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Mar 19 2014
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Lent Week 2

During the season of Lent, I am leading a group study on baptism and the triduum at the Church of St. Matthew & St. Timothy in New York City.  We meet on Wednesday nights in English and Thursday nights in Spanish.  I am only posting the English handouts on the blog, but can provide Spanish translations on request. 

Week 2: Wednesday, March 19

The Triduum Begins: Holy Thursday

Read John 13: 1-15. Then read the following explication of our Maundy Thursday liturgy:

“The Three days of the Christian Passover begin with simple familiarity; the rubric opening the liturgy for Maundy Thursday directs: “The Eucharist begins in the usual manner” (BCP 274). On this night we share the meal that Jesus filled with the meaning of his death and resurrection, the meal that reconstitutes the church in that same paschal mystery week by week. The Eucharist is a fundamental means by which we are incorporated into the dying and rising of Christ, by which we renew our baptismal identity. The meaning of that identity in Christ is expressed in additional ritual actions on this night. The Maundy Thursday celebration allows for the ceremony of foot washing—from which the day actually takes its name. In Latin the word “commandment” is mandatum. At the last supper Jesus says to his disciples, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another” (John 13:34). Jesus takes the role of a servant by washing the disciples’ feet, revealing his identity as servant of all; servanthood was to be the sign of those who follow him. The washing of feet is meant to be a ritual identification with the servanthood of Christ, a declaration of who we are by baptism. At one time another mark of the liturgy of this day—expressing the same identification with Christ’s servanthood—was a special collection of gifts for the poor. Those who have been fed at the table of the Lord must become food for others.”[1]

  • In what ways does this liturgy make the Gospel come alive?
  • How important to our faith is Jesus’ command to love and serve one another?
  • Have you allowed someone to wash your feet? How did it make you feel?
  • Have you washed the feet of another? How did that make you feel?
  • What does Lee mean by, “Those who have been feed at the table of the Lord must become food to others”?

Story: Read “Gaining a Dose of Humility, One Washed Foot at a Time” from The Washington Post[2]

  • How do you feel about foot washing after hearing this story?
  • Does this story challenge or inspire you?
  • If we are united to Christ in our baptism, and we remember and experience this unification in the Eucharist, how do we express that unification in our service to others?

 

[1]Jeffrey D. Lee, Opening the Prayer Book (Cambridge, MA: Cowley Publications, 1999), 88.

[2] William Wan, “Gaining a Dose of Humility, One Washed Foot at a Time,” The Washington Post, April 2, 2006, accessed December 8, 2013,   http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/04/01/AR2006040100617_pf.html.

 

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Mar 12 2014
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Lent Week 1

During the season of Lent, I am leading a group study on baptism and the triduum at the Church of St. Matthew & St. Timothy in New York City.  We meet on Wednesday nights in English and Thursday nights in Spanish.  I am only posting the English handouts on the blog, but can provide Spanish translations on request.

Week 1: Wednesday, March 12

Water and Spirit: An Introduction To Baptism

Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.” John 3:5

Story: Read A Rite Of Passage by Aidan Kavanagh [1]

  • What do you think and feel upon hearing this story?
  • Have you ever thought of baptism as initiation? Initiation into what? How does it compare to other initiations you have experienced?
  • Euphemius and the other candidates never even see a Eucharist celebrated before their baptism—what does this mystery create?
  • What are the symbols used in the story—what do they symbolize?
  • This story describes the tradition that shapes our liturgy. But the tradition and liturgy (then and now) are based on certain beliefs we hold to be central. How does our baptism illustrate our beliefs?
  • Does your baptism shape your identity? How so?
This is me celebrating the excitement of baptism in an early church baptismal font outside Ephesus, Turkey.

This is me celebrating the excitement of baptism in an early church baptismal font outside Ephesus, Turkey.

What about this “Triduum” thing?

Triduum means “three days” and it begins when Lent ends on Thursday evening, lasting through Sunday evening, encompassing Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil. “The Triddum, the very soul of our year, is what it is because of the baptizing: there is the passion, the dying and the rising of the Lord Jesus, met in our midst. There is the encounter with these death-dealing yet life-giving waters that forever define each of us as Christian and all of us as church.”[2]

“Even more than the participation in any of the liturgies…the manner in which this time is kept by individuals and by households will establish the Triduum as a holy time and will make the Vigil with its baptizing the center of our year. Fasting, praying (alone or with large or small groups), freedom from work when possible, time for the reading of scripture, an atmosphere of quiet: these being to make the Triduum presence in our lives, a presence to be received and honored and attended to. Likewise, the hours of Sunday need to have something more than “it’s all over” to them. The element of feasting, of some once-a-year foods, of another kind of restfulness filled with the sounds of the Vigil’s alleluia bring Easter Sunday into the home.”[3]

  • What traditions did you practice in your home or church growing up leading up to Easter? Who passed them onto you, and what did they mean to you?
  • What traditions do you continue to practice today—why?
  • How might celebrating the Triduum shape us?

 

[1]Gabe Huck, The Three Days: Parish Prayer in the Paschal Triduum (Chicago: Liturgy Training Pubns, 1981), 107-9.

[2]Huck, The Three Days: Parish Prayer in the Paschal Triduum, 1.

[3]Huck, The Three Days: Parish Prayer in the Paschal Triduum, 6.

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Feb 09 2014
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Beware of Bushels

Preached on Epiphany 5 at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York

Isaiah 58:1-9; Psalm 112:1-9; 1 Corinthians 2:1-12; Matthew 5:13-20

After much encouragement from Mother Carla, this was my first “off the cuff” sermon in English and again in Spanish at SMST.  As such, I only have notes on points I wanted to cover, but no text.  Still, here’s the gist of what was preached that day–and I have to say that preaching without a text in Spanish was a hugely liberating and spirit-filled experience for me! 

I love this text and I’ve preached it before, focusing on salt and light.

It was my senior sermon, and some of you were there.

But today I’m going to focus on bushels.

Jesus says you ARE the light of the world. You ARE the salt of the earth. As in now.

Saltiness and light are not something to achieve, but what we are.

Unless we’re hiding our light.

Under a bushel.

What is a bushel anyway? It’s not a bushel of apples snuffing our light out.

A bushel is more like a basket—something that covers our light without extinguishing it.

So the light is still there—you are the light of the world.

The question is: Are you letting your light shine?

 

Take a look at the reading from Isaiah:

“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn…”

What does fasting have to do with shining?

Soon we’ll be in Lent—a season of fasting for many.

For the Israelites and maybe us too, fasting is about righteousness.

It’s about doing what is right before God.

But sometimes righteousness becomes self-righteousness.

Sometimes our spiritual life or our following the law gets focused on this inner life—cultivating our light to shine in our own life.

Jesus calls us the light of the world.

Keeping the law and working on our spiritual life isn’t about us, it’s about our neighbor.

It’s not just an inward journey, but an outward breaking forth of light.

The prophet Isaiah describes righteousness as what we do for others.

 

So this question of letting your light shine boils down to two things:

1. What is it you can do for others? (ie: name your light)

2. What keeps you from doing it? (ie: name your bushel)

 

Let’s start with the first question: what does it look like for your light to shine?

What can you do for others?

>Check in on people—call them or send them cards to let them know you care.

>Bake something or bring someone a meal.

>Invite people to church or events.

>Tutor or coach students or adults—what are you skills and how can you share them?

>Shovel out your neighbor’s car.

>Pray for someone—let them know you’re praying.

>Forgive someone if you’re holding a grudge.

>Stand up for someone being bullied.

>Be an advocate for the oppressed.

 

And the question that follows: what are the bushels that hide your light?

What keeps you from doing the things we named help our neighbor?

>Fear of rejection.

>Fear of failure.

>Fear of change or discomfort.

>Lack of concern, lack of awareness.

>Greed or pride.

>Lack of communication.

>Poor prioritizing.

>Comparing ourselves to others.

>Romanticizing the past and clinging to it.

>Unrealistic expectations—over or underestimating ourselves.

 

“No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

We come to church and to this table to light our lamps.

We come here week after week to keep our lamps lit.

What happens when we leave here?

Do we hide that lamp under a basket? Or put it on the lampstand?

The light of the world is not for itself.

The light of the world is to be shared.

You are the light of the world.

Discover what that light is—what it is you can do for others to shine.

 

It doesn’t have to be something huge.

You can start with something small and battle your bushels a bit at a time.

But let your light shine.

 

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel, NO! I’m gonna let it shine.

Let it shine, let it sine, let it shine.

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Nov 17 2013
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Time to testify

Preached on Proper 28 at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York

2 Thessalonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19

If you are at all familiar with the history of this church, St. Matthew & St. Timothy’s, you know the church building has been destroyed 4 times since its inception in 1797.  This very building that we are sitting in now was rebuilt in 1969 after being burnt to the ground in 1965.

If you have been around this church for the past 15 or 20 years, you know the neighborhood and the congregation have seen their fair share of change.  I’ve been here less than 2 years.  But I spent 5 weeks listening to the stories of people in this parish as we discussed Radical Welcome* in our October book study.

What I have learned from all of you is that this church was a safe harbor when the streets were too dangerous to walk down.  In a time when one could not walk from Columbus Avenue to Amsterdam unless first heading a few blocks North or South to circumvent drugs and violence, St. Matthew & St. Timothy was a haven of worship, learning, language and relationships.

The neighborhood is a safer place now than it once was.  But with increased safety comes increased rent, leaving many priced out of their homes—either forced to leave, or to stay but feel like outsiders.  And the changes have taken a toll on our Spiritual Home too.  We look around and feel anemic—nostalgic for the days when services were noisy with children and pews were full of friends.

We are not too different from the writer of Luke’s Gospel and the people who would have first heard it.  While the exact date of Luke’s Gospel is not known, many scholars believe that it was written after the destruction of the temple described in our reading today.  So while Jesus was predicting the destruction of the temple, Luke’s account is written in retrospect of it.

And if the destruction of the temple weren’t enough, the verses immediately following today’s reading talk about a serious neighborhood change—the rule of the gentiles in what was a Jewish land.

In short: this message is for us.  This Gospel is ours.

Jesus says the temple building will be thrown down, when not one stone will be left upon another.  This church has seen the same.

He says we’ll encounter false teachers to lead us astray.  Our world has known many.

He says nations and kingdoms will be at war with one another.  The Veterans we honored this week can speak to that truth.

He warns of natural disasters and epidemics.  We of course remember last year’s Hurricane Sandy even as we pray for the victims of this week’s Typhoon in the Philippines.

He warns of betrayal and hatred and death.  An every-day threat.

And in light of allllll that, Jesus says we will not perish.  We will endure.  And he tells us this is our opportunity to testify.

To give testimony.  To bear witness.  That’s not easy to do when your temple is in shambles and your community is a faithful remnant among strangers.

And I’m not trying to say that our church has fallen apart and our neighbors are our enemies.  This is not a perfect comparison—and thank God it isn’t.  But it is a chance for us to recognize the challenges of Jesus’ time and of our own time, and to hear Jesus’ call in the midst of it all to be the resurrection people who proclaim a resurrection story.

It’s easier to testify when things are going well—when we are feeling strong and sure of ourselves.  I tell people all the time that I intern at the best parish with the best mentor.  I tell people how wonderful the parishoners are and how welcome you all make me feel.  I tell them I actually get to do good work here—like working with the soup kitchen last year, preaching in two languages, leading a thought provoking book study.  For me, having only been here 18 months rather than 18 years, it’s easy to appreciate the thriving ministry that is St. Matthew & St. Timothy’s.

But we have to testify when we’re feeling down too, and I can understand how those who have experienced the transition in our community and church might find endurance and testimony to be hard work.

Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians is about hard work.  You would almost think he’s writing to employees at a business, but he’s really talking to Christians in the early church.

My favorite line is, “We hear that some of you are living in idleness, mere busybodies, not doing any work” (3:11).  Note that Paul does not equate busy-ness with work.  The Thessalonians were apparently quite busy even in their idleness.

New York is a very busy place—take it from someone clearly not from here.  My level of busy-ness has reached an all time high, and my guess is you feel pretty busy on most days too.  Sometimes I’m so busy I can’t seem to get any work done.

Here are some examples:

When I’m so busy worrying about an exam that I can’t focus on studying for it.

When I’m so busy writing a sermon that I forget to listen to the Holy Spirit.

When a seminary is so busy making ends meet that it forgets that it is an extension of the church first and a business second.

When we’re so busy preparing food for the soup kitchen that we forget to prepare our hearts to truly serve our neighbor with dignity and love.

When we’re so busy missing so-and-so who used to be here all the time that we either forget to check in on that person or forget to check in on the person who is actually here present with us.

Sometimes we’re so busy lamenting the destruction of the temple that we forget to testify to the promise of resurrection.

People occasionally ask me why I’m training to become a priest when churches everywhere are experiencing decline.  Where’s the job security in that?

The truth is I’m training to become a priest in a church that preaches resurrection—Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.  We practice resurrection every time we come to this table to receive the broken body of Christ, and we practice resurrection when we become what we receive—Christ alive in us, in our church, in the world.

And it’s true that we feel thrown down or betrayed at times.  But this is where we come for the spiritual food we need to endure.  Not enduring as busy-bodies, but as witnesses to a risen Christ.

In a few moments we’ll prepare this table for our Holy Communion—all of us, together.  And whether you’re robed at the altar or standing in a pew, you are integral in sharing Christ’s body.  Together we profess a bold faith and pray bold prayers.  Your testimony is just as important as mine, Deacon George’s or Mother Carla’s.  This is our work. But it’s not the end of our work.  We testify to a risen Christ in these walls with one another, and then we continue to bear witness when we “go forth into the world rejoicing.”

Jesus tells us: “This will give you an opportunity to testify.”  Lord, help us to see the opportunities here among us.  Help us to be your resurrected church.  Amen.

*Radical Welcome by Stephanie Spellers is an excellent read.

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Nov 17 2013
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Ser la resurrección

17 noviembre, 2013—Proper 28—Iglesia de San Mateo & San Timoteo, Nueva York

2 Tesalonicenses 3:6–13; San Lucas 21:5–19

Si están familiarizados con la historia de esta congregación, San Mateo & San Timoteo, conocen que el edificio de la iglesia ha sido destruido cuatro veces desde su incepción en 1797.  Este mismo edificio en el cual nos sentamos ahora fue reconstruido en 1969  después de haber sido quemado en 1965.

Si han estado aquí en los últimos 15 años, ya saben que el barrio y la congregación han visto mucho cambio.  Hace menos de 2 años que estoy aquí, pero las 5 semanas pasadas, he escuchado las historias de varias personas en esta iglesia durante nuestras reuniones hablando del libro “Radical Welcome.”

Lo que he aprendido de todos ustedes es que esta iglesia era un lugar seguro cuando había demasiado peligro en el barrio.  Que a un tiempo no se podía caminar desde Columbus Avenue hasta Amsterdam a menos que primero anda unas cuadras al norte o el sur para eludir las drogas y la violencia.  En este tiempo, San Mateo & San Timoteo era un refugio de celebración, adoración, estudios, lenguas y relaciones.

El barrio es un lugar más seguro ahora, pero con el aumento de seguridad viene el aumentado de rentas—hasta que algunos son obligados a irse, o a quedarse, pero se sienten como extranjeros.  Y los cambios han tenido graves consecuencias para nuestro hogar espiritual también.  Miramos alrededor y nos sentimos anémicos—nostálgicos de los días cuando los servicios eran ruidosos con niños y los bancos estaban llenos de amigas.

Nosotros no somos muy diferentes al escritor del Evangelio de San Lucas y la gente que lo habría oído primero.  No se conoce la fecha exacta de este Evangelio, pero muchos estudiosos creen que fue escrito después de la destrucción del templo descrito en nuestra lectura de hoy.  Así que, mientras que Jesús predice la destrucción del templo, la narración de San Lucas está escrito en forma retrospectiva.

Y si la destrucción del templo no era suficiente ya, los versículos inmediatamente después de la conversación de la lectura de hoy hablan de un cambio serio en el barrio—el imperio de los gentiles en lo que era una tierra judía.

El punto es: este mensaje es para nosotros.  Este evangelio es el nuestro.

Jesús dice que el edificio del templo será destruido, cuando no quedará ni una piedra sobre otra.  Esta iglesia ha visto lo mismo.

Dice que nos encontraremos con falso maestros que nos llevan por mal camino.  Nuestro mundo ha conocido muchos.

Dice que las naciones y reinos estarán en guerra, uno con el otro.  Los veteranos que honramos esta semana pueden hablar sobre esa verdad.

Advierte de las epidemias y los desastres naturales.  Recordamos el huracán Sandy el año pasado mientras que oramos por las víctimas de tifón de esta semana en las Filipinas.

Advierte de la traición  del odio y la muerte—una amenaza cada día.

Y aún todo esto, Jesús dice que no pereceremos.  Perduraremos.  Y nos dice que esta es nuestra oportunidad para testificar.

No es fácil dar testimonio cuando el templo está en ruinas y su comunidad es un remanente fiel entre extraños.

Y no estoy tratando de decir que nuestra iglesia ha caído y nuestros vecinos son enemigos.  Esta comparación no es perfecta—y gracias a Dios que no lo es.  Pero es una oportunidad para reconocer los desafíos del tiempo de Jesús y de nuestro propio tiempo, y a escuchar el llamado de Jesús en medio de todo, que nosotros somos la gente de resurrección que proclaman una historia de la resurrección.

Es más fácil testificar cuando las cosas van bien, cuando nos sentimos fuertes y seguros.  Digo a la gente todo el tiempo que yo trabajo en la mejor parroquia con la mejor mentora.  Digo a personas lo maravilloso que son todos ustedes y cómo bienvenida todos me hacen sentir.  Yo les digo que buen trabajo puedo hacer aquí—como trabajar en el “Soup Kitchen” el año pasado, predicar en dos idiomas, facilitar un estudio de libro.  Para mí, haber estado aquí sólo 18 meses en lugar de 18 años, es fácil apreciar el ministerio vibrante de San Mateo & San Timoteo.

Pero tenemos que testificar cuando nos sentimos débiles también, y puedo entender cómo aquellos que han experimentado la transición en nuestra comunidad y en nuestra iglesia pueden sentirse que el testimonio es un trabajo duro.

La carta de Pablo a los Tesalonicenses habla de trabajo duro.  Casi parece que está escribiendo a los empleados de un negocio, pero realmente está hablando a los cristianos en la iglesia primitiva.

Mi frase favorita es, “Pero hemos sabido que algunos de ustedes llevan una conducta indisciplinada, muy ocupados en no hacer nada.” Notan que Pablo no equiparar ser ocupado con trabajo.  Los Tesalonicenses aparentemente estaban muy ocupados en su ociosidad.

Nueve York es un lugar muy ocupado—te lo dice como alguien que claramente no es de aquí.  Mi nivel de actividad ha llegado a el punto más alto, y supongo que se deben sentir muy ocupados como yo.  A veces, estoy tan ocupada que no puedo hacer cualquier trabajo.

Estos son algunos ejemplos:

Cuando estoy tan ocupada preocupada por un examen que no me puedo concentrar en el estudio que debo hacer.

Cuando estoy tan ocupada escribiendo un sermón que olvido escuchar al Espíritu Santo.

Cuando un seminario está tan ocupado por la banca rota que se olvida que es una extensión de la iglesia primero y un negocio segundo.

Cuando estamos tan ocupados preparando la comida para “Soup Kitchen” los domingos que olvidamos de preparar nuestros corazones para servir al prójimo con dignidad y amor.

Cuando estamos tan ocupados extrañando a tal persona que no viene a la iglesia que olvidamos llamar a esta persona para saber como está, o olvidamos preguntar como está la persona que está aquí, presente con nosotros.

A veces estamos tan ocupados lamentando la destrucción del templo que olvidamos a testificar a la promesa de la resurrección.

A veces personas me preguntan por qué estoy entrenando para ser sacerdote cuando iglesias por todas partes están experimentando decaencia.  ¿Dónde está la seguridad del empleo en esto?

La verdad es que estoy entrenando para ser una sacerdote en una iglesia que predica la resurrección—Cristo ha muerto, Cristo ha resucitado, Cristo volverá.  Practicamos la resurrección cada vez que venimos a esta mesa para recibir el cuerpo roto de Cristo, y practicamos la resurrección cuando nos convertimos en lo que recibimos—Cristo vivo en nosotros, en nuestra iglesia, en el mundo.

Y es cierto que nos sentimos débiles a veces.  Pero aquí es donde venimos para la comida espiritual que necesitamos para resistir.  No para ser ocupados, pero para ser testigos de un Cristo resucitado.

En unos momentos preparamos esta mesa para nuestra comunión—todos juntos.  No importa si usted está el el altar o en un banco, eres integral en compartir el cuerpo de Cristo.  Juntos profesamos una fe audaz y rezamos oraciones audaces.  Su testimonio es tan importante como la mía, o de diácono George, o de Madre Carla.  Este es nuestro trabajo.  Pero no es el punto final de nuestro trabajo.  Testificamos a un Cristo resucitado en estas paredes juntas, y luego seguimos dando testimonio cuando vamos adelante en el mundo.

Jesús nos dice: “Esto le dará la oportunidad de testificar.”  Señor, ayúdanos ver las oportunidades aquí entre nosotros.  Ayúdanos a ser la iglesia resucitada.  Amén.

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Oct 15 2013
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Teresa, Salt & Light

Preached at the Chapel of the Good Shepherd at the General Theological Seminary on the feast of St. Teresa of Avila

Romans 8:22-27, Matthew 5:13-16

Have you ever met someone who really loved his or her faith?  Someone with such a passion for their God and their worship that it almost struck you as a little odd, but also made you hope for a taste of a love so personal and profound?  I have encountered several such people. 

My middle school friend Aaron was the first person I knew to wear a kippah and tallit with tzitzit (or fringes) to school.  Growing up in the foothills of Virginia, in a town without a synagogue, Aaron’s Jewish faith already made him a bit of an anomaly.  But his attention to prayer and spiritual practice as a teenager is what made him stand out to me.  He showed me how to tie the tefillin on my head and my arm according to the Shema: Sh’ma Yisra’eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad… These were not just words or motions or traditions or cultural practices—Aaron exhibited genuine piety, joy and palpable faith that I found both curious and inspiring.

And then there was my roommate in Baltimore who was born and raised in a Catholic home and in Catholic schools.  Despite her liberated theology that might make some turn from the church in frustration—my friend’s immense love for the sacraments kept her grounded and hopeful.  She once described to me the intense intimacy she experienced during the Mass, blushing as she described the climax she felt when receiving the Body and Blood of Christ.  Her depiction was so beautiful and vulnerable and bizarre to me—it left me wanting more—wanting a love for God that would make me blush.

Teresa of Avila was one such Saint.  A Carmelite Nun, a Mystic, a Reformer, and one of only two women declared a “Doctor of the Church,” Teresa’s love of God was one of ecstasy and joy.  A love as curious as it was inspiring.  She received visions, she conversed with Christ, she levitated during prayer, and the story of her heart being pierced by an angel with a golden spear is so sensual, only Bernini could capture her ecstasy in sculpture.[1] 

Teresa describes the encounter thus:

“In his hands I saw a great golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire.  This he plunged into my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.  When he pulled it out, I felt that he took them with it, and left me utterly consumed by the great love of God.  The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans.  The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one’s soul then content with anything but God… So gentle is this wooing which takes place between God and the soul that if anyone thinks I am lying, I pray God, in His goodness, to grant him some experience of it.”[2]

All this talk of penetration, consummation, sweetness and wooing.  No wonder Teresa says, “When this pain of which I am now speaking begins, the Lord seems to transport the soul and throw it into an ecstasy.  So there is no opportunity for it to feel its pain or suffering, for the enjoyment comes immediately.”[3]

You can imagine that writings such as this raised quite a few eyebrows in the church.  Teresa’s unbridled passion for God meant she faced the inquisition and imprisonment, but it also led to the establishment of 17 convents of Reformed Carmelites.  She was a spirited troublemaker, a reformer and a true lover of God.  And I, for one, really like her. 

Teresa had what Matthew’s gospel describes as “salt” and “light.”  

Honestly, I can’t hear today’s gospel passage without breaking into song.  I often have a mental soundtrack for projects and papers and sermons I’m ruminating on.  Some of you have even seen me break into song over the refectory menu.  This week’s soundtrack has been a mixture of Godspell’s Broadway musical rendition of “Let your light so shine before men…” and the Spanish Taizé chant attributed to Teresa, “Nada te turbe, nada te espante…”

So lets start with the upbeat Broadway tune.  Jesus says, “You are the salt of the earth.”  But he says if salt has lost its saltiness, it might as well be thrown out and trampled on.  Jesus is telling us: be salty!  Be that which adds flavor to life.  Spice it up.  It’s amazing what a pinch of salt can do.  Rather than being a flavor all it’s own, salt is known for enhancing the flavors it is mixed with.  That’s why you can add salt to just about anything—even chocolate chip cookies.  Teresa clearly exhibited salt.  Her life and her visions added flavor to the convents she reformed and to the people who continue to seek out her teaching and writings on prayer and contemplation.

Jesus also tells us, “You are the light of the world,” and he compares us to a city on a hill.  You can’t hide if you’re on a hill, and neither should you hide your light.  Jesus is telling us: get out there and shine!  Don’t “hide it under a bushel, NO!”  We can’t hide our light in these chapel walls.  We can’t hide our light on The Close.  We’ve got to get outside those gates and get shining.  I mean that!  I know most of you well enough to say you are lights in this community and in my life.  And that’s great.  But Jesus says, “You are the light of the world.”  The world!  Teresa took her light on the road, and so should we.

What does all this salt and light have to do with Teresa’s prayer sung at Taizé?  “Let nothing disturb you; nothing frighten you.”  Well being salty and letting your light shine takes courage.  And Teresa would know.  To really let the earth get a taste of who you are and to really let the world see your light shine, you’ve got to be willing to put yourself out there. 

Do you sometimes feel like you need an extra dose of courage just to be yourself?  Do you feel like you’re under the microscope as you journey along this path of discernment and vocation?  I feel that.  I need that courage.   The call to be salt and light is a call to boldness, because it is a call to vulnerability.  And Lord knows vulnerability isn’t for the weak.

A dear friend and colleague here gave me this prayer card of St. Teresa just last week—not because I’d be preaching on Teresa this week, but because Teresa’s prayer is one I need to contemplate daily as a senior. 

In a moment we’ll sing a version of this same text, so pay attention to the words.  Perhaps it can be your prayer too:

Let nothing disturb you; nothing frighten you.

All things are passing.

God alone never changes.

Patience obtains all things.

Nothing is wanting to him who possesses God.

God alone suffices.

 

Amen. 

Take courage.

And get shining!

[1] See The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa by Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini (1598-1680), in the Cornaro Chapel, Rome.

[2] The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila by Herself, pg 210.

[3] The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila by Herself, pg 211.

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Sep 24 2013
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Preaching Paradoxes

Preached at the Church of St. Matthew & St. Timothy in New York City

September 8, 2013—Grandparents’ Sunday

Proper 18: Luke 14:25-33

I was so excited when Mother Carla told me I would get to preach for Grandparent’s Sunday.  My grandparents are such an integral part of my life.  I know many of you in this church are here because your grandparents come here, or else they were part of this community before they joined the community of saints.  Our relationships with our grandparents are unlike any other—it is a love so generous and so full.  It’s a love that knows the wisdom of a lifetime of love.  Grandparents are the best.

Estaba tan alegre cuando Madre Carla me dijo que podría predicar el domingo de los abuelos y las abuelas.  Mis abuelos son tan importantes en mi vida.  Yo sé que muchos de ustedes en esta iglesia están aquí porque sus abuelas vienen aquí.  O tal vez sus abuelas eran parte de esta comunidad antes de reunirse con la comunidad de santos.  Las relaciones con nuestras abuelas son diferentes de cualquier otra—es un amor tan generoso y tan completo.  Abuelos y abuelas son los mejores.

Grandparent's Sunday was also the "blessing of the backpacks" as kiddos prepared to go back to school.

Grandparent’s Sunday was also the “blessing of the backpacks” as kiddos prepared to go back to school.

So imagine my dismay when I read this morning’s gospel lesson!  According to Luke, Jesus says, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”  Well thanks a lot, Luke.  And thank you too, Jesus.  So many passages in the Bible about Love and family… and I get this.

Así que imagínense mi consternación cuando leí la lección para hoy.  Jesús dice: “Si alguno viene a mí y no me ama más que su padre, a su madre, a su esposa, a sus hijos, a sus hermanos y a sus hermanas, y aun más que a sí mismo, no puede ser mi discípulo.”  Pues, muchas gracias, Lucas.  Y gracias a ti también, Jesús.  Cuantos pasajes hay en la Biblia sobre amor y familia… y me toca este.

But believe it or not, I think this passage is about love.  I think it’s safe to say that Jesus isn’t trying to tell us that family is bad.  If we look at the Ten Commandments, “honor your father and mother” is right up there with “do not kill,” so clearly God cherishes our family relationships and the responsibilities they call us to.  While I don’t think Jesus is saying that family is bad, I do think he is making a very difficult point: that we have to be willing to lose it all—and he uses family to illustrate what’s at stake—we have to be willing to lose it all if we are to be disciples of Christ.  To take up that cross takes both hands—we can’t hold on to anything else.

Aunque el pasaje es difícil, yo creo que tiene que ver con el amor.  No creo que Jesús quiere decir que la familia es mala.  Los Diez Mandamientos nos dicen “honren a su padre y madre” a lado de “no maten.”  Claro que Dios aprecia a nuestras familias y las responsabilidades de nuestras relaciones.  Aunque no creo que Jesús dice que la familia es mala, creo que quiere hacer un punto muy difícil: que tenemos que estar dispuestos a perderlo todo, y Jesús usa la familia para ilustrar lo que está en juego—tenemos que estar dispuestos a perderlo todo si queremos ser discípulos de Cristo.  Para tomar esa cruz, necesitamos ambas manos—no nos podemos agarrar a dos cosas a la vez.

Indeed two chapters later in Luke’s gospel Jesus tells us, “No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other.”[1]

Dos capítulos más tarde en el evangelio de Lucas, Jesús nos dice, “Ningún sirviente puede servir a dos amos; porque odiará a uno y querrá al otro, o será fiel a uno y despreciará al otro.”

Gosh, “hate” is such a strong word—especially when it’s connected to the greatest love story—of Christ giving up his life for us in love.  Clearly this love is not just the warm-fuzzy love we like to think about; but rather the counter-cultural, radical, crazy risky love that takes everything we’ve got.  And Jesus has the wisdom of a Grandparent to tell it to us straight—to be upfront about the challenges and the hurt and even death that lies ahead—so that our decision to take up this cross can be an informed one.

“Odio” es una palabra muy fuerte, especialmente cuando tiene que ver con la historia del amor más grande—la historia de Cristo quien da su vida para nosotros en el amor.  Claro que este amor no es un amor fácil.  Es un amor riesgoso, contracultural, radical, y loco—un amor que toma todo que tenemos.  Y Jesús tiene la sabiduría de un abuelo para decírnoslo directamente—para ser sincero sobre los desafíos y el daño y quizás la muerte que nos espera—para que nuestra decisión de tomar esta cruz puede ser informada.

It’s a bit of a paradox to hear about and preach about turning your back on your family on grandparent’s Sunday.  And I think there’s a paradox in this all-or-nothing love we’re called to too.  I’ll share with you something I read by C. S. Lewis many years ago that has stuck with me.  He says, “When I have learnt to love God better than my earthly dearest, I shall love my earthly dearest better than I do now. In so far as I learn to love my earthly dearest at the expense of God and instead of God, I shall be moving towards the state in which I shall not love my earthly dearest at all. When first things are put first, second things are not suppressed but increased.”[2]

Es un poco paradójico oír y predicar sobre esta pasaje el domingo de los abuelos y abuelas.  Y creo que hay una paradoja en este todo-o-nada amor que nos llama también.  Quiero compartir algo que leí de C. S. Lewis hace unos años.  Él dice, “Cuando he aprendido a amar a Dios mejor que los más querido por mí en la tierra, amaré a lo más querido en la tierra más que ahora.  Pero cuando aprendo a amar lo más querido en la tierra a detrimento y en vez de Dios, me estaría moviendo hacia no amar lo más querido por mí en la tierra.  Cuando las cosas primeras se ponen primeras, las cosas segundas no se suprimen, pero se aumenten.”

Who is your “earthly dearest”?  Is it your Mom, your brother, your spouse, your children, your best friend, your grandparent or grandchild?  Does the thought of turning your back on them to follow Jesus scare you or make you feel uncomfortable?  Me too.  But I’ve seen the love of Jesus at work in my life and in the lives of others—it’s a love bigger than I can fit in this sermon or even put into words.

¿Quién es su más querida o querido?  ¿Es su madre, su hermano, su esposa, sus hijos, su mejor amigo, sus abuelas o nietos?  ¿La idea de darle la espalda a ellos para seguir a Jesús le asusta o que se sienta incómodo?  Yo también.  Pero he visto el amor de Jesús en mi vida y en la vida de los demás—es un amor más grande del que puedo poner en este sermón—más grande que muchas palabras. 

Again and again we read in the Bible that we are to love God above all else. For me, this is a daily struggle—and I can tell you that I often love my family or even myself more than I love God.  I think maybe prophets and Jesus and disciples make this point repeatedly because we need constant reminders.  And so today, on Grandparents’ Sunday, I invite you into the hard work of following Jesus—of putting God first.  Of putting first things first so that the second things are increased.  Of risking loving God most so that we may love our neighbor—and our families—more.

Una y otra vez leemos en la Biblia que necesitamos amar a Dios más que a todo.  Para mí, es una lucha diaria—y puedo decirles que a menudo amo a mi familia o a mí misma más que amo a Dios.  Pienso que tal vez los profetas y Jesús y los discípulos hacen este punto varias veces porque necesitamos recordatorios constantes.  Así que hoy, en el domingo de los abuelos y abuelas, les invito al trabajo duro de seguir a Jesús—de poner a Dios primero.  De poner las cosas primeras primero, para que las cosas segundas se aumenten.  De arriesgar amar a Dios al máximo para que podamos amar a nuestro prójimo y nuestras familias más.

[1] Luke 16:13.

[2] C.S. Lewis, Collected Letters, Volume III.

Jun 21 2013
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Just Do It

This sermon was preached at the Preaching Excellence Conference in Richmond, VA

Using the lectionary for the third Sunday of Epiphany, Year B

Jonah 3:1-5, 10; Psalm 62:5-12; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20

I love that today’s readings in Jonah and Mark were paired together because I love the sense of immediacy and urgency they both conjure up.

First we have Jonah—a story every Sunday school child can recount.  God tells Jonah to go to Nineveh, Jonah runs the other way, Jonah is swallowed up by a fish, Jonah is spit out onto the shore, and here we have God telling Jonah a second time—the only prophet who needs telling twice—go to Nineveh and tell the people to change their ways.  And perhaps more remarkably than Jonah’s 3-day residence in a fish’s belly, the Ninevites repent!  Really!  Jonah says, “Watch out, Nineveh will be overturned!” And boom—the people believe, fast and repent—just like that.  They change their ways, God changes the divine mind, and no one is destroyed.

Then we have Mark’s Gospel.  Mark doesn’t start his gospel with the story of Jesus’ birth, but with the story of Jesus’ ministry.  And here in the first chapter we have Jesus’ first words: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”  Then, walking along the Sea of Galilee, Jesus says to fishermen Simon and Andrew, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.”  And boom—Simon and Andrew drop their nets right where they are and immediately follow Jesus—just like that.

A fisherman in Ganvie, Benin. Taken when I lived in West Africa.

A fisherman in Ganvie, Benin. Taken when I lived in West Africa.

To read these two stories side-by-side is almost comical because the immediate belief and response of the Ninevites and fishermen is so contrary to our own skeptical world.

I mean, really, if a total stranger were to walk up to one of us on the street and hand us a $100 bill for no particular reason, chances are we wouldn’t respond, “Gee, thanks!” but “What’s the catch?”

I have been racking my brain for several days, trying to think of a situation in which I would drop everything and respond with the immediacy of the Ninevites and fisherman.  But most of the situations I can think of are either from childhood, when faith is a way of life before skepticism creeps in, or from times when I felt absolutely trapped and desperate for a way out.

Perhaps the Ninevites felt trapped and desperate when Jonah proclaimed, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”  Perhaps they believed, fasted and put on sackcloth because the alternative was too grim.  Perhaps.  But why would a people so evil and set in their ways heed the call of a prophet like Jonah?

The fishermen are a different story.  They weren’t trapped.  They weren’t desperate.  Fishing was a good trade in Jesus’ day.  And yet they weren’t children either, filled with wonder and quick to believe.  They were adults working in the family business.  So why would they leave their nets, their job and their family to follow Jesus?

What could be compelling enough to make them follow?  What would be compelling enough to make you or me follow?

I think the answer for the disciples and for us must be: the good news—that the kingdom of God has come near.  And not the kingdom of God as in a place, or a thing—but as in the reign of God in our lives.

But what does that mean?  How do we describe this good news?  This kingdom of God?  Preachers are meant to proclaim the good news—so what is it?

When I think of the good news of God’s reign, I have to turn to Isaiah:

he has sent me to bring good news to

the oppressed,

to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim liberty to the captives,

and release to the prisoners…

to comfort all who mourn…

to give them a garland instead

of ashes,

the oil of gladness instead of

mourning,

the mantle of praise instead of a

faint spirit.

They will be called oaks of

righteousness…

They shall build up their ancient ruins…[1]

If this sounds familiar, perhaps it’s because the first part of this passage is precisely what Jesus in Luke’s gospel chooses to read in the synagogue on the day he proclaims his public ministry, saying, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

“He has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,” we read in Isaiah.  “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news,” says Jesus in Mark’s gospel.

This is what’s compelling.  Broken hearts are mended.  Captives are set free.  Prisoners are released.  And those who mourn are comforted, anointed with the oil of gladness and decorated with garlands.  That which has been ruined is rebuilt and repaired—the oppressed are lifted up.

If you’ve ever felt broken or trapped or stepped on or grief stricken, this is indeed good news.  This good news is for you.

But here’s the catch: the good news for you is also your good news to proclaim.  The fishermen didn’t just hear Jesus and say, “Why yes, that is good news!” and then keep on fishing.  They dropped their nets and followed.

We cry out to Jesus saying, “Me!  Me!  Mend my broken heart!”  And thank God we do.  But once this kingdom of God draws you in and you experience the love that God is, watch out—it is not a love that lets us sit on our hands and watch the world pass by.  This love we receive, this liberation we experience, it is a call to action.

If you believe in this good news, you best be looking for broken hearts to bind up.  If you believe in this good news, you better start recognizing who the captives are and start working to set them free.  If you believe in this good news, get ready to rebuild what has been torn down.

The good news is messy and it is edgy and it is worth dropping our proverbial nets so we can follow the one who gives it to us.

“Believe in the good news…follow me.”

I know we’re a skeptical people.  I know we have our doubts.  But if the Ninevites and the fishermen can believe and be transformed by their belief, maybe we can too.  This good news is just as much ours as it was theirs—ours to live and ours to give.

God, help us make it so.  Amen.

[1] Isaiah 61:1-4

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May 05 2013
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Escuchando El Espíritu

5 Mayo, 2013—Pascua 2C—Iglesia de San Mateo & San Timoteo, Nueva York

Hechos 11:1-18; Salmos 148; Apocolipsis 21:1-6; San Juan 13:31-35

La semana pasada, Madre Carla nos dio una tarea.  ¿Se acuerdan? Ella nos animó a pensar del amor cuando hacemos decisiones—a preguntarnos cuál es la respuesta de amor, y a actuar de ese amor.

Pues, ¿Cómo les fue?

¿Amaron a sus vecinos?  ¿Se Amaron a si mismos?  ¿Se preguntaron, cuál es la manera más amorosa en que puedo hacer en esta situación?

Leí en un libro esta semana que, “Cuando Jesús nos llama a amar a nuestro prójimo como a nosotros mismos, nos dice que realmente no podemos amar a ninguno sin amar a ambos.”  Si no me amo, será difícil amar a otro/a.  Y si yo no soy amoroso hacia usted, será difícil a amarme a mí mismo.*

La semana pasada el Evangelio de Juan nos recordó cómo la gente sabría que somos discípulos de Cristo, “que se amen los unos a los otros.”

Esta semana Jesús nos dice que él enviará el Defensor, el Espíritu Santo—antes Jesús describe al Consolador como “el espíritu de la verdad…está con ustedes y permanecerá siempre con ustedes.”  Aquí Jesús nos dice que el Defensor es una gracia de Dios, enviado en nombre de Cristo.  Nos dice que este Espíritu nos enseñará todo y nos recordará todo lo que él nos ha dicho.

Y esto es lo que quiero explorar con ustedes hoy, ¿cómo conocemos y cómo escuchamos al Espíritu Santo?  Porque creo que conociendo al Espíritu Santo realmente informa nuestra capacidad de amarnos unos al otros.

Holy Spirit Coming, by He Qi.

Para comenzar, ¿cuáles son algunos nombres que tenemos para el Espíritu Santo?  El texto de hoy llama al Espíritu un Defensor.

Maestro

Ayudante

Consolador

Pneuma/Ruach—viento o aliento en griego/hebreo

Intercesor—que ora en nuestro nombre

Estos nombres nos ayudan a conocer lo que hace el Espíritu.  Y saber lo que el Espíritu hace nos ayuda a reconocer al Espíritu en nuestras vidas.

Hay un libro llamado “El ayudante” sobre el Espíritu Santo que leía cada año para la Cuaresma.**  El libro es más viejo que yo, y usa unas palabras que ya no estamos acostumbrados a usar.  Pero lo leía cada año porque me enseña a practicar escuchar al Espíritu.

Empezamos con lo que acabamos de hacer—decir quien es el Espíritu Santo para que sepamos a quien escuchamos.

Entonces hablamos de donde encontramos el Espíritu Santo.  Jesús dice, el Espíritu Santo está dentro de usted.  Para mí, siento el Espíritu Santo en mis huesos. Para otros, puede ser su corazón o su cabeza.  Sin embargo, encontrar el Espíritu Santo requiere un conocimiento de sí mismo que viene de una inteligencia interior.

Cuando sabemos a quien escuchamos, y como escuchar, podemos practicar el escuchar.

Generalmente necesitamos empezar poco a poco.  Preste atención a los pequeños impulsos, avances, pausas y provocaciones.  Tal vez siento que debo llamar a un amigo, que debo mandar un texto a mi esposa para recordarle como le amo, que debo quedarme en casa para descansar y luego de asistir a un evento.

Tenemos estos presentimientos pequeños y nos preguntamos si deberíamos prestar atención a ellos, no?  Esto es cuando comienza el estar escuchando al Espíritu Santo.

No siempre entiendo un presentimiento, y no siempre sé si seguir este instinto realmente hiciera una diferencia en mi día o en el día de alguien más.  Pero nos inculca el hábito de escuchar, confianza y actuar.

Según se pone en práctica, es posible que a veces me pregunte ¿cómo sé yo si estoy escuchando al Espíritu Santo, y no algún otro impulso o influencia?

Recuerden que Jesús dijo que el Espíritu Santo nos recuerda todo Jesús nos ha enseñado.  Así que, como Jesús, el Espíritu Santo nos anima a actuar de tal manera que nos amemos los unos a los otros.  A veces escuchando por el amor nos ayuda a eliminar cualquier otras distracciones.

Cuando nos acostumbramos a escuchar al Espíritu Santo en las cosas pequeñas, podemos confiar en la misma voz cuando encontramos decisiones más grandes.  Quizás es tiempo de moverse, tomar un riesgo en el trabajo, quitar una relación malsana, empezar una familia, elegir una universidad después de colegio, o asumir una nueva responsabilidad.  Si hemos practicado escuchar al Espíritu Santo, ya sabemos la voz tranquila en situaciones grandes y pequeñas.

Esta capacidad de conocer y confiar en el Espíritu Santo es la razón que Jesús pueda decir, “Al irme les dejo la paz.  Les doy mi paz, pero no se la doy como la dan los que son del mundo.  No se angustien ni tengan miedo.”

Jesús dice esto ya que está a punto de irse de este mundo.  Él sabe que los discípulos pronto se enfrentaran con temor y dudas.  Pero porque el Espíritu Santo permanece, el mismo Espíritu de Dios que Jesús ha encarnado en la tierra para nosotros, nunca estamos solos y no tenemos nada que temer.

Mientras más conocemos el Espíritu Santo, cuanto más conocemos la paz de Cristo.

Creo que esta paz es doble.  Creo que hay una paz que experimentamos al actuar con la seguridad del Espíritu Santo.  Creo que es una paz que sobrepasa nuestra comprensión porque a veces el Espíritu nos llama a hacer cosas fuera de lógica.

Pero también hay la paz que se crea cuando hacemos lo más amoroso como Madre Carla nos desafió que consideremos la semana pasada.

La paz que Jesús nos deja es una paz que experimentamos y que creamos cuando escuchamos al Espíritu y nos amamos unos a otros.

Pasé mucho tiempo hoy hablando de cómo escuchar por el Espíritu porque creo que es algo que tenemos que entrenar nuestros oídos a hacer.  Tanto como podríamos creer que el amor debería venir fácilmente, el amor es algo que Jesús nos enseña una y otra vez, sermón después de sermón, parábola después de parábola, y por último con su muerte y resurrección.  Y Jesús nos dice, “el Espíritu Santo les enseñará todas las cosas y les recordará todo lo que les he dicho.”  Así que, si debemos amar el uno al otro, tenemos que practicar escuchando al Espíritu.

En dos semanas celebraremos Pentecostés.  Pentecostés es cuando recordamos la venida del Espíritu Santo que autorizó a los discípulos a predicar vigorosamente y en lenguas que nunca habían hablado antes.  Pentecostés es el domingo del Espíritu Santo.

Pero si queremos que nuestros corazones sean encendidos con el poder del Espíritu Santo, tenemos que estar abiertos y listos para escuchar.

Practiquen conmigo.  Empiecen con lo pequeño y prepárese para algo grande.  Nunca se sabe a que valentía el Espíritu le podría llamar, pero puede confiar en que será una llamada de amor y paz.

Amen.

*L. William Countryman, Living on the Border of the Holy: Renewing the Priesthood of All, page 176.

**Catherine Marshall, The Helper.

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May 05 2013
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Listening for Fire

Preached on the Sixth Sunday of Easter at St. Matthew & St. Timothy, New York

Acts 11:1-18; Psalm 148; Revelation 21:1-6; John 13:31-35

Last week Mother Carla gave us some homework.  She encouraged us to think of Love as we made decisions—to ask ourselves what the loving response might be and to act out of that love.

How’d it go for you?

Did you love your neighbor?  Did you love yourself?  Did you ask yourself, what is the most loving thing I can do in this situation or that?

I read in a book this week that, “When Jesus calls us to love our neighbor as ourselves, he is telling us that we cannot really love either without loving both.”[1]  If I don’t love myself, I’m going to have a hard time loving you.  And if I’m not very loving toward you, it’s going to be tough to love myself.

Last week John’s gospel reminded us how people would know we are disciples of Christ, “that you love one another.”

This week Jesus tells us that he will send the Advocate, the Holy Spirit—earlier Jesus describes the Advocate as “the spirit of truth…he abides with you, and he will be in you.”[2]  Here Jesus tells us that the Advocate is a gift from God, sent in Christ’s name, and that this Spirit will teach us everything, and remind us of all that Jesus has said to us.

And this is what I want to explore with you today—how we know or listen to the Holy Spirit—because I think knowing the Holy Spirit really informs our ability to love one another.

Jyoti Sahi- India

So first off—what are some names we have for the Holy Spirit?  Today’s text calls the Spirit an Advocate.

Teacher

Helper (Paraclete)

Comforter

Pneuma/Ruach—wind or breath in Greek/Hebrew

Intercessor—groans on our behalf

These names help us to know what the Spirit does.  And knowing what the Spirit does should help us to recognize the spirit in our lives.

There is a book called “The Helper” by Catherine Marshal that I used to read every year for Lent.  The book is older than me, and it uses some language we’re no longer accustomed to.  But I read it every year for several years because it taught me how to practice listening to the Spirit.  And I really do mean practice.

We start with what we’ve just done—naming who the Holy Spirit is so that we know who to listen for.

Then we move on to where we find the Holy Spirit.  Jesus says, the Holy Spirit is inside you.  For me, I feel the Holy Spirit most in my gut.  For others, it may be their heart or their head.  Regardless, finding the Holy Spirit requires a self-awareness that comes from turning inward.

Once we know whom we’re listening for and where to listen for it, it’s time to practice listening.

Usually we need to start small.  Pay attention to the little urges, nudges, pauses and prompts.  Maybe I have gut feeling that I need to leave 5 minutes early today, or that I need to call and check on my friend, or that I should text my husband to let him know I’m proud of him, or that I really ought to stay home and rest instead of attending an event.

We get these little feelings, and we wonder if we should pay attention to them, you know?  That’s where listening to the Holy Spirit starts.

It doesn’t always make sense, and you may not ever know if following that gut instinct really made a difference in your day or in the day of someone else.  But it gets us in the habit of listening, trusting, and acting.

As you practice, you might sometimes wonder, how do I know I’m listening to the Holy Spirit, and not some other urge or influence?

Remember that Jesus said that the Holy Spirit would remind us of all Jesus has taught us.  So like Jesus, the Holy Spirit will encourage us to act in such a way that we are loving one another.  Sometimes listening for love will help us tune out any other distractions.

Once we get used to hearing the Holy Spirit in some of the smaller every-day stuff, we can trust that same voice when we feel prompted to make bigger decisions.  Maybe it’s time to move, take a risk at work, get out of an unhealthy relationship, start a family, choose where to go to college, or take on a new responsibility.  If we’ve been practicing listening to the Holy Spirit, we will know that still quiet voice in situations great and small.

This ability to know and trust the Holy Spirit is why Jesus can say to his disciples and to us, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid.”

Jesus says this as he is about to be taken out of this world.  He knows the disciples will soon be faced with fear and unknowns.  But because the Holy Spirit remains, the very Spirit of God that Jesus has embodied for us on earth, we are never alone and we have nothing to fear.

The more we know this Holy Spirit, the more we know the peace of Christ.

I think this peace is twofold.  I think there’s the peace we experience from acting with the assurance of the Holy Spirit.  I think it’s a peace that surpasses our understanding because sometimes the Spirit calls us to do things that defy logic.

But then there’s also the peace that is created when we do the most loving thing as Mother Carla challenged us to consider this past week.

The peace that Jesus leaves with us is one we experience and one we create if we but listen to the Spirit and love one another accordingly.

I spent a lot of time talking about how to listen for the Spirit because I think it’s something we have to train our ears to do.  As much as we might think love ought to come easily, love is something Jesus teaches us again and again, sermon after sermon, parable after parable, and ultimately with his death and resurrection.    And Jesus tells us, “the Holy Spirit will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.”  So if we’re to love one another, we’ve got to practice listening to the Spirit.

In two weeks we will celebrate Pentecost.  Pentecost is when we remember the in-rushing of the Holy Spirit that empowered the disciples to preach boldly and in languages they had never spoken before.  Pentecost is Holy Spirit Sunday.

But if our hearts are to be set aflame with the life giving power of the Holy Spirit, we’ve got to be open and ready to listen.

So practice with me.  Start small and get ready for something big.  You never know what boldness the Spirit might call you to, but you can trust it will be a call to love and peace.

Amen.

[1] L. William Countryman, Living on the Border of the Holy: Renewing the Priesthood of All, page 176.

[2] John 14:17.

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