after all completely mistaken (so that we humans are alone in the cosmos), then spirituality might not be simply a harmless pursuit. It might actually be dangerous, if not to ourselves, then at least to those whose lives are affected by what we say and do.” For Bishop Wright, to believe in and to seek out the Spirit of God could wreck havoc on our carefully ordered and predictable world. I believe my grandmother would agree.
Pentecost is a dangerous celebration, an affirmation that the Spirit of God is at work in us and among us. But how do we distinguish the Spirit of God, whose will it is that we all may be one from the spirits which move folk to become suicide bombers and religious fanatics? The good and the bad news is that we can never say with absolute certainty – “this is the work of God.” We can never be so sure, so convicted, so certain that what we believe God is calling us to do is beyond question, immune from challenge, an individual decision that we alone can make. Discerning the Spirit of God is the work of the church, a communal discernment and never simply a “private affair.”
But that means we must trust one another, trust one another to listen to our deepest yearnings, our wildest dreams, our really crazy ideas. We must trust that others will not walk away shaking their heads, wagging their fingers, telling us we have lost our minds. As we seek to give birth to the Spirit at work within us, we need to know others will not abort that new life before the Spirit comes to term. We may be crazy, half-cocked, reacting to our personal histories rather than responding to the work of the Holy Spirit within us. We will need others to listen to us and to help us discern the work of God which is never solely about us and our well being but is always about the well being of all of God’s creation.
Our celebration of Pentecost this morning marks the beginning of the longest season in the church year. After today, the altar hangings will turn to green and green will hang on the altar until Advent with some exceptions, like next Sunday, Trinity Sunday, and All Saints’ Day in November. The season of Pentecost which begins today in the Church begins for all of us at our baptism, when we are “sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.” By the power of the Holy Spirit, we are enabled to show forth in our lives what we profess with our lips: Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! And in the words of Saint Paul, “May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore.”
The Seventh Sunday of Easter Acts 16: 16 – 34
Sunday, May 16, 2010 Revelation 22: 12 – 14, 16 – 17, 20 – 21
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 17: 20 – 26
“The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one,”
John 17: 22
In 2004, a young man by the name of Kevin Reid wrote a song which came to be known as the anthem of the world. The song was called simply “We Are One.” In January of 2009, thousands gathered at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., to listen to a host of musical superstars perform at an inaugural concert simply titled “We Are One.” And recently I discovered a website that sells jewelry and clothes to “enhance peace, love and harmony throughout the world" and whose logo is “We are one.” Sung with the passion of prophets, “we are one” is a call for unity amidst our many differences.
This desire for unity comes at a time in human history when travel and the internet have made the world a “global village.” We are now able to meet people our ancestors never even knew existed and experience communities and cultures very different from our own. “Getting along” has for time immemorial been a challenge for the human race, and now as the world shrinks, we are finding ourselves doing business with, studying with and living with, folk from all over the world. The challenge to live together in peace is perhaps greater now than ever before.
In our gospel reading this morning from John, Jesus prays for his disciples and what Jesus prays for is that the disciples may be one as he and the Father are one. Written toward the end of the first century, the gospel of John was written to a divided community. Some in this persecuted fledgling Christian community believed the apostle Peter was the true interpreter of the faith; others believed someone called “the beloved apostle” was their spiritual leader. The community was split – torn apart by their allegiances – and the division threatened the existence of the community which was besieged without by Rome, on the one hand, and the synagogue on the other. Disunity within the community would spell disaster. And now, in Jesus’ final prayer, Jesus prays that his disciples will be one, as he and the Father are one.
That the church might be “one” continues to be our hope and prayer. What we know is that the church did indeed survive, if not always thrive. A thousand years after the gospel of John was written, the church in the east split from the church in the west, creating the Orthodox church in the east and the Roman Church in the west. Five hundred years later the church in the west split, creating the Protestant churches and the Roman Catholic Church. And following that split, the Anglican church split from Rome, followed by the Lutheran, Presbyterian and Methodist churches, and all the many independent Baptist churches. In Bowling Green alone, we have seven churches. The church is not one yet and often seems destined never to be one.
If a joyous rock concert like the one which preceded the most recent presidential inauguration, could bring us all together, then I say we invite Bruce Springsteen into Bowling Green next week! While that might be fun, you and I both know that the oneness of which Jesus speaks is not going to happen by holding hands and singing “We are one.” God alone can make us one.
While I am grateful that others in this world are compelled to work for unity, I must admit I am often a bit skeptical. Often in these calls for unity, we hear that the problem of our disunity is religion, that if we set aside our religious beliefs, the world would indeed become one. The problem with the world is that some of us are Christians, some are Muslims, some Buddhist, etc. The world can be one, so the argument goes, if we simply forgo our religious beliefs and adopt a more “spiritual” posture – something akin to believing that at root, all religions teach the same thing, and that by clinging to the absurd belief in the resurrection we are just making things worse, not better.
On the other hand, we hear a lot these days about “unity in diversity” which is often a code word for privileging our own agenda and denying the possibility that anyone has anything to teach us or that we have anything to learn. “Unity in diversity” can often mean “I have a place at the table and I am not accountable to you.” “Unity in diversity” can become a mantra that, while desiring inclusivity, actually pushes some folks away.
Unity, in secular parlance, is grounded in the belief that we are all human, and because we are all human, we ought to be one. No one of us, the argument goes, is any more or less human than anyone else. “We are one” because we are all human beings and we all know what it means to be human.
In the gospel of John, we are “born from above” and our humanity is not a given, but a gift. For our evangelist John, being human is not something we are given at birth, but is given to us in and through relationships of love, relationships with others that manifest for us the relationship God wishes to share with us. Being human is not something we are, but something we are given, a gift of love.
One night many years ago when I worked as a chaplain at MCV in Richmond, I was called to the Labor and Delivery floor. I was met at the door of the patient’s room by the doctor. “I wanted you to know before you go in,” she said, “that the baby was born with devastating abnormalities.” Not knowing exactly what she meant, I knocked on the door and went in. There, on the bed was Mom, looking exhausted, and Dad, cradling his blanketed child. Dad unfolded the blanket. Inside lay a large, very red and very transparent ball; very tiny protrusions on the side hinted at arms and legs. Otherwise, any resemblance to a “normal” child were entirely absent. Dad laid his child on the bed and spoke of their grief. They had named the baby and they knew their baby would not live even though at that moment the form pulsated with the desire to live. There was, so far as I could see, no indication of sex – that this child was male or female was not obvious. The child was not covered by skin but rather by what looked to me as a very thin membrane, so fragile looking I was afraid to touch for fear of wrecking damage to an already compromised life. Mom and Dad, through their tears, cradling what looked for all the world as something non-human or at least not yet human, loved their child into being. This was their first born; this was their child, and this child had a name and a mom and a dad. For most of the world, what that dad held in his arms was not a child but an aberration, a mistake of nature, a genetic flaw. Not for dad and not for mom. For this mom and this dad, this was their child, wholly unrecognizable as a human being, destined to die within hours, but loved, loved into being, cradled in a blanket, cried over. What mom and dad wanted was the recognition that this was a child, their child, and was not simply as, we are apt to say, “a product of conception.”
What I came to realize that day was that there is nothing common about us. We all do not have a brain nor two arms and two legs. Many of us fall prey to disfiguring diseases of the body as well as the mind. Whatever common humanity, what being human means, is not something we have but something we are given, a gift, a gift given to us by others, others who love us. What makes us anything at all is love. Without love we are nothing, neither human, nor anything else.
We are created to be one. And our way into being one is not what we share in common, something we call our common humanity, but rather our capacity to love, our capacity to see in something other than ourselves the beauty and grace of God. Enfolded in that blanket on that day many years ago, was a manifestation of God, not because what was enfolded in that blanket looked anything like you or me, but simply because what was enfolded in that blanket was loved and loved well.
Sunday, May 16, 2010 Revelation 22: 12 – 14, 16 – 17, 20 – 21
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 17: 20 – 26
“The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one,”
John 17: 22
In 2004, a young man by the name of Kevin Reid wrote a song which came to be known as the anthem of the world. The song was called simply “We Are One.” In January of 2009, thousands gathered at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., to listen to a host of musical superstars perform at an inaugural concert simply titled “We Are One.” And recently I discovered a website that sells jewelry and clothes to “enhance peace, love and harmony throughout the world" and whose logo is “We are one.” Sung with the passion of prophets, “we are one” is a call for unity amidst our many differences.
This desire for unity comes at a time in human history when travel and the internet have made the world a “global village.” We are now able to meet people our ancestors never even knew existed and experience communities and cultures very different from our own. “Getting along” has for time immemorial been a challenge for the human race, and now as the world shrinks, we are finding ourselves doing business with, studying with and living with, folk from all over the world. The challenge to live together in peace is perhaps greater now than ever before.
In our gospel reading this morning from John, Jesus prays for his disciples and what Jesus prays for is that the disciples may be one as he and the Father are one. Written toward the end of the first century, the gospel of John was written to a divided community. Some in this persecuted fledgling Christian community believed the apostle Peter was the true interpreter of the faith; others believed someone called “the beloved apostle” was their spiritual leader. The community was split – torn apart by their allegiances – and the division threatened the existence of the community which was besieged without by Rome, on the one hand, and the synagogue on the other. Disunity within the community would spell disaster. And now, in Jesus’ final prayer, Jesus prays that his disciples will be one, as he and the Father are one.
That the church might be “one” continues to be our hope and prayer. What we know is that the church did indeed survive, if not always thrive. A thousand years after the gospel of John was written, the church in the east split from the church in the west, creating the Orthodox church in the east and the Roman Church in the west. Five hundred years later the church in the west split, creating the Protestant churches and the Roman Catholic Church. And following that split, the Anglican church split from Rome, followed by the Lutheran, Presbyterian and Methodist churches, and all the many independent Baptist churches. In Bowling Green alone, we have seven churches. The church is not one yet and often seems destined never to be one.
If a joyous rock concert like the one which preceded the most recent presidential inauguration, could bring us all together, then I say we invite Bruce Springsteen into Bowling Green next week! While that might be fun, you and I both know that the oneness of which Jesus speaks is not going to happen by holding hands and singing “We are one.” God alone can make us one.
While I am grateful that others in this world are compelled to work for unity, I must admit I am often a bit skeptical. Often in these calls for unity, we hear that the problem of our disunity is religion, that if we set aside our religious beliefs, the world would indeed become one. The problem with the world is that some of us are Christians, some are Muslims, some Buddhist, etc. The world can be one, so the argument goes, if we simply forgo our religious beliefs and adopt a more “spiritual” posture – something akin to believing that at root, all religions teach the same thing, and that by clinging to the absurd belief in the resurrection we are just making things worse, not better.
On the other hand, we hear a lot these days about “unity in diversity” which is often a code word for privileging our own agenda and denying the possibility that anyone has anything to teach us or that we have anything to learn. “Unity in diversity” can often mean “I have a place at the table and I am not accountable to you.” “Unity in diversity” can become a mantra that, while desiring inclusivity, actually pushes some folks away.
Unity, in secular parlance, is grounded in the belief that we are all human, and because we are all human, we ought to be one. No one of us, the argument goes, is any more or less human than anyone else. “We are one” because we are all human beings and we all know what it means to be human.
In the gospel of John, we are “born from above” and our humanity is not a given, but a gift. For our evangelist John, being human is not something we are given at birth, but is given to us in and through relationships of love, relationships with others that manifest for us the relationship God wishes to share with us. Being human is not something we are, but something we are given, a gift of love.
One night many years ago when I worked as a chaplain at MCV in Richmond, I was called to the Labor and Delivery floor. I was met at the door of the patient’s room by the doctor. “I wanted you to know before you go in,” she said, “that the baby was born with devastating abnormalities.” Not knowing exactly what she meant, I knocked on the door and went in. There, on the bed was Mom, looking exhausted, and Dad, cradling his blanketed child. Dad unfolded the blanket. Inside lay a large, very red and very transparent ball; very tiny protrusions on the side hinted at arms and legs. Otherwise, any resemblance to a “normal” child were entirely absent. Dad laid his child on the bed and spoke of their grief. They had named the baby and they knew their baby would not live even though at that moment the form pulsated with the desire to live. There was, so far as I could see, no indication of sex – that this child was male or female was not obvious. The child was not covered by skin but rather by what looked to me as a very thin membrane, so fragile looking I was afraid to touch for fear of wrecking damage to an already compromised life. Mom and Dad, through their tears, cradling what looked for all the world as something non-human or at least not yet human, loved their child into being. This was their first born; this was their child, and this child had a name and a mom and a dad. For most of the world, what that dad held in his arms was not a child but an aberration, a mistake of nature, a genetic flaw. Not for dad and not for mom. For this mom and this dad, this was their child, wholly unrecognizable as a human being, destined to die within hours, but loved, loved into being, cradled in a blanket, cried over. What mom and dad wanted was the recognition that this was a child, their child, and was not simply as, we are apt to say, “a product of conception.”
What I came to realize that day was that there is nothing common about us. We all do not have a brain nor two arms and two legs. Many of us fall prey to disfiguring diseases of the body as well as the mind. Whatever common humanity, what being human means, is not something we have but something we are given, a gift, a gift given to us by others, others who love us. What makes us anything at all is love. Without love we are nothing, neither human, nor anything else.
We are created to be one. And our way into being one is not what we share in common, something we call our common humanity, but rather our capacity to love, our capacity to see in something other than ourselves the beauty and grace of God. Enfolded in that blanket on that day many years ago, was a manifestation of God, not because what was enfolded in that blanket looked anything like you or me, but simply because what was enfolded in that blanket was loved and loved well.
The Sixth Sunday of Easter Acts 16: 9 – 15
Sunday, May 9, 2010 Revelation 21: 10, 22 – 22:5
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 14: 23 – 29
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.
John 14: 27
On April the 10th, 97 of Poland’s top military, political and religious leaders, including Poland’s President, died when the plane carrying them to a ceremony in Russia crashed. On April 20, an oil rig exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, dumping 1.6 million gallons of crude oil into the waters off the coast of Louisiana. And this past Monday, aftershocks from the January 12th earthquake in Haiti, brought fear of more destruction, to an already ravaged people.
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives,” we hear this morning in our reading from the gospel of John. This day you and I are well aware that what the world gives to us is anything but peace. The world is, as the world has always been, a place where natural disasters can destroy whole communities in the blink of an eye, a place where you probably need to lock the doors of your house when you leave, a place where you can be killed if you happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The world is not a peaceful place as much as we might wish that it was.
And yet, in spite of the reality that we live and move and have our being in a violent world, you and I can know peace. We can and we do, experience peace. From time to time, we enjoy moments when “all seems right with the world,” when we would not change a thing, moments when everything comes together within us and without us. I knew peace when I held my firstborn son in my arms for the first time and saw a look of holy awe flash across the face of his father. In the midst of a violent world, we can know peace and when we do, we have been given a gift from God.
You and I live in a culture in which peace is usually defined as the absence of conflict or stress. Peace is not the presence of God, but rather the absence of anxiety. Seeking peace, we are urged “to get away from it all” and take a vacation. Looking for peace, we switch on the T.V. or go to a spa or take a walk. We look for ways to “relax” and may read or garden or hike or meditate or medicate. If we can find ways, healthy or not, to remove the stressors of life, then, we believe we will know peace.
And sometimes we do indeed come to know the peace of God in those moments. Most of the time, however, we are simply escaping the reality of the world in which we live; much of the time what we are enjoying is the absence of conflict and violence, not the presence of God.
Peace, the peace of God which passes all understanding, is always a gift, never something we can “make happen” simply by taking a vacation or practicing Yoga. The peace of God is the conviction that who we are and what we are doing is somehow mysteriously in line with God’s purposes for us. When we come to know the peace of God, we are responding to the movement of God’s Spirit within us, wooing us, calling to us, leading us one way rather than another. In the words of theologian Frederick Buechner, peace is “not the absence of struggle but the presence of love.”
The gift of peace that comes to us from God never takes us out of the world but always sends us right back into the world, to be ambassadors of peace in the midst of a violent world. The peace of God is what we discover when we embrace our most authentic selves, the truest part of who we are and who God created us to be. We come to know the peace of God when we are living out a vocation rather than simply “doing a job.” Vocation comes from the word “call” and is our response to a prior call from God, the God who called Israel out of slavery in Egypt and who continues to call to all of us, and calls us by name. Vocations, because they are given to us by God, come in all shapes and sizes, but always further God’s purposes in the world, God’s desire that the world be a place of peace and joy.
I suspect we all have met folks who seem eminently comfortable in their own skin, who seem to be doing exactly what they were created to do. Such folk exude a passion and a joy that is contagious, we might even say “inspirational,” meaning that through them we see God’s Spirit at work. And I suspect we have met folk who seem not to be doing what they want, and are consequently miserable.
The world is not a peaceful place and the roots of the dis-ease of the world lies in our own hearts. Unfortunately the one conflict none of us can escape is the conflict in our own hearts, the conflict between what we think we “should” do and what we really, really want to do. Much of the time we simply compromise, not altogether living lives of quiet desperation, but never really feeling like a boat under full sail. Things are O.K. but not great; the sails are luffing but at least we’re still afloat. And if we take our restlessness seriously, who knows what God might have in mind. Better, we think, not to pay too much attention to that sense of dis-ease – better, we think, to take a vacation and get away from it all.
“Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.” Peace is our awareness of God with us. Peace is what we come to know when we experience God’s presence. That may happen on the Princess Line but more often than not happens when we claim for ourselves the truth that God loves us and desires only our joy. God is not about making life in a difficult world tolerable; God is about bringing us to joy.
In the gospel of John, our evangelist tells us we are to be in the world but not of the world. We live in a violent, stressful, and anxiety driven world and in response we believe we can find peace by leaving the world in which live behind. That was and is the heresy of the Gnostics, all those who believe that this world, fraught as it is with evil and pain, is not good. Peace is found somewhere else, but not in this world. Our task is to escape this world. Good luck!
We cannot escape from living in this world and that is good news not bad. The world is created to be very good and from time to time we know it to be that way. Yup, much of the time the world is not so very good and we all wish for an escape. But every now and again we taste and see a very good world, a very, very good world and we are brought to our knees in gratitude and then sent out into the world to share that good news.
You and I often forget that we really are of this world, of this world of violence and conflict. We forget that our own hearts are divided; divided between simply making do and coming to joy. We compromise; we take what we can get; we settle for a vacation and a respite from the craziness, but are reluctant to embrace joy, real joy. We are afraid to embrace the joy God desires for us for any number of reasons, not the least of which for fear we might take people by surprise, maybe disappoint some, maybe upset the status quo and call down upon our heads all manner of grief and woe. Well, we might.
The peace which God promises to us does not eliminate conflict or stress or anxiety but is a sign and a foretaste of a kingdom yet to come, a kingdom of all joy and of all peace, a kingdom which is filled with the glory of God and nothing else. May the peace of God be with you this day and in the words of Saint Paul, “May the God of hope fill us with all joy and peace in believing through the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Sunday, May 9, 2010 Revelation 21: 10, 22 – 22:5
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 14: 23 – 29
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.
John 14: 27
On April the 10th, 97 of Poland’s top military, political and religious leaders, including Poland’s President, died when the plane carrying them to a ceremony in Russia crashed. On April 20, an oil rig exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, dumping 1.6 million gallons of crude oil into the waters off the coast of Louisiana. And this past Monday, aftershocks from the January 12th earthquake in Haiti, brought fear of more destruction, to an already ravaged people.
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives,” we hear this morning in our reading from the gospel of John. This day you and I are well aware that what the world gives to us is anything but peace. The world is, as the world has always been, a place where natural disasters can destroy whole communities in the blink of an eye, a place where you probably need to lock the doors of your house when you leave, a place where you can be killed if you happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The world is not a peaceful place as much as we might wish that it was.
And yet, in spite of the reality that we live and move and have our being in a violent world, you and I can know peace. We can and we do, experience peace. From time to time, we enjoy moments when “all seems right with the world,” when we would not change a thing, moments when everything comes together within us and without us. I knew peace when I held my firstborn son in my arms for the first time and saw a look of holy awe flash across the face of his father. In the midst of a violent world, we can know peace and when we do, we have been given a gift from God.
You and I live in a culture in which peace is usually defined as the absence of conflict or stress. Peace is not the presence of God, but rather the absence of anxiety. Seeking peace, we are urged “to get away from it all” and take a vacation. Looking for peace, we switch on the T.V. or go to a spa or take a walk. We look for ways to “relax” and may read or garden or hike or meditate or medicate. If we can find ways, healthy or not, to remove the stressors of life, then, we believe we will know peace.
And sometimes we do indeed come to know the peace of God in those moments. Most of the time, however, we are simply escaping the reality of the world in which we live; much of the time what we are enjoying is the absence of conflict and violence, not the presence of God.
Peace, the peace of God which passes all understanding, is always a gift, never something we can “make happen” simply by taking a vacation or practicing Yoga. The peace of God is the conviction that who we are and what we are doing is somehow mysteriously in line with God’s purposes for us. When we come to know the peace of God, we are responding to the movement of God’s Spirit within us, wooing us, calling to us, leading us one way rather than another. In the words of theologian Frederick Buechner, peace is “not the absence of struggle but the presence of love.”
The gift of peace that comes to us from God never takes us out of the world but always sends us right back into the world, to be ambassadors of peace in the midst of a violent world. The peace of God is what we discover when we embrace our most authentic selves, the truest part of who we are and who God created us to be. We come to know the peace of God when we are living out a vocation rather than simply “doing a job.” Vocation comes from the word “call” and is our response to a prior call from God, the God who called Israel out of slavery in Egypt and who continues to call to all of us, and calls us by name. Vocations, because they are given to us by God, come in all shapes and sizes, but always further God’s purposes in the world, God’s desire that the world be a place of peace and joy.
I suspect we all have met folks who seem eminently comfortable in their own skin, who seem to be doing exactly what they were created to do. Such folk exude a passion and a joy that is contagious, we might even say “inspirational,” meaning that through them we see God’s Spirit at work. And I suspect we have met folk who seem not to be doing what they want, and are consequently miserable.
The world is not a peaceful place and the roots of the dis-ease of the world lies in our own hearts. Unfortunately the one conflict none of us can escape is the conflict in our own hearts, the conflict between what we think we “should” do and what we really, really want to do. Much of the time we simply compromise, not altogether living lives of quiet desperation, but never really feeling like a boat under full sail. Things are O.K. but not great; the sails are luffing but at least we’re still afloat. And if we take our restlessness seriously, who knows what God might have in mind. Better, we think, not to pay too much attention to that sense of dis-ease – better, we think, to take a vacation and get away from it all.
“Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.” Peace is our awareness of God with us. Peace is what we come to know when we experience God’s presence. That may happen on the Princess Line but more often than not happens when we claim for ourselves the truth that God loves us and desires only our joy. God is not about making life in a difficult world tolerable; God is about bringing us to joy.
In the gospel of John, our evangelist tells us we are to be in the world but not of the world. We live in a violent, stressful, and anxiety driven world and in response we believe we can find peace by leaving the world in which live behind. That was and is the heresy of the Gnostics, all those who believe that this world, fraught as it is with evil and pain, is not good. Peace is found somewhere else, but not in this world. Our task is to escape this world. Good luck!
We cannot escape from living in this world and that is good news not bad. The world is created to be very good and from time to time we know it to be that way. Yup, much of the time the world is not so very good and we all wish for an escape. But every now and again we taste and see a very good world, a very, very good world and we are brought to our knees in gratitude and then sent out into the world to share that good news.
You and I often forget that we really are of this world, of this world of violence and conflict. We forget that our own hearts are divided; divided between simply making do and coming to joy. We compromise; we take what we can get; we settle for a vacation and a respite from the craziness, but are reluctant to embrace joy, real joy. We are afraid to embrace the joy God desires for us for any number of reasons, not the least of which for fear we might take people by surprise, maybe disappoint some, maybe upset the status quo and call down upon our heads all manner of grief and woe. Well, we might.
The peace which God promises to us does not eliminate conflict or stress or anxiety but is a sign and a foretaste of a kingdom yet to come, a kingdom of all joy and of all peace, a kingdom which is filled with the glory of God and nothing else. May the peace of God be with you this day and in the words of Saint Paul, “May the God of hope fill us with all joy and peace in believing through the power of the Holy Spirit.”
