We Are Family

Most folks know that I am a baseball fan and something of a baseball historian.  One of my favorite teams in the history of baseball is the 1979 Pittsburgh Pirates, one of the most colorful teams ever assembled.

The 1979 Pittsburgh Pirates

There were pitchers like Kent Teckulve, with his dazzling knuckler and goofy glasses and Dock Ellis, who pitched a no-hitter on LSD.  They had a formidable offense with hitters like 'Mad Dog' Bill Madlock and Dave 'The Cobra' Parker.  And they were led by a fun-loving, power-hitting first-baseman named Willie Stargell, whom everyone called Pops.  The team was a close-knit bunch, so much so that the theme song for the team that year was We Are Fam-i-ly by Sister Sledge.  That song didn't just refer to the players but to everyone who called Pittsburgh home.  What made them a family was not blood or kinship.  Instead, what made them a family was their common experience, the common experience of love for the game, the city, and the team.  That common experience inspired them in their common goal, which was winning the World Series, which they did over the Baltimore Orioles.  That team, those fans, they were beautiful example of what a family could be.

Pops Stargell on a t-shirt from the 1979 season.

Family.  What makes a family?  Certainly it isn't blood.  The Pirates taught us that.  And today, we see Jesus give us a new definition for family.  We find him early on in his ministry, having just called his 12 apostles and dozens (if not hundreds) of others as disciples, as followers.  Now all of them are gathered with Jesus around a table for a meal.  Meanwhile, Jesus' own mother and brothers and sisters stand outside and try to get in, possibly to share in the meal and meet Jesus' new friends.

This, however, is when Jesus does something highly unorthodox:  he doesn't acknowledge his blood family.  Instead, he motions to the table.  "Here," he says, "are my mother and my brother and my sisters."  Who were those folks sitting at that table?  Maybe he was referring to the apostles, those uber-pious men who have stained glasses painted for them and are revered as saints.  But if we really think about the folks Jesus hung out with, we can see a different group sitting at that table.  Prostitutes sat there.  So did public drunks.   Cripples.  Foreigners.  These are folks that Jesus' own people would have surely said had no place at the table, and yet these are the folks Jesus welcomes, the folks that he calls his family.

Here we see the radical nature of Jesus' ministry and how he turns the world on its head.  By the societal norms of his time none of these folks should've been allowed at the table with him. They were unclean, sinners.  Jesus, though, flies in the face of his own societal norms and not only welcomes them but calls them family.  Because what makes a family, Jesus says, is the common experience of love.  And whoever loves God, according to Jesus, has a place at his table and a place in his family.

Practically every church community considered itself a family.  Well, I'm going to clue you in to a little inside information.  Every single one of these families, when it comes time to call a new rector, says the same thing:  we want to grow.  We want our family to grow, they say.  And that's a good thing.  More people means more energy, more hands and feet to do the work God has called us to.  More people means that the communities, the families, we love will endure.  Yet more often than not, what those church families mean when they say "We want to grow" is this:  we want folks who are like us.  We want folks who look like us, act like us, vote like us, have similar paychecks to us.  So when the time comes to call another rector, those communities look around and wonder, "Why didn't we grow?"

I'll clue you in to another piece of inside information.  All of those church families can grow.  They can if they are willing to let their table look like Jesus' table.  If they can look past the labels that we all place on one another, then they'll definitely grow.

There are people out there who so desperately long to hear that Jesus loves them, and they long to be invited to his table and be fed by him.  They are all around us, and if you and your church family can look past the labels we put on one another and the barriers we erect between us, then your church family will grow.  And it will thrive.  Because it will look like Jesus' family.

I call the folks in my church my brothers and sisters because that is what they are.  But it's not because of blood.  I'm not related to anyone.  I'm not from here originally.  And while I am souther, my accent doesn't sound exactly like theirs--it has more of a mountain twang to it.  What makes us brothers and sisters is our common experience of love for God in Jesus Christ and our worship of him as our Lord and Savior.  And that common experience empowers us to achieve our common goal--just like those Pirates in '79 who had a common goal of winning the World Series.  Our common goal is to go into the world and share that love, so that we may make disciples of Jesus Christ and may grow his family.

The love of Jesus peels away the labels and crumbles the barriers.  It did so then and does so still.  All of the labels we have for one another (male, female, gay, straight, black, white, rich, poor, liberal, conservative) are all gone now.  Because at the Table of the Lord, where Jesus is both the host and the food, we are fam-i-ly.

A modern icon of Holy Communion, showing Jesus' radical hospitality.  (Source:  Unknown)

In the Episcopal Church we believe that whenever we share in Holy Communion we are doing so with every person we love but see no longer.  That's because Communion is happening all the time in heaven.  Sometimes we hear how nice it would be if our table could look like that table, where every person has a place.  But we need not gaze longingly at heaven and hope for the day when our table looks like that one because we have the capacity to make it happen right now!  All it takes is reaching out to our brothers and sisters on the margins.  Reach out to your homeless brother.  Reach out to your gay sister.  To your transgender brother.  To your sister who is struggling with substance abuse.  To your brother on food stamps.  Reach out to your family who have been pushed to the fringes and welcome them home to the table and to their family.

So come to this table.  You who have much faith, you would like to have some more, and you who have none at all.  You who have been often, and you who have not been for a long time, and you who who have never been at all.  You who have tried to follow Jesus, and you who have succeeded, and you who have failed.  Come.  It is Christ Himself who invites us to meet him here and makes us a family.  We'll save a seat at the table for you.

Seeing the Face of Jesus

During my first few weeks at General Seminary back in 2009, in the midst of serious transition and confusion, there was something I missed maybe more than anything:  breakfast.  I had not had a good breakfast since leaving home, and our refectory only provided lunch on weekdays, nothing more.  But there was a group, small but faithful, who helped put breakfast together for classmates.  It wasn’t much—some cereals, juices, and fruits—but the gesture was lovely.  I was touched that fellow students would get up early to put together breakfast for those of us hurrying off to class after Morning Prayer.  The group was called the Saint Blandina Society.

I had never heard of Saint Blandina (whose feast day is today), and I imagine many of you have not, either.  Her story is not a particularly happy one. 

In the ancient region of Gaul, during the reign of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, Christians were fiercely persecuted, especially in places with considerable Christian populations.  One such place was Lyons, where, in AD 177, Christians were prohibited from public life, from marketplaces and baths.  Slaves were taken into custody and forced to give up their Christian masters, telling officials that the Christians were involved in incest and cannibalism.  These actions roused the whole city to the point where a group was rounded up and taken to the public arena.  There they could either denounce their Christian faith or be put to death by wild beasts. 

St. Blandina

Blandina, a slave, was among those rounded up, along with the Bishop of Lyons and his deacon.  As Blandina was being tortured, those gathered in the public arena saw in her visage the image of the crucified Jesus.  In this slave who was giving her life for her faith, those around her saw the image of their Lord.  And though Blandina was killed, along with her companions, her witness lives on.  It is the very witness of Jesus, of the One who said, “Father, forgive them.”  Like her Lord, Blandina never denounced her faith, never muttered a harsh word to the officials, and because of this the image of Jesus shown brightly out of her, even as she was being killed.

The Saint Blandina Society at General Seminary was aptly named.  They were the face of Jesus for their fellow classmates, offering hospitality and conversation, especially for those of us who were new in their midst.  This is our call.  Perhaps not to be publicly executed for our faith, but certainly to be the face of Jesus. He has gone back to heaven, and while we may not see his face, others can and will see the face of Jesus in us through the power of the Holy Spirit that has come among us.  She may have lived over a century after Jesus’ ascension, but Blandina heard these words and lived them.  And because she did, others saw Jesus in her. 

The world longs to see the face of Jesus.  If you don’t bear the face of Jesus to the world, who will??   All too often, because we live in a much different world from Blandina, we Christians become complacent, lazy.  We go to church on Sunday and say hello to one another, but Jesus is the furthest thing from our minds when we exit our red doors.  The visitor in our midst longs to be welcomed, to be shown hospitality, to have conversation, to know that he or she is being cared for. But it is not just the visitor inside our walls that wants to see Jesus.  The world around us cries out for the kind of love that Jesus preached and lived—the kind of love that sets the captives free, that preaches truth to power, that sets the world on fire.  The world is poor, hungry, cold, and lonely.  The world is fractured and in pain.  The world is, perhaps, not all that different from Blandina’s time, after all.

Will you be the one to show the face of Jesus to the world? 

On Trinity, Answers, and Voltron

**This post is from my sermon on Trinity Sunday, 2015 at Good Shepherd, Asheboro**

So I'm supposed to tell you all about the Holy Trinity, right?  And afterwards, you're supposed to have all of this knowledge about the nature of God, huh?  Fat chance of all that happening, but here goes!

Years ago I actually preached on the Trinity as a teenager.  My priest asked if I wanted to preach and officiate Morning Prayer one week, and I think she gave me Trinity Sunday just because she didn't want to bother with such a tough day.  So with zero theological education, I preached from my gut, what the Trinity meant to me.  I said the Trinity was God's way of interacting in human history--God the Father in Old Testament times, Jesus in New Testament times, and the Holy Spirit ever since.  And, I said, whoever you are and wherever you are in life, you likely relate to one of these three Persons.  Maybe you think of God best as a parent figure.  Or maybe you relate better to the human God in Jesus.  Or maybe you're more spiritual and relate to the Holy Spirit best.  Each of these, I said, is a true image of God because God knows we are all different, so God reveals Godself to us in different ways.  And as a teenager it made since.  

Fast forward several years to my days in seminary.  I learned a few things in my time in seminary.  The first thing, which blew my mind, was that the Bible never really mentions the Trinity:  only one quick reference from Jesus, who tells us at the end of Matthew’s gospel to make disciples by baptizing in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  That's why every Christian baptism is in the name of the Trinity, and any baptism that isn't cannot be considered Christian.  But St. Paul never mentions the Trinity; in fact, the doctrine is something that God has revealed to Holy Mother Church through the ages since Jesus returned to heaven.

 I learned about famous theologians and heresies that I never knew existed, and I realized I wasn’t entirely right about the Trinity, nor entirely wrong.  One heresy I learned about was modalism, which said God in Trinity had three specific tasks or modes, but that those tasks did not intersect with each other.  This is like saying the Trinity is like water, where you have three distinct modes of liquid, ice, and vapor.  Arianism was a heresy that said Jesus and the Holy Spirit are creations of the Father and not one in nature with the Father. So it’s like the sun, where you have the star, the light, and the heat.  The light and the heat are part of the star but are not actually the star.  And then there’s partialism, which says the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are not distinct from the Godhead but are simply different parts of God. each composing 1/3rd of the Divine.  This, of course, is like the great defender of the universe, Voltron, who was one giant robot samurai and fighter of alien monsters, who was composed of five individual robot lions, each making up 1/5th of the giant. Ask someone in their 20s or 30s, they’ll tell you all about Voltron and how awesome he is!  

Voltron, Defender of the Universe.  Seen here in his combined form, along with his five component lions.

So there’s your heresy lesson for the day:  modalism, arianism, and partialism, all of which we want to stay away from.  Confused yet?  Good.

So if the heresies are what the Church said God isn't, what did it say God was?  One bishop named Gregory from Nazianzus, coined the term perichoresis, which means an eternal dance. The three persons of the Trinity, Gregory said, are eternally engaging in a dance with one another, perfectly in-step with each other. At the Council of Constantinople in 381, used his argument to defeat modalism.  

St. Gregory of Nazianzus, who coined the term 'perichoresis' to describe the Trinity as an eternal dance.

At that same council  the church leaders affirmed something they had suggested at the first council  the Council of Nicea earlier in 323, and that was that God was 3 hypostasies in 1 ousia, that is 3 persons in 1 substance; God, the council declared, was one God that was revealed in 3 particular persons of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  The result of this affirmation was our Nicene Creed, which we say every Sunday.

The person who put all of this into written form and trumped all of those hersies was St. Athanasius.  He was at Nicea, and even though he died before Constantinople, he had written his own creed,  his own VERY long creed, which explained the Trinity by saying that the Father is the Son and the Son is the Spirit and the Spirit is the Father and the Spirit is the Son and so on, and that we worship one God in Trinity and one Trinity in unity, neither confusing the persons, nor dividing the substance.  You can find this crazy long creed in the back of the Prayer Book on page 864.  I highly suggest reading it if you can't fall asleep tonight!

St. Athanasius, whose crazy long creed helped solidify the Church's definition of the Trinity.

So how do I understand the Trinity now? The truth is the more I think on the Trinity or read on it the more mysterious it becomes and the more my head hurts.  And I think that's the point.  We cannot ever fully understand why God exists in Trinity of persons.  The mystery is ok.  It's a comfort, actually.  We don't HAVE to know everything, And we can rest in the mystery and the reassurance that we don't always have to have all the answers.  We may have to have all the answers in other areas of our lives--school, work, parenthood--but not when it comes to the nature of God.  

But I do think that there is plenty that God teaches us through the Trinity.  Peter Carnley, the former Anglican Archbishop of Perth, says that everything begins with the Trinity, every conversation about God, and even every conversation about relationship.  You see, we didn't talk much about what the Trinity IS, but we did talk about what the Trinity DOES. And what the Trinity does is show us how God's love is shared in communion. The three persons of the Trinity exist in communion with one another and offer us a glimpse of what living in communion with one another is like.  The three persons do not ask anything of each other, they do not hold grudges toward each other.  They simply dance with each other, to borrow Gregory of Naziansus' imagery.  They simply dance and love one another.  And in doing so they invite us to dance with one another.  To dance with one another in a beautiful dance of love.  When we do that we get glimpses of what the Kingdom is like.  At Good Shepherd we saw that last week, when we gathered to celebrate this place.  We gathered in love, love for Good Shepherd, love for one another, love for God. This, brothers and sisters, is what the Kingdom looks like, and this is what the love of the Trinity looks like.  It's the no-questions-asked kind of love.  If you’ve ever read the novel The Shack, which is a modern allegory for the Trinity, that’s the point of that book:  that God exists in Trinity for the purpose of love.  That's it!  And when we love in the same way, we can see the Kingdom realized here and now!

When it comes to the Trinity our language is limited.  It's helpful to put the Trinity in human terms, but it’s not absolute.  We will never adequately describe in human terms just what the Trinity is, and if we try we'll just make our heads hurt, and we'll probably commit a heresy anyway.  Religion does not exist to answer all of the questions.  Instead it exists to encourage our questioning, and in those questions we find our faith.  And the doctrine of the Holy Trinity can only be understood by faith.

So let us rest in the mystery of the Trinity, comforted by the fact that we don’t have to have all the answers or fully understand who God is. Let’s rest in the love of God that is shared between the three hypostes in the one ousia and share it everyone we meet.  Let's dance with each other!  In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Happy Birthday, Church!!

"When the Day of Pentecost had come, the disciples were all together in one place.  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.  Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them.  All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability."

--Acts 2: 1-4

This past Sunday Christians celebrated the birthday of the Church.  Tradition holds on the Day of Pentecost the Holy Spirit descended upon the eleven apostles, driving them out into the streets of Jerusalem, where they met pilgrims gathered from all over the region for the Jewish high holiday. (Pentecost is known in Hebrew as Shavout and is a commemoration of God giving the 10 Commandments to Moses on Mt. Sinai; it is still observed today.)  When the pilgrims heard the apostles proclaiming God's deeds of power in their own language, it is said that a large number of folks became believers in Jesus.  And thus, the Church was born.

An icon of the Day of Pentecost by Phiddipus showing the descent of the Holy Spirit.  The figure on the bottom is Kosmos, an allegorical figure representing the world.

When I think of the Day of Pentecost I think of those 11 apostles huddled in that upper room, where they had a meal with Jesus just a few weeks before.  How frightened they must have been?  How uncertain the future must have seemed now that Jesus was gone AGAIN?  And yet, when the Spirit descended upon them they did not just sit there.  They got up and went out into the streets and set the world on fire with God's love.  Still, the pilgrims gathered there must have been ridiculously confused.  Imagine hearing all of these different languages in the air--Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Aramaic--and yet, somehow, in the middle of this cacophony of tongues they hear their own, as though God were personally speaking to each of them.  I suspect it must have been not only a cacophony of tongues but also emotion:  confusion, fear, excitement, wonder, even anger (some of those gathered accused the apostles of being drunk).  Simply put:  this day was not one to be easily understood, and that's because on this day God was giving birth to something new, and whenever God gives birth to something new it is seldom easily understood.  

The Day of Pentecost is also a traditional starting day for new ministers in congregations.  It is a day of newness, of celebration, and hope for the future.  And so this past Sunday I marked the beginning of a new journey with the faithful folks of The Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd in Asheboro, NC as their new rector.  This congregation has been standing in God's cacophony of emotion for over a year and a half, feeling all the feels.  As is the case with every church in transition there has been sadness, anger, excitement, and fear.  But I have been there too, as I have felt sadness over closing a chapter in my life, anger toward those who I perceived to have wronged me in the past, excitement over dreaming dreams with this new congregation, and even fear over what may happen if those dreams don't come true.  Still, that is what this day is about.  Pentecost encourages us to stand in the midst of newness, of tremendous change, because the act of living is an embracement of change.  God knows this.  And as God's Spirit drove the apostles into an uncertain future, that same Spirit drives us--not just the folks at Good Shepherd, but all of us who may be experiencing transitions in our own lives.  

Before this day the last great transition in my life was my ordination to the priesthood almost two years ago.  It was a day that I was building toward for seven years, and when it finally came I could only think, "Now what?"  Now what?  That's not an uncommon thing for us to think when a long-desired day for which we have been preparing finally arrives.  I am sure plenty of folks in the congregation this past Sunday where thinking something like that:  "We've done the work and have our new rector, now what?"  Perhaps those of you going through great transitions right now are asking the same thing.  Well, now we do what those apostles and pilgrims did.  We listen.  We listen for the Spirit to move us, to empower us, and to put us to work, not simply sitting here and wallowing in our fears of the unknown, but getting up and going out into the streets and setting the world on fire with God's love.

You may have seen a Facebook post I made this past week, which I think is appropriate for this holy day.  I was walking down one of the main streets of Asheboro in my collar, going into shops and meeting new folks.  Just before I went into the comic book shop to buy a new copy of Watchmen, I was approached by two ladies, one of whom asked if I were a preacher.  When I said yes she asked if I prayed for people.  And when I said yes again she motioned to her friend who was in great pain in her mouth because she had had several teeth pulled.  I asked her name, laid hands on her, and we had prayer right there in the middle of the sidewalk on a Tuesday afternoon in Asheboro.  You don't have to be a priest to do that!  You simply need to let the Spirit's power move you to go out in to the world and do something new.  Don't be afraid of it.  

May this Pentecost Week be a celebration for the whole Church, a time of rejoicing for all that God has done, is doing, and will do in the future.  And may it be a time for you to reflect back on all of your transitions and be empowered by the Spirit to do something new with your life.  Wherever you are and whatever uncertain future you may be facing, know that you do not do it alone, for we are all One Body in Christ Jesus, and just as those apostles and pilgrims did not face their uncertain future alone, neither do we.  We have each other, and we have the Holy Spirit to be our advocate and guide.  And in the middle of it all is the One who has been, who is, and who will always be.  And to Him be the glory.  Happy Birthday, Church!

The folks of Good Shepherd, Asheboro as we celebrated the Day of Pentecost and the start of our new journey together.

Being Friends with Jesus

**This post is from a sermon I preached at my home parish--All Saints, Norton, VA--on Sunday, May 10, 2015 (Sixth Sunday of Easter)**

All Saints Episcopal Church, Norton, VA (where I was baptized, confirmed, and ordained a deacon)

"I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends."

--John 15: 15

 

 

For the first 12 or so years of my life I had a best friend named Broderick, who was my dog.  Some of you may even remember Broderick; in fact, he sometimes would come to church with us, go to the nursing home service in Wise and offer pastoral care, and Dad even had him included in the media guide for the basketball team at UVA-Wise.  He was my Ole Buddy--that was what I called him--and we were inseparable.  Broderick followed me everywhere, as though Mom and Dad had given him orders to make sure I was ok.  He was literally my older brother.  And the day he died in 1995 is still vivid in my mind; his funeral--held in our front yard at Flat Gap--was the first Episcopal burial I attended.  I have never had a friend quite like him, and even now at 31 there are days when I miss him.

 

With my sister Ashley and best friend/older brother Broderick sometime in 1984 or 1985.  

 

 

 

So I wonder:  who was your childhood best friend?  Or who is your best friend now?  What are the qualities that define that relationship?  Honesty?  Support?  The ability to just be yourselves when you're around each other?

 

 

In our gospel today Jesus, continuing his Farewell Discourse to the 12 apostles, says something that he does not say in any of the synoptic gospels--only here in the Fourth.  After washing their feet and sharing a meal, with them gathered around him expecting him to open up the secrets of the Kingdom of Heaven, he calls them his friends.  His friends!  These men who have been following him for the better part of three years, who have called him 'rabbi', 'master', and 'Lord' he calls friends.  The Greek word used here is filos and also translates to 'dear ones' or 'beloved.'  So these ordinary, flawed, broken human beings are the beloved ones of the Son of God.  Matthew:  tax collector and despised one, a friend of Jesus.  Thomas:  the denier, a friend of Jesus.  Nathaniel:  who made fun of Jesus' hometown, a friend of Jesus.  Simon Peter:  the Rock, who stumbles and falls and disappoints his teacher so many times, a friend of Jesus.  And Judas:  the betrayer, a friend of Jesus.  And would dare say that this passage is for us today, as well.  We, flawed and broken individuals, are friends of Jesus.

 

 

This may seem a bit presumptuous on our part, to dare think of ourselves as friends with God.  But there is precedence for this in Holy Scripture.  Isaiah 41: 8 refers to Abraham as God's friend, and in Wisdom 7: 27 Solomon says that wisdom herself makes people the friends of God.  But doesn't this claim still seem a bit bold on our part?

 

 

Well, that's what makes Jesus so radical, and it's why we need him.  For too long in human history deities had always been far, far removed from humanity.  Think of the gods and goddesses of Greek and Roman mythology.  They sat atop their thrones on Mt. Olympus and only interacted with humanity when it suited their whims.  We were little more than tools or puppets to them.  The God that Jesus called Father, the God of Abraham, was different from these deities.  This God showed genuine compassion, promising a nation to Abraham and Sarah and later rescuing that nation from bondage.  This God seemed to actually care about humanity.  However, even this God was far away for Jesus' contemporaries, dwelling in the Holy of Holies, the innermost section of the temple in Jerusalem, where no one, save the high priest, could enter--and even then only once a year. 

 

 

But Jesus comes along and changes the narrative.  In Jesus, the living embodiment of God, we have an image of God.  In Jesus God has a face, and it smiles.  God has a mouth and taste buds, and they partake in meals.  God has hands, and they do work and pull up those who are beaten down.  God has emotions, and they run the gamete from anger to sadness and everywhere in-between.  In Jesus, God is just like us.  Suddenly, now, in Jesus, God is not so far away.  God has deemed not to be separated from humanity, and no longer need we gaze longingly to a God so far removed from us.  Jesus dwells in our presence, which makes us worthy to dwell in the presence of God.  He himself is not a distant stranger but a friend, a friend with whom we can be honest, a friend in whom we can find support, and a friend who loves us just the way we are and who invites us to just be ourselves with him.  And those of us who have been washed by the baptismal waters and have met Jesus in the sacred meal of bread and wine know these sacraments to be the marks of such friendship. 

 

So what does it mean to be friends with Jesus?  It means to abide in joy, love, and relationship, three things that we were made for.  To be a friend of Jesus is to abide in joy, in good news.  It is something to celebrate.  Sadly, we often hear Jesus' own friends twist this and make friendship with Jesus into a burden to mourn, rather than a joy to celebrate, as though we were still servants.  To be a friend of Jesus is to abide in love, the kind he showed.  Love one another as I have loved you.  This is not the kind of love that the world knows, which is a reciprocal love that often asks something in return.  But Jesus shows us how to love unconditionally, to love those who doubt us, those that make fun of us, those that disappoint us, and even those that betray us.  To be a friend of Jesus is to abide in relationship.  We are in relationship with Jesus simply by being in relationship with each other, for we are the body of Christ.  If you look into the face of the one sitting next to you, you will see the very face of Jesus.  So we need not wonder what the Kingdom of God will look like, we have the capacity, through our love for one another and for Jesus, to bring about the Kingdom here and now.  We are not observers, but participants, beloved partners with Jesus in this redemptive work.  That's what it means to be friends with Jesus. 

 

So it really isn't such a bold claim, is it?  God's love for you made manifest in Jesus is greater than any of you can imagine, greater than friendship you have had or ever will have.  It's greater even than the love I had for Broderick or he for me.  It is an everlasting love that we cannot earn and cannot lose.  That is the power of the grace of God and the power of the friendship into which Jesus is calling you and me.  So, brothers and sisters, go into this week knowing that you are friends with Jesus, and that he calls you into lives of joy, love, and relationship with him and with one another.  And lest us join with our friend, our teacher, and our Lord, to see his face in all we meet and put our love for him into action out in the world, so that we may partner with him to bring about the Kingdom here and now. 

 



Don't Forget to Say, 'I Love You!'

*This entry is derived from my final Sunday sermon at Christ Church Cathedral, Lexington, KY (5/3/15)*

"Jesus said to his disciples, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.""

--John 15: 1-8

  Abide in me.  That's what he said.  Here in the 15th chapter of the Fourth Gospel, in what is often called the Jesus' Farewell Discourse, he tells those closest to him to abide in him.  It's a beautiful phrase, isn't it?  But what does it mean?  Maybe it's meant to be some form of mysticism, that Jesus' spirit literally abides in his followers and their spirits abide in him.  Surely John's community would have been familiar with Jewish mysticism.  But what about for us now?  What does it mean for us when Jesus tells us to abide in him?

Jesus says that hose who abide in him bear much fruit.  But what kind of fruit exactly?  In our modern, quantitative world, bearing fruit generally means showing signs of success.  There are the fruits of your job:  bigger check, nicer house, better pension plan.  There are the fruits of your schools:  higher grades, larger scholarship, the path that leads to the job with the bigger check, nicer house, and better pension plan.  It seems we have to prove our self-worth, and churches do this too.  It's not hard for churches to fall into the trap of thinking that we have to show how good we are at being Christians by increasing in number year after year.  If by "bear fruit," Jesus meant to make as many Epsicopalians as possible, well then we did a pretty good job on April 26 when over 40 people were confirmed, received, and reaffirmed in this cathedral.  It was a wonderful, joy-filled moment, but I suspect Jesus meant something a little deeper when he talked about abiding in him and bearing fruit.  I suspect he meant something that cannot be quantified.

Being a Christian does mean a life of activity.  We show our love for Jesus and our commitment to him as our Lord by our actions in and out of this place.  We are enabled by the power of Christ in us to do amazing things and bear much fruit.  For three years I have had the pleasure of serving alongside you, walking with you through your faith journey, and I can tell you that you have borne much fruit.  But I'm not thinking of the quantifiable kind.  I'm thinking of a trip to England, where a new, young chaplain joined up with the choir on their tour.  Not only had he only been on the job for four days, he hadn't even been ordained yet!  Still, the choir gave him the nickname Joe Clergy, and they welcomed him as one of their own in a time when he was nervous and worried about starting a new job.  I'm thinking of a little black dog who, upon arriving here, ran around like she owned the place.  And yet you welcomed her and loved her, even when she had a few accidents in certain rooms of the cathedral, and you allowed her to offer pastoral care to you in ways that I and the other clergy could never do.  I'm thinking of a group of young adults, who have gathered over food and fellowship these last three years.  And while their numbers have increased, that's really just an afterthought.  What they have really increased in has been their love of God and their love for one another, deepening their faith, asking questions, and growing together.  I'm thinking of a small but dedicated group of college students at a little chapel down the street at UK, who have met each week and with whom you have shared their journey through meals and your presence.  I'm thinking of Holy Conversations around the sensitive issue of marriage equality and the decision this community made to affirm the love between two of its most cherished members.  And I'm thinking of so many more examples, but if I listed them all here, we'd never get out done!

Do you know why you have been able to bear so much fruit?  It's because of love.  You see, love can't be quantified.  It can't be explained empirically.  You can't measure it.  There's no end-of-the-quarter report that you put together about it.  And yet love is the most powerful force in the entire universe, because it is the only force capable of transcending time and space.  The epistler tells us why this is so:  because love is of God.  And it is by this--by love--that we know we abide in God.  And when we know we abide in God, we can take bold steps forward, no matter how fearful they may be, because perfect love--the love God has shown to us in Jesus, the kind of love that you have for one another--that kind of love casts our all fear.  I've seen you overcome great fears through the power of the love of Christ that abides in you, and I know that whatever fearful moments may lie ahead of you, you will overcome them also through the power of Christ's love.

It sounds pretty simple.  But we Christians have a habit of turning the simple into the difficult.  We shout that we are filled with God's love as we throw a bible at someone.  We preach our own brand of love but reject someone who doesn't meet our standards--kind of like what the religious authorities did to Jesus.  Or we speak of how much we love our meek and mild Lord, while we flaunt our extravagance at those who have nothing.  Maybe it's because of our own fear that we forget that to love God is to love one another and vice versa.  How often we forget.  I know I forget.  Way more than I should. 

But there is a way that we can avoid forgetting.  There is a solution for us, one that will draw us back to Christ's love and case aside our own fears.  Say, 'I love you.'  Say it a lot.  Say it like it's going out of style.  Say it to someone as you pass the Peace.  Say it to someone who might be sitting in YOUR pew.  Say it to your family, your friends, your co-workers (yes, even the one that you can't stand).  Say it to the stranger on the street.  Who knows, they might be Jesus!  Say it like you mean it.  Say it like you believe the words from the First Letter of John, that those who abide in love abide in God.  Say those words as often as possible, and you will bear some pretty amazing fruit.  And it won't be the kind you can quantify.

Christ Church Cathedral, I love you.  From the bottom of my very soul, I love you!  I've told you more than once that you made me a priest.  But more than that, you made me a better Christian, and a better person.  You showed me extraordinary ways to love one another, and you have carried that love with you out into the world.  You are the branches that have stretched far beyond these walls, sowing seeds of love in this city, this diocese, and beyond.  Keep it up!  And don't forget to say, 'I love you.'

It wouldn't be a Father Joe sermon without some obscure comic book or 1980s toy reference.  And so I say to you what He-Man said at the end of the 1980s live action Masters of the Universe movie:  good journey.  Good journey, brothers and sisters.  I am blessed beyond words to have been a part of your journey thus far.  But the future will be even brighter, as you continue to abide in the love of Christ. 

Together met, together bound, we'll go our different ways.  And as God's people in the world, we'll live and speak God's praise.