Not alone. May 29, 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

Ascension Sunday

Acts 1:1-11

Today we celebrate the Ascension of Christ - technically, in the church calendar, the Ascension was on Thursday, 40 days after Jesus’ resurrection, however we are given the liberty to celebrate it the following Sunday. So that’s what we are doing. But there are a few things that make celebrating Jesus’ Ascension a little challenging. For one, it's just plain hard to imagine. Like did Jesus just start gently levitating in the midst of conversing with the disciples? Or did he shoot off like a superhero? Then there’s the part about where did he go? Heaven isn't literally in the clouds. So what's the point of him being carried up if he wasn't going up to a physical location? But the biggest issue is why do we celebrate him leaving us? Wouldn't it be better to have him here on earth where we could touch him and hear his actual voice? Where he could lay his hands on us and our loved ones when we were sick. Where he could be our true teacher and we wouldn't need to deal with different people's interpretations of what he said. I mean, how many of us have desperately cried out from the depths of our hearts, “Come Lord Jesus”? His departure doesn't necessarily feel like good news.

But if I may, I’d like to just set aside the rather silly image of Jesus rocketing up to heaven because the logistics of how that happened doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the  deeper meaning and message that Jesus gives us before he ascends. And that message is, “Unless I go, the Spirit can't come.” Jesus must go. He must leave this earthly plane in order for the Holy Spirit to come more fully into our world.

Because there is a connection between absence and presence. I'm sure we're all familiar with the saying “Absence makes the heart grow fonder." And it's true. We have to experience, to some degree,  the absence of something or someone in our lives in order to have a desire for their presence, to appreciate their presence. One of the amazing things about human beings is our ability to adapt. And science actually tells us that we are especially skilled at quickly adapting to the good things in our lives. It takes longer to adapt to things we deem as bad, but even so we eventually do that too. Yet one of the downsides of our adaptability is that we easily get so used to the good people and the good things that fill our lives. So used to them that we take them for granted to the point where we stop noticing the good and start to only see the bad. I mean, how many times do the people that we most love in our lives are the ones that get on our nerves? Oftentimes it takes some distance, some degree of absence to shake us up a bit in order to become more aware and grateful of presence.

Absence helps us to receive presence. For it’s when we feel incomplete. When we don't have all that we want. When we long for someone or something - peace, comfort, joy, justice, God in our lives, it is that incompleteness, that longing that makes room in us to perceive what we actually already have. Because that's where we really struggle, in the perceiving of the truth, the reality of the presence that already is. And we touched upon this in our opening prayer, what we call The Collect, that we might have the faith to perceive - to perceive that the Ascension means that Jesus is no longer limited to one place and one time like we are. Rather because Jesus, in both body and spirit, entered into the heavenly realm he is now able to be present with us in a way that is new and, as our collect puts it, “fills all things.” Now there is a holy union of spirit and matter. Everything, all of creation, is joined with the divine. At Christmas we proclaimed that God is with us but now it goes even deeper than that. God’s Spirit is not only with us but within us and all of creation filling us with peace, power, and presence. Even in the midst of the most dire of circumstances.

Like the ones that have made the news in the last few months. I don’t know about you, but the world seems particularly heavy to me. We’ve been dealing with a pandemic for years. Then in February Russia invaded Ukraine and we were flooded with new reports of so much suffering, death, and devastation. Then two weeks ago Saturday there was the racially motivated mass shooting in a Buffalo supermarket. Ten people killed, three wounded, and countless traumatized. Who knew that just a handful of days later, on Tuesday, there would be more tragedy with the senseless killing of nineteen children and two teachers at an elementary school in Texas. We have been bombarded with stories of so much pain. And then, of course, there’s the “regular” suffering that happens everyday which doesn’t make the news.

What are we to do with all of that? There are no easy answers. And yet, as people of faith, people who believe in a good and loving God revealed in Jesus the Christ, we know that such suffering is not the end of the story. And that even in the darkest parts of our collective human story, God is somehow there. Because Jesus truly fills all things - there is no place, no circumstance that is too much for God. And we know that Jesus’ life on this earth wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows. He knew pain, he experienced grief, he went through death. And he even knew something that is likely worse than death, what it’s like to feel completely forsaken. Jesus was no stranger to the horrors of life. And it is this Jesus, this holy union of God and humanity, who fills all things - everywhere, for all time. Which means that the people who have lost their lives in Ukraine, in Buffalo, in Uvalde - they were not alone. Christ was present. Those who are left to weep this very day over those tragedies - they are not alone. Christ is present. And as we live our lives in the days to come - we are not alone. Christ is present.

Even as we despair over recent tragedies and deeply feel the absence of what is good and right and just, darkness has not overcome the light. This world of ours is still infused with the divine. We are not alone. Christ is present - filling all things. With God’s help, may we have the faith to perceive that. To trust that God's spirit continues to be at work to heal, to hold, to renew. And to allow that spirit that dwells in us to use us in that healing, that holding, that renewing work. We may not be able to change the world at large, but we can pray, we can act, we can live in ways that witness to the reality that everyone one and everything in this world is sacred because God in Christ fills all things. And come what may, the power of God’s hope, God’s love, God’s presence will ultimately prevail.

Not as the world gives. May 22, 2022. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

 John 14:23-29

Right around the time that Jesus was born, there was a rebellion in Judea. The Roman general Varus was called in to quell it, which he did with efficient brutality: he crucified 2,000 Jews. That was not an extraordinary measure by Roman standards. After putting down the slave revolt led by Spartacus, the Romans crucified 6,000 slaves: crosses lined the Appian Way for 120 miles. When Titus laid siege to Jerusalem in the year 70, during another revolt, he crucified 500 Jews a day outside the city walls. He actually ran out of wood and had to import more in order to keep the slaughter going. It’s impossible to state with certainty how many people the Roman Empire crucified over the course of its history: estimates range from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands. But what we know for sure is that the Romans were good at killing. It was their primary means of asserting control, and also the centerpiece of their entertainment. The Colosseum and the Circus Maximus regularly featured gladiators fighting to the death or people being torn apart by wild animals. And many of those victims were slaves. Historians surmise that slaves made up between 10 and 20 percent of the Empire’s population, which in the first century amounted to anywhere from five to ten million people. It was an entire system based on oppression and violence. And yet that stretch of time from Augustus to the end of the second century is often called the Pax Romana, the “peace” of Rome. A grim example of the kind of peace which, all too often, the world gives.

We’ve recently experienced yet another racially-motivated massacre, this time in Buffalo. And we all know there is a terrible amount of hate speech in our society these days, much of it directed at people of color, immigrants, and sexual minorities. And our civil discourse is anything but civil, with political opponents often treated as outright enemies. But what is perhaps most distressing is that some people are willing to use violence to impose their vision of society on others. For some, the goal is to dominate, subjugate, and even eliminate those they are opposed to. If their aim is peace, then it is a very worldly idea of peace by conquest.

And in the midst of it all, we hear these words from Jesus today: Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. As followers of the Prince of Peace, of course we need to stand against hatred and to reject any worldly notions of peace by conquest. But the Church of Jesus Christ cannot just be against things. We certainly don’t want to fall into the trap of hating the haters, which would just make us haters ourselves. But what positive contribution might Christ be calling us to?

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says blessed are the peacemakers. And there are many active ways we can make peace. On a macro level, we can promote public policies that enhance equality and justice for all people. Now, I realize, of course, that we have a wide variety of political opinions, but even within our various affiliations we can advocate for peace-making policies. And we can all encourage civil discourse which is respectful and non-violent. On an interpersonal level, we can all refuse to hold grudges but instead work to resolve conflicts in ways that are loving and caring. There are many good ways to work for peace, but today’s Gospel leads me to focus not on making peace but on being peace.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. In John’s Gospel, the emphasis is on receiving the peace of Christ. The focus here is not on going out and doing things that produce peace but rather embodying the peace that Christ gives to us. I think both approaches are important, but because we tend to be doers, we might easily highlight peace-making and ignore peace-being. But if we did, that would be a loss.

Like love, joy, and other wonderful qualities, the New Testament understands peace to be a gift of the Spirit. As we allow the Spirit of Christ to move more freely within us and through us, peace just happens naturally. As Paul tells the Galatians, to be filled with the Holy Spirit is to become more peaceful. It is not a question of having to go and create peace but rather letting peace dwell within us as a gift. And that peace is not simply the absence of conflict, but shalom, wholeness, a deep awareness of our unity with God, and with others, and with our true selves. So many people long for such peace, but it resides within each of us. We’re all growing in the Spirit, so none of us fully and completely realizes and embodies this peace, but as we mature in Christ, that peace does grow within us. And we can nurture it in our lives of prayer. Any form of contemplative or meditative prayer can do this. The Orthodox tradition calls such prayer hesychasm, which means “rest.” Whenever we practice centering prayer or just sit in prayerful silence, we are resting in God and giving more room for the Spirit to lead us into greater peace.

And that is crucial not only for our own well-being but for the well-being of the world. The ways of Rome are still with us; too many people seek to impose a false peace through domination and violence. The world desperately needs people to offer a better way, not just by being active peacemakers but by actually embodying peace in their own lives. And while peace-filled people may inspire others, they do more than that. We know based on our own theology of creation, we know based on our understanding of the Holy Spirit, we know based on the insights of depth psychology, quantum physics, and modern science, that we are deeply interconnected, all of creation is deeply interconnected. The way I am affects the way everything else is. When I change my consciousness, I change the world. When you change your consciousness, you change the world. When we embody the peace of Christ, we change the world. If we want a more peaceful world, then there’s much we can do, but above all we need to receive the gift of the Spirit and be more peaceful people.

 

No distinction. May 15, 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

Acts 11:1-18, John 13:31-35

Immigration. Vaccinations. Racial justice. LGBTQ equity. Abortion. These are just a sampling of the hot topics of our day. They are issues that divide. Arguments are made, lines are drawn, convictions deeply held. And anyone that challenges those arguments, lines or convictions is guaranteed to get a strong reaction.

I say all this not to stir up debate or division but to get all of us in a sympathetic frame of mind as we hear about an equally hot button issue, but because it’s not of our time or our culture, it can sound rather tame. That issue is Table Fellowship. And for an observant Jew in Jesus’ time it was a big deal. Because Table Fellowship involved a complex set of religious rules that dictated what you ate and with whom you ate it. One’s identity and faith were wrapped up in it and we all know when those things are involved people can get pretty hot. And it turns out that Table Fellowship was just as much a wedge issue in the early Church as any of the issue of our day.

We see that at play in our reading from the book of Acts. It’s very early on in the life of the Church. Jesus has risen from the dead, ascended into heaven, and now it's up to the disciples-turned-apostles to spread the good news. But exactly who is worthy to receive this news, who should be welcomed into this new group is still up for debate. Peter pushes the boundaries when, led by the Holy Spirit, he preaches the gospel to some Gentiles - a group of non-Jews, uncircumcised, unclean Gentiles - and ends up baptizing a whole household of them.

And when the apostles and believers hear about this radical act they are not pleased, to put it mildly. Although it seems that they can live with the idea of preaching to the Gentiles and, because they’re so broadminded, they are even willing to tolerate their baptisms, but EATING with them??? Breaking Table Fellowship? That is a bridge too far! “Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” they criticize.

Peter responds with a step-by-step explanation. I was praying and I had a vision, he begins. A vision of all these religiously unclean animals that were laid before me and a voice saying, “kill and eat.” Peter goes on to recount how he righteously protests. “By no means, Lord,” he says, “for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.” To which God responds, “What God has made clean you must not call profane.” Then promptly the Spirit sends Peter to the Gentiles telling him, “make no distinction between them and us.”

Do you think that the Holy Spirit’s instructions only apply to Peter and the early Church? Unlikely. Although our concerns may be different, we have our ways of labeling someone as clean or unclean. Granted, we may not get so hung up on what someone eats or who they eat with. More often view people through the lens of moral, cultural or political issues. We may consider someone to be “clean” or acceptable if they think or act or vote in a certain way. But if they don’t, we tend to keep our distance. Whatever side we find ourselves on, distinctions are made between us and them.

But what God reveals to Peter and to us today is that God is not so concerned about our human made ways of deciding who’s clean and who’s not, who’s right and who’s wrong. God’s primary concern, it seems, is that we always move in the direction of crossing human made lines and boundaries. To act in ways that recognize the humanity of us all and how connected we all are to one another - that truly there is no distinction between us and them. Because what unites us, what makes us all clean, is the love that God has for each and every one of us without exception.

Which brings me to our Gospel reading. It is at the Last Supper and Jesus gives this command, “that you love one another.” He says it’s new, but that’s really not so. The call to love has always been at the heart of God's law. What is new is that Jesus commands us to love “just as I have loved you.” We are not expected to love with a love that we conjure up from our own limited, fickle, and easily depleted resources. Rather we are invited to tap into the source. To love one another with the love which we are loved with. So that we can love with Jesus’ love – the most abundant and inexhaustible love there is. Our love, therefore, is not our own. It is God's. And it has no limits.

It is this unlimited love of God which is always pushing forward to love even more freely, more indiscriminately, more generously than before. Still the path to that love is not always so smooth and clear. Even though the apostles accepted Peter’s bold actions there was still more to be worked out. Full inclusion of Gentiles didn’t happen right away.

And there’s plenty for us to work out as well. How do we love with God’s generous love those with whom we strongly disagree? I don’t have the equivalent of 5 easy steps to offer you. Nonetheless, I’d like to challenge all of us this week to pay attention to the times when we make a distinction between us and them - whoever “they” might be. The next time you notice yourself making a judgment that draws someone else outside the lines of grace, ask yourself or better yet, ask God, “How can I love them like you love me?” The answer may not come as clearly as it did to Peter long ago but try to listen to what the Spirit might be saying. And even if you don’t hear anything, know that just the act of being aware of when we make distinctions, when we draw lines, that that awareness opens up some space for the Holy Spirit to be at work.

A few months ago, I had a conversation with a parishioner who shared with me her struggles with judging others. She knew that that was not what God wanted her to do, but she felt like she couldn’t help it. But she didn’t just let it go there. She decided that every time she caught herself drawing lines and making distinctions she prays this simple prayer, “Bless them. Change me.” It’s a humble prayer of trust that can offer a starting point  in breaking down barriers and surrendering control to God. Bless them. Change me. Because God does indeed want to bless all of us and change all of us so that we might live more fully into who we are created to be - children of a loving God.

 “Love one another as I have loved you.” For your own sake and for the world’s.

So much greater. May 8, 2022. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

 

John 10:22-30

After the resurrection, Matthew’s Gospel records: When [the disciples] saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted (Matthew 28:17. On the road to Emmaus in Luke’s Gospel, the story reads: While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him (Luke 24:15-16). John’s Gospel tells us that when Mary Magdalene saw Jesus at the tomb, she thought he was the gardener. A little later on, John writes: Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus (John 21:4). And when Paul was literally knocked off his feet by the risen Christ on the road to Damascus, what was the first thing he said? Who are you, Lord? (Acts 9:5) What’s going on here? How is it, why is it, that Jesus can rise from the dead and encounter so many people who are unable or unwilling to see him alive?

Now, maybe we can write all this off as the inevitable reaction to resurrection. After all, seeing people die and come back to life is not an everyday occurrence. The problem is that the failure to see Jesus as he is predates the resurrection. We hear it in the Gospel today: a group of people gather around Jesus and say, How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly. To which he simply replies, I have told you, and you do not believe. And really, what more can Jesus do? How many sermons does he have to preach, how many sick people does he have to heal, how many hungry people does he have to feed, how many dead people does he have to revive, how many miracles does he have to perform, how many lives does he have to bless before people say, “Hey, maybe there is something to this guy. Maybe he is from God.”? In other words, there is some kind of strong resistance at work here that starts long before Jesus is raised from the dead. In fact, it’s there from the beginning.

And let’s be clear about what people are resisting. It’s not like Jesus is saying that everyone has to go live as hermits, subsisting on three beans a day. He does not teach that people have to spend years studying ancient texts and esoteric secrets. He does not insist that people spend six hours a day in church. His message, his Gospel, is that God is love and love wins. God’s love is greater than our sins: God freely forgives us. God’s love is stronger than our human divisions: it can help us stop hating each other and hurting each other. God’s love is more powerful than death: we will live forever in that love. It’s all good news, it’s available to everyone, and yet over and over again, people dig their heels in and say, “Nope: not gonna see it, not gonna believe it.” And, of course, such resistance was not just a first century phenomenon. It is very much with us today. In fact, I’m pretty certain that all of us here have felt it within ourselves.

I have prayed this week trying to discern what the Spirit might be leading me to say about this, and I keep coming back to our basic need for control. So often, we limit our notions of what is real to what we can see, measure, and quantify. We want to keep our world manageable and will sometimes put blinders on to keep out anything which might threaten that. But reality itself pushes us beyond such narrow-mindedness. That’s certainly true in the realm of science. We keep finding out that the subatomic world, for example, is far stranger than we ever thought possible; on the macro level, current string theory holds that there are not three dimensions but ten dimensions of reality at least, possibly more; many physicists believe that there are an infinite number of universes. Every time we think we have things figured out and settled, we discover something new, and the words of Hamlet ring true: “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.”

And how much more is that true when it comes to God. Because people also try to limit God — even religious people try to limit God. Some Pharisees and scribes used religious laws not only to control others but  to try to control God. And they’re not alone. How many people through the ages have argued that God only loves those who follow certain rules or who belong to a certain church or who have a certain kind of religious experience. But God is so much greater than that. Thomas Keating once wrote, “Think of God in a very big way. And if you do, that’s too small! You can’t think of anything more wonderful than this God . . . God is so marvelously good, there is no word for it. So gentle. So considerate. So kind, so tender — so everything marvelous. That is God. And whatever you say is far less than it is.” As Paul says, “It hasn’t crossed the imagination of any human being what God has prepared for those who love him.” But the fact that we can’t imagine it doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Just as Jesus did during his earthly ministry, so even now during this season of resurrection he invites us to expand our horizons, to move beyond a narrow and limited notion of reality. There is so much more to God than a cartoonish picture of an old man with a beard, so much more to God’s love than a transactional “I’ll be nice to you if you behave” dynamic. There is so much more to our universe than what we can comprehend or control, so much more to us than what we can physically see or grasp. The resurrection of Jesus Christ points us to the larger picture, the greater truth: we are embodied souls destined for eternal life. God is the source of infinite, unconditional love which we are a part of every moment. And death doesn’t end any of that. Christ is alive and his Spirit is moving within us even now. If that stretches us intellectually or challenges our assumptions, so be it. If it blows our minds, so be it. We don’t want to settle for anything less than the full and life-giving truth.

 

 

 

An intimate invitation. May 1, 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 John 21:1-19

There once was a couple who was celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. And lo those many years they had worked together, struggled together, laughed together, cried together. It had been a rich life and there was much to celebrate. But one thing troubled the wife, with all that they had shared the wife couldn’t remember her husband ever telling her that he loved her. So she decided to ask. “Honey,” the wife said, “why don’t you tell me that you love me?” The husband, a bit surprised, replied, “When we got married I told you that I loved you. I figured if anything ever changed I’d let you know.”

Well that may work for some people, but probably not most. And likely that wouldn’t work for Jesus given our gospel reading today. It is the fourth and final account of the risen Christ appearing to his followers.

After enjoying a fish breakfast together on the shores of the Sea of Tiberias, Jesus turns to Peter and asks, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Now there are lots of things to say about this passage. First, it’s curious that Jesus uses Peter’s original name Simon. The only other time Jesus calls Peter by that name is roughly three years prior upon first meeting and calling him to follow. Then there’s the part about asking the question three times. It certainly echoes Peter’s triple denial of Jesus and now gives Peter an opportunity to mend and restore his relationship with Jesus.  But beyond that there seems to be something else going on here. Something that is much easier to see and hear in the original Greek text verses in our English translation. Now, to be clear, Jesus and Peter did not speak Greek. The language of their day was Aramaic. So John’s gospel does not provide a word for word report of their conversation. Nonetheless, the intent is to communicate something about God and the author does that particularly with the use of certain vocabulary. Specifically when it comes to the word for love.

Now to our ears we hear Jesus asking the very same question over and over again. Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me? That’s because love is all the same in English. Our language does not distinguish between various forms of love. The way we do that is by using an adjective like parental love, brotherly love, romantic love, and so on. But the Greek is more precise. There are different words used for different types of love.

If you’ve been in the church for very long you probably know one of the Greek words for love,  agape. Agape is considered the highest form of love. It is unconditional. Self-sacrificing. It's the kind of love that God has for us and is embodied in Jesus.  When Jesus asks Peter do you love me? He uses the word agape. And we hear Peter answer that question with, “Yes Lord…I love you.” But here’s the rub, Peter doesn't use the same word for love that Jesus uses. Instead he responds with a different Greek word, Philo. And philo is a love of friendship. It’s true and sincere, but it’s a bit less on the scale of love. It’s more reciprocal, like the bond between friends. So Jesus asks the question again, maybe in order to clarify or to give Peter another chance. “Simon, son of John, do you agape-love me?” Peter responds, “Yes, Lord…I philo-love you.” It’s on the third query that Jesus changes it up. “Simon, son of John, do you…not agape-love me, but do you… philo-love me?” And Peter basically says, “Yes, Lord. That’s the kind of love I can love you with, a friendship type of love.”

Now, let’s not be too hard on Peter. Perhaps he answered the way he did because he was being honest. After living through the horrors of Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion he knew himself better. He had come face to face with his limitations. Surely, he remembered how at the Last Supper he had boldly declared that he would stick with Jesus till the end, pledging, “I will lay down my life for you.” Only to discover that when he genuinely felt threatened he was quick to deny any association. And in addition to that, Peter had seen what happened to Jesus. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what could happen when you really surrendered yourself and loved with an agape type of love. It was no easy path.

But the risen Christ does not come in order to condemn, but to transform. That is why, I believe, that Jesus changes his language of love in the third and final question. “Simon, son of John, do you philo-love me?” Because in changing that one word Jesus meets Peter where he is. He accepts Peter with all of his struggles and limitations and loves him from there.

And that’s how God operates with all of us, not just Peter. I don’t know about you, but I am keenly aware that I fall short in my attempts to love. Sure there are times where I come through. When I allow God’s Spirit to flow in and through me. But there are plenty of other times that, like Peter, despite my best intentions, I fail. I judge others harshly. I turn a blind eye to someone in need, I refuse to sacrifice my comfort, my privilege, my security for the benefit of another. There are countless ways that I fail to follow Jesus in the way of love.

Yet I am not condemned. Amazingly, I am loved. And so are you. No matter what you’ve done or not done. How you’ve risen to the occasion or failed miserably. You are not condemned either. You are loved. Loved with God’s unconditional, self-sacrificing, agape love. A love that sees you and knows you and accepts you just as you are, wherever you are.

At the end of the exchange between Jesus and Peter, Jesus concludes with the familiar words, “Follow me.” But at this point in their relationship - and hopefully in our relationship with Christ, as well - it no longer sounds like an imperative command, but instead feels like what it truly is, an intimate invitation. An invitation that our hearts desire to accept. For it is an invitation to live into the fullness of life, the resurrection life, that finds all of its power and meaning in love. For as we follow Jesus, however imperfectly, we follow love, and by the simple act of faith and trust in that love, over time, we are transformed. Jesus’ question is not just for Peter, but for us all. “Do you love me?” he asks. However we might answer that question God will meet us where we are and love us - love us into the deepest, richest, purest love that lasts forever.