Author: Rosemary Lovelace

Transfiguration Sunday – George Yandell

It’s fascinating to me- the growing number of home repair shows on TV. Once This Old House stood alone, now every station seems to have home make-over shows, contests between families to re-do each other’s houses, and craftspeople of all types showing the world how tools work. There’s even a DYI network. How many of you like to watch those shows?// Why do we like them so much? For me it’s a simple answer- I, for one, love to watch other people work. I get a vicarious sense of accomplishment in watching others work. I often learn some tricks of the trades from the workers, and marvel at the finesse of skilled craftspeople.  

Jesus liked to watch other people work. He was drawn to watching fishermen ply their craft on the Sea of Galilee. He watched as a widow put her gift into the temple tax collection box. And he was a student of farming practices – he often crafted parables about farming and tending vines. He wasn’t afriad to coach people who weren’t doing their jobs too well, especially the schcolars and temple leaders who fell short of doing God’s justice.

Watching Jesus work must have fascinated his followers. As he toured Galilee and Judea, Jesus taught, healed, cast out demons, preached and shared meals with a motley assortment of Jewish peasants. Some think that Jesus himself was a craftsman, a wood-worker.  

Work as I’m describing it is public activity. Often there are critical distinctions made in the gospels between the public ministry of Jesus and his private relationships with his followers and friends. The same is true today for us. In public relationships, we go for respect. In private, we go for intimacy. There’s a blending of public and private relationships in our gospel today, all around the work of Jesus.  

Some scholars suggest that today’s gospel story, the Transfiguration of Jesus on the mountaintop, was a moment of shared vision and prayer for Peter, John, and James. Luke’s gospel, adding some items not in the gospel of Mark, has Jesus taking his closest colleagues up on a mountain to pray.

Watching people pray is in itself hard work. Not real exciting, because we can’t see much happening, unless the prayer is ecstatic, like Sufi whirling dancers. Is it any wonder that when the gospels report times when Jesus took some close friends off with him to pray, they fall asleep? Pretty boring stuff, especially in the middle of the night, when Jesus seemed most to enjoy praying to his Father in heaven.  

This time they weren’t sleepy- watching Jesus bathed in heavenly light, joined by Elijah and Moses who talked to him- this got their attention like nothing ever had. The wonder worked in front of them made the friends of Jesus quake with fear. Peter started babbling about making tents for each of their faith-heroes – what was Peter thinking? That’s when Mark reports a cloud overshadowed them all and voice boomed out, “This is my favored Son- listen to him!” Every time the cloud of God’s presence appeared in Hebrew scripture, its center held an envelope of brilliant light. That envelope of light was called “the glory.” This cloud always had, literally, a shining silver lining.  

The transfiguring of Jesus is found in Mark, Matthew and Luke, and in two extracanonical Christian writings, the Acts of John and the Apocalypse of Peter. The other-worldliness and terrifying beauty of Jesus wrapped in God’s glory has been the subject of countless works of art through the centuries. Why? What does this event offer us today?  

In a word, Fullness. Jesus joined by Moses and Elijah who stand for the law and the prophets. Their presence suggests Jesus is fulfilling all the law and the prophets. They speak with Jesus at this critical moment in his ministry- for Mark, the work of Jesus moves him from this mountaintop down to Jerusalem and his confrontation with the rulers who execute him. Jesus is full of God’s glory, revealed to the chosen 3 followers. And even though Jesus orders them to silence until after his resurrection, they don’t stay quiet for long – just like the healed leper who couldn’t keep quiet– the secret of their seeing Jesus bathed in God’s glory and hearing God’s endorsement of Jesus was too much to contain.  

Intimacy of such brilliance is a public display of God’s powerful presence. The glory makes full the message of God’s dwelling in Jesus. The disciples couldn’t miss it, and neither can we. Paul got it. “We are being transformed into God’s likeness from one degree of glory to another” was the way he put it (2 Corinthians 3:18). There is within each of us the potential to reflect the envelope of light that shone so brightly around Jesus. The glory of God is within us, within our fellowship. That’s what Jesus meant when he taught his followers: “You are the light of the world. You must shed light among your fellows, so that they will see the good you do, and give glory to God in heaven.” (Matthew 5: 14 –16)  

Do you hear the transaction, the work described here? The light within us is shed among others, so that they in turn will give glory, reflect God’s light by acting as light-bearers right now in our world. It’s a circle, a cycle of light-sharing. It’s amazing isn’t it, that the work of Jesus continued after his death and resurrection in the work of the disciples? This is the work of Jesus- displaying God’s glory, living in the glory in such a way that Christ’s love encompasses us all. If you use mystic vision, you can see all of your fellows here with halos wreathing their heads with light. That’s what halos are- the glory of Chris’s light dancing around our heads like a nimbus. And it is a secret- the more you talk about it, you diminish the glory- it’s listening to God and then doing the work we’ve seen Jesus do. It means living the presence of light that communicates the glory of this life. As Jesus lived full his humanness and did his work of glorifying God, so we are to do as well.   

9th Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 12A – George Yandell

Mustard. How many of you really love mustard? And just to give you a definition, to be a mustard lover means you have at least three types of mustard in your refrigerator or your cupboard/ raise your hand. There is something just so good about mustard-even French’s yellow mustard. It isn’t just an elixir, it’s a remarkable condiment. Jesus’ words about mustard contain the only times the word mustard is used in the Bible. He too could have been a mustard lover. But when Jesus talks today of mustard seeds he is making an allusion, he is not talking of the condiment, but he is imaging humans and the way that the kingdom of God grows in and amongst us, as if we were mustard plants. And he is saying that God’s home is good.

The mustard seed is a tiny seed. A handful of mustard seeds might number in the hundreds. The mustard plant or bush can grow to large proportions. In Jesus’ day the mustard plant was a fairly common annual large shrub. It was also cultivated as it is in our day. Interesting is the comment that it can grow so large that the birds of the air, many different varieties, make homes in its branches, when in actuality it doesn’t grow quite that large- maybe an exaggeration to bring home the point that the kingdom of God is much larger than we can imagine.

For humans, this allusion is about how the Kingdom of God, or I’ll say, the home of God, is planted within us. It can be the tiniest of nudges, it can be the slightest of contacts that causes us, over time, to have the kind of growth that Jesus says is the remarkable legacy of the tiny mustard seed. Like the saying from Jesus about the small amount of leaven concealed in 50 lbs of flour- the home of God grows from small beginnings, then transforms the whole into yeasty fullness.  For us the hallmark of the growth of God’s home within us is different from individual to individual. For one it can be the gradual acceptance of a vocation that one had never dreamed of. I know of a successful businessman who felt a call to the ordained ministry. He forsook his vocation, moved his family to Washington, DC where he finished seminary in three years and now in later life has found his true vocation as a priest. 

You and I often overlook the slight nudges or the tiny seeds implanted within us. It is one of legacies of our day that we are “out there” so much that the subtle, small glimmerings of God’s light are lost on us. I have found e-mailing, texting  to be remarkable and wonderful gifts. I have also been amazed at the amount of time that using those tools takes. The trick is to make the tool work for me and not me work for the tool. I think that is the way with many of those “time-saving” devices that we now employ.

And so it is with the way our lives become cluttered. Johannes Metz in his book Poverty of Spirit talked of those things that keep us from turning to God and living a more spiritual life as attachments. Those things to which we become strongly attached, like the internet or television or eating or compulsive working, almost always divert us from discovering the spirit’s potential within us.

That might be a subtle clue in the parable- those birds in the trees. So many different kinds. It might be very easy for us to overlook the miracle of the mustard seed’s quick growth each year into a large plant because it’s distracting to see all the different varieties of birds that flutter in its branches. And so is the case with many of us. Usually our attention is split in so many ways that we forget that the primary attachment we are to nourish is that small, secret, quietly growing home of God within us.

The birds that flutter in my own mental branches can be distracting as well as beautiful. But the way of the spirit’s growth makes us attentive past the fluttering wings and into to the heart, the core of love that Christ offers us.

In The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky counsels: “Love all creation, the whole and every grain of sand in it. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day.” Jesus must have lived with something of this kind of love for God’s creation. He saw “the divine mystery in things,” to quote Dostoevsky. His close relationship to the ordinary enabled Jesus to speak of the extraordinary Kingdom of God through images of nature and of everyday living. 

It is our vocation as Christians to respect the creation God has made, both around us and within us. To seek the small growth of positive relationships with our peers, the less fortunate, the distressed, and any who can benefit from our companionship. And to allow the growth of a healthy, respectful relationship with one’s self. Any of you who has a garden knows that it requires almost daily attention to flourish. 

So it is with the home of God within and among us. While God plants the seed and gives the growth, to flourish, we must be partners with God in raising up the healthiest, well-tended home for God within us and in our world. It means we need to pay attention. To see the sunrises and pause before them in awe. To love what and who God has given us. To yield to our hearts and take time to talk to our neighbors. To pray quietly each day. To work hard at our tasks and take time for refreshment. And to enjoy what we are given. God has made us to flourish and be joyful companions to God and one another. When we have nourished the home of God within us, then we find that celebration is God’s intent- not just hard work, pain, and seriousness. But joy, wonder, and awe at the mystery of life, the birds fluttering in the branches, and the lushness of growing things.

A close friend of mine died 26 years ago. He was a priest and colleague of mine at Holy Communion Church in Memphis. Above his desk, Murray Lancaster had a needle-pointed saying framed, so that he had to look at it every time he was on the phone or glancing up from his work. It said, in flowing script, “Avoid seriousness.”// Murray did. He experienced life as a gift, and was always attentive to the fluttering of bird’s wings, not as distraction, but as evidence of God’s presence.

Once Murray came in my office, grinning, and said, “I’ve just spoiled a squirrel’s thievery.” I said, “What?” Murray said he had just installed a bird feeder that allowed all his feathered friends to feed, but every time a squirrel got on the feeder, the bar that supported the bird’s light weight, but it closed the feeder door under the squirrel’s heavier weight, and no feed would dispense to the squirrel. Murray said he had sat for hours the day before watching the squirrels be frustrated and the birds take delight in their uninterrupted feeding. Actually, he said, the squirrels got plenty of spilled seed on the ground from what the birds scatter. I think we can take instruction from Murray’s example. I know I did- we’ve had an identical bird feeder in our front yard, and I always delighted in frustrating the squirrels who try to steal into the feeder. We too can delight and flourish in this life as God means us to.

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 10 – George Yandell

When I was 15 I couldn’t wait to get my learner’s permit to start driving. My good friend Ned was (and still is) 2 months older than I, so he got his permit in mid-fall. I asked him how it was going, eager to get some tips. He said, “Turning or going around a long curve is hard. I keep making corrections to keep the car in the lane. I end up making little jagged moves of the steering wheel. The curve ends up looking like a circular saw blade – jagged edges instead of a smooth rounded path.” Two months later I could relate to Ned’s experience – I kept nervously making little mistakes and nervously correcting them. It drove my mother crazy. Maybe you can relate?

The story of the two brothers Jacob and Esau is a classic example of how God faces the dilemma of determining who shall carry on Abraham’s line and serve God’s purposes. God intends to develop a model of society for the world. Jacob and Esau share both good and bad traits upon which to try to build leadership for the future. Jacob and Esau are like the ragged edges of the turns – they keep having to be corrected in the paths they’re taking. 

The Genesis story leaves us with the problem of trying to understand the choice between two flawed individuals and what that means for us, the readers and students of the Bible in every generation. Neither portrait is very flattering. It is too easy to move to negative assessments of the men portrayed without fully understanding their complexities as individuals.

None of the players in this story come off well. None appeared to offer better options for the history of salvation. Far from it – and from this dilemma we can take encouragement. These people and their families look, feel, sound and act like us. But God worked mightily through the statistical improbabilities – the practical challenges of infertility, multiple births and deviant behavior. In God’s gracious hands the incidental, the accidental and the ordinary become the material of redemption in history, both in ancient Israel and in our own family stories today.

Remember that the Bible starts from the assumption that all humans are flawed in one way or another by the very nature of things. The story’s purpose is not to demonstrate the flawed character of individuals but to suggest some lessons about the problems of choosing among human weaknesses by focusing on human strengths, to be prudent in our choices yet to maintain our moral vision. [Adapted from Daniel Elazar in “Jacob and Esau and the Emergence of the Jewish People” (Jerusalem Office for Public Affairs: Daniel Elazar On-Line Library)].

Flash forward 1800 years from the patriarchs of Israel to Galilee under Roman occupation. Jesus tells the parable of the Sower, or better, the parable of incredible yield. The seed cast from a Galilean farmer’s hand usually did NOT sprout and yield full growth. Most often seeds failed to find adequate soil or rainfall & survived only briefly. Yet Jesus tells a most startling thing there on the shore of the lake – some of the seed sown in good soil gave absolutely stupendous yields – unheard of growth. Normally a seven-fold yield was a fantastic harvest. But 30, 60 and 100-fold yields—most of those who heard Jesus would have laughed him to scorn – they’d have yelled, “You’re crazy! That never happens!” But others might have asked, “What is Jesus really talking about?” and then they began to consider the story suggests something deeper.

Jesus, the rabbi, told simple stories, yet filled with hyperbole and exaggeration for effect – it was his signature method. Many said of Jesus, “He is speaking a NEW WORD to us.” This story speaks of life unbounded, of life potential undreamed of. In the context of Galilee where farmers had been dispossessed of their land, this could have been an unrealistic dream. And if you and I hear it that way today, that’s the message – life potential undreamed of, impossible to attain.  So what is the new word for us, here? Remember, the parable tells of growth, of potential beyond our wildest imagining. What is the wild, superabundance beyond our wildest dreams?

The parable of the seeds and the Sower tells us the nature of the kingdom of God growing in us and among us. Seeds sown on the path and on rocky ground are eaten by birds or scorched with no depth of soil. Seeds sown on good soil brought unsurpassed yields. Then Jesus creates the analogy of hearing the word of God but not understanding/ of hearing the Word of God, receiving it with joy, but falling away, enduring only a while. The seeds sown among thorns hear the word of God, but the cares of the world and desire for wealth choke the seeds and they yield nothing. The seeds sown in the heart of one who hears, understands the good news of Jesus, bring forth incredible yields.

In the context of God’s intent for God’s people, the choice is not between two flawed parents of Israel or other individual leaders. Jesus instead means for us to choose the good news of God’s coming kingdom- to choose what Jesus intends for us, the readers and students of the gospel in every generation. In the short years of his ministry, stumblebum fisherfolk were transformed. Leadership in the band of Jesus followers meant each one leaned on the others- my weaknesses are compensated by you, we build the fellowship as a spirit-led cooperative, and the kingdom of God yields a fellowship unparalleled across the ages. Near you in the pews is one you need to learn from, to hear her story and in turn resonate with your own. 

Through the presence of Christ, relating to one another, we are all being transformed – transformed into pilgrims who together lend strength and courage to each other, in spite of our seeming inadequacies.

A poem from the early 1800’s:

Almighty God, your word is cast like seed upon the ground, now let the dew of heaven descend and righteous fruits abound.

Let not our selfishness and hate this holy seed remove, but let it root in every heart to bring forth fruits of love. Let not the world’s deceitful cares the rising plant destroy, but let it yield a hundredfold the fruits of peace and joy. [By John Cawood (1775–1852)].

Pentecost 6, Proper 9A – George Yandell

How many of you are frustrated by the drop-outs in cell phone service? Irritated at the scratchy reception at the edge of your transmission area? It seems to be the rule for me that the more technology advances the more frustration increases. The general rule is the greater the distance from the transmission point the poorer the clarity of transmission, the more gaps in our reception.

Jesus gives us a curious teaching about gaps this morning. “I praise you father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to infants (or better, untutored ones (or even better, babies still nursing)). Yes, indeed, Father, for this is the way you want it.” Paul reports gaps in his ability to live free from sin. He writes, “I find it to be a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind.”

I hear Jesus, then Paul, teaching us about gaps with God. It’s all about our mindset. 

Our minds can convince us of our importance even when the facts instruct humility. The ways we assume ourselves to be important (to be wise, to be engaged in doing good, to be quick to see God in our actions and those of others)—those assumptions distance us from the transmission point. We lose God’s clarity and replace it with fuzzy logic. Our receivers filter God’s desire for us to live simply, humbly for God.

Even though biblical scholars now unlock more and more of the context and deeper meanings of Jesus’ teachings, we are more and more selective in accepting God’s wisdom. We have major gaps in our knowledge of God. The result is we become split, like Paul, between the rule of God’s spirit and our own volition, our self-importance.

What is your mindset? How often do you disappoint yourself with your failings? Can you identify with St. Paul in his moaning about falling short: “When I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand?”  The solution is clear- change your mindset. From Paul: “Those who live according to the spirit set their minds on the things of the spirit. To set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.” But how to change is the BIG question, isn’t it?

Listen again to Jesus: “God, you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to untutored ones. Yes, indeed, Father, for this is the way you want it.” Why does God choose to reveal God’s truths to the untutored, the babe at the breast?

Why would God set us up? I think it’s so we will learn through our own experience the need we have for God.

Consider the baby nursing at her mother’s breast. What goes on with that baby? She cries out for food.  She’s held close and given all she needs to live. She feels the warm, loving tenderness of her mother. The baby sees everything with wide-eyed wonder. The world is always new.

Sam Keen wrote a remarkable book years ago, Apology for Wonder. Keen says that to wonder is to perceive with reverence and with love. In wondering we come close to the feeling that the earth is holy. A sense of wonder depends on trust. Erik Erickson described basic trust as a necessary component of healthy personality. The earliest mode of trust comes to the child with the mother nursing. 

So does Jesus mean that we all have to become powerless and helpless like babies at the breast in order to perceive God? NO. But he does suggest that disciples need a child-like wonder to allow the sustaining love of God to pour into us.  

Trust is the foundation on which wonder depends. Sam Keen says at every stage of living, the trust developed by mother and child must be reaffirmed. As soon as the child is ready to leave the security of home, she must be willing to affirm that the wider world can be depended on to be responsive and supportive of her needs and actions. She learns to relax and trust herself in previously frightening contexts. 

Where trust is missing, the world becomes frightening and alien. Persons become self-protective and potential enemies to one another. So-called modern wisdom tells us to look out for number one. Jesus offers child-like wonder, sustained by trust in God.

The gaps are just part of being human, needing God. God has planted in us an innate trust in God, but it often gets broken and torn apart. Open yourself to trust God anew. Allow God’s gentle mothering to hold you close. Jesus means for us to be disciples in trust and wonder. And be assured- the company of wonder is led by Jesus himself- “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, because I am meek and modest and your lives will find repose. For my yoke is comfortable and my load is light.”

Fifth Sunday after Pentecost – Year A – Byron Tindall

We, the citizens of these United States, have been blessed by God with one of the best countries ever to have been formed on the face of the earth. Yes, we have had and still have some massive problems. We will have our difficulties in the future as well. We are, after all, humans.

In 2019, I was asked to read the Declaration of Independence at a July Fourth celebration here in Jasper. I read a “Readers Digest” version at that time, omitting some of the specific grievances listed by the framers of the document.

I got to thinking a short time after reading it, that was the first time I’d either heard it read or read it myself since a civics class when I was in high school. I graduated in 1959. How long has it been since you either heard it or read it?

I think it’s very fitting to hear it on occasion. It’s a major and very important part of our heritage. So here goes.

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

“Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

“He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

“He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

“He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

“He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

“He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

“He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

“He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

“He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

“He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

“He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

“He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

“He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

“He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

“For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

“For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

“For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

“For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

“For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

“For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

“For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies

“For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

“For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

“He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

“He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

“He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

“He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

“He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

“In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

“Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

“We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”

John Hancock, President

Attested, Charles Thomson, Secretary

Signed for Georgia; Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, and George Walton Thanks be to God for our ancestors who mutually pledged to each other their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor to give us the freedoms we enjoy today.

Fourth Sunday after Pentecost – Year A – Byron Tindall

My goodness: there are some pretty harsh words in the Gospel lesson this morning from the Gospel According to St. Matthew.

The lesson this week picks up where the optional portion from last week left off.

The first portion of today’s lesson doesn’t cause me any problem. But the further we get into this portion of Matthew’s gospel, the more troubling it becomes at first reading.

No, the student doesn’t have to become smarter or better than the teacher. Occasionally, a student will surpass the master or teacher, but that isn’t necessary for success.

It’s obvious to me that we are not to keep what we’ve learned about the Kingdom of God to ourselves, but rather we’re to spread the Good News by what we say and through the way we live wherever we find ourselves.

I have no argument with God knowing about everything that happens.

Then suddenly the questions start flowing when we reach the second half of today’s lesson.

Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

Wait a minute. Is this the same person we call “The Prince of Peace?” Is this the same Jesus who preached in the sermon on the mount, found recorded in Matthew 5 and 6 and said, among other things, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God”? Is this the same preacher who told his listeners to turn the other cheek when someone strikes them on one cheek? Does this sound like the individual who said to give someone your coat as well when asked to donate the cloak?

I could go on with this contradictory comparison, but I think this is enough. We have to admit that these are very harsh words coming from the one who seemed always to favor non-violence.

For the next few minutes, I’m going to present a possible explanation for the harshness of the words we heard read a few minutes ago. This explanation works for me.

It’s very easy to take portions of scripture at simple face value, ignoring what was happening at the time that particular passage was written.

The best educated guess by the experts is that the Gospel According to Matthew was written by an unknown author in the mid 80s.

The Romans destroyed the temple in Jerusalem in about the year 70. By this time, the Followers of the Way, as the first Christians were known, had been expelled from the temple as it was no longer in existence. The followers were no longer considered a sect of Judaism. Too many gentiles had become followers for the Jewish elite to even consider letting them be a minute part of the Hebrew religion.

About four years before the destruction of the temple, the Romans began a very serious persecution of the Jews and the Followers of the Way. The religions of the Hebrews and of The Followers were monotheistic. Neither allowed the worship of any other gods. Remember, the Romans worshiped and followed many gods, and they accepted the emperor as a divine being. This refusal to worship the Roman gods is what was instrumental in causing the persecution.

At this time, Rome didn’t treat very kindly the Jewish zealots or the followers. The Hebrews and The Followers were exiled into the furthest parts of the Roman Empire.

In the culture of that era, children were required to respect and obey their parents. Women were expected to honor and follow the lead of their mothers-in-law. These were hard and fast mores.

There are those who say that Jesus said what is recorded in Matthew’s gospel as a prediction as to what was to come some 35 or so years after his death and resurrection.

And then there are those who hold to the theory that the author of Matthew put the words in the mouth of Jesus to explain what was happening in the decades following the destruction of the temple.

Still others feel that some later editor added more information to Matthew’s account of what was going on in the lives of the Hebrews and of the Followers of the Way at that time.

Was there a bounty paid by the Roman government to anyone who turned in a zealous Jew or a Follower of the Way? Is that possibly why family members would turn on each other? I don’t have any answers to those questions.

It wasn’t the “in” thing to be a Follower of the Way or a Jew for that matter. In fact, it was downright dangerous.

I don’t know who is correct about the source of the statements attributed to Jesus in this morning’s gospel lesson.

What I think is important is that this is one more chapter in the life of the church, and it’s a very special early chapter in our life about how we, as a church, came to be. And, thanks be to God, we who live in this country do not have to be worried about persecution and being turned in for being a Christian. But if one of us were on trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence for a conviction?

Third Sunday after Pentecost – year A – Byron Tindall

Happy Fathers’ Day. Fathers’ Day in 1979 was June 17. On that day, The Rt. Rev. Ned Cole ordained me to the priesthood in Trinity Episcopal Church in Boonville, New York. That was 44 years ago for those who can’t do the math in their heads.

This Gospel lesson for today from the Gospel According to St. Matthew comes about midway in Jesus’s ministry, as evidenced by chapter 10, verses 5 through 7.

These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: “Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’”

Similar commands to the 12 closest followers of Jesus are recorded at Mark 1:15, when Jesus sent them forth telling them what to do, “and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.’” Luke 9:2 records Jesus’s actions, “and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal….”

Who were “the lost sheep of the house of Israel”? Upon close reading of the synoptic gospels, it is evident that Jesus did a lot of work among these lost sheep. Apparently, Jesus cared deeply for them.

Writing in Volume Seven of The Interpreters’ Bible, Sherman E. Johnson, 1908-1993, who served as dean and president of the Church Divinity School of the Pacific from 1951 until 1972, said the lost sheep may have been the Amhaarez, or people of the land. Today, we might call them country folk. According to Johnson, they would have been “careless of the details of the law…” For that reason, the Pharisees regarded them with contempt.

It wasn’t that long ago, three weeks to be precise, that we celebrated the Day of Pentecost. If you happened to be at that service or watched it online, you heard a portion of the lesson from The Acts of the Apostles read simultaneously in several languages. We celebrated the fact that by that time, a portion of the known world, not just the Israelites, had heard of the good news of God in Christ.

The closing verses of Matthew’s Gospel are quite different from the instructions given to the apostles in chapter 10.

“Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’”

From, “Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel…” to “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations….” is a drastic change. What brought about this about-face?

A little later in Matthew’s Gospel, chapter 15, we find the exchange between a Canaanite woman and Jesus.

“Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, ‘Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.’ But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, ‘Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.’ He answered, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.’ But she came and knelt before him, saying, ‘Lord, help me.’ He answered, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’ She said, ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.”

Both Tyre and Sidon are Phoenician cities. Sidon is almost in Lebanon. What was Jesus doing in this area?

The Canaanite woman’s response to Jesus could almost be taken as blasphemy or at least cutting sarcasm. Certainly no one in his or her right mind would take that tone of voice with Jesus. Yet she did. And I think it was partially responsible for making a difference in Jesus’s outlook on his ministry.

I’m sure Jesus’s prayer life was also involved in the expanded vision of his ministry. He never forsook the “lost sheep of the house of Israel” but rather looked beyond the parochial borders of his Hebrew brothers and sisters to include anyone who would listen to him.

Now, what’s that got to do with us here at Holy Family in the 21^st Century?

On page 855 of the Book of Common Prayer, we find the following in the Catechism.

“Q. Who are the ministers of the Church?

“A. The ministers of the Church are lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons.

“Q. What is the ministry of the laity?

“A. The ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be and, according to the gifts given them, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world; and to take their place in the life, worship, and governance of the church.”

Each and every one of us has a ministry to perform. There are no exceptions to this statement.

I was ordained to the diaconate on June 17, 1978, and this role has been my ministry and life ever since then.

I must confess that I’ve never stopped and considered whether or not God has another task for me. I probably should have done so many years ago.

What about you? Have you examined your call to your ministry, whatever shape that calling may take? Could God possibly have something else in mind for you?

What about Holy Family? Have we seriously examined our ministry since the launching of Cares and the Good Samaritan Health and Wellness Center? Are we, as a church, being called to do something else for the “lost sheep of Pickens County and the City of Jasper”? I’m sure the Outreach Ministry of Holy Family is considering that question.

The distinct possibility is that the answer is “yes” to all of the above questions.

Second Sunday after Pentecost A – Bill Harkins

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

9:9 As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. 9:10 And as he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. 9:11 When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” 9:12 But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. 9:13 Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” 9:18 While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader of the synagogue came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died; but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” 9:19 And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. 9:20 Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak,

9:21 for she said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.”

9:22 Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” and instantly the woman was made well. 9:23 When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion,

9:24 he said, “Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him.

9:25 But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. 9:26 And the report of this spread throughout that district.  

In the Name of the God of Creation, who loves us all, Amen. Good morning, and welcome to the Holy Family on this Second Sunday after Pentecost, as we enter the long green season of our liturgical year.  In the text for today from Matthew, Jesus has several affirmations about faith, “Follow me…I desire mercy, not sacrifice…your faith has made you well.” In the Hebrew, the word for mercy, or compassion, is “Rachamim,” meaning to do justice and loving-kindness in the service of taking action when bearing witness to suffering. This passage is a theological reflection upon abiding with resilience—on not giving up no matter what—and on learning, by faith, to see what cannot be seen, and in so doing, on being transformed. It is about finding ways, through grace, to flourish in the new normal amidst the seasons and sufferings of our lives. The Holy Spirit, is daily renewing our being, so there is an unseen, life giving renewal, progressing every day.

Several years ago I was with my family in northern New Mexico, which our family has come to love, and we visited the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, in Santa Fe, site of Willa Cather’s novel Death Comes for the Archbishop. One of my favorite passages in the novel has Archbishop Latour, the main character in the novel, say this:

“Where there is great love there are always miracles…One might almost say that an apparition is human vision corrected by divine love. I do not see you as you really are, Joseph; I see you through my affection for you. The Miracles of the Church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.”

Let’s hold this passage in mind for a few minutes…this possibility that small miracles occur all the time when we see things through the eyes of love, and when we see for the first time what has always been present, and when we can see what previously we could not. I think that’s what parables about healing are all about. And let us wonder together how this might be connected to the Holy Spirit at work in each of us, continually renewing us—making us whole no matter our afflictions—through grace, right here, right now.

The author of this passage from Matthew leans on the resurrection of Jesus to give him, and by extension all of us, abiding hope. After all, it was the resurrection that inspired the first disciples. The resurrection changed everything. It enlivened and emboldened their spirits and their imaginations. It brought them out of despair. And it is the truth of the resurrection into which we live during this season in our church year. It’s where our response to the “now what?” question of the Easter resurrection puts on flesh, in our lives, especially in our actions. As a clinician I have often borne witness to the hopeful possibility of mercy, and forgiveness, and to the belief that we can be broken and yet whole, we can be ill—even terminally ill—and yet fully alive. The psychiatrist Donald Winnicott, one of my clinical heroes, once said “O God, my prayer is that I will be alive when I die.” As Leonard Cohen wrote, “Ring the bells that still can ring…forget your perfect offering…there’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” These healing narratives are not just for those who were present on that day, but for us as well, continually widening the circle of care, and love, and gratitude. The point of such sharing is not as much an increase in numbers as it is an increase in thanksgiving. What God wants from us is our “Yes” in response to God’s “Yes” to us in Jesus Christ. The goal is not perfection, which, truth told, is rather boring in human beings. Rather, it is thanksgiving and gratitude. It cannot be forced. It only comes in response to our perceiving that we have received a gift, and we can begin the practice and discipline of developing gratitude, but it will take a while, especially in our culture where we place so much importance on independence and self-sufficiency, and where vulnerability is seen so often as something to be avoided. Matthew is reminding us that we live in a difficult world that often makes us lose heart, and God desires mercy—compassion as loving kindness. Is it worth it? Is any of this worth the effort? Is there really someone out there and in here? Matthew recognizes that in the very consideration of this question, in these very struggles, we are being deepened and renewed. As Paul has said elsewhere, “We do not lose heart.” This is what it means for Christians to be resilient. Ann Lamott has recently written:

I want to hear someone remind me that if I want to have loving feelings, I need to do loving things. I want someone to make me laugh about our shared humanity; I want someone to remind me that laughter is carbonated holiness. I want someone to make me promise them that I’ll say thank you…. I want someone to remind me….that we’re all just walking each other home. I just want to hear that I’m loved and chosen and welcome, no matter what a mess I’ve made of things, or how defective I still feel sometimes. I just want to hear that it will get better, although maybe not tomorrow right after lunch. I want to hear that you and God will never leave me alone.

So, dear ones, our lives have meaning and purpose in God, having been deepened in the revelation of God in Jesus. In this promise, we have the opportunity to see that the meaning of our own existence is not confined to the ageing of our bodies and the vulnerability of our narratives. We discover that we have a home in God, a home not made by human hands, a home that tells us we belong to God, that we are indeed all walking each other home. It is the terrain of the good work of pastoral counseling, and spiritual disciplines, making what is unseen known, understanding that healing may take many forms, and as we say in our prayers, that place in us where all hearts are open, all desires known, and no secrets are hid. Our imaginations are often compromised by the culture we live in and by what we keep secret, and what we are afraid of.      

And, indeed, we are called to reach out in a season of loneliness and isolation in our culture. The Harvard Grant Study has tracked lives for eight decades. And the wonderful thing about following these life stories is we learn it’s never too late to cultivate community, to give ourselves away in relationship. There were people who thought they were never going to have good relationships and then found a whole collection of good close friends in their 60s or 70s. There were people who found romance for the first time in their 80s. And so the message that we get from studying these thousands of lives is that it is never too late. Well, our trip to New Mexico a while back was designed, in part, to get me on the trails with my sons and daughters-in-law, all of whom love trail running. What a joy to do this with them all. We spent most of one day in the Jemez Mountains near Los Alamos. As we ran, I recalled a trip to New Mexico several years before. A group of fellow seminary professors gathered in Santa Fe for an intercultural academic conference, where I met the Lieutenant governor of the San Ildefonso Pueblo. He told us that the next day his daughter would be the princess in the parade in Santa Fe on the Catholic Feast Day. He invited us to come. So the next day, beneath a brilliant blue sky, I found myself on the Plaza of St. Francis Cathedral, the oldest church in the country and location for much of Willa Cather’s wonderful novel. The parade was a marvelous mélange of humanity, including Spanish violin groups, various societies paying homage to saints, to Mary Mother of Jesus, and representatives from many of the Pueblos found in the region. I even saw the Indian Princess from San Ildefonso. She was so lovely and so proud to be there. The parade seemed to go on forever, and as I stood on the steps of the Plaza, watching the participants enter the Cathedral, I found myself deeply moved by the richness of God’s creation. I was also acutely aware that in this particular time and place, I was very much in the minority. Indeed, here, I was the stranger–el blanco solo en la acera; I was the “other.” I was the “Anglo”—and a non-Catholic Anglo at that—standing on the periphery, in my own lonely humanness, as the parade passed me by. Soon I could see the end of the parade as it made its way around the corner. The Archbishop, and a host of priests, passed by me, bearing the incense, and the Eucharistic elements. Then another group of musicians—a kind of Mariachi band of old Hispanic men, with deep, leathery skin the reddish brown color of the very earth in the surrounding hills came into view. As they passed by me, one of them paused, and bowed, still playing his violin, and nodding to me, motioned me to enter the procession. His deep brown eyes were smiling, and in a moment of what I can only describe as joyful, grace-filled transcendence, I found myself a part of this glorious dance, suddenly healed, and moving up the stairs into the deep, delightful, sacred mystery of the Cathedral.  By the way, some of you may have seen the cracked window on the south end of the building, damage done accidentally in the process of loving and caring for this property. I was reminded of the huge west window at Winchester Cathedral, destroyed during WWII. It was impossible to piece the bible stories depicted in the stained glass back together, so they came up with a special plan. They gathered all the bits of broken glass and made a mosaic. The result was a beautiful window. It doesn’t have images representing stories from the Bible as it once did, but it still tells a story. It tells a story about a war and of people putting broken things back together. And maybe there’s still a spiritual message in it for us. Perhaps it’s a metaphor for life and teaches us that no matter how shattered things seem, they can still be put back together. They might not look like they did before, but they can still be beautiful. My friends, the resurrection tells us that death does not rule, not only when we die, but even more importantly, when we live. As Willa Cather has Archbishop Latour say, miracles of grace are all around us, if we will open our eyes and ears to see and hear.  May we, too, join in the Holy procession—the grace-filled resurrection parade into Pentecost, and beyond, with gratitude. And may we not lose heart. Amen.  

Trinity Sunday A – Bill Harkins

The Collect of the Day

Almighty and everlasting God, you have given to us your servants grace, by the confession of a true faith, to acknowledge the glory of the eternal Trinity, and in the power of your divine Majesty to worship the Unity: Keep us steadfast in this faith and worship, and bring us at last to see you in your one and eternal glory, O Father; who with the Son and the Holy Spirit live and reign, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Gospel: Matthew 28:16-20

The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

   In the Name of the God of Creation who loves us all…Amen. Good morning, friends, and welcome to Holy Family on this First Sunday after Pentecost. If you are visiting today, please let us know, and regardless, we are so very glad you are here. Today we observe Trinity Sunday, a day set apart in the life of our church to reflect on the nature of God, and on our experience of being in relationship with God, with ourselves, and with others. Although the history of the great doctrinal councils of the fourth and fifth centuries regarding the Trinity is rich and interesting in its own way—as much for contentious debates as for the conclusions reached—it all comes down to this truth: the Trinity reveals that the essence of God is found in relationship, and we are created by God to be in relationship with God, and with one another. And we are called to go forth in love.

Indeed, as advances in neuroscience are now showing us, it is written in our very DNA that we are creatures of relationship—and maybe even of compassion. But to explain the trinity is not now nor has it ever been easy. Indeed, it strikes fear in the hearts of preachers, and with good reason. St. Augustine once said that anyone who denies the trinity is in danger of losing his salvation, and anyone who tries to explain it is in danger of losing his mind. I don’t agree with the first proposition, but I can relate to the second!

In the Gospel text for today, Jesus reminds us that he will be among with us always, and we recall that on Pentecost, which long green season of ordinary time we now observe, the Spirit came in order to be an advocate for them, and by extension for us all. The Spirit—pneumas in the Greek and ruach in Hebrew, is the breath of life, the Divine Spark contained in each of us that gives us our authentic, true self. I had a track coach in college who was fond of saying, in Latin, “Esse Quam Videri”: meaning, don’t be a phony. Be who God intended you to be. This has to do with imagination, and resilience, and passion for life. The Spirit is what empowers our Great Commission, the call that we are to live out the Gospel in our daily lives. In his wonderful online essays this week, Richard Rohr reminds us that from this more spacious and grounded place, one naturally connects, empathizes, forgives, and loves just about everything. We were made in love, for love, and unto love. This deep inner “yes” is God in us, already loving God through us.

In Celtic lore the Wild Goose is considered to be a symbol of the Holy Spirit. The idea is that rather than a dove, the Holy Spirit is more like one of those big, gray geese—wild, unruly, coming and going as it pleases, announcing its arrival with honking, bluster, and ample attitude. Rather than the gentle dove, this ancient Celtic image of the Holy Spirit is raucous—as uncaged as the wind that lifts its muscular wings. As an amateur bird-watcher, who often encounters geese and raptors on my wilderness adventures, I find this deeply compelling. It’s not geese, however, but another bird that for me best represents my experience of the Holy Spirit.

One day not too long ago I was paddling my sea kayak on Lake Jocassee, tucked in the northwest corner of upstate South Carolina, near the border with Georgia and North Carolina. Along with a friend, I set out on a lovely early spring day, paddling north. Approaching the dramatic escarpment of the Blue Ridge, we made our way northwest across Lake Jocassee. A light March wind and bright sun greeted us in this liminal, transitional space between the Carolina piedmont and the mountains. Paddling steadily, we headed toward the Horsepasture River gorge. Gradually, the open water gave way to the crenellated canyons of the Fours Rivers Area. Soon we found ourselves in the wilderness river gorge and the former river channel. Mountains rose precipitously on either side. Forests of hemlocks and white pines sheltered us. We paused, letting our boats drift amid the scent of evergreens. My heart beat from exertion, and my skin felt alive in the cool spring air. Waterfalls tumbled into the lake, full from spring rains. We pushed on through the morning. The river canyon narrowed and I saw a pair of large birds, black and white, swimming ahead of my boat. As I approached, they dove underwater, only to reappear upstream. Mysterious, lovely birds, I could not place them in my categories of local residents. “They must be Loons!” my racing heart told me, recalling canoe trips to Minnesota’s boundary waters with friends during graduate school. But my head disagreed, reason prevailed: loons would not be in upstate South Carolina in March…so far from the Minnesota and the Canadian border. I did not trust my own voice—my own heart. Still, the birds seemed to lure me upriver, until they disappeared.

Our sojourn ended at the Foothills Trail Bridge, across the Horsepasture River. We could go no farther. The river upstream was now a roaring whitewater torrent at the end of its 2000-foot plunge into Lake Jocassee. We ate lunch on the bridge, as mist from the waterfall surrounded and enveloped us in its cool, ethereal embrace. In this deep river gorge sunlight was scarce, and I noticed that it had gotten colder. Clouds were moving in, announcing a spring cold front on the escarpment of the Blue Ridge. Shivering, aching, and stiff, we climbed back into our kayaks for the long trip back. I glanced up at the lovely, high waterfalls behind us. I felt somehow disorientated and momentarily anxious. The country we were in was dramatically different from the calm, sunny lake on which our journey began. And what were those birds? Their mystery seemed to add to my disorientation. Even as I felt more alive, I also grew more vigilant. We were in suspect terrain, and on a journey perhaps less Odyssean than Abrahamic. I suspected I would not return home by the way I came… Soon, a cold drizzle began and I picked up the pace, paddling steadily across the water. I came to a fork in the river, and paused, uncertain which direction to take, my colleague, a more efficient paddler, with the GPS, somewhere up ahead in the rain. Suddenly, the birds were swimming in front of my kayak. They dove underwater, and reappeared downriver, in the watery fork to the right and, uncertain, but calmed by their presence, I took the right fork as well. Soon, the birds disappeared altogether. Hours later, we reached the put-in, wet, weary, yet enlivened by the journey. That night, warm and dry, I pulled up the DNR website for the Jocassee Gorges area, click on “wildlife” and read: “The Common Loon is an occasional winter resident at Lake Jocassee. They return north to their summer breeding grounds in April. Their numbers are growing.”  So, you see, my heart had known what my head would not allow. In my weariness and fear I had forgotten to listen to my inner voice—to pay attention to my heart. Carl Jung once wrote, “The soul rejoices in hearing spoken out loud what it has known all along.” Indeed. 

How many times in my life have been at a crossroads, and felt the gentle nudge of the Holy Spirit, and not trusted that still small voice? It is the Holy Spirit—our advocate—who can provide the necessary strength, courage, and faith needed to navigate seasons of transitions—like approaching cold fronts in new terrain. Does this sound familiar? Even as Jesus acknowledged the fear and anxiety of the disciples, he gave them the greatest gift of love: the freedom to become who in God’s eye they were meant to be. And it was the Holy Spirit who enabled this relationship with Jesus to shift from an external, temporal relationship to an internalized, embodied reality. In short, Jesus became, through the power of the Holy Spirit, a part of them—of their work, their ministry, and their lives—a part of their very being. So it is with us. The essence of God, my sisters and brothers, is relationship. As Mary Oliver has written:  

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, / the world offers itself to your imagination, / calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting / over and over announcing your place / in the family of things.   Public health officials at the CDC and elsewhere tell us we are in an epidemic of loneliness in this post-pandemic era. I wonder how the spirit might have us respond to this? How might we reach out, widen the circle of care, and cultivate relationships of compassion? Whether your symbol for the Spirit is the Wild Goose, the dove, or a loon on a chilly mountain lake, we are called to relationship. This is what the Trinity is all about. So, when you have a chance, pause for a moment, close your eyes, breathe deeply, and invoke the gift of the Spirit to enliven, nurture, and sustain you on the journey to which we each have been called. And in so doing, find your place in the family of things, and participate in the unfolding, incarnational relationship that is your distinctive ministry in this wonderful long, green season of Pentecost. Amen.

Pentecost A – George Yandell

Jesus had a predictable habit. In his daily walks, talks, and teachings, anytime he met new people, particularly those in distress, he engaged them where they were. He didn’t ask them about their faith, or question their belief, he simply asked about the circumstances of their lives. His empathy was his calling card. He was a canny observer of the behaviors, manners and speech of those around him. Often the questions he asked about the life-situations of those he met cut to the core of their beings, agitated them, and opened them to change. But only after he’d gotten to know them.

Since ancient times, after Yahweh gave the law to Moses, the Jews all over the Mediterranean region and beyond observed a major religious festival 50 days after Passover, on a Sunday in spring. City-dwelling Jews who lived outside Israel after Alexander’s conquests spoke Greek as their common language, in addition to the regional languages they grew up with. Some might also have known some Hebrew, as well as some Aramaic, the everyday language of Jews in Jerusalem and Judea. In Greek, the name for the spring festival was Pentecost, meaning simply “50 days”: 50 days after Passover. In Hebrew it was called ‘the festival of weeks’, when the first-fruits of the corn harvest were presented. This great feast also recalled how Yahweh gave the law in covenant to the people Yahweh had chosen to serve the Lord.

On that Sunday in 30 a.d., the disciples of Jesus were in a place together, probably to share the bread and wine of the Lord’s Meal, preparing to go out and participate in the great festival at the Temple. They experienced the rushing wind of God’s own spirit, like a tornado, that filled the house where they sitting. Tongues of fire danced on the head of each, so that Mary could see the flames on Peter’s head, John could see the dancing fire on Mary’s.

They must have been terrified. Then they began to speak in distinct, different regional dialects, as God’s spirit endowed each. These were all Galilean peasants, who only knew Aramaic, and maybe a smattering of Hebrew and Greek. They fell out into the streets, proclaiming in unknown dialects the works of power God had done, specifically the raising of Jesus from the dead.

All over Jerusalem were devout Jewish pilgrims. Come on once in a lifetime pilgrimages to offer the sacrifices God had asked for 1,500 years prior, some had been traveling for months, some maybe for a year. They were cramped, jammed in together, probably paying much more for lodging and food than they’d counted on. Those pilgrims saw Roman guards everywhere doing crowd control, on high alert because of the brouhaha about the Jesus rumors and run-ins the Jesus disciples were having at the temple. They were mostly home-sick, tired, and ready to have the festival begin and end, and start their long journeys home.

Then came the tornado sound. Then the outpouring of language was so noisy that the disciples drew a large crowd. And the devout Jewish pilgrims from all over the world heard those Galileans telling of God’s power in their own languages. That’s what got their attention. 

What could be more natural? The spirit Jesus had prayed for, to comfort and guide his brothers and sisters who loved him past his death and resurrection, the Spirit had come. The spirit of Jesus infused each disciple, and they became like Jesus, giving empathy to tired strangers in a strange place. That captured those pilgrims like nothing else. To hear their own native tongues was like manna from heaven. “Someone here is my kinsman! Someone here knows my hometown! Thank God!” 

Think about it- one goes on a spiritual pilgrimage to encounter the holy. Pilgrims get tired and dirty, but stay in it because of their intent, to know God more fully. On the cusp of the great festival some had waited long lives for, the babbling of holy empathy captured them, it became the festival. Later that morning, after Peter’s sermon in which he told of Jesus’ death and resurrection, he offered the Jesus spirit to them all. 3000 new followers were baptized by a few dozen original disciples. And then “they devoted themselves to the apostle’s teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers.” (Do those words sound familiar? We recite them regularly in the baptismal covenant.) Then most of them went home. Can you imagine what their journeys home were like? And the receptions they got in their home synagogues when they spoke of the love of God in raising Jesus, the tongues of empathy and understanding, the power, the baptism in the Jesus spirit? 

Those exchanges of empathy and power between disciples and pilgrims began a public swell of enthusiasm for God that grows even today. Their pilgrimages yielded a church. This is our story, it is our pilgrimage. To be Jesus in empathy, sharing the power of his resurrection in word and deed. To be devoted to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers. To share the spirit of Jesus in love is the journey and the reward. In a moment we’ll recite the Baptismal covenant, which is the grounding for our life in the Spirit of Jesus. Enter this festival. Present the fruits of your journey thus far. Share the body and blood of Jesus, say the prayers. Be renewed in your faith by the breath of God, blowing into us in power. Then go home, and on your way, tell the story. Be brothers and sisters of Jesus. He’s alive, you know.