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SERMON ARCHIVE May - August, 2002 Click on the sermon you wish to read.
Where indicated, individual sermons may be printed using the Adobe Acrobat version of the sermon. Click on the "printable format" link. If you do not have Acrobat Reader installed on your computer, click on the icon above and follow the simple directions to download it free from the Adobe web site. Eighteenth
Sunday in Ordinary Time August 4, 2002 Click here for printable .pdf format Jesus has just heard that his cousin, John the Baptist has been beheaded, and so he gets into a boat so he can go to some deserted spot to be by himself. The crowds, however, won’t let him alone, but follow along the shoreline to where he’s going. Jesus, being moved to compassion by their trust, comes ashore and goes among the crowd, healing those who are sick. Doubtless this has been a depressing day for the disciples too, so when evening comes, they are, naturally, tired and surly. Make this riff-raff go away, they say to Jesus. Tell them . . . tell them they need to go into town and buy food and eat. Tell them to go fend for themselves. Enough is enough. Jesus has other ideas. They need not go away, he says. You disciples, you give them something to eat. Oh yeah, right, they think. All we’ve got is five loaves of bread and two dried fish – not enough even for us to eat. Likely one or two of the disciples at this point feel like decking Jesus – and when Jesus says to bring the five loaves and the two fish to him, at least a couple of these tired and dispirited fishermen must feel like throwing the whole lot in his face and stomping off in disgust. Enough of the teacher’s loony nonsense. There are five thousand men in this crowd – along with wives, children, widows, and who knows what other oddballs. The crowd must be close to twenty thousand in reality. Even if she had the best caterer in the whole world, Martha Stewart herself wouldn’t try to feed a mob like this. But then you know how the story goes. Jesus takes bread, gives thanks, breaks it and gives it to them. All twenty thousand of them eat and are filled. And there are leftovers. Industrious modern minds want to know, Did it really happen? Well, there are lots of "explanations" of the feeding of the five thousand men plus women and children. The most popular of these says that people were so moved by Jesus’ generosity that they brought forth the food they had hidden in their clothing or travel pouches, and it was discovered that by sharing, there was sufficient food for all. Now isn’t that sweet? Frankly, this so-called explanation makes me want to puke. It reduces Jesus, and by extension, God, to just another fabulous motivational speaker – albeit, better than most. The other nausea-inducing explanation is that the meal was symbolic and spiritual. It was not physical hunger but spiritual hunger that was satisfied when each of the twenty thousand received a miniscule, miniscule fragment of the shared food. Oh, give me a break. Neither of these explanations do justice to the story in the Gospels, which intend to report a supernatural event, an event contrary to nature, an event that tells us that when Jesus is present, the laws of nature and necessity are going to get broken. The story means to say that when Jesus is present, common-sense equations such as "five loaves of bread and two dried fishes are a poor appetizer even for a few" are out the window. The story means to say that when Jesus is present, all bets are off. When Jesus is present, all of our explanations, all of our ways of knowing, everything that we call reality will be made to look quite unreal after all. It’s a law of nature that when you’re dead, you’re dead – but when Jesus is present, look out – perhaps even the dead do rise. The Gospel means to say, that with Jesus present, very, very strange things, completely beyond our control will and do happen. So fasten your seatbelts my brothers and sisters. Jesus is about to be present among you – bread and wine is about to become the very real body and blood of Christ Jesus given and shed for you. And with Jesus truly present, with Jesus within your very bodies, who knows what will occur. Of course science, common sense, and American rational religion say that all talk of the real presence of Christ in bread and wine is hocus-pocus and nothing much will really happen here today or any day, but the Gospel says otherwise. The Gospel says that with Jesus present, the laws of nature, necessity, and psychology no longer hold true. So approach the altar with awe and wonder, with reverence, and perhaps even fear. For who knows – with Jesus truly present as the Gospel promises, we might just shed our apathy to the plight of the environment and go away from the altar to care for the earth and all its creatures as God intended. Who knows, with Jesus present, we might become less concerned with ourselves and our possessions -- and more concerned with the poor, and we might just start giving generously – no extravagantly -- without counting the cost. Who knows, with Jesus present, bit by bit our mourning may be turned to joy so that we can delight in the pleasures of God’s good creation. Who knows, with Jesus present, we might just repent of our prejudice, our racism, and even our own self-loathing and begin to love the neighbor as ourselves, no matter who we are or who the neighbor is. Who knows, with Jesus present, we might finally set aside our petty criticisms, our bickering, and our fears, and truly love one another – for what we are – while we yet have the time. With Jesus present, only God knows what will happen. But know this: Jesus is truly present and something, something very strange and not natural, something far beyond your control will happen and neither you nor the cosmos will ever be quite the same again. This is the Holy Gospel. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Seventeenth
Sunday in Ordinary Time July 28, 2002 Click here for printable .pdf format The Spanish mystic, St. John of the Cross, called it ‘the long, dark night of the soul.’ Even if you’ve never heard it called that before, you know what it is. The long, dark night of the soul is when everything seems lost, when the world seems empty of anything good. The long, dark night of the soul is when we wander around in the light of day feeling lost in a nightmare from which we can’t awaken. The long, dark night of the soul is when terror lurks everywhere, even in the faces of friends and loved ones. The long, dark night of the soul may occur after the self or a loved-one has been diagnosed with a severe illness, after a loved-one has died. It may occur after losing a job; it may occur when everything you’ve worked for seems ready to disappear before your very eyes. Or it may occur for no discernable reason whatsoever – you wake up one morning and the world is cold, gray, empty, and cruel. Meaninglessness lurks everywhere. The smiles on the faces of passersby seem a mocking reproach, and the self cries out, how dare you be joyous. Food is like sawdust in the mouth, there is a thirst that no amount of water can quench. And in the long, dark night of the soul even God seems far away – and there seems to be nothing that can bridge the seemingly infinite distance between God and the self – and this inability to find God in the midst of the long darkness makes the soul’s night darker, longer, more painful. We pray, "Our Father" over and over but get lost in the words; we try every prayer we know but all are void and cold. And so we give up even praying. And it is just then at that point, says St. Paul, when we are at our weakest, that the Spirit prays through us with wordless sighs beyond our knowing. Oh Paul, baby, I could kiss you for those words that come less from any facts you knew, but much more from that blinding light that pierced the darkness of your religiously murderous soul. You tell us that our breathing is prayer, our sighs are the Spirit praying, the Spirit is in our breath. You tell us the Spirit, God’s breath, the breath that created heaven and earth, the Spirit of Our Lord and of his resurrection is in our every sigh. Forget praying, says Paul. Just breathe. To breathe, to sigh, is to pray with God. Breathe and know that your breath is the breath of God. Breathe hot, breathe cold – it’s not up to you, says Paul. You don’t know how to pray as you need to. So God takes care of it, God takes care of it all, awake or sleeping – God breathes in you, for you. And God, who searches every heart, knows what your Spirit-filled sighs are all about; you baptized saints, says Paul – God ordains that your Spirit filled-sighs contain everything necessary for prayer. Listen, says Paul, if God is this present to us – within our very breathing – then who can be against us? Listen, says Paul, there’s nothing that can separate you from God’s love. God is so close to you that nothing in heaven or earth or under the earth, not anything in life or death can separate you and God. Not your weakness, not your despair. Not your inability to pray or be faithful. No angel, no demon. No pope or preacher; nothing. Not Focus on the Family, no fundamentalist, no bishop or synod; not your own self-righteousness or your own self-loathing – there is nothing even in you yourself that can make God go away. It is God who justifies you. How dare anyone or anything even try to condemn you!! So, sisters and brothers of Christ Jesus, be still and know that in your rising and in your sleeping, in your work and in your play, your very breath is the presence of God praying within you. And too when you draw your last breath, know then that that breath will ascend with the Spirit to be joined with the Father and the Son, and then you will sigh no more, but will fully love and embrace God just as God now, already, today, this very instant fully embraces and loves you. Thirteenth
Sunday in Ordinary Time June 30, 2002 Click here for printable .pdf format In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. The Lord appeared to Abramah by the terebinths of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent as the day grew hot. Looking up, he saw three men standing near him. As soon as he saw them, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground, he said, "My lords, if it please you, do not go on past your servant. Let a little water be brought; bathe your feet and recline under the tree. And let me fetch a morsel of bread that you may refresh yourselves." As the story continues, we hear that the three strangers are in fact messengers of God who have come to proclaim that which was promised to Abraham and Sarah – the birth of a son. This story has been classically interpreted in the Jewish tradition as illustrating the Mitzvah, the commanded deed, of hospitality. From the Midrash, the commentary on the Hebrew Bible, we hear the question, "Why was Abraham outside the door of his tent in the heat of the day rather than inside where it was cool?" And the answer that highlights the duty of hospitality is that Abraham was sitting outside, "to watch for passing strangers whom he might invite into his abode." The Talmud is the collection of ancient rabbinic writings based on the Torah, the first five books of Hebrew Scripture. The rabbis ask why Abraham addresses the three strangers as, "My Lord." They suggest that Abraham was addressing God but that, when he saw the three men approaching, he excused himself from his prayers in order to show hospitality to the strangers. And so the Talmudic saying: "Greater than the reception of God is the practice of hospitality." Once, however, Abraham’s hospitality clashed with his zeal for the Lord. The story goes that Abraham invited a stranger into his home, but finding him praying to an idol, chased him away. God reprimanded Abraham severely: "I have put up with this man these many years, although he rebelled against me, and you cannot put up with him even for one night?" Abraham realized his sin and did not rest until he had scoured the land and brought the stranger back. The story of Abraham that sets forth the core value of showing welcome and hospitality to the stranger is followed by another story that tells what happens to those who treat the stranger badly. There was once a city, according to Genesis, that was well-watered and like the garden of the Lord. According to Midrash, this city possessed all the luxuries of the world, and the streets were paved with gold -- but its inhabitants were unwilling to share their privilege with others. Moreover, the inhabitants of this city flooded the approaches to their town so that strangers would be kept away and immigration made impossible. The people punished anyone who offered food to a stranger; they even polled their fig trees lest birds would eat of them. Rabbi Hiya said: The inhabitants of this city "deserved punishment . . . for their uncharitableness. For whoever grudges assistance to the poor does not deserve to exist in this world, and also forfeits the life of the world-to-come. Contrariwise, whoever is generous towards the poor deserves to exist in the world, and it is for this one’s sake that the world exists, and the fullness of life is reserved for this one in the world-to-come." And so God destroyed this particular city because it would not offer hospitality to strangers, but abused those who came seeking shelter. The name of the town? Sodom. And it’s sin was not sexual. As the prophet Ezekiel observes, the sin of Sodom was "pride, and fullness of bread; and careless ease was in her and in her daughters; neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and the needy. And they were haughty." To the ancients, hospitality included vastly more than good manners; it meant gracious treatment and acceptance of strangers, and it was first among religious values. And so Jesus in this morning’s reading from St. Matthew re-articulates the command, the mitzvah, of hospitality and says that "whosoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little one – truly I tell you none of these will lose their reward." And in the letter to the Hebrews we hear the apostle say, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it." Even to this day, monasteries and other religious communities live with the rule that they are to welcome strangers as they would welcome Christ himself. And so too in this community of St. Paul, the Apostle to the Gentiles – the outsiders. As one of our departed saints, Blessed Waldo Smith, said to a young couple one Sunday, "Welcome. We take everybody here." Pointing to the young man he said, "If you like boys," and pointing to the young woman, "if you like girls, or if you like each other. Everybody’s welcome here!" Indeed, in the name of Christ and by his command, all are welcome here – single, twice-divorced, under 30, gay, filthy rich, black and proud, poor as dirt, can’t sing, no habla ingles married with pets, older than God, married with rambunctious kids, crazier than a loon, workaholic, unemployed and lazy, more conservative than the rocks, bad speller, screaming babies, malcontent and cranky, three-times divorced, passive-aggressive, obsessive-compulsive, tourists, seekers, doubters, bleeding hearts . . . everybody’s welcome. And all this because Jesus Christ Himself first welcomed into his company, by name, and with a cup of cold water some deeply flawed and terribly peculiar characters: you and me. In the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN May 26, 2002 Click here for printable .pdf format It never fails. Every March 17, St. Patrick’s Day, somewhere or on someone I see a four-leaf clover. If the Saints of Heaven can roll their eyes and groan out loud, surely good St. Patrick does exactly that when he beholds the four leaves of this pagan token of good-luck masquerading as a shamrock. As every good Irish person and every good Irish wanna-be should know St. Patrick used the shamrock, with its three leaves proceeding from one stem, to illustrate the Holy Trinity. St. Patrick taught, that as the shamrock has one stem, so God is one. There are not three stems, but one stem. But there are three leaves on this one stem, as there are three persons to the Holy Trinity. The three persons of the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit proceed from the One God, just as the three leaves of the Shamrock proceed from one stem. Each leaf of the Shamrock is distinct; so too each person of the Trinity is distinct. The Son is not the Father. The Father is not the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is not the Son. There is only one God. Three distinct persons that make up the fullness of God, just as three distinct leaves make up the fullness of the Shamrock. Each leaf, however, as any of you know who grow Shamrocks, has three sides; just so, each person of the Trinity refers back to the three-fold nature of the One God. And as each leaf of the Shamrock returns the sun’s energy to the one stem, so each person of the Trinity returns itself with all its praise and honor and glory to the one God. St. Patrick and those who wrote in his name or by his inspiration have long been noted for devotion to the Holy Trinity, and traditional Irish hymns and blessings invoking the Holy Trinity seem to go on forever and ever. They are effusive, overflowing, and fullsome; they take great pains seemingly trying to include anything and everything but the kitchen sink – come to think of it, some of them do include what amounts to the kitchen sink. This morning’s Hymn of the Day is one such hymn – and notice is hereby served that you may not complain about its effusiveness or length. And if you study Celtic designs, you will see in many of them a three-fold design formed by one strand turning and winding, in and out, over and around, without beginning or ending. Celtic hymns and Celtic designs express that the Holy Trinity is the effusive, three-fold overflowing of God that includes all that is, seen and unseen, without beginning or end, the Three Persons unfolding through the turning and winding, the in and the out, the over and around of the One God. Augustine of Hippo was an African bishop who died and went home to God in the Year of Our Lord 415. Augustine called himself a venditor verborum, a word merchant – he was a person well-known for his precise and skilled communication, a person who could express complicated ideas with a minimum of words. But even Augustine could not find enough or adequate words to explain how Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are not three gods but are the One God. And so St. Augustine’s treatise on the Holy Trinity goes on for 15 volumes until finally the good bishop gives up and resigns himself to saying that the Trinity is a sublime mystery. Every age, it seems, tries to simplify the notion that the Father is God, that the Son is God, that the Holy Spirit is God, but that there are not three gods, but only one God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In the early Church, the recurring attempts to simplify the Holy Trinity were called heresy – heresy being nothing other than trying to simplify or make rational and acceptable the mysteries of God. In response to anti-Trinitarian heresies, the early Church articulated three creeds, the Apostolic, the Nicene, and the Athanasian and declared them to be summaries of Trinitarian, catholic faith. These creeds, all three of which are foundational in the Lutheran embodiment of Trinitarian, catholic faith, seem nothing less than confusing and confounding. Relax, they’re meant to be that way – they are meant to resist our attempts to simplify, to make acceptable to our rationality, that which is Holy Mystery, that which is ultimately unknowable through our own reason or strength. A while back, in an attempt to avoid what some called the "gender specific" language of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, it became fashionable in some of the trendy corners of the church to refer to the Holy Trinity as "Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer." Far from being radical as some thought, this wanna-be-Trinitarian substitution is yet one more ill-conceived heresy – that is, an inadequate simplification. The word radical comes from the Latin word radix, meaning root. Anything that is radical must be something that goes back to the roots of something. Radical Trinitarian speaking must acknowledge that the Father creates, redeems, and sustains; that the Son creates, redeems, and sustains; that the Spirit creates, redeems, and sustains. The Father created all that is and redeems and renews all that is created and continues to sustain all that is created. St. John’s gospel tells us that through the Word, the Logos, the Christ, all things were created; and the Wording-forth of God, the Christ, redeems us through his death and resurrection and continues to sustain us with his body and blood. And this morning’s first reading tells us that at creation the Spirit of God brooded over the watery chaos to bring forth the beauty of the universe. And that same Spirit makes Christ’s redemptive forgiveness present for us in the Word and Sacraments, which create and sustain our faith. Only words that tells us that the Father is creator, redeemer, and sustainer, that the Son is creator, redeemer, and sustainer, that the Spirit is creator, redeemer, and sustainer can have any claim to being radical, to going to the roots of our faith. Now hear some other radical words. In Holy Baptism you were bound to God in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. In your Holy Baptism, you were claimed as God’s very own in the Name of the Trinity. And in the name of the Holy Trinity you were marked with the sign of the cross. So here is all you need know of the Holy Trinity: the promise made to you in the name of Holy Trinity is irrevocable and endures for all eternity. God’s promise made to you in the name of the Holy Trinity cannot be made void, cannot be made to go away – not by you, not by priest, bishop, or pope, not by any fundamentalist condemnation, not by anyone or any thing in all creation. By water and the word, in the name of the most Holy Trinity and with the sign of the Holy Cross, God has promised to be unconditionally with you and for you throughout your life and beyond your death until finally God will have you and never let you go. And against that promise and against that sign, given to you not even the very gates and forces of hell shall ever, ever, ever prevail. This is God’s promise for you, in the name of the Most Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen. May 19, 2002 Click here for printable .pdf format 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. I don’t know exactly what happened on that Pentecost Day in Jerusalem fifty days after Christ’s resurrection from the dead. I don’t know what people saw or what people heard. And frankly speaking, I really don’t care. I am here to tell you, however, that from where I stand this morning, from where I stand every Lord’s Day, I see tongues, as of fire, appearing among you, and a tongue resting on each of you, and each of you filled with the Holy Spirit. Just as St. Paul tells us in the second reading for this morning: to each of you is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. Each and every one of you here was filled with the Holy Spirit when you were baptized, each and every one of you here is continually being filled with the Holy Spirit and each of you possesses different gifts for the upbuilding of the people of God, the Body of Christ. Let me tell you what I see and hear and experience and know from where I stand. I can’t begin to count how many people have told me that they come to worship at St. Paul Church because here people are not all the same. People tell me that they want to be among the whole people of God – not just among the married, middle-class – not just among the gay or the not-gay, not just among the affluent. You tell me that you want to be where there are old people, children, not-so-affluent people, married people, people in wheelchairs, people who aren’t all white or European-American. You want to be among people who aren’t all liberal or conservative or lukewarm or passionate, where things are sometimes well-done and other times far from perfect or polished. You know or you sense that here are others who are broken in body, mind, or spirit. Being here in all your diversity, you are for one-another a gift of the Spirit, testifying with your very presence that the Body of Blood of Christ are given and shed for all – for all -- for the forgiveness of sin. And tongues, as of flame, do dance on each of your heads and each of you is filled with the Holy Spirit. You who are children, your gift is to remind us what it is to receive Christ with the childlike faith Jesus commends to us. Your enthusiasm as you dip your little hands into the font to bless yourselves with the sign of the cross, your devotion to the baby Jesus in the Epiphany tableau, and your very infant baptisms show us that the mysteries of faith do not depend on intellectual understanding or maturity. And your noise and your crying remind us that in becoming one of us in Jesus, God was once a little child who cried, who threw up, who squirmed in Mary’s arms, and was able to make as much noise as the most rambunctious of you. And I must tell you that one of these little ones is truest priest to me as he raises his tiny hand to bless me at the end of the liturgy when I give the benediction. Children, I see tongues, as of fire, dancing over your heads, and each of you is filled with the Holy Spirit. And you who have lived the faith for many years, though your sight may be dimmed, your presence is radiant and your wisdom and remembrances enrich us weekly. You who give offerings, be they small or large, you enable the ministry of this parish. And you who have known great suffering, your faith, even in the midst of pain, inspires us, encourages us, and keeps the cross of Christ before our eyes. All of you who carry heavy burdens remind the rest of us that it is the calling of all of us to bear one another’s burdens; likewise, those who are joyous, you help us fulfill the command to rejoice with one another. I see tongues, as of fire, dancing over your heads, and each of you is filled with the Holy Spirit. And you who mourn, your grief and your tears testify to the great power of love, and you teach us that we must love one another, for what we are, while we yet have the time. And you who labor with mental illness, you help us to understand our own fragility and our own brokenness. And you who are poor, it is in your faces that we are allowed see the face of Christ. You who have been in prison or under a cloud of public guilt and shame, you teach us that Christ’s love and grace are for all people, and you force us to be honest and acknowledge that we have all sinned and fallen astray. I see tongues, as of fire, dancing over your heads, and each of you is filled with the Holy Spirit. And in your prayers, all of you intercede with God for one another and for the world. And even if you don’t know how to pray, or aren’t paying attention, or even if you have great doubts, don’t worry, for the Holy Spirit knows what is in your hearts, and the Spirit prays for you with sighs too deep for words. And I see tongues, as of fire, dancing over your heads, and each of you is filled with the Holy Spirit. Baptized people of God, members of Christ’s body, each one of you through no merit or choice of your own has been filled with the Holy Spirit, and each and every one of you, gifted by the Spirit, is continually being given a ministry in the Body of Christ. Look around you. There are tongues, as of fire, dancing on the heads of every one of us, and we are all filled with the Holy Spirit and the Spirit’s various gifts. Now then, gifted, Spirit-filled children of God, go forth, go out from this place. A weary world awaits you, for you are the Body of Christ for the world. May 5, 2002 Click here for printable .pdf format In a Little While I recall the experience of leaving home for the first time. Some friends were to drive me to Houston. There I’d board a train for Nebraska, where I’d spend the year at Midland College. I handle "goodbyes" poorly. My bags were loaded into the car and I bounded off the porch and into the car. In tears, my mother stood on the porch, waving goodbye. It was then Mrs. Mills commanded me to return to my mother and say "goodbye" properly. Each of us handles goodbyes a little differently. For some of us, saying goodbye is painful. We shed tears. There are periods of sadness, even depression may overcome us. Others of us avoid the pain (like I tried to do that first time I left for college) by simply not saying "goodbye." We just walk away – trying to disappear. Some of us are very methodical about bringing a conclusion to relationships. Others try to maintain contact with friends and acquaintances in former places of residence. It seems only days ago I left my 10 year home in Santa Fe, to return to Denver. Even though both Denver and Santa Fe have always felt like home to me, leaving the one down south was painful. Life is a series of goodbyes, even if we never change our place of residence. Friends move away. Loved ones die. Relationships are broken. We change jobs or professions. As interests and experience expand, we give up former practices and relationships. Age refocuses our attention and redefines who we are and what we’ll do. We go away to school – children grow up and move away. Goodbyes – goodbyes – goodbyes. Jesus said, In a little while the world will no longer see me . . . . ." That was surely difficult for his friends to hear. Painful! This one they’d grown to love – no longer around. And it would be difficult for us to hear, except we’ve read the Book and we know that this saying in John’s Gospel is a pre-Easter saying and we’ve not only read the rest of the story, but we live in a post-Easter world. In 1988, when I left the church I’d served for 14 years, I knew I could never return. Oh, perhaps sometime at an anniversary celebration (as this year). But I am no longer the pastor of that community. Many of those people I may never see again in this life. We make promises to write – or visit – or call. And in time . . . . . but . . . . . Jesus said, I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you . . . . . you will see me; because I live and you also will live . . . . . you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. Easter – John – both tell us God, in love, has pitched God’s tent with us – God’s presence is within us. We’re not waiting the return of someone who has gone away somewhere into the unknown. The waters of baptism have washed over us and confirmed that God has not only taken up residence within us, but made us part of God’s very own Body. Each time we hear the Word – each time we eat this bread and drink this wine – God takes up residence in us anew and we become who we were initially made to be. The first sentence of our reading today calls us to keep God’s commandments and in John’s writing, that commandment is made perfectly clear. Later in the discourse, John tells us that Jesus calls on us as members of the Body to love one another – and I might add – warts and all. It’s in just this way that God resides in us and we reside in God, by heeding the call to love one another. Living a love that gets on its knees and washes feet. Love that touches wounds of people who have cancer, heart disease, leprosy, AIDS . . . Love that talks to lonely people who are Republicans, Democrats, Socialist, Evangelical/Fundamentalist, nerds, pretty/handsome, ugly, short, fat, tall, skinny, athletic, unable to identify which end of a bat to hold, smart, not so smart, shy, bold, people who have it together, people who spend their nights under bridges, people healthy of mind and body, people with bi-polar disorder . . . people who may be sitting right next to you this morning (or front or back). Love that is willing to risk giving possessions and self away when it doesn’t appear we can afford it. Love that cares about people who are hungry, or suffer injustice where they live in Denver, Adams County, Israel, Palestine, Afghanistan or South America. Love willing to speak out in their behalf and then do something about it. Love that says I’d even give up my job or life for you. WOW! So that’s what it means for God to be in us and we in God – for God to have taken up residence in us. We no longer have to fear anything – especially the goodbyes. Because if we are one with God, then we are one with each other. I may never return to my friends in other cities in which I’ve lived, I may never again relate to sisters and brothers in a former parish, but because of God’s indwelling and by being grafted on to the Body, I am with them and they with me. Just so, it’s true with all the goodbyes in our lives. Several years ago while camping in the woods, I spent time each morning in meditation. One morning, while meditating on the 84th Psalm, especially vv 1 & 3, I was moved to pen this prayer: I love your palace . . . The gold and crimson of the sunrise I am awed by silence, I enjoy your presence And last of all, I am humbled that you dwell in me, I love your palace . . . Jesus said, I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you . . . you will see me; because I live and you also will live . . . you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.
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