Lament and the Elusive Jesus

"Lament" by Kathe Kollwitz

2 Chronicles 36:16-20:

Therefore God brought up against them the king of the Chaldeans, who killed their youths with the sword in the house of their sanctuary, and had no compassion on young man or young woman, the aged or the feeble; he gave them all into his hand.  All the vessels of the house of God, large and small, and the treasures of the house of the Lord, and the treasures of the king and of his officials, all these he brought to Babylon.  They burned the house of God, broke down the wall of Jerusalem, burned all its palaces with fire, and destroyed all its precious vessels.  He took into exile in Babylon those who had escaped from the sword, and they became servants to him and to his sons.

 John 6:10-15:

Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.”  Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all.  Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted.  When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.”  So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets.  When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.”  When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.

Some time ago three different people in three different settings asked me the same basic question:  Why didn’t God answer my prayers?  And their prayers were not the small, garden variety kind of prayers… like nice weather for my wedding day or good grades on my finals.  These were big prayers about life-changing and life-shattering events.  They were prayers for a loved one with a terminal illness, for a marriage on the brink of destruction, for a career coming to an untimely end.  In each case, all the prayers, all the church services attended, all the good deeds done in an attempt to coerce God into a quid pro quo did not manufacture or manipulate the desired outcome.  The loved one died, the marriage ended, and the worker was let go.  Why?

I have to confess that there are times I feel like God’s defense attorney.  I can almost picture myself in a court of law rising before judge, jury, and the court of public opinion in order to defend my client… the Lord God Almighty.  The accuser sits on the witness stand and I cross-examine in my most pastoral manner.  “Is it possible that God answered your prayer, just not in the way you wanted?”  “Maybe you asked for the wrong thing.  My client was ready to give you strength and grace and courage to meet your trials head on, but you just wanted God to make the problem go away.”  Or, when all else fails, “My client works in mysterious ways.  Right now you don’t see why this is best, but some day you will understand.”

Do you ever feel like you have to come to God’s defense, or am I the only one?

The reading from John’s Gospel is a familiar enough story: the hungry crowds, the bread and fish, Jesus’ action of taking, blessing, breaking, and sharing, the feeding, and the leftovers.  But what catches my attention in the lesson is what appears to be a throw away line at the end of the reading:

When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take Him by force to make Him king, He withdrew again.

There is something elusive about Jesus; something like your date to the middle school dance who flirts with you all night, but then coyly turns away as you awkwardly try to kiss her goodnight.  Of course the crowd gathered that day wanted to make Jesus their king if He was able meet their most urgent physical needs!  What else did He expect them to do?

And how does Jesus think we are going to respond when we read the bible?  If He feeds the masses, then when we are hungry, we are going to pray for food.  If Jesus teaches people to be fair and honest and good, and if Jesus stands with those who are being treated unfairly, then when we are getting the shaft at work for something that is beyond our control, we are going to pray for Jesus to deliver us.  If Jesus heals the sick and even raises a little girl from the dead, then of course we are going to pray for the same thing when our loved ones are ill.  We didn’t manufacture false hope out of thin air; it is all right there in the bible.  Jesus did it then; it seems reasonable to think that He can do it now.

And yet when we need Him most Jesus does just what He did in the Gospel reading: He disappears or withdraws or holds back or pulls some other elusive maneuver that leaves us clutching air while our deepest longing goes unanswered and our deepest need goes unmet.  And then, somewhere down the road, long after the episode is over, but while the pain and grief and the loss are still fresh, someone like me – God’s ordained public defender – has to make a case for why all of it is just. 

But what if God doesn’t want my defense?  What if what God really wants is to hear our complaint? 

The reading from 2 Chronicles details in just six short verses the single most traumatic event in the Old Testament’s history of the people of Israel.  The fall of Jerusalem and destruction of the Temple represented much more than a military defeat.  It represented the complete obliteration of the Hebrew culture.  Survivors were forced to leave their homeland and abandon all familiar expressions of their faith and life.  To be in exile was to feel orphaned, forgotten, forsaken, and rootless.  And although Israel’s exile lasted only seventy years, countless nameless societies failed to recover from similar experiences and were never heard from again.

A most amazing literary style emerged during this dark time in Israel’s history and many scholars believe that it was partially if not largely responsible for seeing them through this terrible experience.  The literary style is known as lament… literally an expression of profound sadness and deep complaint to God about what God has allowed to happen.

Some time take a look at Psalm 44.  It begins innocently enough.  The poet recounts all the ways God intervened to assist his or her ancestors:  Giving them a land in which to live, military victories, signs and mighty deeds.  “Every day they praised you,” writes the psalmist, “and so did we.”  But then the psalm turns as the poet considers the plight of God’s people in exile:  “We held up our end of the bargain, but you, God, turned your back on us.  You rejected us for no good reason.” 

Listen to this litany directed at God, one blast after another:

You have made us like sheep to be eaten.

You have sold us for a trifle.

You have made us the scorn of our neighbors, a mockery… a derision… a laughing stock.

You thrust us down into a place of deep darkness.

For your sake we are being killed all the day long.

That is some pretty tough talk.  And the psalmist never lets up:

God, are you asleep?

Are you going to reject us forever?

Why have you hidden your face?

Why have you forgotten us?

Rise up and do something, anything, to help us.

Keep the promises that you made to us.

Let me see of show of hands: how many of you as a child had a Sunday School lesson covering Psalm 44?  Another show of hands: how many of you feel a little bit uncomfortable hearing this kind of language directed at God?  It is a bit unsettling, isn’t it.  You don’t have to show your hands on this one: how many of you have ever complained to God with the same emotion and intensity? 

And why do you suppose that psalms like this one are in the Bible?  One scholar says of these laments, “they propose to speak about human experience in an honest, freeing way.  This is in contrast to much of human speech and conduct, which is in fact a cover-up.” Another says, “The Psalms in Hebrew are earthly and rough.  They are not genteel.  They are not the prayers of nice people, couched in cultured language.”  Laments directed at God are graphic, R-rated expressions of brokenness and anger.  They are the equivalent of calling God every name in the book.  And because they are in the Holy Bible, it is God’s way of giving us permission to lay it all out on the table, to hold back nothing, to lay bare our most raw, angry, bitter, and broken emotions.

And for people like me (and perhaps you) who sometimes feel the need to be God’s legal counsel, laments like the 44^th Psalm say that we don’t need to come to God’s defense.  Let the witness rail and say the worst about God.  You know what, sometimes its true.  Imagine yourself representing the Lord God at a legal proceeding.  The accuser gives it to your client pretty good.  Then judge looks at you and says, “Care to cross-examine?”  And you respond, “No, your honor.  The witness pretty much hit the nail on the head.”

But let me do this.  Let me, Keith (God’s ordained legal counsel), take the stand.  I want to be a witness in this proceeding:

I too have prayed prayers… important prayers, prayers of life and death… that went unanswered.  I have been broken and crushed.  I have echoed the complaints of the psalmist.  I have called God every name in the book.  And God took it, mostly in silence.

But God did something else.  God sent His Son, His only Son.  And God’s Son was rejected and broken and despised and killed.  And God’s Son came to me not to fix all my problems and not to answer all my prayers… because no one fixed all His problems and no one answered all His prayers.  God’s Son came to offer me Himself in bread and wine… His body broken and His blood spilled.  And by a grace that is beyond me, even when I was broken I continued to take the bread and the wine.  And I don’t know how, and I can’t say exactly when, but I have found healing and peace in receiving the bread and in the wine.

So to you whose prayers have gone unanswered I say just three things:

I know how you feel.

Don’t take it laying down.  Complain up a storm to the highest heavens until you don’t have the strength to complain anymore.  And when you regain your strength, complain even more if you want to.

Please, please, please come to the Lord’s Table and receive the true Bread that comes down from heaven.  Come and receive the bread and this cup, and never stop.  I can’t give you an answer, but I can give you God’s Son.  And while Jesus may at times be elusive, over time He gives life – true life.

Brighter Light & Deeper Darkness

“As long as I am in the world, I am the Light of the world.”

Our Lenten gospel readings are taking us through the basic elements, aren’t they!  Two weeks ago it was wind, last week water, and now today it is light. Did you know that the word ‘lent’ has a Germanic origin and originally meant spring or, even more precisely, lengthening (as in more hours of sunlight).  Even with this winter’s awful weather, there is no mistaking that the days are getting longer.  But while light is coming into our world with earlier sunrises and later sunsets, our Gospel readings foreshadow a growing darkness.  It feels like the more Jesus shines the Light of God’s love the deeper and more resistant the darkness around him becomes. 

In today’s reading, Jesus’ attention is drawn to a person who has been blind from birth.  The disciples use the occasion to ask their teacher a theological question: Why was this person born blind?  Was it on account of his sin or his parents?  The assumption behind the question is obvious: someone, somewhere, sometime in the past must have sinned and the blindness represents God’s punishment.  Jesus’ response, in effect, is this: “Do you think God uses divine power to cause misery as a way to dole out judgment?  That kind of thinking is rubbish!  Let me show you what God’s power is intended to do.”  And with that, the Light of the world gives sight to a person blind from birth.

You would think such a wonderful event would be cause for celebration, for thanksgiving, for praising God, but it is not.  It serves to muster the forces of darkness.  Questionings, interrogations, accusations, insults, and intimidation follow.  It is a story of one person’s new-found faith knotted in a very real fear of attack.  It is a story of reversals where those in authority are blind to who Jesus is, but a person once blind can see his identity clearly.  And ultimately, it is a story where the person who now can see is driven away by the community of the blind.

The themes of light and darkness play a significant role in John’s gospel.  Nicodemus comes to Jesus under the cover of night.  Peter denies his Lord at night.  On Easter morning, Mary leaves for the tomb while it is still dark.  John begins his gospel by telling his readers that Jesus was the Light for all people, that the Light shined in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.  Well, the darkness may not overcome the light, but it sure tries. 

When light shines in darkness it exposes two kinds of people: those who are lost and groping to find their way (and for them the light is a welcome relief) and those who live in the dark so that their works will not be exposed (and for them, the light is unwelcome and sends them scurrying for cover).  As I said, the brighter Jesus shines the deeper the darkness around him seems to become.  He can scarcely say or do a thing without stirring up controversy because those in authority love the darkness and always react negatively to his light. 

2,000 years later and I wonder how much things have changed.  Many of Jesus’ followers seem overly concerned about determining who is good enough and who is not, who is a sinner and who is not, who deserves to be blessed by God and who does not, whose doctrine and theology and practices are acceptable to God and whose are not.  At times the church seems more caught up in shining a light of judgment to expose the deeds of others rather than being a light that helps people to find their way to God. 

And it seems to go hand in hand that when you focus on the faults of others you grow blind to your own shortcomings.  Continually pointing the finger at others seems to diminish one’s ability (or perhaps desire) to engage in critical self-reflection.  Jesus once put it this way: “Why do you focus on the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but ignore the log in your own eye?” 

I trust you saw the news a few weeks ago that Fred Phelps, the founder of Westboro Baptist Church, died a lonely and broken man – rejected by family members and the church he founded.  Phelps and the Westboro congregation gained national notoriety by protesting at military funerals and using various tactics to intimidate church-goers who they deemed to be sinners.  Reaction to his death was interesting, to say the least.  Many people posted angry comments suggesting that crowds should picket his burial so that his family and supporters could get a taste of their own medicine.  One person went so far as to suggest that the military should send a transport plane to fly over the proceedings and dump garbage on everyone.  In one form or another, people were holding tight to that old moral dictum of an eye for an eye.

But I found a different sentiment being expressed by many people of faith.  Several priests I know said they would offer prayers for Fred Phelps during Sunday worship.  “We pray for our enemies and love those who persecute us because this is what Jesus taught us to do”, one posted.  Others stated that in burial Phelps should be afforded the dignity he so often denied to others.  And while this kind of response goes against the grain of the emotions that well up in us so naturally, it is in keeping with our own baptismal covenant.  When we say the words of the covenant, we do not make conditional commitments.  We never promise only to respect the dignity of those who deserve to be respected.  We promise to respect the dignity of every human being.  When we act like this we become a light for the world, helping the lost to find their way.

Over the next few weeks we will witness Jesus’ determination to shine God’s love and light all the way to the darkest place imaginable, to the darkest moment in human history, to the cross.  His unflinching grit and determination is an example we seek to emulate, but often fall short of achieving.  Still, whenever we find ourselves immersed in darkness, we know that there is a Light to which we can turn for strength, for guidance, and for support. 

Jesus said, “As long as I am in the world, I am the Light of the world!”

 

A Sermon at the Celebration of the Life of Stephanie Freel

St. Paul wrote, “No wonder we do not lose heart.  Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day.”

For the last nine years Stephanie Freel knew she had a significant health concern.  In my limited experience, people in this position tend to live life differently than the rest of us.  It is easier for us to go through the rhythm of the day and the week and the month and the year somewhat removed from the reality of our own mortality.  That was not an option for Stephanie.  While she surely did not grasp that this day would come so soon, she knew it would come one day and she knew that that day could be any time.  As a result, she engaged life more intentionally, more focused, more with the sense that no moment should be wasted because there is no assurance that another moment is guaranteed.  Not that she wore all of this on her sleeve, but it was a driving and renewing force in her soul.

In his book To Bless the Space between Us, John O’Donohue writes about how death walks beside us from the moment we are born and that from time to time, for a brief time, we see its face.  He writes of the blessing this reality can bring to our lives, praying…

That the silent presence of your death

  would call your life to attention,
  wake you up to how scarce your time is
  and to the urgency to become free
  and equal to the call of your destiny.

That you would gather yourself

  and decide carefully
  how you now can live
  the life you would love
  to look back on
  from your deathbed.

While of course Stephanie would never have wished to leave us so soon, I have the strong sense that she, looking back now, is pleased with how she lived each and every day she had.  That her life was called to attention is a great gift to each of us who knew her.  It is a witness to what each of us should and can do with the time we have. 

Some years ago Stephanie heard this passage from Khalil Gabran’s The Prophet and it spoke something to her:

“You would know the secret of death.  But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?  If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.  For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.”

“Opening your heart wide to life” is an apt description of how Stephanie lived hers. 

I was never very good at math, but perhaps this equation will redeem me:  S.D. x O.G. = Q.L.  In other words, (S.D.) Suddenness of Death multiplied by the (O.G.) Outpouring of Grief tells you everything you need to know about (Q.L.) the Quality of a person’s Life.  What I see here this morning – Stephanie’s husband and daughter and parents and brother and extended family and neighbors and friends and church members and clients and colleagues and fellow partners in the various other activities, organizations, and endeavors she was involved in is a deep, trustworthy, and indisputable record, that Stephanie opened her heart to life in a way that was rare, wonderful, and extraordinary. 

I will always remember Stephanie for the way she blended two marvelous, distinctive qualities: moxie and kindness.  Moxie: she was a force of determination with opinions, ideas, and values that were set in stone (and occasionally shared without warning!)  Kindness:  Raise your hand if you ever received a note from Stephanie thanking you for something or praising you for something or offering comfort or encouragement when you were facing a challenge.

Moxie and kindness.  Before the service, Stephanie’s mother shared some memories she wanted me to share.  Apparently the family moved around quite a bit when Stephanie was a child.  Each time they moved into a new home, before the boxes were even unpacked, Stephanie canvasses the neighborhood, knocking on doors, trying to find new children to play with.  That is moxie!  When Stephanie was just five the family lived in a house that just happened to be located at the mailman’s noon day stop.  Once he delivered their mail, he sat in his truck and ate his lunch.  Well, Stephanie decided she would go out and eat her lunch with him.  So every day, the two of them would have a picnic under a tree.  That is kindness.  Years later the family tracked down the now retired mail carrier and not only did he remember Stephanie, but he said their lunches together were the best part of his job.  Moxie and kindness.  Stephanie combined both by taking on the interesting project of making cakes for friends and family.  And we are not just talking any cakes, we are talking elaborate creations!  She made a fire truck cake pulling a sail boat for her brother, a Hogwart’s Castle for her nephew, and a cake of a mountain complete with a running stream and kayaker for another nephew.  That is moxie and kindness!

Thomas said to Jesus, “We do not know where you are going?  How can we know the way?”

Those who attend church here at St. Paul’s know that I read poetry each day as a part of my devotional practice.  For some time now I have been making my way through the collected works of R.S. Thomas, an Anglican priest who lived and wrote in Wales over the course of the last century.  A few days ago I encountered a poem he wrote titled The Word.  Like all of you, when I first learned that Stephanie was gone I was overcome with different emotions: shock, sadness, and fear were easy to identify.  Still, the name of one feeling eluded me until I read Thomas’ poem:

A pen appeared, and the god said:

‘Write what it is to be

  [human].’  And my hand hovered

long over the bare page,

 

until there, like footprints

of the lost traveler, letters

  took shape on the page’s

blankness, and I spelled out

 

the word ‘lonely’.  And my hand moved

to erase it; but the voices

of all those wailing at life’s

window cried out loud; ‘It is true.’

‘Lonely’ is a pretty good word to describe what a lot of us are feeling in a very deep place.  There is something extremely isolating about losing someone dear and I think that is why we feel so compelled to come together.  It is why so many of you have made such an effort to be here this morning.  You want to convey to Stephanie’s family and to her friends and to yourself that we are not alone.  We who are lonely seek community as a response to grief.  And just as we hold that the communion we will share in a few moments is a foretaste of a heavenly banquet we all one day will enjoy, so too this community we become at this moment is an echo of the Communion of Saints – a community to which Stephanie now belongs. 

It strikes me that this day is a day when reality and mystery dance together.  When I say mystery, I don’t use the word in the sense of a “Who don it?”, but rather in the sense of an awareness of being touched by something from beyond. 

Reality: Stephanie died because a medical condition for which she was seeking help got her before answers could be found.  Mystery: She lived her life with fullness and grace defiant of obstacles in her way.  Her courageous and glorious example is a witness and inspiration to each and every one of us.

Reality: A sudden and unexpected death catches each of us unaware and takes us to a dark and lonely place; a place of shock and fear and sadness.  Mystery: And yet as we come together we experience anew light and hope and joy and gratitude and strength for the road ahead.  These are gifts that come from being in community.

Reality:  This morning we are gathered in a building dedicated to the memory of a person who, 2,000 years ago, was nailed to a cross, executed, and buried.  Mystery: Three days later that person overcame death and rose victorious from the grave.  He promises new life to all who put their trust in him and makes his presence known at gatherings like this.

We who follow this person, who take his name and call ourselves ‘Christians’, know what it is to dance with reality and mystery.  We know what it is to mourn the loss of one we love while at the same time rejoicing in the life she had and affirming that she now dwells in a place eternal in the heavens.  As the writer of the reading we heard from Wisdom put, our faith is this: “The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them.”

Stephanie, I pray you ease and speed in your journey to a new place.  Thank you for all that you have done and been.  You are loved.  You will be missed.  You will not be forgotten.  It is so hard for so many of us to let go of you.  One day we will meet again. 

The Force of Living Water

“The water that I will give will become... a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”

In last Sunday’s gospel Jesus drew on the image of wind to convey a spiritual truth.  Today’s reading draws upon another basic element – water.  Jesus launches into a conversation with a woman who has come to a well to draw a day’s supply.  He is thirsty and asks her for a drink.  This simple request launches a lengthy conversation that covers a wide array of subjects.  At one point Jesus proclaims that he is the source of Living Water and that whoever drinks of him will never thirst again.

Thirst – and we are talking deep thirst – would have been a common experience in that region in that era.  It is still a common experience in many parts of our world today.  Our access to clean drinking water, as well as the abundance of beverages of choice, is a blessing we could easily take for granted.  I was so pleased last year when we rallied together to raise nearly $2,000 for the creation of family wells at remote locations in other countries.  We understood the connection between clean water and quality of life.  It is nice to know that somewhere two or three families or farms or small villages have a way to satisfy their thirst because of our Lenten offering from 2013.

As I meditated on today’s lengthy gospel lesson I kept thinking about a slightly different property of living water.  Not only does it quench thirst, but over time it also has the ability to break down, break through, and smooth out what stands in its way.  Erosion.  Images of erosion vary from the glorious splendor of the Grand Canyon to washed out sections of road on the Outer Banks after a tidal surge.  Have you ever walked barefoot in a steam of rushing water and felt the smooth rocks beneath your feet?  Over time, moving water has worked away all their rough edges. 

Not long ago I watched a cable documentary that tried to determine the origin of Noah’s flood.  It theorized that after the last ice age a huge body of water covered most of central Canada and the upper Great Plains.  All of this water was held back by dam made of ice.  When that blockage gave way, the water rushed forth at an enormous rate in volumes we can scarcely imagine.  It raised ocean levels worldwide by a significant amount; creating the English Channel, the Black Sea, and other bodies of water we take for granted.  Water literally changed the face of the earth.

I think this is a helpful way to look at the encounter Jesus had with the woman at the well.  Think of all that it broke through, moved away, and reshaped.

·   Men did not speak to woman, but Jesus engages this woman in conversation.

·   Jews did not speak to Samaritans and vice versa on account of long-standing ethnic hatred, but Jesus foregoes all of that.

·   Moral objections are raised – the woman has had multiple relationships – and they are swept away.

·   Questions about the practice of religion are brought up – where is the right place to worship? – and dismissed.

·   That the woman came to the well alone at about noontime indicates she was an outcast in her community.  She was not welcome when all the other women normally gathered in the cool of the morning at the well.  And yet, she leaves her conversation with Jesus, returns to the village, and tells everyone about what she has found.  She is reconciled with the people who have pushed her away.

·   The villagers come to the well to meet Jesus and decide to invite him to stay in their town – something that was unthinkable at the time.

No obstacle, no barrier, no impediment can stand in the way of Living Water for long.  Eventually the water will overcome it and make its way toward its eventual destination.  From this encounter we learn that the destination of the Living Water that is Jesus looks like this:

·   It is a place where people find the true and living God not because they are good enough, but because God is gracious beyond all measure.

·   It is a place where broken relationships give way to a reconfigured community; a community where Jesus is always a welcomed guest.

·   It is a place where each person is respected regardless of age, gender, class, ethnicity, or moral integrity.   

To live in this kind of place is never to thirst again.  It is a world we are moving toward inch by inch, choice by choice, carried on our way by the gushing flow of Living Water.

I have enjoyed the brief mediations in this year’s Lenten Devotional from Episcopal Relief & Development.  March 17^th’s entry was written by Moses Deng Bol, a bishop from the South Sudan.  He described how in that part of the world “women are the marginalized of the marginalized”:

Official government statistics say 98 percent of women in the region cannot read or write.  Although a few girls go to school, most will not complete their education.  They will likely be married off for a dowry.  The dowry may be paid in stolen cows, a practice fueling current tribal conflict in South Sudan.

The bishop goes on to note:

Yet we rely on these same women to provide food, manage our homes, and raise our children.  They are such a central part of our society, and, I think, these women are the key to unlocking a better future for South Sudan.

March 19^th’s devotional described how an association of women in southwest China, empowered by a microloan, have come together to create better lives for themselves and for their community.  They are now at a point where they are making a profit and using this money to provide better care for the elderly, for children, and for poor families.

These stories, among many others, evoke for me the image of Living Water as running water that removes barriers and overcomes obstacles on its way to a good and godly destination.  I am looking forward to making a contribution to efforts like these at the end of Lent as we collect change for micro-development projects.  Just as last year’s effort addressed water as thirst, this year’s work focuses in figuratively on ‘water’s’ ability to transform.  It is a tangible way that you and I can be connected to Jesus the source of Living Water.

Today I am most mindful of the final barrier that Living Water will overcome, the barrier of death itself.  Death is the great darkness in the future that each of us must face, and with the sudden passing of Stephanie Freel, that darkness seems especially close today; not only to us, but to our children who have lost a Sunday School teacher and mother of one of their own.  Our faith is that nothing – nothing – nothing – can stand it the way of the gush of Living Water, not even death itself.  We rejoice that Stephanie has been welcomed to that place were she will never thirst again even as we recognize that a different kind of water pours forth from our eyes in the form of tears. 

Today I am grateful for the power of Living Water to overcome all things on its course to a Holy Destination.  And I pray that the One who was thirsty as he sat beside a well so long ago will come to us and comfort us with a Living Water we so desperately need.

Jesus said, “The water that I will give will become... a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”

People of the Wind

“The wind blows where it chooses… and so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

I was ordained a transitional deacon on a Saturday morning in June in the year 1987.  It is called “transitional” to distinguish those who will later be ordained to the priesthood from those who are ordained deacons for life by vocation or calling.  St. Paul’s, Akron, where the service took place, is a large church built in the Georgian style.  A good number of people participated in the service – two full choirs, readers, a preacher, presenters, the clergy of the church, clergy from the diocese, clergy from other area churches, both bishops of the diocese, and little old me.  We got ourselves organized on the walk in front of the church before the service began and the line stretched on and on and on. 

A storm was brewing.  As we waited for the procession to begin we could see it and hear it moving in quickly from the west.  We barely got inside before torrents of fury were unleashed.  It was warm that morning and because the church lacked air-conditioning its large windows were open to let it what earlier had been a gentle breeze.  But with the onset of the storm, fueled by much cooler air, that breeze transformed into powerful gusts of wind that whipped around to and fro – not only outside the church, but inside as well.  The air around us was moving and alive.  Some said it was the Holy Spirit coming to be present at the occasion, but I fretted it was God’s last ditch effort to put a stop to my ordination. 

The storm passed after a few minutes and that rushing of air inside the church subsided soon there after.  The ordination moved forward with the kind of quiet dignity and gentle reverence one comes to expect of an Episcopal Church service.  I actually don’t remember much about the service, but if I close my eyes I can still hear and feel the power of the wind rushing through the church.

I suspect that each of us here this morning has had an experience similar to that; most likely not at a church service, but somewhere, sometime, and perhaps many different times.  We know the feeling of stillness giving way to powerful movement, of calm giving way to energy, of lethargy becoming animated.  Jesus, in trying to describe life in the Spirit to Nicodemus, draws on the image of wind.  He suggests that we people of faith are to be animated, energized, and alive.  We are people of movement who are doing more than going through the motions.  Jesus told Nicodemus that the Spirit’s presence in one’s life brings about fundamental change, as if one was born for a second time.

I found myself reading recently a portion of an 18^th century book titled Religious Affections written by the revivalist Jonathan Edwards.  He was a leading figure in the Great Awakening that took place in the 1730’s.  Edwards was convinced that a person’s natural state is to be inactive.  It is only when we are moved by what he called an ‘affection’ that we spring into action.  So for example, the affection of covetousness moves a person to seek worldly goods, the affection of ambition moves a person to seek glory, and the affection of lust moves a person to seek sensual delights. 

What intrigues me about Edward’s book is his thinking about religious affections – those things that are the causes of religious action.  He named ten:

1)  Holy Fear – trembling at the thought of God’s holiness.

2)  Hope – hoping in God’s person and in God’s promises.

3)  Love – the affection that rules our relationship with God as well as our neighbor.

4)  Hated – our intense response to sin and evil.

5)  Holy Desire – longing for God as “a thirsty deer pants for water” (Psalm 42:1)

6)  Joy – delighting in the Lord.

7)  Religious Sorrow – a brokenness of heart, which God will not despise.

8)  Gratitude – thankfulness expressed as praise to God.

9)  Compassion – demonstrating God’s mercy in our lives.

10)  Zeal – a passionate commitment to live out our faith in dynamic ways.

In his day Edwards contended with many clergy – including Anglicans – because he was convinced that true religion had to be more than a rational or intellectual affair.  He felt faith must emanate from the heart and that its expression must be “enthusiastic”: 

“If we are not earnest in our religion, and if our wills and inclinations are not strongly exercised, than we are nothing.  The importance of religion is so great that no halfhearted exercise will suffice.  In nothing is the state of our heart so crucial as in religion, and in nothing is lukewarmness so odious.”

He is describing life as being like a quaint, quiet worship service when if fact it should be like one where everyone is enveloped in a powerful rush of air.  Edwards describes it as having the external appearance of religion – its form – but either not knowing or denying its power.

And that I think this is what Jesus tried to communicate to Nicodemus.  As a Pharisee, Nicodemus had mastered religion’s appearance and form, but knew little or nothing of its power.  He knew the affections as holy ideas, but not as an animating force in his life.  I give him credit because he recognized there was something different about how Jesus practiced the faith, and rather than condemn or attack him, he sought him out and asked honest questions.  And I sympathize with his confusion at Jesus’ answer.  “We people of the Spirit”, Jesus told him, “are people of the wind”.

I grew up in an Evangelical environment where as a youth I was encouraged to “give my life to Christ.”  I was encouraged to “come to Christ” through a conversion experience.  That event happened to me when I was in the ninth grade.  It was a powerful, life-changing moment that has been the foundational decision of my life.  And it was an experience that I encouraged others to seek for themselves. 

Now, decades later, I question some of the theology of this approach.  Salvation comes from the Lord, not from a conversion experience and the sacrament that points to this is Baptism.  I also question some of the psychology of this approach.  More than a little bit of it tends to be manipulative, especially when aimed at teenagers and young people.  But here is what I don’t question and what I do embrace about my own conversion… the passion and the power I received from it.  I am not a perfect person or a perfect Christian to be sure, but I am all in.  Religion for me is not appearance or form.  It is life itself.  I have been from that moment years ago a person of the wind energized at my best moments by what Edwards called religious affections.

People frequently ask me why some other church is doing so well.  Why are they growing?  Why are so many people going there?  What do they have that we don’t?  If I answer honestly I say I don’t know.  I don’t get to visit other churches in order to discern what they are doing that is working so well for them.  I suspect, however, that there is one single common trait they all share.  It is not contemporary music or great preaching or drop down video screens or casual clothes and coffee cups in the worship service.  The common thread is that each congregation has a significant number of people who are passionate about living out the Christian faith.  Each has many people who are being blow about by the wind. 

In Edward’s day there were many good and faithful church people who wanted nothing to do with what they called “enthusiasm” in religion.  They were comfortable with and confident in the external expression of religion and its form.  Faith being animated served no purpose at all for them.  But there were others who found that religion’s windy power made them new and energized believers.  And then there were some who knew they were missing out on something, but couldn’t name it.  These were people who, like Nicodemus, saw in the enthused something they lacked. 

The image of wind.  Imagine two kites.  One is leaning against a wall in a closed garage.  The other is soaring high above a beach, caught up in the persistent ocean breeze.  What is the difference between the two?  Both are kites, right?  Neither creates the wind, but one is caught up in it while the other is not.  That kite in the wind… it is living into the fullness of its intended being.  The one in the garage… not so much.  Which one are you more like? 

Jesus said, “The wind blows where it chooses… and so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”