The Day of Pentecost 2018

Grace Episcopal Church, Galveston
Gospel:  John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15

20 May 2018

I worked on my sermon on Friday, and like you I was and still am in shock over the news of yet another mass shooting in a school. Only, this time it was in our own backyard, just up the road in Santa Fe. This time many of us know people directly impacted in one way or another.  I know a retired teacher who had the assailant in his math class last year.  At least three of the wounded were taken to the Level 1 trauma center at UTMB.  When the dust cleared on this thing, 10 persons, two teachers and 8 students were dead. This is heartbreaking, and we are left wondering how we will respond in the days to come. Even while the news was breaking your senior warden, Ellie Hanley, was vetting ways that Grace Episcopal Church might respond. Marti Pittsenbarger suggested that the church be opened Friday evening for those who wished to gather in prayer, and a small group did just that. When I heard that idea I was struck by how much it was in sync with a theme I was seeing in the readings for the Day of Pentecost.  More on this in a moment.

Pentecost comes from a Greek word meaning fiftieth referring to this celebration being on the Sunday fifty days after Easter.  Pentecost is the day set aside to recognize the gift of God’s Holy Spirit to empower and sustain the early Church. We think of this day as the birthday of the Church because the Holy Spirit made it possible for the Church to begin to carry out its ministry in the world. The Holy Spirit, the 3rd Person of the Trinity, is traditionally and often symbolized by fire and water (not to mention the other images). I’m using these two symbols to structure my thoughts. 

First there is fire. We have in our reading from the Book of the Acts of the Apostles the story of the powerful outpouring of the Holy Spirit to believers gathered in Jerusalem. The Spirit was manifested in divided tongues of flame that rested on the heads of those who participated. It is the memory of this sight that inspired the design of the mitres worn by our bishops...the ecclesiastical accessory known to the uninitiated as those “funny pointed hats.” 

What is so striking to me in this story is what continues to this day whenever the Spirit is present. What happens when the very life of God has a place among us is that people are drawn together. In the reading from Acts, people were able to understand one another even though they were from various places with different languages. The presence of the Spirit broke down barriers and helped folks hear one another and hear particularly the good news preached by Peter. Christians who learn of tragedy tend to feel a “tug,” so to speak to come together as a community to pray for peace, healing, and a way forward. I sensed this movement of the Spirit as many churches prepared to open their doors in an unscheduled way on Friday evening. (We would not be surprised if the faithful are drawn in numbers greater than usual this morning in all houses of worship.)

So, when I think of the flame, I think of the Bishop’s mitre, and how the Church was formed as people were drawn together and barriers between them were taken down. 

Second, there is the theme of water. Our reading from Romans speaks of how the whole creation is waiting for a promised hope. In the beginning the Spirit of God hovered over the waters. The gift of God’s Spirit is symbolized with water in our baptism so our spiritual journey of transformation begins as a kind of new creation. The Spirit endows us with Spiritual gifts and the gift highlighted in our reading from Romans is that of hope. Hope is not something seen; otherwise hope would not be necessary. Hope is something we trust will be. Life is such that circumstances so often threaten our hope. Do we have the strength to do what we need to do? When we feel overwhelmed, are we going to be able to keep going? How do we figure out going forward when tragedy is constant and seems to be never ending?

Sometimes, a strong sense of hope is all that we need to stay in the game and see things through. I am reminded of a dream I had in my first year as a priest when I was serving as curate at the parish and chaplain at the parish day school. The dream went like this: I was teaching a religion class and everything seemed normal except that the classroom was on a 747 jet airplane. Suddenly there was trouble, and the plane was headed down. After the plane crashed into a lake, I managed to open a door and lead the students through the water and into an opening in the side of the lake. Once into the opening there was a spiral staircase which I climbed with my class to the top. Upon opening the hatch at the top, we were greeted by archaeologists who were jumping up and down for joy that we had helped them find the opening for which they had been looking. I pondered this over a few days wondering what my Dream Maker was telling me.  

Many dreams are gossamer-like, and you forget them quickly. This one stayed with me. At some point, I remembered something that Carl Jung had written about the importance of the context of the dreamer’s life when trying to figure out a dream’s meaning…. suddenly, the meaning hit me. I was in my first year of ministry, preaching 4 or 5 times a week and teaching classes. I was going through seminary notes to figure out what I needed to cover and I was worried I was going to run out of things to say...that the well would run dry, so to speak. It was like I was drawing cards from a deck and worried that any day I was going to draw the last card. In the midst of this anxiety, I came to believe that God was telling me that there was much more to me than what I was consciously aware of at any moment. I was given hope that the ideas would keep coming, that I could leave the lecture notes and depend on God to inspire me. Well, here it is after almost 31 years and I keep having ideas every day. 

Finally, by way of review...let us notice the color red used liturgically today and so remember that day when the Spirit manifested as tongues of flame and brought people together.  Let us also note that the Spirit still brings people together today even in the face of tragedy. Regard the water in the font as we come and go from this church and so remember that the Spirit was present at Creation and is also present with us as the one Jesus called the Advocate. We do not face life without hope but have One called alongside of us who will give us strength, ideas, creativity, and wisdom to meet the challenges ahead. AMEN

7 Easter, Baptisms, & Mothers' Day

Grace Episcopal Church, Galveston
Gospel: John 17:6-19
13 May 2018

I was blessed to hear Bishop Doyle preach at Christ Church Cathedral on a Mother's Day some years ago.  He included in his sermon a simple but poignant poem by Billy Collins entitled "The Lanyard."  I'm beginning my sermon today by referencing this poem.  (It may be found in Collins' collection The Trouble With Poetry first published by Random House in 2005.)  

You can listen to Collins read the poem himself at this link:

Billy Collins Reading "The Lanyard"

Collins' poem addresses a profound subject: the timeless idea that the sacrifices a mother makes for her children are such that no son or daughter could ever repay them.  You know...it's similar to the concept that the best from this life, things like friendship, sunsets, and a parent's love, cannot be bought for any price... a poignant lesson in our contractual-based, everything-is-for-sale world.  Collins points toward this huge concept with the boy’s “rueful admission” that he once thought his lanyard gift had somehow repaid his mother in full.

I should acknowledge that our experiences of our own mothers will differ.  The range of actual experience, I suppose, goes from warm and nurturing all the way to cold and distant or even absent.  As a young adult,  I would get stuck on my experience as a teenager and how I was embarrassed to the core by my mother’s eccentricities.  (Perhaps you will hear a sermon on that later.) As the years go by, I have more compassion for her and have come to appreciate the sacrifices and life that she gave to me….so much so that, like the boy in Collins’ poem, I know I am completely without the ability to repay what she gave to me.

Now, we move on to the Gospel. This section of John has (from the 16th Century) been known as the “High Priestly Prayer of Jesus.”  Jesus closes his sort-of after-dinner speech to his friends with a prayer for them going forward.  We also are Jesus’ disciples, so he is praying for us too, for those who have come before us and for those yet to come...in other words, Jesus prays for the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church...that mystery that defies human attempts to draw boundaries around it.  In his prayer, Jesus acknowledges that we are in the world because he sent us….the Greek for sent is ’αποστελέω, this is why in our Creed we describe the Church as apostolic….it means simply that we are set apart by Jesus and “sent” back into the world with a mission.  Our mission, like yeast hidden in dough, is nothing short of transformation.  We are called to make a difference by letting God’s love shine through us while we are in the world.

The final part of Jesus' prayer has a theme that we can connect with Mother’s Day.  On our behalf, Jesus sanctified himself.  This word “sanctify,” ἁγιάζω in Greek, is a word that has a place in the theology of our altar (or table).  It means to consecrate or make holy...that is to take and set aside to be used for God’s holy purpose.  Thus, in the Eucharist, we set aside ordinary bread and wine.  God’s holy purpose for this bread and wine is accomplished in giving these elements back to us now transformed into the body and blood of Jesus.

In the Gospel According to John, when Jesus sanctifies himself, this is his code language for submitting himself to the cross….it is his sacrifice that sets him apart for God’s holy purpose.  He does this not only to set himself apart, but in so doing he also sets us apart, consecrates us, makes us apostolic with a mission to serve God’s purpose.

Sacrifice and consecrate are words that describe what Jesus did for us; they describe what happens at the altar; and they have some intersection with what mothers are called to do too.  Being a mom certainly involves sacrifice.  Could it be that a mother’s love can, in its own way, consecrate a child?  Does a mother’s selfless love in some way impact the child, confer upon him or her the basic ability to trust.  Set the child apart as one capable of loving others.  Does her love help to give a child a developing sense that he or she has something to contribute in the world?  These thoughts are apropos for today.

Now, I turn these thoughts toward today’s baptisms.  In Baptism, we recognize that these children not only have a human family but that they also have a Godly family.  By now you know the word consecrate means to set apart for God’s holy purpose. So, today we consecrate these two children as Christians and then return them to their families and sponsors to raise and nurture them in faith...and we pledge to help them too.  Jesus’ prayer is also for them.  Today, we claim the promise and hope implicit in Baptism that Jesus will send Walten and Annabella into the world when their time comes that they too may be like yeast in the dough. AMEN.

6 Easter

Grace Episcopal Church, Galveston
Gospel:  John 15:9-17
6 May 2018

5th Grade Maypole Dance 2015

We are having a beautiful spring in southeast Texas.  New life is evident all around.  On our evening walks, Layne and I have been noticing the change: new blooms on the magnolia trees, numerous rabbits, as well as the occasional yellow-crested night heron, to name a few examples.  Galveston definitely has visible changes in the seasons; you just have to know what to look for. I’m delighted that a plumbago in our yard, almost killed during this year’s earlier freeze, has come back smaller but vibrant with flower buds...itself a testament to the tenacity and resilience of life. 

Given my 15 years as headmaster of Trinity Episcopal School, I suppose I’m programed this time of year to think of the May Fête celebration.  In this time-honored tradition, parents, grandparents, and alumni gather on the grounds to watch students present dances matched to a theme.  The event always concludes with the 5th graders presenting the iconic Maypole dance.  In springtime, nature itself seems to exude joy, and this end-of-year event is a mirror of this joy.  The students know that the celebration marks the beginning of the end of a year of hard work, an anticipation of summer fun and freedom.  The joy is palpable.

Joy is a clear theme in today’s Gospel.  Over the course of the last several Sundays, the readings from John have been snippets from a kind-of after-dinner speech that Jesus gave to his closest disciples.  Jesus describes his words telling the apostles, “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” (John 15:11)  The reading reminds us that Easter is itself a season of Joy.

Let us take care to realize that sometimes we can get into a funk and lose sight of the joy we are intended to have.  I know that May Fête came for our school community at a time when energy often was running low...the excitement and promise with which the year began had faded and many (teachers, students, and parents) were ready for a break from the routine.  The end-of-year celebrations helped give us all a boost of energy.  Tradition was as comfortable as it was tonic.  Spirits were lifted as we focused on all the closing activities.

I think we all know that when we lose sight of joy we can get into a kind of funk.  There is a story that’s so old, I bet most of you have heard it before, so I’ll apologize in advance: It was a Sunday morning.  A mother was trying to get her son out of bed, so he would get ready for church.  This particular Sunday, he was adamant that he did not want to go.  He looked intently at his mother and said, “I’m not going to church, and I’ll give you two reasons I’m not going.  1) Those people don’t like me, and 2) I don’t like them.”  Unfazed, she responded, “You are going and I’ll give you two reasons that you are. 1) You are a 50 year-old man, and 2) You are the rector.”  The surprise ending makes the joke, but it also serves as a lesson.  Any, and I underscore, any person or institution as a whole can lose sight of joy and get into a funk.  We may not have a choice over how we feel, but we can choose what to make room in our hearts for.  May God give us the grace to always choose joy.

As Jesus continues his after-dinner speech he makes two startling, never-been-said statements.  Firstly, he boils all of the commandments that we have been asked to keep into a single, simple rule: “love one another as I have loved you.”  In what seems like another lifetime, I served as the Dean of Students at an Episcopal Boarding school.  One of my duties was to keep track of the Student Handbook.  That was the reference that contained all of the rules by which the community lived.  Over my six years as an administrator there, the number of rules grew every year, and the handbook just got thicker and thicker.  Just off the top of my head, I remember adding rules to restrict smoking and to forbid gambling in the dorms...those two added half a page.  I suppose, a potential list of rules in response to human misbehavior is limited only by the human imagination.  Teenagers thrive with boundaries, so I knew the list needed to exist, but sometimes I wondered how it would play out if we just had one rule, the rule of love.  

To be an adult and to be morally mature means moving from what Piaget called heteronomous or (outside directed) morality to autonomous (self-directed) morality.  Observing traffic laws on I-45 only because you don’t want a ticket is heteronomous, while doing the same because you believe it is the right thing to do is autonomous. Perhaps, when we open our hearts so that Jesus can abide with us, this is another way of saying that we internalize Jesus’ love and base our decisions in the light of the love command.  In other words, love becomes self-directed.

Secondly, in his after-dinner speech, Jesus claimed his disciples as his friends.  I’ve often wondered how much pain people would avoid if we had been created without the free will to be selfish.  No one would lie, cheat, or steal. No one would ever make fun of another at the other’s expense.  All people on I-45 would obey the traffic laws!

But that is not how we were created.  Human beings were made in the image of God complete with free will.  If we instead had been made in a way that our choices were determined, none of us would have the ability to be a friend.  A world of automatons is no perfect world as far as what God desires. You see, a friend is just not a friend if he or she is paid, coerced, or required.  I think that a lot can be explained by the idea that in the Big Bang, God set in motion a process that would eventually include sentient life in God’s image… life that would have the ability to reciprocate God’s love, or not.  In the end, Love is not a warm fuzzy feeling.  Love is a choice, and one that bears fruit.  This Easter season, may we all reconnect with the Spirit of joy, internalize the Father's love, and find a friend in Jesus.  AMEN.