Author: Rosemary Lovelace

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.

Easter 7A – George Yandell

In the Acts reading, we are with Jesus and His apostles after his resurrection. He is offering his final words to them before his Ascension, which the church calendar observed last Thursday, 40 days after his resurrection. He said, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” As his friends watched he was lifted up into the clouds. Then two angels garbed in white appeared beside them. They asked, “Why are you men from Galilee looking up into heaven- this Jesus will come again the same way you saw him taken up.” The apostles returned to Jerusalem and with the women who’d followed Jesus, devoted themselves to prayer. Luke has them waiting for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit on the day we call Pentecost (50 days after the resurrection).

Jesus’ departure and the outpouring of Spirit enable his disciples to be at once in the world, yet not of the world, yet for the world as Jesus had been in his earthly life. [This sentence adapted from Preaching the New Lectionary, p.199, by Reginald Fuller, 1971 by the Liturgical Press, Collegeville, MN] This is the launching pad for our ministries as his disciples today. 

The Gospel passage is a portion of the “high priestly prayer” from the conclusion of Jesus’ Farewell Discourse in John (13:1—17:26). Jesus offered this prayer for his disciples—of every place and time—on the night before he died. As the passage begins, Jesus looks up to heaven and declares that his “hour has come”. This is the hour of Jesus’ offering of himself, and through that offering he will come to glory. What will appear by worldly standards to be a shameful repudiation of Jesus’ life and message will be the means of God’s glorification in Christ. Thus Jesus asks the Father to glorify the Son so that the Son may in turn glorify the Father. Jesus has been given authority to grant eternal life, through which the one true God and Jesus as God’s Messiah are manifested.

The earthly ministry of Jesus has given glory to the Father by doing the work he was commissioned to do. Now that the tasks are completed, it is for the Father to glorify the Son. Indeed, Jesus already possessed this glory while with the Father before creation. Making God’s true name and nature known to those whom the Father gave him is the central work with which Jesus was charged. Those individuals belonged to the Father as the Creator of all; but God entrusted them to the Son, who enabled them to obey the Father’s word.

Those so given to the Son have recognized that the Father is the source of everything the Son has received. Thus the Son has been able to give to his own colleagues this knowledge. (He has revealed to them the Father’s name and nature). This was possible because they trusted in him as sent by the Father; and Jesus is further glorified in them. Jesus offers this prayer specifically for his disciples, and not for the world that has rejected him and his mission. Jesus has overcome the world; but persecutions will threaten to divide his followers. Therefore, Jesus prays that they remain united, so their unity reflects the oneness of Jesus with the Father. [These paragraphs adapted from Synthesis, a Weekly Resource for Preaching, for Easter 7 Year A.]

Most of you have heard that we Jesus people are to be “in the world but not of the world.” Those words are drawn from the prayer Jesus prayed in the verses following today’s reading. “I am praying for them; I am not praying for the world but for those whom you have given me, for they are yours; all mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I am glorified in them.”

Just think: Jesus is telling the Father that God is glorified in us. There’s no reason whatsoever to believe that our Lord prayed this prayer, known as his high priestly prayer, just once. It wasn’t like he said the prayer once and forgot about it. I believe this is his constant intercession for us. The words he spoke two thousand years ago, he speaks to us today, and the prayers he offered then he offers now. [Adapted from Fr. Ivor Kraft in Hieropraxis]

You are the recipient of Jesus’ prayer. Jesus has entrusted us to God’s protective care and loving kindness. What if we daily reminded ourselves, “We are the community for whom Jesus is praying now?” Jesus invites us into the intimacy of his relationship with God the Father. Jesus is bold enough to hold God to God’s promises- he says, “Father you have sent, you have loved; now keep, sanctify and let them be one.” Jesus opens his intimate relationship with God the Father to include us all. [Paragraph above adapted from The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 9, p. 798.]

Our final hymn 460 (in the 10:30 service) reflects this supreme inclusivity- read along with me stanza 2- Alleluia, not as orphans are we left in sorrow now; Alleluia he is near us, faith believes, nor questions how: though the cloud from sight received him, when the 40 days were o’er, shall our hearts forget his promise, “I am with you evermore”?

And stanza 4: Alleluia, King eternal! Thee the Lord of lords we own: Alleluia! Born of Mary, earth thy footstool, heaven thy throne: thou within in the veil hath entered, robed in flesh, our great High Priest: thou on earth both priest and victim in the eucharistic feast.” It’s no wonder that this hymn is sometimes called the Episcopal National anthem- its theology of joy reflects the fullness of the love and care God gives us continually. We are at once in the world, yet not of the world, yet for the world as Jesus had been in his earthly life. He is with us now and always.  

Easter 6A – George Yandell

A visitor to a congregation I served in the mid-1980’s sought me out in the coffee hour. His name was John. He said, “I was taught the commandments in the Church I grew up in. I was taught to fear God, because God punishes those who don’t keep God’s commands. I have heard those same words from Jesus. But the people of your congregation worship in a way that downplays fear and highlights love. Why is that?” I talked with John further and found he indeed had much to fear. He had lost his job and his medical insurance, his marriage had ended in divorce, and he had just been diagnosed with an illness that required immediate treatment, but he couldn’t find a doctor to treat him without insurance. He believed God was punishing him because he hadn’t been a good enough Christian. 

If you listen closely to the reading from the Acts of the Apostles this morning, you might realize Paul’s address to the people in Athens keyed on their fear. All the idols Paul pointed to in the Areopagus showed what the people loved: their gods and their virtues, the blessings and graces the gods bestowed. The idols also demonstrated what they feared – those same gods were jealous of attention shown to the other gods, and would become angry and call down violence on their worshippers if they failed to worship each god properly. Of all that Paul saw, one thing spoke more eloquently of fear than all the others – the altar to an unknown god. It was erected just in case there was a god out there of whom the people hadn’t yet heard about but was powerful enough to make them sorry if they offended him or her. Paul tried to win over the people to the God of Jesus by exploiting both the Athenians’ fear and their compulsion to be devoted to all their gods.  

The answer Jesus gives to his disciples’ fear of losing him is to keep his commands – which are summed up in the one supreme command, “Love one another as I have loved you.” The love of the Father and the revealing of God’s Son within the life of his disciples means that loving is everything. Jesus promised that his disciples would receive a new companion, the Spirit of Truth. So the message for all ages of Church is to know the Spirit, revealed in loving one another as those who are loved by Jesus.  

To repeat: We can sum up the commission of Jesus to disciples of every age as “know the Spirit”. Know the Spirit as the Spirit unites us in loving. The Spirit abides in our midst for us to love God and one another.

As it was for John the visitor, our spiritual quest as Jesus followers often takes us down trails that twist and turn, and often moves us farther and farther from our supposed destination. To be a human being is to be spiritual, even if many of us don’t consider our life a spiritual search. In the heart of every human is the god-core that the creator planted in us, as Paul told the Athenians. Our life search, while seeming to be spent in families, towns, congregations, places of work, PLACES all around—our search is actually a quest to come home to our core being. To search and plumb the depths of the soul, to give and receive support from others as they seek their own souls’ essence– that’s the way the spiritual journey goes, ideally.

The mystical Spirit abiding in us offers believers a road map, an assurance for seeking God:  Abide in God, abide in Jesus. Again and again, remain and continue remaining in God’s spirit, which is God’s own self.

There are at least 3 distractions, 3 roadblocks that keep us from living from and remaining in God:

• Prideful self-concern. Self-concern is OK, up to a point. We need to look out for ourselves, to be healthy. But when our egos swell, and our wants and needs become so strong as to become addictive, then self-concern has overwhelmed us, and we become lost to our own soul.  We become attached to that which is not God.
• Participating in and building systems of living that tear down communities, and destroy other people. The great revelation of the last part of the 20^th century and into the 21^st, is that all living things are connected and depend on one another for life. When we unwittingly, or knowingly, chose products, services, or life-styles that may seem perfectly fine, but at their source cause poverty, environmental degradation, or alienate people one from another, we wreck the delicate ecology of our communities. But more than that, we disconnect ourselves from the ecology of our soul. The interconnectedness of all beings and all souls is at the heart of living in the Spirit of Love.
• Worshiping our understanding of God, rather than worshiping the God of our understanding. A wise friend of mine once told me that a grave distraction from living in God’s embrace, is when we worship what we believe about God, rather than who God actually is. We become certain we alone know the way God is, and we fall into the trap of worshipping that understanding. The horrible cost to us is getting cut off from God’s ongoing surprises. To worship the God of our understanding is to open ourselves, seeking continually that which renews, surprises, and offers deeper and deeper loving of God and God of us. That understanding actually implies that we stand under God, and let God’s being cascade into us. That’s true worship.

There are two attitudes the great faiths teach that keep us pointed the right way, that keep us seeking God within us and in our midst. They’re humility and patience. Living humbly, giving way to God within and among us, diminishing ego needs- that’s the attitude that allows God’s grace to flow in us, and leads us into our God-core. Remaining in our core, living from our center, our soul, which is God’s soul, requires patience and practicing humility in all things. Rumi, the great Sufi mystic & poet, wrote about humility in the poem, Why are You Milking Another?:

“Strip the raiment of pride from your body: in learning, put on the garment of humility. Soul receives from soul the knowledge of humility, not from books or speech. Though mysteries of spiritual poverty are within the seeker’s heart, she doesn’t yet possess knowledge of those mysteries. Let her wait until her heart expands and fills with Light: …. for we have put illumination there, we have put the expansion [of God] into your heart.  When you are a source of milk, why are you milking another?”

These things are true for all seekers of God: We are intertwined with all others in our world. We need them, they need us. We especially need those most different from us, to teach us how God lives in them. We learn from their souls the knowledge of humility.  This is what Jesus meant when he talked of his father’s abiding in and animating us through the Spirit.

Any pursuit that doesn’t lead us toward God, that doesn’t support our mutual souls’ health, God works to love into spiritual wholeness. God intends us to seek and accept that guidance, so we can be more and more loving and humble. 

Remaining in God, living in the Spirit of Jesus, is all that’s required of us. Being faithful. Thankful appreciation of all with whom we’re connected comes through being faithful. Finding grace is not the intent of living in the Spirit, but it is the predictable result.  As we are fed and nurtured as God’s people, God’s Spirit feeds us, sheds God’s light on us, and makes our hearts intertwine until all remains is thankfulness. By humbly, patiently being faithful, we find our bliss.

Easter 5A – George Yandell

Only fruity Christians really live the love of Jesus. Or to put it better, the fruit of Christian living is love. The song, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love,” puts it well. Love = agape. Love is easy to talk about, easy to agree with. But for you and me, is love only a philosophical abstraction? Is it only about intimate caring with family and friends? Is love only for bleeding hearts? The love Jesus offers demands a closer look, else loving itself becomes only sentimental and private.

Jesus laid out a covenant to his friends, “I am the way, the truth and the life. If you know me, you know my Father also.” If the disciples understood nothing else from him, Jesus wanted to MAKE SURE they understood love. He washed their feet as a common servant in the passage just prior to this one, which we read on Maundy Thursday. He spoke of love as the greatest command he would give them. “Love one another as I have loved you.” 

How did Jesus come to be such a great lover? Was it born in him, or did he develop great love? He said, “Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me?” I’d call that a chain of love- or as scholars have put it, interpenetration/ interpenetration of loving.

Jesus learned loving from God- the kind of loving the prophets described. The love God intended for the whole world means acting for justice. As Paul Tillich put it in his landmark book Love, Power and Justice: “Either love is something other than emotion or the Great Commandment is meaningless.” 

The clearest knowing of God’s love comes through working for God’s justice in God’s world- and it comes in God’s empowering Spirit, as Jesus promised. 

For Jesus, loving was an event- not a philosophical abstraction. Jesus meant love acted out. The event of love was sharing it. When Jesus called his disciples friends, just before he was executed, he used an Aramaic word the gospel translates into Greek- filia means more than our English word “friend.” It means “beloved”- ones who share love. Our word “friend” comes from a lost Anglo-Saxon word “fre’on”, which meant “loved one.” Jesus in effect offered “love-ship” to his friends together. He promised and created what one might call a “society of love.”

I believe we all deep down know love profoundly. In fact, we yearn to love and be loved. That’s what the followers of Jesus have bequeathed to us- a chain of unending loving, linking us to Jesus and all who have been his friends before us. But until we ACT, love remains unfulfilled in our communities. Love demands we not only know but ACT FOR those around us. We must choose to love as a society of those Jesus loves.

In the chapter from Acts leading up to today’s passage, it tells of how Stephen had been selected with 6 others by the 12 apostles to help serve the daily distribution of food to the poor and widows in Jerusalem. The setting is about 5 years after Jesus’ death and resurrection. He was noted as being “a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit.” Stephen is reported as “full of grace and power, doing great wonders and signs among the people.” Many in a synagogue argued with him but could not withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he spoke. He then was brought before the council in the temple. He lectured the high priest and all the other leaders of the temple about God’s history of salvation from Abraham, through Moses telling the rulers they were forever opposing the Holy Spirit as their ancestors had done. As their ancestors had opposed the prophets, they too had contested against God and killed the Righteous One, Jesus. Deacon Stephen’s bold testimony caused the rulers to drag him out of the city and stone him to death.

You heard his dying words- “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. Do not hold this sin against them.”

Scott Peck, in his classic The Road Less Traveled, says, “Love is disciplined.” Love is “the will to extend oneself for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.”// Peck says any genuinely loving relationship is a disciplined relationship. That is, love doesn’t just happen; love is not just a feeling; loving requires a decision, followed by acting for oneself or another. This was the love Jesus instilled into his disciples, his friends. It’s the love Jesus and his friends bequeath to you and me. It’s the love Stephen practiced in his ministry and in his death.

In this parish over the years, loving as Jesus loves has driven us out into the community, seeking to feed, nourish and heal, imitating Jesus. Loving as Jesus loves has bound us to one another, living with our fellows thru’ their pains and joys. Loving as Jesus loves has drawn us to pool our talents and our resources to purchase and develop these 38.5 acres and this beautiful worship space. Loving as Jesus loves has propelled us to look forward with the vision and mission to craft and amend the multi-component long range plan, so we’ll be disciplined and hold each other accountable in channeling our energies.  This Society of Friends stands for loving. We’re known to be somewhat fruity in the wider communities where we live. So be it- that’s a good thing. Jesus is alive, in us. 

Easter 4A – George Yandell

Growing up in Knoxville, my parents had Church friends outside of town on Watts Bar Lake. We’d often visit Glenn and Charlie West on their small farm and fish off their dock. They had a cow or two, some chickens, two sheep and a goat. The goat’s name was ‘Stupid.’ My brother and I loved looking through the fence at Stupid as he ate odd things and roamed around. Charlie said we couldn’t go into the fenced area without him because Stupid sometimes ran up and butted interlopers.

How many of you have known any sheep up close and personal? Any goats? The first congregation I served solo was as vicar of St. James the Less in Madison TN. In a mission council meeting, the Sr. Warden said to me after my first year, “George, you came here expecting to be a shepherd to the sheep, but you now realize you’ve got a lot of goats.” Of course I thought of Stupid.

When John’s gospel recounts the parable of the good shepherd, John uses an interesting image. In the reading today, Jesus says, “I am the gate for the sheep.” And then we hear him say just after this passage, “I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep, and they know me. I lay down my life for the sheep.” These are interesting metaphors, and the last completely unprecedented in our Bible. No shepherd of Israel before Jesus is known to have given his life for his sheep. And no prophet ever claimed, “I am a sheep-gate.”

John’s gospel portrays Jesus as the shepherd who saves, sustains, and redeems the life of all who will come into his sheepfold. The sheepfold enclosed sheep from the hazards of weather, beasts and robbers. It was sometimes used jointly by a number of shepherds for a number of different flocks, and supervised by a single attendant through the night, each shepherd then calling forth again his own flock in the morning. (Interpreters’ Dictionary of the Bible, p. 316)

What did this imply for the early Church? What did it mean for them to be sheep, in the sheepfold with lots of others, protected and called forth by Jesus, going in and out through the gate which was Jesus himself? Of course they’d have thought of Psalm 23 – “The Lord is my shepherd – he makes me lie down in green pastures, he revives my soul.”

And what did those early followers of Jesus do in response to shepherd Jesus giving his life for them? Listen to what the Acts of the Apostles says about the Jesus fellowship in Jerusalem in the years after Jesus’ death and resurrection:

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.” 

Those followers shared their possessions so everyone would have enough.  They spread goodwill among all the people. Those who lived new resurrection life with James, the brother of Jesus, were called the Poor Ones. Their care of sick and destitute people in and around Jerusalem gained the respect of many who had dismissed Jesus. It sounds like through the resurrection, the sheep of Jesus became the shepherds, doesn’t it? Is this story so radical we dismiss it, or can we use it as a model for following Jesus today?

One writer calls Jesus ‘the generous shepherd’. [The Christian Century, April 2023 edition, p. 29] Jenna Smith says in the verses preceding today’s passage, those Pharisees who encountered the man whom Jesus healed from blindness asked the question, “How do we know this man Jesus is from God?” “At the end of the day, Jesus’ answer is very simple: trust my caring and generous acts. He demonstrates this time and time again in his ministry.” His first followers followed suit as they lived into a tradition of communal generous shepherding.” So it was for those earliest followers of Jesus, so it is with us today. Sheep or goats, we’re in it as shepherds who live the resurrection life Jesus opened for us.

Easter 3A – George Yandell

How do we followers of Jesus recognize him today? Maybe in those who ask us “What have you been talking about? What’s on your minds?” Those two disciples assumed they knew much more than the stranger who joined them. And often in the stories about Jesus and his disciples, when a named male is joined by another unnamed disciple, that unnamed one is female.

Jesus’ first action after the discussion on the road is significant: “He walked ahead as if he were going on.” In Near Eastern customs, the guest was obligated to turn down an invitation like Cleopas and his companion/wife gave until it was vigorously repeated. Theologically, Jesus’ action demonstrates that he never forces himself on others. Faith must always be a spontaneous, voluntary response to God’s grace. Luke’s Jesus was always going further, unless invited to stay for a while. [From the New Interpreters’ Bible, Vol.9, p. 479]

Frederick Buechner interprets Emmaus as “the place we go in order to escape – a bar, a movie, wherever it is we throw up our hands and say, ‘Let the whole [darn] thing go hang. It makes no difference anyway.’ …Emmaus may be buying a new suit or new car… or reading a second-rate novel or even writing one. Emmaus may be going to church on Sunday. Emmaus is whatever we do or wherever we go to make ourselves forget that the world holds nothing sacred: that even the wisest and bravest and loveliest decay and die; that even the noblest ideas that [people] have had—ideas about love and freedom and justice – have always in time been twisted out of shape by selfish [people] for selfish ends.” [ibid p. 482]

The risen Lord meets us on the road to our Emmaus’s, in the ordinary places and experiences of our lives, and in the places to which we retreat when life is too much for us. The story warns us, however, that the Lord may come to us in unfamiliar guises, when we least expect him. [ibid]

For Jesus a meal was not just an act of survival—a necessary activity which must be performed to keep the body functioning. Unfortunately, in our production driven, mass produced culture, food is both big business and an unfortunate, albeit necessary, interruption to our effectiveness.

For Jesus, though, food was a gift, and the act of eating was an opportunity to be nourished, not just physically, but through the whole person.

Meals with Jesus were times of feeding the soul, the mind, and the body, and were wonderful opportunities for teaching, challenging and confronting—all necessary ingredients of the true community he was building. And, when people were gathered around a table or a picnic basket, Jesus often used the opportunity to reveal more of himself and his purpose. [ibid p. 482]

Listen closely to what happened at the table, before Cleopas and his companion recognized Jesus.  They sat down to a meal together with their guest. They saw him take bread, bless it, break it, and give. 

They had seen that pattern before. They must have, because in that moment their eyes were opened. It wasn’t when he came near them; it wasn’t when he tried to explain it all to them, again. It is when he takes, blesses, breaks and gives them bread – something so ordinary that they had seen it before, time and time again. It’s only when their tears give way, their heads look up from the table, that they finally see who has been journeying with them. Jesus lives after all! The tomb, the angels, the women—can it really be true? It all comes back to them and they SEE. And in an instant they see him no more. [Adapted from “The Christian Century”, April 12, 2017 edition, p. 20]

This was the miracle. The open table fellowship the rabbi Jesus had established in Galilee continued after his resurrection. Those who had shared meals with him and become part of the fellowship continued to find the resurrected Jesus at the table with them. 

As we eat and share our stories, we are nourished in our whole being. And as we gather, the presence of the Christ who loved to share meals with friends is with us and revealed to us. [From “Synthesis, A Weekly Resource for Preaching”, April 2014 issue.]

It’s all about connection. Cynthia Bourgeault in her book The Wisdom Jesus (Boston: Shambhala, 2008) describes the encounter with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus as a textbook study of spiritual recognition. She explains: “What keeps these two good souls from recognizing their master is very clear: it’s their self-pity and nostalgia. As Jesus catches up with them on the road and asks what their sadness is about, they respond: ‘ … about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel’.

“Clearly they are stuck in their story, and their stuck-ness is what makes them unable to see the person standing right before their faces. They are trapped in the past, filled with self-pity and doubt, and no one can recognize anything in this state. What Jesus does in this case is a delightful exercise of ‘skillful means’: he rewrites their story for them.” After he takes them verse by verse through the appropriate [Hebrew scripture] pointers and explains their meaning in the light of his own life and death, he breaks bread with them in communion fashion and then disappears. Finally they “get it.”

Bourgeault concludes: “They have come to understand that their attuned hearts are the instruments of recognition and that these same attuned hearts will bind them to their risen Lord moment by moment and forever.” We are with Cleopas and his friend. Let the resurrected Jesus open your eyes as you take the bread of fellowship with him and all the multitudes from the past 2000 years. He and they are here with us.  

Easter 2A – George Yandell

“Peace to you,” said Jesus to his disciples, huddled in the room in fear on Easter evening. Salem, in Aramaic, Shalom in Hebrew. They feared those who’d collaborated with the Roman officials to have Jesus crucified, they feared living without Jesus. They were scared enough to lock the doors and hide out. Maybe rumors of the empty tomb had reached them – maybe they were just still too traumatized by Jesus’ crucifixion to venture out of a safe place. But Jesus came, stood among them, and said, Salem. And he said it again. “Peace to you.” 

Interestingly, he and the disciples were gathered in Yarusalem, the city whose name means “Foundation of God.” I think the disciples may have heard two complementary messages when Jesus spoke to them, and we might as well. 1) Jerusalem, the city of Zion, was the site of the crucifixion, and the resurrection. It became the foundation for their faith in the resurrected Jesus. 2) When Jesus spoke “Peace” to them, they also might have heard echoes of Salem, a name for God. I think they may have been quaking, seeing Jesus alive, and they may have realized that everything is different, the foundation of God has shifted, everything is new. All is right!! Jesus lives!

The peace Jesus spoke is the new foundation of the new city of God. Poor Thomas – he’d missed the appearing of Jesus, so no wonder he didn’t get it. How could he? He had to hear the word himself from Jesus, “Peace to you. Salem. Don’t be faithless—be faithful!!” And Thomas heard. And so do we. Peace, resurrection life, is a new foundation laid for God’s people. It is the only thing that distinguishes us from non-believers- we have faith, because we’ve felt the faith whose foundation is the peace of Jesus. This peace is not a simply blissful harmony. It’s not simply the ending of conflict. This peace is God’s gift to us. 

God’s peace is a state of wholeness, given to individuals and to groups. It brings, in different times to different groups, health, prosperity, security, and spiritual completeness. But hear this, Christians, each time Jesus speaks it, he says “Peace to you, PLURAL. Peace to All Ya’ll.” The peace which Jesus gives must be shared to be lived. That’s why Thomas was so negative – he’d missed out on knowing the peace the other disciples shared. And when he received Salem from Jesus, he said to Jesus, “You’re the Lord of me, you’re the God of me.” He got it. The peace Jesus offered infused him.

Listen to what Peter spoke in the reading from Acts. He and the other disciples had been brought before the temple council in Jerusalem. Peter and his friends had been teaching boldly in the name of Jesus, their resurrected Messiah. Peter answered their charges, knowing he too could face the same death as Jesus: “The God of our ancestors raised up Jesus, and freed Him from death. It was impossible for him to be held in its power.” Peter went on to quote David, “I saw the Lord always before me. You will not abandon my soul to Hades, or let your Holy One experience corruption. David spoke of the resurrection of the Messiah”, says Peter. Whoa! Peter too had been transformed by the peace that the resurrected Jesus had offered when he appeared to Thomas and his friends. That peace gift from the Spirit of God made Peter bold and strong.

How many of you remember when the “new” BCP was installed in your parish pews in 1976? How many of the people in your parishes resisted passing the peace? I remember lots of grumbling, especially from men in the parish. They didn’t get it, and we often don’t get it either: “The Peace of the Lord be with you” is a resurrection greeting. It’s not just wishing people well, but it’s to recall for us that we are all gathered into Christ’s resurrection. We are one with him in resurrection life.  We are the City of God now. We are the disciples in whom the peace of God lodges. I think we can take a message from Thomas and Peter today—seek the peace Jesus gives in every moment. Come together with your fellow believers, live the peace of Jesus. And when you don’t have faith, come together with us anyway. I think Jesus is telling us in this lesson, “If you don’t believe, act like you do, imitate those who have God’s peace, and you will receive it.”  

An Easter Story – George Yandell

In memory of Debbie Micklus

Billy and his mother moved into a sixth-floor apartment. It was one of those massive gray New York City buildings. It dwarfed all other apartment buildings Billy had seen before. When moving in, Billy’s mom’s friends helped carry their odds and ends up the six flights of stairs—Billy stood at the top of the stairs and watched—his mattress, his toy chest, now filled with comic books. 

Behind him Bill heard a door open; turning, he saw an old gray-haired man look gloomily out at him and the moving procession. He croaked to Billy, “You my new neighbor?” “Yup,” said Billy. Then Billy asked, “What’s wrong with you?” The wizened old man stared, then barked out, “I’m old and alone and I drink too much. What’s wrong with you?’ the old man asked.

“I’m young and moving and I’ve got cystic fibrosis. I’m eleven. My name’s Billy,” he responded, offering his small hand to the old man. The old man replied, “My name’s Bill, same as yours. How long you had cystic fibrosis,” his voice softening.

Billy replied, “All my life. How long you been drinking too much?”

Old Bill laughed and said, “Seems like a long time.”

Then Billy’s mother staggered up the stairs. Billy introduced her to Old Bill. “Mom, I want you to meet my new friend. His name’s Bill too. He’s old and he drinks too much.” 

Billy’s mother blanched, put down her load and said, “I’m sorry, Mr… Mr..”  “Bill,” the old man replied, “What you sorry for?” Billy’s mother gave Bill and Billy each a glance, smiled, and said, “I guess I’m not sorry at all—Glad to meet you, Bill. I’m Sarah.”

Sarah and her husband had just divorced, and she and Billy had lived with friends until she could get the money for their own place. It was a Saturday when they moved in, and she started to work on Monday. She hailed a cab, rode Billy to his school, and then rode on to work. She had arranged for Billy to go with one of the teachers to an after-school program, where Sarah picked Billy up at 5:30 each evening. The routine began to settle in—up at 5:00, beat on Billy’s back for an hour to dislodge the accumulated mucous—then carefully prepare a special breakfast, then off to work and school—Home at night and after another back-beating session, Billy using his inhaler, dinner, homework, T.V. and sleep. Sarah and Billy grew happy in their new home. Old Bill came over for dinner once a week. Almost every afternoon after school, Billy would go and talk with Old Bill. They became fast friends. One day Old Bill asked Billy, “Billy, you’re a pretty sick boy. How come you’re happy all the time?”

Billy said, “Well, I’m not happy all the time. Sometimes my back hurts so much, I think I’d rather die than go through treatment… but then, I like the days. I like the city. School is fun, and I’m a lot better off than most of the sick kids I see at the clinic. Some of them are paralyzed and some have brain injuries. I’m lucky, I guess. Mom loves me, and I like living here. Bill, how come you’re sad most of the time?” Billy asked hesitantly.

“Well,” said Bill, “I’ve done most of what I set out to do and found it wasn’t so important. My wife died 14 years ago, my friends are mostly dead, and those that aren’t dead are boring. I drink to add some color to my life—but all it does is deaden the pain.”

Billy piped up, “Mom and I go to Church every week. She sings in the choir, and I listen and watch and pray. Just a month ago, they asked me to join the acolytes- it’s OK if some Sundays I’m too sick. You know what? Jesus came to heal people like you and me. But sometimes healing isn’t to our bodies so much— Healing is for our friendship with God.”

Old Bill started and pressed Billy, “What do you mean our friendship with God?”

“Bill, it’s not what we do that heals us so much as what we allow God to do. Mom cries sometimes because she knows I hurt, and she knows I’m going to die. I figure God felt the same way about Jesus on the cross. Jesus’ father probably cried in heaven. But God and Jesus both knew something. Their love for each other could squish death for good, like a penny on the subway tracks. So Jesus loved all those people who hurt him, and followed God’s lead- and God healed him through dying. Jesus was healed into resurrection.”

Old Bill’s eyes glistened. He sat there, looking at Billy; skinny, pale Billy, wheezing out the words. Sarah came to the door, and Billy left old Bill sitting there; and Old Bill cried quietly by himself, looking out over the Good Friday evening, the city lights shining in the New York spring night.

As the weeks and months went on, Billy was sometimes too sick to go to school. Sarah had to work to be able to pay their bills, and a nurse was out of the question. One day Old Bill offered to stay with Billy. Sarah was almost late for work. She was torn but accepted Bill’s offer, rushing out.

Every sick day after that, Old Bill stayed in with Billy. He quit drinking, for fear he’d miss something Billy needed. He enjoyed sitting with Billy. He often thought of Billy’s words, “We have to allow God to heal us.”

Billy died just after his fifteenth birthday. Sarah and Old Bill cried at the grave, and they took the cab home together. Sarah looked at Old Bill at the top of the stairs and said, “Bill, I need a drink.”

Old Bill said, “I’ll make one for you.” They sat down, Bill with coffee, Sarah with gin. “You’re not drinking?” she asked.

“Billy helped me, Sarah. He helped me to quit deadening my pain and sadness. He once told me, ‘Bill, we have to allow God to heal us.’ He said Jesus had to trust God completely, even though it led to his death. And that God healed Jesus through dying and being raised up. Sarah, I think Billy was right.” Sarah said, eyes welling up with tears “Bill, what are we going to do without him?” Old Bill said, “Sarah, we’re going to make it through together. I’m going to cry and laugh with you at all our memories of Billy, and I’m going to live fully until I’m completely healed like Billy taught me.”

Good Friday – George Yandell

I want to talk of grief. The words grief and grieve from the Latin gravare = to burden, from gravis = heavy. As they pass through Old French, grief and grieve pick up the sense of ‘to harm’. Our word grieve means ‘to cause to be sorrowful; distress’. Grief means ‘deep mental anguish, as that arising from bereavement’.

Our understanding of grief and grieving has undergone remarkable changes in my lifetime. In the early 1970’s Elizabeth Kubler-Ross identified 5 distinct stages of grief. We now have come to understand that grieving is not predictable, but is personal – everyone grieves differently. Approaching death is not a cookie-cutter experience. As we hear Jesus with his friends throughout the gospels, he frequently speaks to them of his coming death and theirs as well. These are instances of preparatory grieving – of anticipatory grief. 

Listen to these moments when Jesus speaks of his impending death: 

In the very center of Mark’s gospel Jesus says to his disciples: “Who do you say that I am?” Peter answered, “You are the Messiah.” Jesus immediately began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed, and after 3 days rise again.” Listen to how Peter responds – “Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him,” to deny that Jesus could die that way.  Peter was attempting to bargain Jesus out of his destiny.

In Luke (17:22 ff) Jesus tells it this way, “The days are coming when you will long to see one of the days of the Son of Man, and you will not see it…For as the lightning flashes and lights up the sky, so will the Son of Man be in his day. But first he must endure much suffering and be rejected by this generation.” (18:31 ff) “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written about the Son of Man…will be accomplished. 

For he will be handed over to the Gentiles; and he will be mocked and insulted and spat upon. After they have flogged him, they will kill him, and on the third day he will rise again.” Luke concludes with this statement: “But they understood nothing about all these things- it was hidden from them.” Disbelief, denial. Their hearts couldn’t entertain that Jesus could die, even though he said clearly he would rise again.

Our experiences of death range from tragic slams of anger, to denial, to bargaining, depression, and maybe to eventual acceptance. But no one else grieves like I grieve.  So it was with Jesus’ closest companions. They all responded to death in different ways. 

How many times did Jesus and his friends walk out of Jerusalem to the west?  How many times did they pass under the rotting corpses of fellow Jews who had been crucified by the Roman Empire? What did it do to them? Did it stiffen their resistance against the empire? Did it put the fear of the false god-emperor into them?

Some scholars have found two parallel crucifixion stories in Mark’s gospel, which holds the earliest of the crucifixion accounts. The second account reads like this: “And it was the third hour when they crucified him. And the inscription of the charge against him read, ‘The King of the Jews.’ Those who passed by reviled him. Those who were crucified with him also reviled him. And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice and breathed his last. And the veil of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.”

You can hear Mark’s account inside the passion story from John we just read. John certainly had Mark’s story in mind when he recorded his account. “This narrative interprets Jesus’ death not as that of an innocent, righteous suffering servant of God, but as an agonizing conflict between the powers of light and the powers of darkness. This is [an end-of-the-age] interpretation. When Jesus had received the sour wine and drank it, he said “It is finished.”   “Jesus did not count equality with God as something to be grasped or held onto, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.” “Jesus is the divine redeemer who completely emptied himself of his divine glory”. [The above two paragraphs adapted from Preaching the New Lectionary, Reginald Fuller, 1974, p. 352]

John Dominic Crossan has often said, “Jesus would be executed by the powers of the world’s dark empires in every age, including our own.” This is the nature of the conflict between the vision of God’s peace and justice Jesus lived for, and the vision of power-seeking through violence.  

After his mock trial Pilate ordered Jesus be flogged or scourged. Scourging was standard pre-crucifixion procedure. It was done with a whip made of several leather straps to which sharp abrasive items like nails, glass or rocks were attached. Scourging resulted in severe lacerations of the skin and damage to the flesh beneath. [From The New Interpreters’ Dictionary of the Bible, Vol. 5, 2009, pp. 135-6]

The flogging itself sometimes killed convicted men. With the strips of skin handing loose and blood pouring down, Jesus was faint with desperate pain. It was no wonder in Luke that the guards seized Simon of Cyrene to carry the cross-piece to which Jesus’ wrists would be nailed. Yet Jesus identifies with the crowd following him and Simon — through his pain he hears their grief and sorrow and tells the crowd, “Do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. The days are surely coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren and the wombs that never bore… They will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us,’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ His empathy for those he left behind penetrated through his suffering.  “In Mark first, but echoed almost verbatim in Matthew and Luke, we learn that when Jesus was seized by the crowd of guards “all,” please note not some, but “all” of his disciples forsook him and fled. No disciple is recorded as being present at the cross in the first three gospels written, because they were not there!