Blowing Where It Will

 

PROPERS:          THE DAY OF PENTECOST

TEXT:                ACTS 2:1-21

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, MAY 28, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The Day of Pentecost acknowledges the gift of the Spirit, which we cannot control.

 

            I am not a scholar of the biblical languages of Hebrew and Greek, but there are some original words in the text which are very revealing.

 

            In the original creation story in the first verses of Genesis, we are told that “the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters.”

 

            The Hebrew term for Spirit was ruach.

 

            In our first lesson today, from the Book of Acts, we have the authoritative story of that first Christian Pentecost. To set the scene: The Disciples are holed-up in a room, fearful of the world which surrounds them.  They are afraid that they will meet the same fate as their teacher had.

 

            But as they were locked in a room, a mighty wind rushed through the walls and closed doors. Tongues of flame danced on their heads.  They were all moved mightily, boldly, and ventured out into the crowded Jerusalem streets.

 

            The wind which brought the tongues of fire was called, in Greek, pneuma.

 

            Ruach in Hebrew. Pneuma in Greek. They are both the literal breath of God.

 

The breath of God is what was given to the church on the first Christian Pentecost, and it is what animates the church today.

 

Despite what we may want, the Spirit will do what it will do.  We cannot stop it.  We cannot guide it.

 

            In the third chapter of the Gospel of John, a leader of the Sanhedrin, Nicodemus, comes to Jesus under cover of darkness.  He wants to probe the young rabbi about his teachings.

 

            Among other things, Jesus tells Nicodemus, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.”

 

            We need to remember that the ruach, the pneuma, or the Spirit is a gift from God, and cannot be directed by human preferences.  It is God’s gift to each of us, a gift of profound grace, which can only be received.  We cannot determine where or to whom it goes next.

 

            In a little bit, we will baptize the newest Christian, Matthias Lief MacOwen.

 

            People ask, “Why do you baptize young children?  They cannot understand what they are doing.”

 

            Nor do we. No matter what we say. We do not fully understand God’s love for us, or his acceptance of us with our flaws and human frailty.  The rubric on page 298 describes our understanding: “Holy Baptism is full initiation by water and the Holy Spirit into Christ’s body the Church.  The bond established by God in baptism is indissoluble.”

 

            In other words, the important movement in baptism is God toward us and not us toward God.  The initiation of the bond is established by God. It originates with God – and it is permanent.

 

            Try as we might, we can seek to place limits or restrictions on God’s movement and love. We may think that we or others are unworthy. 

 

But remember Jesus’ words to Nicodemus, the wind blows where it chooses. Our desire to restrict its generosity, as the old saying goes, doesn’t get above the ceiling.

What's So Special?

PROPERS:          MAUNDY THURSDAY, YEAR A   

TEXT:                EXODUS 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14; JOHN 13:1-17, 31b-35

PREACHED AT HOLY TRINITY, PENSACOLA, ON THURSDAY, APRIL 6, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        On this Holy Night, we receive a renewed sacrament of deliverance and a call to selfless service.         

 

            Ma nishtanah.

 

            These are the first two words of four questions the youngest child asks his Jewish elders in the family Passover meal.  The Passover meal was last night.

 

            Ma nishtanah. “Why is this night different from all other nights?” Indeed.

 

            We hear the reason in the first lesson, from the Book of Exodus, tonight.  The Hebrews, held in slavery in Egypt hundreds of years since Joseph, were being delivered from the bitter yoke of Pharoah.  It was the hand of God moving in their midst.

 

            They would observe this Holy Night with a sacred meal – gathered ‘round a family table to recall the salvific acts.

 

            Which is precisely what we do, with an updated Christian narrative – a different pascal lamb, but an account of deliverance all the same.

 

            It is lost on many that the sacrament we share at this table is a renewed and reshaped Passover meal. Two thousand years of Jewish testimony have morphed into two thousand years of Christian witness.  All about deliverance.

 

            Unlike being led out of bondage, we are freed from our sins. And we are assured that God is at our side.

 

            But there is more.

 

            The message of this night is indeed deliverance, but so much more. It is also a call – a mandatum – to service.  As our Lord, our deliverer, stooped to wash his disciples’ feet – a humble act of service – we are called to replicate that service both inside and outside these walls.

 

            In a few moments, we will humble ourselves to wash one another’s feet. But the mandate of this Maundy Thursday is to move beyond these walls and to, literally and figuratively, wash the feet of others. Not just those “like us” or of our “class”, but the despised and scorned of society.

 

            The message of this evening is that we are delivered – and that we are delivered for a purpose. We are not delivered to be the frozen chosen, but to be the disciples of today, and to act in the manner Jesus has established. 

An Empty Tomb

PROPERS:          2 EASTER, YEAR A    

TEXT:                JOHN 20:1-31

PREACHED AT ARDORAN HOUSE, IONA, ON SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The resurrection promised by that first Easter comes in various forms.

 

            In the year 563 AD, Columba and 12 friends crossed the Irish Sea to the Isle of Iona. That trip is the reason we are here today.

 

            A short time later, legend tells us, that Columba was seeking to build an abbey. Again and again, his plans were frustrated. The work accomplished each day would disappear overnight.

 

            A vision came that indicated the plans to build an abbey would be negated unless and until a live person was buried in the foundation.

 

            One of Columba’s 12 friends volunteered to be buried alive. So, Odran was buried alive under the proposed foundation. The abbey – a precursor to today’s abbey – was built, roughly on the same site as the one which stands today.

 

            Legend further holds that Odran later rose from that grave.  Once again, alive. He was quickly buried again.

 

            The early Christian monks which populated this island were Celtic. They practiced a form of Christianity that was at-odds with the Roman form which was sweeping across Europe and the British Isles.

 

            That tension was broken when the Synod of Whitby met on the coast of the North Sea in 664.  The date of Easter – and other church practices – were decided in favor of the Roman practice.

 

            Yet, the monks carried forth the Celtic tradition. The vitality of the abbey ebbed and flowed over the years.  But in 906, 68 monks of the abbey were martyred at the bay only a short distance from here.  A monument stands there now.

 

            Yet here we are – 1,200 years after their murder, and 1,600 years after Odran was buried. Thousands and thousands of pilgrims come here each year, seeking the experience of a “thin place.” Life continues.

 

            Too often, resurrection is seen only in the events of that first century Sunday in Jerusalem. It is, instead, a promise which transcends time and geography.

 

            Iona – and us – experience new life each day.  Despite our losses, disappointments, and failures, we find new life.  We emerge, again and again, from a metaphorical grave.

 

            Such resurrections are not cheap and facile. I came across a comment from a friend who experienced unspeakable loss a few years ago. I reflected on my theology of resurrection and what it could say to my friend. I could see that my friend would say such a theology is simplistic and superficial.

 

            But I thought: Life goes on… not as it was; not as simple; but it continues.  The Martyrs died… Odran died… but the ministry of Iona continues. Yes, we have lost loved ones.  Yes, we have seen relationships fail.  Yes, we have experienced illness and disappointment.

 

            On some level, though, life continues.  The tomb is empty. 

As The Lord Sees

PROPERS:          FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR A  

TEXT:                1 SAMUEL 16:1-13

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S CHURCH, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 19, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Samuel had to have God’s vision in choosing the new king of Israel.

 

            In the Old Testament lesson today, we hear of a critical moment – in the history of Israel, in the course of salvation history, down to this gathering today.

 

            Young David, a child, is anointed King of Israel – and a thousand years later, in the same village in which he is anointed, his descendent, Jesus, will be born.

 

            But we are well ahead of ourselves here.  And we are missing a key point of the story.

 

+ + +

 

            The primary figure in the first verses of this passage is Samuel. A prophet and an old man.

 

            But we have heard of him before.

 

            He was originally a gift from God to his mother, Hannah.  She had prayed fervently to be given a child… a child she would dedicate to the Lord’s service.

 

            While serving in the House of God at Shiloh, the boy Samuel had received a vision from God against the family of his mentor Eli.  The voice of God had spoken clearly: “Samuel! Samuel!” And his mentor had urged the boy to hear the message and to disclose it to him.

 

            Which Samuel did.  And it was not good news for Eli.  His sons had sinned, and his house would fall.  His lineage would become like dust in the wind.

 

            Later, as a man and a much-respected prophet, Samuel would anoint the first King of Israel. Saul, the first king, was chosen because he was the tallest of all Israelites – head and shoulders above others. But he proved to be a disappointment, an utter failure.

 

            Samuel grieved… He grieved over King Saul’s failures and faithlessness.  He knew someone else had been chosen. He would discern and anoint the successor. The next king would be mightier than Saul.

 

            He thought he knew what he was looking for. He was willing to be guided.  That brings us to today’s lesson.

 

+ + + 

            

The old man Samuel was revered by the people. He came to the Tribe of Benjamin, to the village of Bethlehem, where he had found Saul. He was looking for Jesse and his family.

 

            He found them, certain that one of Jesse’s sons would be chosen by God to be the new king. One-by-one they came before him – Eliab, Abinadab, Shammah, and four others.  Mighty though they were, God had not chosen any.

 

            Samuel, thinking this task would be easy, heard God say, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”  The Lord looks on the heart.

 

            So, Samuel posed a simple question to the father, Jesse: “Are these all your sons?”

 

            “All except one – the youngest.  He is tending the sheep.”

 

            Samuel sent for the youngster – David, a child, ruddy and handsome. And he would be king. The greatest of kings.

 

+ + + 

 

            There is a lesson here somewhere for us.  That lesson could be for us as individuals… or for this congregation as it enters a search process.

 

            We are called to see not with our eyes, but with the eyes of God. We are called to see things not on-the-surface but with eyes of discernment.

 

            There is an old saying, “All that glitters is not gold.” Those are helpful words for us as we continue our ordinary lives, and as this congregation enters the search process.

 

            We are to look beyond the obvious… to see the depth… to see the diamond embedded in the lump of coal.

  

A Thirst for Water

PROPERS:          THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR A      

TEXT:                EXODUS 17:1-7

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S CHURCH, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 12, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Thirsting for metaphorical water.       

 

            Years ago, during my early teen years, I was involved in the Boy Scouts. It was a great experience, and I am thankful for it.

 

            Each summer meant going south of my hometown of Meridian to Camp Binachi, a camp owned and operated by the Scouts.  Each session was one week, and I would attend back-to-back sessions.

 

            I have many memories of my times there – all good. But there were many I would not treasure today; the infrequency of showers, the heat, the bathroom facilities (or lack thereof), and the food.

 

            And, of course, there was the summer I adopted a three-foot snake.  It hung around my neck and went everywhere I went.  It even slept at the foot of my bunk.  My mother would not come near me on Parents’ Day.

 

            One memory stands out, though. It was the cross-country hike through the surrounding woods to the outpost camp.  I needed it in order to get my camping merit badge.

 

            Oh, did I tell you it was hot?  It was – Mississippi summer hot.  I was dressed in my scout uniform and was fitted with a backpack that was filled with various supplies necessary for camping, cooking, and sleeping at the outpost camp – tent, bedroll, canteen, and cooking kit.  I told myself it must have weighed 50 pounds – but you know how boys exaggerate.

 

            We departed from camp, walking down a dusty road.  Then we meandered through woods, swatting bugs and mosquitos all along the way.  The sun was high and beating down on us.  Our thirst grew and grew.  We could not access our canteens.  My tongue stuck to roof of my mouth. I told myself that we had hiked five miles… but remember what I said about exaggeration.

 

            Finally, we got to the outpost camp.  We shed our backpacks, realizing we had reached our goal. But I had not.  I had never been so thirsty in my life.

 

            So, I walked the short distance down a hill to a spring. Gurgling out of the ground was the coolest, clearest, sweetest water I had ever tasted. Refreshment, indeed!  I can taste it to this day.

 

+ + + 

 

            The Hebrews knew the feeling… and then some.

 

            The exodus from Egypt was not for the faint of heart.  The masses of Hebrews had moved out in stages, and the land they traversed was daunting.  It was a barren desert landscape, not fit for man or beast.  If you have seen the movieLawrence of Arabia, it was like that. A moonscape. Void of life. Rocks, sand, and dust… with a scorching sun and a dry, hot wind.

 

            Moses had led them out of Egypt, where they may have been slaves.  But at least they had the essentials of life.

 

            They were thirsty – literally dying of thirst.

 

            So, Moses – himself eighty years old – went ahead of them.  He went to Horeb, the Holy Mountain… also known as Mount Sinai. There he struck the rock, as the elders watched, and pure, clear water gushed forth.

 

            The people’s thirst would be quenched.

 

+ + + 

 

            I take this story as a metaphor – a biblical passage pointing us toward a greater truth about God. And it does. In spades.

 

            The Hebrews were thirsty. Parched. Weary. Grumbling.  We’ve all been there. Maybe not with a similar thirst for water, but a similar thirst for God.

 

            We hear Jesus’ words from the cross: “My God, My God! Why have you forsaken me?” “Eloi, Eloi! Lama sabachtani?”  We can all identify.  There have been times, I suspect, for each of us – after a death, or a broken relationship, or a disappointment, or a health crisis, or a wilderness experience. Perhaps you have wondered, “Am I alone?”

 

            The Hebrews wandered aimlessly in the Wilderness for 40 years.  This season of Lent reminds us that Jesus sojourned alone, with his temptations, in the Wilderness for 40 days and nights.

 

            The greater truth is that relief will come. Our thirst will be quenched, even if water has to come from a rock. We may not know or see from where relief will come, but it will come.

 

+ + + 

 

            Many, many generations before the Hebrews thirsted for that water, their ancestor Abraham nearly sacrificed his only son, Isaac, on a rock.  At the last moment, a ram appeared and replaced the child as the sacrifice.

 

            Abraham, father of nations, named that place Yahweh Yirah – the Lord Will Provide. Indeed he does, even to us, even today. 

Stages of Faith

PROPERS:        SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR A   

TEXT:                JOHN 3:1-17

PREACHED AT ST. JOHN’S CHURCH, PASCAGOULA, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 5, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Lent is a season for growth and not just denial.

 

            I suspect we have all heard St. Paul’s words, “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.” Those words are from his magnificent Letter to the Romans.

            

Have we not all experienced that tension?  As Flip Wilson used to say, “The devil made me do it.”

 

            Perhaps.

 

            The reason may be, in many cases, an issue of maturity – or human development.  I look back on my earlier years and ask myself, “Why did I do that?”  It was as if Paul was inside my head.

 

            He may have been. Or at least I was subject to his theology.

 

            But there’s another answer – and both could be true.

 

            Jean Piaget, a Swiss psychologist, proposed a theory of human development early in the 20^th century.  It has informed our understanding of human behavior ever since.  Many of our actions have to do with our stage of moral and intellectual development. Things which we would find intolerable later in life, we do quite willingly – and earlier in life.

 

            Piaget would say it was not because of the absence of the quantity of information, but the absence of the quality of information. Quantity versus quality. We may know something to be wrong, but we do not know that that truth also applies to us.

 

            And, as we all know, years and age do not necessarily make us wiser.  We have no choice but to age in years, but, sadly, we do not all progress morally.  We may stay stuck at one stage of moral development.

 

            And here is where Piaget’s theory meets Nicodemus from the gospel lesson today.

 

+ + + 

 

            James Fowler was a professor at the Candler School of Theology at Emory University in Atlanta. Specifically, he was professor of theology and human development.

 

            In 1981, he published a book entitled Stages of Faith, which took Piaget’s theories about human and moral development and placed them in a religious context.  He identified six stages of faith which described the faith of nearly everyone.  Like I’ve said in other situations, I resemble that remark – though I don’t know exactly in which stage I would place myself.

 

            The stages and their descriptions are very complex. Yet, I suspect they describe each of us.  The earliest of stages – characterized by an infant or child’s engagement of the world – are very basic.  The middle and later stages probably describe all of us – from those of us who see God as an old man with a white beard to one has journeyed far in life and sees God in all things.

 

            Honestly, most of us are in Fowler’s middle stages, with a child-like faith that has been shaped by the ups and downs of life.  Our life informs our faith, as does how we interpret life.

 

We can rest assured, though, that the person who has reached what Fowler described as Stage Six – Universal Faith, is rare indeed. I have only known a few.  You would know that person as a living saint in your midst.

 

            We are not locked in one stage or another.  And one is not better than the other.  But you can seek to grow in faith.

 

+ + + 

 

            Which is exactly what Nicodemus does in today’s gospel.

 

            Nicodemus is a prominent man – a member of the Council, that is, the Sanhedrin.  He is a scholar – a learned and respected man.  His education was probably impeccable. But he wanted more. He was a seeker.

 

            His problem was not quantity of knowledge, but quality of knowledge.  He knew what he had read.  He knew what he had been taught. But he wanted more. He approached Jesus to deepen his experience of God. There, he found it. And we have this passage today to witness their encounter.

 

+ + + 

 

            Lent is an excellent time for us to strengthen our faith – to allow our inner Nicodemus to come out.  To go deeper. To see God’s presence in all our daily experiences and encounters. To find wonder and grace in everyone that we see… and in all circumstances. 

            Faith is a journey, not a destination.  Our journey is like the theories of Jean Piaget and James Fowler – we are developing. We are not where we will end up in that journey unless we become stagnant and stale. God is seeking to work in us and open our eyes more widely – if we are open to his movement. 

Breaking Good

PROPERS:        FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR A       

TEXT:                GENESIS 2:15-17, 3:1-7; MATTHEW 4:1-11

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2023.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Our mission in Lent is to progress in the journey to holiness.

 

            From 2008 to 2013, there was a television series that captured the attention of millions.  Like many times in my life, I was late to the party.

 

            The series was Breaking Bad.  It was the story of a mild-mannered, inconspicuous high school chemistry teacher, Walter White, and his descent into the depths of absolute evil.  It was a riveting storyline which ran over five seasons. Many of you have seen it.

 

            It was not a story of one person; many people – family and friends – were dragged with him into the abyss.  Some died; many lost their innocence; others were manipulated into doing things they would never have done otherwise. All in a quest for an elusive ill-defined reward.

 

            Walter White, the teacher-turned-drug kingpin, was iconic. He showed what humans are capable of.  He journeyed from an ordinary life to the depths of the dark side. From blandness to utter evil.

 

            We have all heard Paul’s words from the sixth chapter of his letter to the Romans: “The wages of sin is death.”But, in this case, the intermediate wages were copious, unimaginable amounts of money.  The long-term penalty would come later.

 

            In the first lesson today, from the Book of Genesis, we hear the archetypal account of the birth of sin.  It seems that the immediate quest of the man and woman is knowledge.  But the temptation for knowledge led them to open a chasm between themselves and their creator.

            

It is a story that deserves much more discussion and exploration.  An essential point, though, is their desire for something more – a focus on the self rather than a higher good.

 

            Contrast that passage with the gospel lesson from Matthew.  Jesus has just been baptized and is now driven into the wilderness.

 

            As one who has seen the wilderness of Judea, I would note it is an ideal place to go for isolation. Nothing is there except rock badgers, ibexes, and assorted hawks and buzzards. It is a perfect place to be alone – miles from anyone.

 

            The essence of the story is that Jesus is indeed alone – except for the temptations he faces.  The temptations are analogous to those that the man and woman faced in the Garden of Eden.  Like the man and woman, he is tempted to place himself at the center – something he refused to do, even in a state of severe want.

 

            You know the story – at least the highlights. Jesus’ path in the next three years took him on a mission of service, giving, healing, compassion, grace, and love – not the self-focused power with which he was tempted.  If he hadsubmitted to the temptation, he would have either been a shadow on the walls of history as a failed pretender, or we would remember him in a way similar to Herod the Great.  Either way, his legacy would be in ruins.

 

            Instead, he chose a journey toward life… and shares the gift of life with countless generations to follow.  We, too, are called to continue the journey.  Not the path that typifies the destruction that Walter White followed, but the path that saints have trod in the last 2,000 years.

 

            This season of Lent is a right time to continue… or begin… that journey.  We are beckoned to give of self and to turn toward the source of life and goodness.  We are called to spurn the pathway which takes us to power, unhealthy concern for self, and hatred and neglect of others.

 

            Yes, Paul wrote those famous words I quoted earlier in his Letter to the Romans. But he finished them with a different twist: “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

            My fervent hope is that we turn away from self and progress on our journey in the coming weeks – to a life of deeper compassion, true empathy, reconciliation, holiness, and concern for others. That we, too, can be on that pilgrimage of eternal life.