Day of Pentecost: 8AM                                                May 23, 2010

I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever.

Of the three persons of the Trinity it is the Holy Spirit most of us have most difficulty coming to terms with. The Father we understand: the Father is the Creator and Source of all. The Son we understand: The Son became incarnate in Jesus Christ so can easily visualize Him. But the Holy Spirit remains elusive. However, it is the Holy Spirit Whom we should know best, because it is the Spirit, living and breathing in us, who is right here with us, every day. The Spirit makes us spiritual beings and children of God. We have immense personal experience of the Spirit: if only we could realize this! So let us make every effort to grow in knowledge and appreciation of God’s Holy Spirit in our lives.

One way (out of many possibilities) is to ponder how the Holy Spirit works in the holy scriptures. The Spirit inspired the scriptures, which is why we call them Holy. Taking scripture into our hearts allows us to be guided by God. Nowhere do we see this more vividly than in the Psalms. The Psalms are (many of them) poems about the personal spiritual experience of individuals.

As you have already seen, the newly composed anthem to be sung later today is completely based on verses from the Psalms. The anthem text weaves selected Psalm verses into a story. In the May newsletter the story behind the anthem was published: it is the story of one particular person: in this case, my mother-in-law, Doris Overholt Christhilf. Doris died in 2007 and later my wife Janet commissioned our music director Dianne to create the anthem in her memory. There are some photographs of Doris at the entrance. You can see her as a young missionary’s wife, for instance, gazing at the camera with cheerful elegance. But her later years included great distress: mental illness and then Alzheimer’s. But remarkably, through music, even in times of dementia, songs of faith allowed her heart to sing. Doris sang in a church choir, and those who sang with her knew that hymns brought her happiness, and allowed her to express herself. This is the story behind the new anthem.

It is a moving story about one individual. But what is so wonderful about the Psalms is how easily they lend themselves to telling the stories of each of us. Doris’ story is in them, but so is yours, and so is mine. By being so radically individual in what they express, they become universal. God the Holy Spirit uses the Psalms to give meaning to each of us in our unique journey. So let me walk you through the words of the Festal Shout. Hopefully you will feel the Holy Spirit moving in your souls to give meaning to your journey too.

The text starts in childhood and innocence: children are a heritage of the Lord, and the fruit of the womb is a gift. (Later this morning we will baptize a young baby, and he exemplifies this perfectly. He is a wonderful gift to his parents and to us all.)

The next paragraph is a picture of how we connect to God in childhood. We move among people who sing and praise God: our festal shout is the word, Hallelujah, which we say so often in church. As little ones, we are surrounded by God’s presence through God’s people.

Then, from nowhere, trouble comes. The psalmist’s heart pounds, and he or she feels terror. The psalmist is abandoned and feels terribly lonely, like a sparrow on a housetop.

In this distress, the psalmist tries to understand. If life is a gift, why am I filled with fear and why am I at the brink of the grave? Questions pour in.

Amid this questioning, the psalmist begins to understand God on a deeper level. God is everywhere, even in the darkness. No matter where one goes, God’s hand leads him. The great insight comes that “Darkness and light to God are both alike.” We may be completely lost, but God sees clearly at all times. My darkness is the very place God chooses to meet me. The psalmist realizes that even amid all her troubles, she is still God’s child.

This realization frees the poet to praise God anew. “In your presence, I know the festal shout.” Amazingly, alleluias surge once more in her heart, and from age to age her mouth proclaims God’s faithfulness.

These verses resonate because they reflect a story that came true for one person who I knew well. They also resonate because the verses are astonishingly beautiful. You can’t get them out of your head if you spend some time with them. I am exceedingly grateful that the choir at ten AM includes a number of young people, teenagers. Having spent hours in rehearsal, their memories are now saturated with these words of scripture. These Psalm verses will linger for a lifetime. The day will come for these young folk (if it hasn’t already) when their hearts will pound with fear and feel full of trouble. When that befalls, the verses they sing today will still be available to guide them. It may be 40 years from now, but God willing, they will remember: If I climb to heaven, you are there; if I make the grave my bed you are there also… If I say, surely the darkness will cover me, darkness and light to you are both alike.

This is how the Holy Spirit works through scripture. When we need it most, we find a verse that points the way. Since we are God’s children we are never lost. The Spirit bears witness (Paul says) that we are children of God, and heirs of God with Christ. Amid all life’s troubles a festal shout springs up in our hearts: alleluias are said even at the grave.

So the Spirit works inwardly, leading our minds and our hearts closer to God. The Spirit is our advocate and guide.

Coming back to the personal level, I can tell you that these verses have been transforming to us who connect them with Doris Overholt Christhilf. It seems to us that through them she is expressing herself in a way she simply could not do in her final years. Janet says singing the anthem is oddly like seeing through the veil, and going back and forth, and finding peace and wholeness on both sides. Again, this is the work of the Holy Spirit. It is the Spirit who unites us in one communion and fellowship, those who are still alive, with those who have gone before. The anthem has therefore offered a way to retell the story of Doris’ life. Her story no longer ends with darkness and pain; it has become instead a song of praise. This points to the possibility that all our stories can be retold, with a brighter ending in Christ. Even the darkness of a painful past can be swallowed up into the light of God.

The work of the Holy Spirit then is fabulously intricate. Deep inside our souls, God touches, heals and renews. Who knew such a dark story could have such a brilliant ending? God knew, and God wants us to know. That is why Jesus prayed for the Advocate to come; who abides with us, and who will be in us for ever.

May 16 2010                                       Easter VII

So… He’s gone. We look at one another and wonder, now what? For forty days Jesus was with us, risen from the dead. We never got completely comfortable with this fact, but we had begun to accept that he really did conquer death and really did transcend the normal constraints of time and space. We couldn’t doubt the evidence of our own eyes and ears. He came and went unpredictably, but every time he did appear it was as if a curtain had been pulled back and we could see into the life of the world to come. A new age has dawned, and we were just beginning to get used to it.

Then, as we watched, he was taken from us. The last impression was unforgettable: as we were separated, he blessed us. The last sight we had of him his hands were raised not in farewell, but with the sign of a blessing that we knew would continue. Plainly he was returning to God, and at once we connected this with words of the prophet Daniel. “One like a son of Man was coming with the clouds, and he came to the Ancient of Days and was presented to him. To him was given dominion and glory and kingship…” Our friend, our teacher, Jesus, had gone to a place of cosmic authority. Amazing! Heady stuff.

But around here, it’s pretty quiet. What’s next for us?

In some ways it was no different than sending off any important visitor. We’ve all had the experience: someone is with you for a while, and then you see them off. There’s a sad feeling (but let’s be honest) also a feeling of relief that life can return to normal. But this farewell was different. The truth is, nothing will ever be normal again. The way Jesus entered our lives, and turned them upside down, and then left and then came back and then left again, changed not just us, but everything. He has taken us all with him. That’s how it feels. In some strange way we have gone with him. We too have ascended into a life that no humans have ever known before.

That’s why it’s so odd now just to be waiting around, wondering what’s next. It’s quiet, but we can feel in our bones that things are bound to change. Maybe we’re supposed to learn something by waiting as he told us to do. “Stay in the city,” he said, “until you are clothed with power from on high.” So we wait, and wonder what we are supposed to learn.

Maybe we are supposed to learn that we can’t do very much on our own. In one way we already knew that. The Bible is full of stories about people who tried to do things with their own strength and fell short, and others who relied on God and were astonished. “Unless the Lord builds the house, their labor is in vain who build it,” says the Psalm. But reading about it is different from actually experiencing it. The truth is, this learning by waiting is sinking into our bones. We are never going to forget this waiting around until God acts. We can’t just rush in and try to make things happen on our own. So it’s a good lesson. Lessons you learn in your bones are the ones you remember.  We are learning to wait on God.

I think we are also supposed to learn that he may have left us, but he certainly has not forgotten us. How could we forget his prayer the night before he died? We heard him with our own ears: As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me…He is in us as the Father is in him. Whew… that’s pretty heady stuff too. So he hasn’t forgotten us at all. In fact, in some ways he hasn’t left us at all. Lo I am with you always, he said. He is praying for us, pleading for us before his Father, right now. If anything is for sure that is for sure. Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am… In some strange way we are closer to him now than we were ever before, when we walked those dusty roads of Galilee. Savoring that odd feeling helps us pass the time, while we wait for whatever is next.

Actually though we already have a pretty good idea what will be next. The next stage is going to be big! Up to now we have been confined in one little corner of the world. But soon, very soon, we are going to be going on the road. “You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth,” he said. As he said this I imagined rings in a pond, growing larger around the center where the stone fell in. First Jerusalem (where are now) then Judea and Samaria (the local neighborhood) and then to the ends of the earth. Great! I have always wanted to travel! I would be only too happy to go to the ends of the earth, telling the things I have seen and now know in my bones. “It’s a new age, folks,” I’ll tell them. “Jesus of Nazareth has been exalted to the right hand of power, and we are his servants and witnesses. You can be too!” Something tells me that a lot of people are going to be excited by the message. A lot of people are really tired of the way things are now; they are ready for something new.

So like I said, things will never be the same again. “Different” is the new “normal.”

I wish I didn’t have to wait any longer. But I will. There is one thing we are doing a lot of just now, while we wait. We are praying, praying more than I ever did before. There is Peter and James and John and all the usual group. But interestingly there are some women too, including Mary, Jesus’ mother, and she has brought some of his brothers with her. So it’s an odd mix, family of Jesus and disciples of Jesus; male and female. But we are united by our love of this one amazing person, and somehow it all works out.

What are we praying for? For ourselves of course. But we don’t stop there. We pray for those who don’t yet know it, but their lives are about to be upended too, because of what we will be telling them soon. Jesus got us started on this himself. Father, I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word… From here to the ends of the earth people will believe in him through our word! So we are praying for them all. And for that matter from now to the end of time people will believe because of our word. Who knows, maybe thousands of years from now people will still be believing because of our word! Whew… heady stuff. So we pray for them all, no matter how far away or how long in the future. God knows who they are. Jesus knows them all. And so now, even before we get started, we are pray for them all, and wait.

I’m tired of waiting! Can’t we get started? I’ll feel better once we can begin. But I know we have to wait for power from on high; unless the Lord build the city their labor is in vain who build. I know. I know.

You’re probably tired of waiting too. So I’ll finish. Here’s a nice prayer one of our group found. Maybe you’ll like it:

O God, the King of glory, you have exalted your only Son Jesus Christ with great triumph to your kingdom in heaven: Do not leave us comfortless, but send us your Holy Spirit to strengthen us, and exalt us to that place where our Savior Christ has gone before; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God in glory everlasting. Amen.

Nice. It’s a prayer that will hold up. If you like it, you can use it while you wait too. It can’t be much longer; the feast of Pentecost is only a week away. Surely something will happen then. We’ll just have to wait and see!

Ascension Day 2010                            May 13, 2010

How to capture in brief the special excitement of Ascension Day? Luke tells us that the disciples with filled with great joy as they worshipped Jesus following his ascent. What were they so happy about?

An analogy I shared earlier today: back on January 20 2009 when Barack Obama was sworn in as President. Imagine ourselves in the shoes of African Americans as they watched. “One of our own” has made it into the oval office! That was an incredible moment of affirmation for persons whose ancestors had come to America in chains. The long struggle, the long wait, was over: the highest glass ceiling in America had been broken once for all. That was cause for immense rejoicing.

Something like that should be in our minds this evening about Jesus. Jesus as we know is one of us: he is fully human. And he has ascended not just into the oval office but into heaven itself, there to appear on our behalf before the most High. Ascension Day might well be called Inauguration Day: Jesus is Lord, we say, and the fullness of his authority began when he returned to God. Nor is it just for (say) eight years and then we get a new Lord. Jesus’ term of power is “not only in this age but also in the age to come.” His Lordship is for ever!

What this means for us (and here I’m stealing an idea from the Bible study) is that we are given our identity too. We have a place in Jesus’ cosmic rule. We have a mission. All the floundering is over. We know what we have to do: we are to make our witness to the Risen Lord. To the ends of the earth we are to proclaim and practice forgiveness in his name.

It’s exciting to know who you are and what you are to do. It’s even better to know that success in our mission is certain. We are part of a great army of forgivers and witnesses, and nothing can drown out the message.

I also mentioned earlier today the example of the Irish Church (which I have been studying). They thought that Ireland literally was the end of the earth—certainly the westernmost part of Europe—and were proud and delighted that the Gospel message had arrived even there, and been taken to heart.

So what we so happy about today? One of our own has gone before us into heaven, and a humane perspective is in charge where it counts most. We know who we are, and where we are going. We have Jesus’ assurance and blessing for all that we do.

On earthly inauguration days there are parties across the country and a great Inaugural Ball in Washington. People sing and dance, because they are happy. If they do so much for a victory that will fade in just a few years, let us feel even more joyful, for our ascension to an age that has no end.

May 9, 2010                                                    Easter VI

Mother’s Day greetings to everyone! All of us are not mothers, but we all have mothers, so this is an occasion of interest to all. To those who are mothers, we commend you and wish you well in your special role in the order of things. It’s not an easy role, in fact being a mother can be quite challenging, and I have noticed that no matter how far along in life you get you still have a motherly concern for your offspring. So keep up the good work: it is much needed and much appreciated! And to all of us, I invite you to join me this morning in thinking kind thoughts about our maternal ancestors, who have passed along to us nothing less than life itself. We thank God for every one.

Speaking of life itself, it is a nice coincidence that today is also the Sunday in Eastertide sometimes known as Rogation Sunday. The Rogation days are a time to ask God’s blessing on the freshly-planted crops. As the crops begin their journey towards ripeness and maturity surely a little prayer is in order. Technically the Rogation days are the coming Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. But today is pretty close so by virtue of proximity we add our best wishes for growing things on Sunday morning too.

The connection of growing things with motherhood seems pretty clear, to me at any rate. So today is a regular festival of gratitude for the love that created us and nurtures us still.

From this euphoric progression of thought I want to turn to something that is I believe fitting but somewhat more depressing: that dreadful oil spill down in the Gulf of Mexico. I thought about mentioning the subject last Sunday. However I decided to wait a week, for when better to think about environmental catastrophe than on a day of prayer for the created order? All that oil gushing out on an unsuspecting bio-system is a great example of the kind of dangers life faces today. In the Middle Ages, when Rogation Days began, it was molds and rusts and plant diseases that were most feared. Today it would seem that the Human Race too has become a menace to life as well.

This is perhaps an uncomfortable point to raise. But it does connect with Rogation Day and its theme of seeking God’s protection for growing things. Perhaps it is time to add a prayer that God’s protection include protection from humanity and all our amazing meddling. Nor would it be amiss to pray that we be protected from ourselves. A month ago 25 miners died in the West Virginia coal mine explosion. The Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion a few days later killed 11 outright and injured 17 others. Our relentless quest for fossil fuels is hazardous to human life, quite apart from all the devastation it creates in nature. So it would only make sense to add ourselves to the list of ills from which we ask God to defend us.

Now if God were to find ways to help us despite ourselves, that would show a very motherly side to God. Who better than a mother to put up with an offspring who persists in living destructive patterns? As you know in recent years many people have worked hard to identify the motherly/feminine aspects in God. They have gone far to rescue us from the old image of the white-bearded patriarch in the heavens. One way we can take advantage of this change is to call on God in God’s maternal aspect. I believe Rogation Day prayers, and especially prayers for help with our own destructive side, really depends on their being such a maternal aspect in God. We had better hope that God has a mother’s patience with us, as we continue to subdue the earth and along the way create so many new hazards. It’s not that mother-love is blind! Far from it. Mothers tend to see quite clearly. It’s that mother love hangs in there year after year with even the wildest offspring. The human race desperately needs God to show mother love to us. May God indeed hang in there with us, while we try to develop a deep spirit of real respect for creation.

Fortunately there are many signs that such a spirit does exist. Since the first Earth Day forty years ago, and since Rachel Carson first raised the ensign in the 1950’s with her book, “Silent Spring,” an environmental ethic has taken deep root. It will not go away. The younger generations seem more intent about it than their elders, and for good reason: they will have to live on the planet for longer, and try to raise their own children in the world we have created for them. Certainly the churches are more aware too.

One remarkable example of Christian awareness that many of us do not know about is from (of all places) the Greek Orthodox Church. If any church fulfills the image of a patriarchal system led by males with long beards, that is it. Yet the current Ecumenical Patriarch, who in the Orthodox world has a role like the Archbishop of Canterbury has for Anglicans, has made the environment a hallmark of his leadership. He has been nicknamed “the Green Patriarch.” He has forth-rightly declared environmental abuse to be sin. At a conference in Santa Barbara CA (site of the first great American oil spill) he said,

To commit a crime against the natural world is a sin. For human beings to cause species to become extinct and to destroy the biological diversity of God’s creation; for human beings to degrade the integrity of the earth by causing changes in its climate, by stripping the earth of its natural forests, or by destroying its wetlands; for human beings to injure other human beings with disease by contaminating the earth’s waters, its land, its air, and its life, with poisonous substances – all of these are sins.

To introduce such a frankly spiritual agenda into environmentalism is something to applaud. But he has also convened very practical ecological seminars on major topics such as the Danube River, the Amazon, the Arctic, and, just last October, on the Mississipi River. At this last conference he noted,

With a total length of 3778 kilometers and the third largest drainage basin on earth, a chain of cities along its length has discharged domestic and industrial waste into the Mississippi for nearly two centuries…  the fate of the Mississippi waters is an ethical crisis.

And lest we think that the Orthodox churches have a lock on the issue, let us think again. Our own Presiding Bishop has things to say as well. Katherine Jefferts-Schori is by training an oceanographer, so she is well able to comment as a scientist. She is also a mother, which makes her witness even more pertinent this morning. In recent testimony before Congress she noted,

Before my ordination to the priesthood, I was an oceanographer and I learned that no life form can be studied in isolation from its surroundings or from other organisms. All living things are deeply interconnected, and all life depends on the life of others. Study of the Bible, and of the Judeo-Christian religious tradition, made me equally aware that this interconnectedness is one of the central narratives of Scripture.  God creates all people and all things to live in relationship with one another and the world around them.  At the end of the biblical creation account, the writer of Genesis tells us that "God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good."

With leaders from such very different communities speaking in this way, plainly God is speaking through the Christian witness.

But will God hear our call for help? Quickly enough? Let me conclude by quoting once more some very loving and reassuring words from Jesus himself. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you…Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. No mother could speak more comforting words than these. God will surely keep life alive, while nurturing us, God’s most errant children, into responsible partnership with all creation.

May 2, 2010                            Easter V

From the Collect of the Day: May we steadfastly follow his steps in the way that leads to eternal life…

I am struck by the expression, “eternal life! “Eternal” and “life” are both powerful words— but what do we mean when we put them together? I suppose each of us has our own unique images about these words. What comes up for me when I hear “eternal” is probably not unusual however. To me “eternal” implies something changeless and static. It would be like being in a museum full of gleaming white stone statues that never move. It might be pretty but after a while you would want to run screaming outside where the wind is blowing and the grass is growing and where nature bubbles along.

“Life,” on the other hand, conjures up all those natural things I was just mentioning. For the Bible “life” is the gift of the Holy Spirit, Who blew across the waters at the beginning of creation. Our Psalm describes the exuberance of creation: “Sea-monsters and all deeps, fire and hail, snow and fog, tempestuous winds… fruit trees and all cedars, wild beasts and all cattle,” all singing to God in a life-filled chorus of praise.

Would I be alone in thinking that the words “eternal” and “life” don’t seem to go together? Anything eternal can not be very lively. And lively things for all their beauty do not last very long; they fade and die. So what does it mean to follow Jesus’ steps into life that is eternal, and into an eternity that is full of life? Is such a thing possible? If it is, we will have to think more about the Holy Spirit.

I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself because of course the great festival of the Holy Spirit is still three weeks away. (Pentecost is May 23). But a discerning eye can see the Spirit at work already. For instance, did you notice the invisible but crucial role of the Spirit in our first lesson from Acts? Some Gentiles came knocking at Peter’s door. As a good Jew Peter had spent a lifetime staying clear of Gentiles—non Jews—for the Law required him to distinguish carefully between clean and unclean. But suddenly (and I quote Peter) “The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us.” I fear we have but little idea how revolutionary the Spirit was being here. Not to make distinctions between Jew and Gentile was to overthrow everything Peter had been taught since childhood. But the Spirit of God is sovereign over all. Peter knew this, and so he went along although it must have felt very strange to treat everyone the same. But it worked out very well. When Peter began to speak to the Gentiles the Holy Spirit came upon them all! A new thing had happened: “God had given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.”

“God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.” So the Holy Spirit is the Lord of life! The Spirit can lead to life whomever the Spirit wills. Distinctions that are seemingly hard-wired in our brains can fall away in a twinkling. Could it be that the distinction between eternity and life could fall away in a twinkling? If Jews and Gentiles can consort freely, can eternity and life?

Well, Yes: in his Revelation John “saw a new heaven and a new earth…” In that new heaven and new earth, John says, God will dwell with mortals… and will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”

What an extraordinary transformation this is, the whole cosmos starting afresh. But a cosmic fresh start is part of the Christian vision, and whatever it may include, one of the “first things that have passed away” will surely be any distinction between “eternal” and “life.” God who makes a new heaven and a new earth will give life in a new age that has no end. So if we are to be faithful to the Christian vision we should try, from time to time, to stretch our imaginations and grasp what it is we are bound for. Even if it is beyond what we can imagine, it is fun to try.

Jesus tried to stretch the imagination of the first disciples. Today’s Gospel shows him trying. Jesus spoke to them quite freely of the death he was to die, but he called it, his glorification. He repeatedly refers to what is happening to him on the eve of his crucifixion as his “being glorified.” Death on the cross, and glory from God, do not usually fit together well in our brains. But Jesus made the leap and invites us to do the same if we can. If Jesus’ death on the cross is his moment of true glory, and if we can somehow manage to see that, then all bets are off. Eternal life is wilder than anything we have dreamt of hitherto. Will it be so strange that we will not feel at home?

Quite possibly: it looks as if Jesus realized that he was taking his disciples too far too

fast. We can almost feel him shifting gears, slowing down, and seeking something easier to do in the here and now. Jesus stopped talking about death and glory, and instead gave us a simple task to work on while we wait for the new heaven and new earth. “Love one another,” he said. “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Ordinarily loving one another just as Jesus has loved us would sound pretty difficult. But in the larger context we have been discussing it sounds quite manageable. We don’t have to usher in new heavens and a new earth: all we have to do is love one another. We don’t have to wipe away death and every tear—God will do that—all we have to do is love one another. We don’t have to glorify Christ in his saving death—God will do that—all we have to do is love one another. We don’t have to erase distinctions between one nation and another—God has done that—all we have to do is love one another, just as Christ has loved us. When we compare what God asks of us with what God undertakes, plainly we have the easier task by far.

Still, let’s be honest, down here at earth level even just loving one another can be challenging. But we have help from the Holy Spirit. With the leading of the Holy Spirit can we grow into the kind of love Jesus commanded And this may be simpler than we think. Peter spoke quite naturally about the Holy Spirit: “The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction.” Well, the Spirit speaks to us also, and we should not be too shy or fearful to trust this. Sometimes when we are in a quandary we get a sudden idea that doesn’t feel like our own. An idea that is fresh, taking things from a new angle. Instead of just belaboring the same old ruts, it offers a way around that is creative. Such inspirations are often the voice of the Spirit, whispering in our minds. The next time you are in a quandary, be alert for such notions. Ask for one, and trust it when it comes. Maybe you’ll make a fool of yourself a few times, but that’s ok, and if it works out you can thank God for leading you aright. The only way to get good at it is practice in real life.

The point is that when he commanded us to love as he loves, Jesus surely didn’t intend for us to do it all alone. We have help from on high as we work at love and wait for new heavens and a new earth.

To summarize: life and eternity may sound distinct to us, but not to God. The Holy Spirit blows the distinction gently away, and we are left with something rich and strange: life that is everlasting.

April 25, 2010                                      IV Easter

Over the years every preacher will end up talking a lot about sheep, and probably sounding wiser on the subject than he or she really is. We are forced into it by all the shepherd imagery in the Bible, and especially when Good Shepherd Sunday rolls around, as it has again today. I thought I had run out of new wise things to say about sheep but recently have picked up a couple more which I would like to share. I think they will help us appreciate the theme yet again.

The first new appreciation I have is of the role of the Good Shepherd in Christian art. As you know I have been looking into early Christian art by way of preparation for a sabbatical beginning in June. One thing I have realized by doing so is that images of Jesus himself were very rare in the early days, ie, before Christianity was legal. We are so used to seeing images of Jesus it is hard to imagine that for three centuries Christians drew hardly any at all. They lived entire Christian lives without ever looking at something intended to be a depiction of Jesus. Remarkable, but it is so.

To quote an article from Wikipedia, “During the persecution of Christians under the Roman Empire, Christian art was necessarily and deliberately furtive and ambiguous, using imagery that was shared with pagan culture but had a special meaning for Christians… Initially Jesus was represented indirectly by pictogram symbols such as the Ichthys (fish), peacock, Lamb of God, or an anchor. Later, personified symbols were used, including Jonah, whose three days in the belly of the whale pre-figured the interval between Christ's death and Resurrection, Daniel in the lion's den, or Orpheus charming the animals. The image of "The Good Shepherd", a beardless youth in pastoral scenes collecting sheep, was the commonest of these images, and was probably not understood as a portrait of the historical Jesus…The figure of the Good Shepherd resembles earlier shepherd figures in pagan Classical art that represent benevolence and philanthropy.”

“The Good Shepherd was the commonest of these images.” This says to me that the idea of being personally shepherded by Jesus was enormously appealing in the earliest days. And for that it matter, the appeal continues to our own time. The Psalm that any Christian is most apt to know is the 23^rd Psalm, “the Lord is my Shepherd.” I remember being caused to learn that Psalm in the good old King James version when I was in Sunday school myself. So I think you could make the case that the single most enduring and appealing idea Christians have ever had about Jesus, and still have, is that he cares for us, each of us, as a good shepherd cares for his flock. That is interesting to know, is it not?

My second wise thought about the good shepherd comes courtesy of Jamie Rivington, who as you may know actually lives on a farm and really does know things about animals. Last week in our teen class Jamie volunteered the information that sheep are especially good at disguising their pain. That is, if they have an injury or illness, they cover it up, so that they do not look weak or vulnerable to predators. I have to take Jamie’s word for this, but it makes sense to me. When you are already as defenseless as sheep are, it would certainly not help your chances for a long life if you appear to be even easier prey than the rest of the flock. So sheep evolved a special ability to disguise pain.

This fact about sheep immediately made some light-bulbs go off for me. Many times I have observed that human sheep do just the same! Members of congregations often bear difficulties that they are unwilling for others to know. I may get wind of it, or a few others, but often a person in pain is unwilling even to have their name go on the parish prayer list. The decision to allow one’s self be prayed for by the congregation as a whole is a very personal one, something that people consider very carefully. There are no doubt many reasons for this, but I have to think that a basic unwillingness to appear vulnerable is something we carry in our DNA too.

Another light-bulb on this front has to do with the role of a Good Shepherd. A really good shepherd would know that sheep are reticent about sharing pain, and would learn how to spot it nonetheless. Perhaps that is the reason that the Good Shepherd is an image of such enduring appeal. Jesus is the one who realizes it when we are in pain! Maybe we can fool others, but we can’t fool him, and for that matter, we don’t want to fool him. “Nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen,” says the spiritual, “nobody knows but Jesus.” Jesus is the one person we do want to know our pain, because he is, well, the Good Shepherd. Him we trust. Jesus we confide in, because we believe he can help.

If all this is so, then Jesus is a really good shepherd! Just consider how many secret pains and unshared confidences he hears about each day! I will confess that I load him down with a few, and I hope the rest of you are doing the same. How on earth can he keep up withthems all? But he does. “My sheep hear my voice,” he says, “and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish.”

No wonder the Good Shepherd was the most commonly depicted image of Jesus in the earliest days, and that we recite the 23^rd Psalm with awe to this day! It is amazing indeed that we should have such a privilege as we do, to confide in him in times of need. But he can do it, because he is, well, a really really Good Shepherd.

The other message I see here has to do with us and our own role of caring for one another. When we were talking about these things in Thursday Bible study the suggestion emerged that in the Prayers of the People, perhaps we should add a special petition for those who are in difficulty but are not yet able to ask for public prayer. That sounds like a good idea but it is something we’ll need to experiment with a little to get it right. I will add a line to that effect to the Prayers today and we’ll see how it sounds. Your feedback on the experiment will be welcome.

But sometimes there is pain out there that is so evident that it is no secret at all. Part of our duty as persons who are tended by Jesus ourselves, is to keep a lookout for obvious pain in the world and do what we can to help. In that connection let me draw your attention to the Mother and Father’s Day project of the Community Action Partnership. We have participated in this for a number of years and indeed this congregation has special connections to CAP. We always support the appeal handsomely and I commend it to you again this year. And last but not least, as part of our ongoing attempt to communicate ways the congregation exercises stewardship of all God’s gifts, Tom Brackett will shortly say a little about recent work for educating Karen refugees in Thailand. Old hands here will know what a remarkable work this is, and newcomers to St. Thomas’s will marvel too. Surely one way the Good Shepherd of us all pays attention to his lambs, is by inspiring us to care for one another, in his Name.

April 18, 2010              Easter III

Some striking words from Psalm 30 describe a scenario that may seem familiar to many of us. The scenario is a sudden transition from a position of comfortable control, to dizzying lack of control. Or perhaps we could say, from a time when everything is working out great, to a time when suddenly everything goes wrong.

Here is how the Psalmist puts it, first in regard to the time of comfort and control:

While I felt secure I said, “I shall never be disturbed, You, Lord, with your favor, made me as strong as the mountains.”

I am as strong as the mountains! One thing I connect with this feeling is riding my bicycle, which I like to do when the weather is nice, as it has been surprisingly early this year. Occasionally I set out on one of my routes and have a really wonderful feeling. I’m flying along, and it seems effortless, and I think, “Wow, I am really getting into great shape!” What I haven’t properly appreciated though is that invariably when I feel this way, it turns out the wind has been at my back! If you don’t cycle much you may not realize how important wind direction is. Going with a strong wind can appreciably improve performance. It can also lead to delusions of grandeur, as becomes evident when one turns and starts peddling back into the wind. Suddenly the going is slow and laborious.

In life, when the wind is at our backs, we may simply not notice it. The good things that come our way are effortless and we assume we have earned them by our skill or merits. A great recent example of this was the run-up in stock and house prices of just a few years ago. Millions of people convinced themselves that it would never end, and those who were making big gains congratulated themselves for their good fortune.

However, to go back to our psalmist, it can all turn around very quickly:

Then you hid your face, and I was filled with fear.

What elegant economy of words: “Then you hid your face, and I was filled with fear.” Suddenly the wind is no longer at one’s back. The housing bubble has popped, stocks are sinking. Bad news about family or health rains down. We are filled with fear. What has gone wrong? What explains the sudden dizzying turn-about?

Well, having gone through a few cycles, economic or otherwise, I think I know the answer. There really is nothing mysterious about it. Sometimes life’s forces really do go along in the same direction we are going. Sometimes they go the other way. They are like the wind, and it is no more surprising for the wind to blow from the east than it is to blow from the west. Our shock at things going poorly is no more justified than our egotistic complacence when they go well. What matters is how we deal with them when they come along, and especially, how we might use them to advance our spiritual connection with God. Our lessons today have some intriguing hints on how that sometimes happens.

Take Saul of Tarsus: things had been going great for him! He was in the good graces of the rulers of his nation and had been given important tasks, such as stamping out a new threat to public order, those pesky Christians. He was intelligent, hard-working, and appreciated; his career was definitely fast-track. But out of the blue one day he fell to the ground and lost his vision. He was so stunned that he could neither eat nor drink. Worst of all, that which had given his life meaning was shattered: for he saw a vision of God which showed clearly that far from doing God’s will, he had actually been persecuting the Lord. For three days and three nights he was stuck in this terrible situation. Perhaps in his lost condition the words of Psalm 30 came to mind:

“What profit is there in my blood, O Lord, if I go down to the pit? Will the dust praise you or declare your faithfulness? Hear, O Lord, and have mercy on me; O Lord, be my helper.

As we heard, after three days Ananias came to Saul and brought healing through prayer. The scales fell from Saul’s eyes; he got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength. Saul the lost man became Paul, the apostle, the greatest evangelist the church has ever known.

Peter, another apostle, also found that he seemingly had lost his touch. He used to be a great fisherman, but a few weeks after Jesus’ resurrection he was back in the boat and caught nothing all night. But what was he doing out on the Lake anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be out preaching the resurrection? Maybe Peter hadn’t quite figured out what he was supposed to be doing. He was not, like Saul, actively persecuting the church, but he wasn’t helping it much either. So God used an experience of futility to get Peter’s attention. His nets came up empty! But then Jesus revealed himself, and reminded Peter of what he really should already have known. His future lay not in plying the waters of Galilee. His future lay in tending Jesus’ lambs, and following Jesus, even on the way of the cross.

Let me speculate a little here and suggest that some words of Psalm 30 apply to Peter too. The concluding verses could apply, if we feel that Peter rejoiced in gaining clarity about his life’s work:

You have turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy. Therefore my heart sings to you without ceasing; O Lord my God, I will give you thanks for ever.

None of this is to suggest that God deliberately puts us onto paths of pain or futility, so as to make us better people. There are enough paths of pain and futility around by nature, we don’t have to blame God if we end up on one of them, and especially not when through our own ignorance or naivete we put ourselves on one of them. What I do mean to suggest though is that any such experience can become a time of meeting God, and seeing more deeply how deeply we are loved by God. We can see better what it all means, and what we are called upon to do. In this sense it is more enlightening when the wind is against us than when it is at our back. You don’t always feel the wind at your back, but you can’t help noticing the wind when it blows in your face. The adverse wind gets our attention, and so helps us look around for God.

I was taught in seminary that many Psalms have a pattern in which an appeal is made to God, and at the end some kind of resolution is reached. Our Psalm 30 is certainly of that sort. One theory is that a seeker would offer such an appeal in the Temple, and a Temple priest would pronounce a blessing, leading to the expression of confidence at the end of the Psalm. It’s a nice theory, and whether or not it is literally true, it is certainly the case that for us coming to church still works in this way. We bring our troubles to God, lay them on the altar, symbolized by the bread, and they are accepted by God, symbolized by the breaking of the bread, and returned to us to nourish our souls, symbolized by our communion of consecrated bread and wine. The Lord is made known to us in the breaking of the bread, as the collect of the day puts it. And the liturgy as a whole has the same pattern in many forms. Sometimes our hearts do sing without ceasing as a result of worship. Or sometimes we just feel as though we have been heard on high. In its own way, that is helpful too.

So if this is a time in your life in which the wind is at your back, the boat is filling with fish, and your career is blooming: well that’s wonderful. Enjoy it and be grateful to God. On the other hand, if the wind is adverse, and your heart is filled with fear, the nets are empty, and meaning is missing, we know what to do: cry out to the Lord! Christ has promised to hear us, and can open the eyes of our faith, so that we may behold him in all his redeeming work.

April 11, 2010                                      Easter II

St. Thomas Aquinas, the medieval philosopher, had something to say about every part of Christian life. Here is what he has to say about faith, that most critical Christian virtue: “Faith is a habit of the mind, whereby eternal life is begun in us, making the intellect assent to what is non-apparent.”

This is a wonderful definition, and I wonder if Thomas Aquinas came to it by reflecting on his namesake Thomas the Apostle, who is featured in today’s Gospel. Faith was a key question for Apostle Thomas, the doubter, and Jesus said this to him, ”Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

You and I and St. Thomas Aquinas in the middle ages are among those who have not had the privilege of seeing the risen Lord with our own eyes. So for us faith really is what Aquinas said it is, when our minds assent to something that is non-apparent, and make a habit of assenting to it at that. Thomas the Doubter needed the evidence of his own eyes to form the habit of faith. So how in the world can we do it, you and I, who lack that same evidence?

Here is where Aquinas’ definition is so helpful. He explains the mysterious process thus: faith is a habit of the mind whereby eternal life is begun in us. This last bit is crucial, because faith does not arise in us apart from some experience of new life springing up in us at the same time. An awareness of new life comes when we are touched by the Holy Spirit. When we feel in the depth of our souls that death is not the last word, that God transforms sin and evil, that all things shall be made new: when we sense all that, then faith becomes pretty easy.

Usually we try to make it work the other way around: we want faith to come first and then life. If only I can believe, heaven will follow, we think. But what if it is in fact just the opposite? That eternal life somehow springs up in the soul, and after that, belief follows quite naturally? The intellect assents readily to what is non-apparent, once resurrection has already touched the soul. That is what I get from Thomas Aquinas, and for that matter, from Thomas the Apostle as well.

Consider how Jesus came to the disciples on the evening of Easter Day. They were behind locked doors for of fear of the authorities, but he came and stood among them nonetheless. Three things happened quite quickly after that. First Jesus spoke, saying, “Peace be with you.” Second, he showed them his hands and side, once wounded, but now made whole. And third, he commissioned them into a life’s work of forgiving sins through the power of the Holy Spirit. All of this happened before Jesus asked for any response or any action at all on the part of the disciples. I would say that these three actions on Jesus’ part constituted the beginning of eternal life in those disciples’ hearts and minds! They were caught up into an experience of peace and forgiveness and power and resurrection that was impossible to resist. They would never be the same again. They must have been (if you will pardon a little slang) completely blown away by the experience. And (to repeat) in that moment eternal life was begun in them. Faith followed quite naturally and they set out to find Thomas (who had missed the experience) and told him, “We have seen the Lord.”

To me the disciples’ story is a perfect illustration of Aquinas’ words, “faith is a habit of the mind by which eternal life is begun in us.”

I think Apostle Thomas’ own story shows the same pattern. Thomas was absent the first time Jesus came. My suspicion is that the same fear which led his colleagues to lock the doors led Thomas to skip town entirely. But the other disciples sought him out. They wanted him to have the experience of new life as well. I would argue that their seeking him out was already a whiff of eternal life for Thomas. Doubtful though he was, his colleagues’ testimony and their evident care for him was enough to draw him back into their fellowship, so that the next week he was present. Eternal life had already begun to take control of him. Thus, when Jesus did appear, and invited Thomas to reach out and touch him, Thomas did not do so. He got the point and confessed at once, “My Lord and my God!” So Thomas had the experience of eternal life beginning in him as well, just one week after the others. Then for Thomas as well, to believe followed quite readily.

So let me revisit my earlier question, about those of us who have not had the evidence of our own eyes: how can we come to faith? Well, I think the answer is clear. As long as eternal life is begun in us somehow, then faith will certainly follow. It doesn’t have to be only through seeing Jesus for ourselves. God has many ways to begin eternal life in the rest of us.

For instance, it can happen when we read the books written by people in whom eternal life has already begun. John said this about the Gospel that bears his name, “Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and through believing you may life in his name.” Once again there is a connection of believing and having life. Perhaps a nitpicker could say aha, but belief comes first in this case and then life. Well, ok, I won’t argue, except to say this. It is when we read the words of scripture, and find a wild hope springing up in us that maybe they really are true, that eternal life is finding a foothold in us. After the wild hope becomes a habit, faith follows. But probably the exact order in time matters less than the fact that eternal life and faith both begin in us together.

The best way to have eternal life begin in us then, is for it to rub off from someone else in whom it has already become a habit. The faith-life of the disciples who had seen Jesus rubbed off on Thomas, who had not, and made him want to come and see for himself. The faith life of millions of Christians after that rubbed off on St. Thomas Aquinas in the middle ages, and made him dedicate his life to understanding the Christian life. His example and that of many others in the last 800 years have rubbed off on us today. Sometimes it is a word of testimony from a believer, or it can be the words of a song, or a work of art: the possible routes of exposure are infinite. What they have in common is that (as Aquinas put it so well) by them eternal life is begun in us. When we have life, and faith is habitual, then assenting to what cannot be seen follows as a matter of course.

I must say that I am glad to be in a parish that has the Apostle Thomas as our patron. I believe that Thomas validates normal human questions, and the desire to see for ourselves. In a community like ours with many academics in it, Thomas’ quest for certainty and knowledge seems right at home. But there is something even more fitting about Thomas: once he got it, he really got it, and there was no stopping him, ever. He went all the way to India, preaching the Gospel and sharing the new life which he felt in his very bones. To this day a Christian community in India bears his name, the Mar Toma church. India is a long way from Jerusalem, even today when we can fly. The eternal life begun in Thomas made it all possible, way back then, when you had to walk every step of the way.

Last week I addressed the question what do we do next, once Easter has come? I think the same answer still holds this week. We should enjoy it! Let Christ’s words of peace and forgiveness blow us away. When it is time to march off and tell others, we will know, and then we can exert ourselves for Christ. But today, at least one more day, let the exerting be done by God, who raised Christ from the dead, and through him has given us the Holy Spirit, and newness of life, and the habit of mind called faith, by which our minds assent to what does not appear. Thomas our patron has showed us the way!

I’m going to follow a suggestion from our Bishop this morning. The clergy of the diocese met with Bishop Adams for a day of prayer and reflection last week, during Holy Week, and he had some advice for our Easter sermons. Get out of the way and just tell the story, he said. He was referring to the temptation preachers have on Easter Day to want to do fabulous oratory in front of a big crowd. Natural as that would be, it runs the risk of a preaching in a way that is  more about the preacher than about Jesus. Instead, he suggested, trust the material: let the story do the work for us. After all, it’s a really good story. I think all this is quite true, so this morning what I will try to do is simply tell it again, and maybe draw a conclusion or two.

A good model for telling the Easter story in a very simple way is our first lesson from the Book of Acts. In that lesson Jesus’ disciple Peter tries to explain about Jesus to a house full of not-very-well-informed Gentiles who had invited him to talk to them. The passage from Acts records the straightforward manner in which he approached his task. So let’s revisit that lesson and listen in. Peter said,

 I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.

It helps to explain the setting for this remark. Peter, who was Jewish, was talking to a group of Gentiles. But ordinarily Jews and Gentiles didn’t mix at all! How had it happened that they were together? Well, a Roman soldier named Cornelius had had a vision in which an angel told him to send for Peter. Peter meanwhile had his own vision in which an angel told him to go without objections. A nice set of matched visions! He even entered Cornelius’ house– unheard of– for which Cornelius thanked him, and said, “Now all of us are here in the presence of God to listen to all that the Lord has commanded you to say.” That is when Peter said,  I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.

For Peter realized that God was up to something. God was doing something remarkable by gathering a mixed bag of people into one room to hear the Easter story. So it only makes sense that he would marvel a little before proceeding. But here’s what he said next: You know the message God sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ– he is Lord of all. That message spread throughout Judea, beginning in Galilee... Peter summarized God’s message in Christ with one word: peace. What a great one-word summary of the Good News in Christ! Peace to you, peace, to me. Peace to the whole world: God is at peace with us all. No longer is there division between heaven and earth, and all who live by this message are at peace with each other as well.

Next, having summarized God’s message in Christ, Peter summed up God’s activity in Christ: God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power: he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him.  Doing good and healing: if peace was the message, then doing good and healing was the message in action. One thing we know for sure about Jesus is that he had a reputation as a healer. There are 38 different healing stories in the New Testament, of persons with a wide variety of afflictions, both physical and spiritual. This tells me God is deeply concerned about our well being. It also says that a concern for the health and well-being of humanity must always be part of Christian practice. And in fact a huge amount of Christian effort has gone into hospitals and healing over the centuries, as a look at Christian history will reveal.

But on with the story: you would think that a message of peace coupled with works of healing would garner very positive response. But apparently human perversity is deeply ingrained, for the reaction he got from the power structure of his day was just the opposite: They put him to death by hanging him on a tree. The tree of course is the tree of the cross: Peter is getting a little poetic here. But the Romans put many people to death by the grisly practice of crucifying them, and sometimes there were so many crosses up at one time that it looked like a forest of dying men. Jesus was put to death for being perceived as an enemy of Rome, and of Jerusalem.

You would think that would be the end of the story. Generally people that Rome crucified stayed dead. But with Jesus something else occurred, as Peter explained: God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. Jesus’ rising from the dead– his resurrection– is what we celebrate here today on Easter. It is the heart of the Christian message and it is why we call Easter the greatest day of the year, and the feast of feasts.

But the meaning of Easter is not exhausted by the story of one man coming back to life long ago. If that is all we are about, then Christianity is a weak religion indeed. No, we proclaim that because Christ rose from the dead, the entire cosmos has changed. No longer does death have the final word for us! Christ is but the first-fruits, to use Paul’s phrase from our second lesson. Many more will follow him into risen life, Paul explains. What happened for Jesus is what we expect to happen for us. And even as wait for the cosmic completion of all things, we have a new way of life opened for us here and now. Here is what Peter said on that front: All the prophets testify about him that anyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.

I’m not sure whether forgiveness of sins sounds like a big deal to you or not. Some people feel guilty about their lives, others not so much. But consider this: just suppose that every grudge on earth, every twisted relationship, every hate-filled act, were simply wiped away and we could all start over fresh. If that were to happen, would it make a difference on earth? I think it would. We would so much less to fight about. In the Christian story Jesus invites us to live in just such a world. A world where I am forgiven, you are forgiven, and every slate is wiped clean. This possible world became actual when Christ overcame death, by which God proclaimed peace and a fresh start to all humanity. We can be part of that world if we want to be. It’s here, today, on Easter and every day. All we have to do is trust the message.

You may wonder what reaction Peter’s short sermon evoked. We didn’t hear that part read, so let me tell you: While Peter was still speaking the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word. Ecstasy filled all the mixed bag of people in that room. Peter ordered that the Gentiles should be
baptized immediately, which they were. Then they invited him to stay for several days. With this understated conclusion we see that the new relationship between formerly estranged parties had real staying power. 

That’s the story; let me draw a conclusion or two. People turn out in large numbers on Easter Day because they want to hear this story again. They want it made vivid in flowers and trumpets and singing. This longing to hear the story again is the reason I think Bishop Adams was on to something in urging the clergy to be sure to tell it again. We all want to be refreshed again, and have some reason to look at life with hope and love. May that will happen for you today.

Another temptations preachers feel is to end sermons by telling people what they need to do next.
“Go home and try these six things this week!” But today, Easter Day, that would be counter-productive. There is no next thing we have to do. God has already done it all. By listening to the story once again, we have done everything we need to do. The story of Jesus is already at work in our souls. It’s too late not to be affected by it. But that’s how God’s love works, it sneaks up on us and we don’t notice until later. So my friends, there is no next thing we have to do, this week at least. Come back next Sunday and maybe I’ll have some suggestions. But today, just enjoy the perfect ending God has scripted, to a truly wonderful tale. Christ is risen from the grave: our joy has therefore no end!

Jesus said, I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer, for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.

Jesus’ words at the last supper indicate his expectation that his work was about to be fulfilled. He called this fulfillment, the Kingdom of God. But what did he mean by his mysterious evocation of “the Kingdom of God?” We can get a clue what he meant by noting who thought it was aimed it them. Certainly the chief priests and scribes, who interrogated Jesus about it in full assembly, took umbrage. But even more so did Pilate the Roman Governor, the one who really called the shots in Judea on behalf of Caesar. The chief priests and scribes knew what would get Pilate’s attention: they dragged Jesus before him for “saying that he himself is the Messiah, a king.” That was the nub of the matter, and the representative of Rome got the picture: if Jesus were proclaiming a new kingdom, he could only be proposing to dethrone Caesar and reign himself. That is why Pilate placed the mocking inscription, “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews,” atop his cross. Would-be kings beware, is the message of that inscription!

So I would maintain that the first and clearest point Jesus meant to make by proclaiming the imminent Kingdom of God is this: God would soon be King, as opposed to Caesar and his puppets, the High Priests. The authority of Caesar and the High Priests is over, Jesus was saying, and the authority of God now begins: that is the incredible meaning of his words to his small band of disciples on the night before he died. Pilate got the point, and acted accordingly. So let us not be ashamed to take a hint from Pilate and consider that same point. What is God’s kingdom like, and how does it work? As we shall see, Pilate was not wrong to think it is quite different from the kingdom of Caesar.

Jesus took a cup of wine and said, Take this… for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.

When Jesus spoke about the coming of the Kingdom of God he connected it with the meal he shared the night before he died. Holy Communion—a simple meal of bread and wine—is God’s authority on earth made real. To understand God’s Kingdom therefore, we cannot do better than consider this sacred meal and ask, what are the signs of God’s Kingdom, as shown forth in it? Here are some words that occur to me about the Holy Communion when we share it still today:

Peace

Presence

Unity

Healing

Forgiveness

Humility

Protection

Providence

What are some words that might evoke the spirit of Caesar’s kingship? Here are some words that occur to me.

Brutal

Proud

Corrupt

Lascivious

Unforgiving

Relentless

Cruel

If the typical act of God’s Kingdom is Christ pouring out his life for his friends, the typical act of Caesar’s kingdom is the public triumph, the Emperor acclaimed for victory in war, parading captives through Rome, leading them to humiliation and death. As Jesus said, “You know the kings of the Gentiles lord it over them.” They do indeed.

So how in the world could a Kingdom like God’s replace a Kingdom like Caesar’s? Well, what we know is that Jesus established God’s rule by allowing Caesar’s to do its worst. Jesus resisted not, but overcame with superabundance of life. The result? A new path has been opened for us. God invites us into a community founded on the principles I mentioned a moment ago. Let me repeat them: peace, presence, unity, healing, forgiveness, humility, protection, providence. These are words that occurred to me by free association. It took me fifteen seconds to come up with them so they are not carved in stone. I invite you to think about your own words or images of the Kingdom of God. Nor is the sacrament of Holy Communion the only place the Kingdom is made real, far from it. But what ever words or images or venues you may come up with, know this: they became real when Christ laid down his life for us on Golgotha’s hill. That was the time and place the Kingdom was fulfilled. Pilate was helpless to stop it, indeed he unwittingly became the agent of God’s work.

 We sometimes forget, but it is instructive so we do well to remember, Caesar himself eventually became a servant of Christ. It took three hundred years, but starting with Constantine all Roman Emperors but one proclaimed themselves to be servants of the King of Kings. What on earth would Pilate have made of that? What we can make of it is that even in Caesar’s own realm, little by little the news about the Kingdom of God caught on. Roman citizens themselves came to prefer forgiveness and healing and humility, to cruelty, pride, and corruption. When they did, even the Caesars had no choice but to bow before Christ as well. 

Jesus said to his disciples, You are those who have stood by me in my trials; and I confer on you, just as my Father has conferred on m, a kingdom, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom. Today we celebrate the remarkable and powerful deeds by which Jesus took up his reign. He invites us to eat and drink with him as sharers of his kingdom. Next week, unbelievably, we will find that there is even more to the story: death itself is to be overcome. But for today it is enough to say with Paul, “at the name of Jesus every knee should bend: in heaven and on earth, and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”