May 4, 2014 - Easter 3 - Broken-hearted but Burning

Broken-hearted But Burning

Easter 3 - May 4, 2014

Luke 24:13-35

The disciples were broken-hearted that first Easter day. Luke tells us the story of these two disciples, Cleopas and one left unnamed, not part of the 12, yet close enough to the story to have seen it unfold before their very eyes. That Holy Week – Jesus entering into Jerusalem to cheers and shouts of gladness. Maundy Thursday – Jesus and his friends gathering for a final meal. The time praying (or sleeping) in the garden. The betrayal. The arrest. The trial. Good Friday – Jesus hanging on a cross. Friends fleeing. Peter’s denial. Holy Saturday – a time of waiting and wondering, crying and grieving. And finally, Easter Sunday – the women going to the tomb, finding it empty, angels appearing to share the news that Jesus had risen. But the women’s words seemed to the other disciples an idle tale – especially after some others went to the tomb and found it empty – but did not see Jesus.

And after all of this, we join Cleopas and his friend on the road home, returning to Emmaus, walking and talking, trying to make sense of it all. They are dejected, disappointed. Jesus has died, leaving in his wake all of their unfulfilled dreams for what might have been. While they go, Jesus himself comes near, Luke says – but their eyes are kept from recognizing him. “What are you discussing?” Jesus asks, and they stop dead in their tracks, sad, but in disbelief that there is anyone who doesn’t know what’s been going on. “The things about Jesus of Nazareth,” they explain; “But we had hoped that he was the one…”

“We had hoped…”

Such sad words, encompassing such longing, such a sense of loss over what might have been. So many times we are stumbling through life, awash in grief or regret or longing. We had hoped… that our marriage would last forever, and now here we are going through a messy divorce, with disputes over shared custody and attempting to remain civil for the sake of the kids and yet hurting each other nonetheless. We had hoped… that the doctor would be able to prescribe an antibiotic to take care of that lingering sinus infection, only to have them run some tests and before we can catch our breath, starting chemotherapy for the leukemia we didn’t even suspect we had. We had hoped… to spend our golden years, retired and traveling, exploring, and enjoying an unhurried life with our beloved spouse of many years, only to have their life cut short by a heart attack. We had hoped… that the years of sobriety from addiction meant that the years of struggle were behind us, only to have the urge to use come sweeping back in with overwhelming power. We had hoped. We had hoped. We had hoped.

This is where the disciples found themselves that first Easter day, hoping for things that might have been, and now will never be, and now just seeking a way forward, a way to put the past behind them and move on with life into an unknown future.

And then Jesus shows up. (I told you last week that he has a way of doing that, right?) He comes to them in their journey of grief, walking along with them, even though they don’t know it. Jesus comes and listens to them pouring out their sad story – and then he tells them a story of his own. He calls them back to God’s word, walking with them through those sacred stories of God’s history with God’s people, one by one, interpreting these things about himself in the scriptures.

Now, not all of us would be too willing to listen to someone tell us how the Bible has all the answers to our questions, especially in the middle of the worst days of our lives. But there’s something about this stranger and the way he explains things that make the disciples want to keep him around. At the end of this 7-mile walk, they are anxious to hear more of what this man has to say, and they invite him in to stay with them. It’s classic ancient world hospitality, to open your home to a stranger with no place to stay, to share a meal with them – and so they urge Jesus to stay, and give him the place of honor. The meal is prepared, and Jesus takes his place at the table, offering the blessing over their meal, as he has done so many times before. He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them – and just like that, their eyes are opened and they see this man for who he really is: Jesus – risen from the dead!

And just like that, their hearts go from broken to burning! Hindsight is 20/20, they say – and now, having realized who was walking and talking with them all that way, they realize their hearts were burning the whole time. Something special, something strange, was going on as they were on the way, but it’s only in retrospect that they are able to see it for what it is. But now that they know, there’s no way they can keep it to themselves. Up they get, racing the whole seven miles back to Jerusalem to see the other disciples – people they had left just as broken-hearted as themselves that morning – wanting them to know what they know, to see what they have seen, to experience what they experienced. Their hearts are burning with this great unexpected amazing good news that Jesus has been raised, and they need to share it with their friends.

I suspect that there are many of us who sit in this place this morning with broken hearts. We come into this place, dejected or despairing, just looking for a way to move on, no longer hoping for what might have been, but not sure of what will be. We may have no expectation to meet Jesus in this place, maybe we wouldn't recognize him if we passed him in the street, or even if he dropped in to walk alongside us for a while as we try to make sense of the events that have taken place.

But that doesn't mean he isn't here! Even if we can’t see him or feel his presence, that doesn't mean that he has abandoned us to walk this road alone. He walks with us through the love and support of friends and family, doctors and therapists and 12-step sponsors. He comes to us in this place, shining forth from the word of God. He makes himself known in the blessing and breaking and giving of the bread and in the pouring of the wine that we share in communion. And though it may not happen as quickly as with these two disciples, Jesus keeps walking with us, reaching out to us over and over again, until our broken hearts catch fire, burning with his promise and love and resurrection hope that life can begin again, and sending us running to share the good news with our broken-hearted brothers and sisters – telling the story of what happened on our road, and how Jesus has been made known to us in the breaking of the bread.

Amen.

Easter 2 - April 27, 2014 - Jesus Keeps Showing Up

Jesus Keeps Showing Up

Easter 2 - April 27, 2014

John 20:19-31

Sometimes when we read these stories from the Bible, we forget that the people we are reading about were living these stories in real time. We've heard them so often (and this gospel story gets read every year on the Sunday after Easter) that we don’t always realize that Jesus’ followers didn't know how the story was going to turn out. They couldn't turn to the back of the book and read the final few pages; they couldn't go online to check out the synopsis of the film while they were watching so they wouldn't be too taken aback by what is yet to take place – not that I've ever done anything like that. No, these men and women just had to live the story moment by moment, unsure what was going to come next. And so even though Jesus had told them more than once that he had to die and then on the third day rise again, they really didn't know what was happening that first Good Friday and Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday.

And so we join them on this first Easter evening, and though Mary Magdalene had come from the graveside and brought Peter and the disciple Jesus loved running to see the empty tomb, and though they had witnessed the limp grave clothes lying where a body once had been, but was no longer, and though Mary had come again rejoicing, announcing to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!”, there they were that night, locked behind closed doors that for fear of the Jewish leaders, worried and afraid of what the future held in store for them.

And suddenly, despite the locked doors, Jesus himself shows up, offering them his peace, showing them his scars, breathing the gift of the Holy Spirit on them, sending them into the world on a mission.

But poor Thomas, doomed to forever be known as a doubter – he wasn't there with the rest of them that night. When he comes back, the other disciples are a-flutter with the news, overflowing with excitement – “We have seen the Lord!” But Thomas doesn't believe them. He knows the old saying, “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.” He wants to see and experience it for himself. “Unless I see the mark of the nails and put my finger in the mark and my hand in his side, I will not believe,” Thomas declares.

Thomas and the other ten remaining disciples aren't the only ones who know what it is like to live locked away from the world, hiding in our fears and anxieties, drowning in our doubt, trying to make sense of the things that have happened to us, finding it impossible to believe the words of promise and hope and comfort that others try to speak to us in the midst of our personal tragedies and grief, and our dismay at the hurt of the world around us. The dreaded diagnosis. The ultrasound that reveals a life-threatening birth defect. The loss of a job. The heart-breaking break-up. The tragic car accident. The depth of depression. The abyss of addiction. Missing flights and missing children. Stories of abuse and violence. Children bullied or taken advantage of. No wonder we sometimes long to hide away and lock the world out, to hunker down with a few trusted, remaining friends or family and ride out the storm. And though some may try to tell us to trust in God, to hope in the promise of Jesus, it’s not always enough. We want to see him for ourselves. We need to experience the presence of the risen Christ in person. We need Jesus himself to show up!

But thanks be to God, that’s just what Jesus does! We see it here over and over again in John’s gospel: Jesus calling Mary’s name in the garden Easter morning, Jesus walking through the locked doors of the house on Easter night, coming back again a week later to the same place – with Thomas there that time – and Jesus reaches out to him with wounded hands – “Do not doubt, but believe.” Jesus shows up, sharing peace one more time, promising blessings yet to come on all those who have not seen and yet will come to believe. Next week, we’ll hear about Jesus showing up again to two followers on the road to Emmaus. In the middle of suffering and fear, Jesus shows up. In the face of grief and bewilderment, Jesus shows up. When people are lost and directionless, Jesus shows up. At the moment of deepest sorrow, when all hope seems lost, Jesus shows up. All throughout the gospels, Jesus keeps showing up – and he’s never stopped!

That’s the blessing of our gathering here this week, and every week, and every time and every place where we gather. Jesus keeps showing up. He’s present among those who have experienced the risen Christ, who echo the words of the disciples: “We have seen the Lord!” He’s here with those of us who have only heard tales from others and aren't sure if we can or should believe something that seems too good to be true. He shows up among us, faithful and doubting, locked behind closed doors in fear, or boldly going into the world wherever he sends us. No matter what we say or do or think, Jesus keeps showing up!

He comes to us in the stories from scripture, stories shared about ordinary, average women and men – the ones whose names we know – Mary Magdalene and Peter and Paul – and those who remain nameless – the woman at the well, the man born blind, the hemorrhaging woman, the man who pleads for an epileptic son.
Jesus shows up in the waters of baptism, cleansing us, claiming us, raising us up to new life and calling us his own. He shows up in this meal we share each week, proclaiming, “This is my body, given for you. This is my blood, shed for you.”

He shows up in our worship – in the songs that we sing and the sermons that we hear, in the peace that we share and the gifts that we offer. He shows up in the world around us – in the giving and receiving of forgiveness between family and friends, in the support and hope and love offered around a hospital bed or graveside. No matter where we are or where we've been, full of faith or full of doubt or somewhere in between, Jesus keeps showing up, and thanks be to God, he always will.

Amen.

April 13, 2014 - Palm Sunday - Who Is This?

Who Is This?

Palm Sunday - April 13, 2014

Matthew 21:1-11

We’ve come to that time of year again. It’s the season when the world around us sits up and takes notice of the story of God the Father and of Jesus. There's the Gospel of Jesus' Wife, the dating of which has recently been authenticated as coming from the late 700s, making waves just in time for Holy Week. Entertainment media offer various interpretations of who God is and what role Jesus might have to play in our lives too. Just since late February, we’ve had three movies come out in theaters around this topic of the divine: The Son of God, God’s Not Dead, and Noah, and Heaven is For Real comes out this week. Not be outdone, The History Channel is all set to re-air the series The Bible, which is what The Son of God is taken from, over Easter weekend.

Now you might have guessed from the movies I’ve talked about in previous sermons that I don’t get out to the movies much; I don’t even get to watch movies without interruption at home on Netflix or DVD very often, so you probably won’t be surprised when I tell you that I haven’t seen any of these movies yet. But I’m intrigued by their existence. It strikes me that there is in our culture, even as we have moved beyond Christendom, a deep curiosity out there about the things and person of God as Father and Son (the Holy Spirit often gets left out of the equation). There is some hunger, even and perhaps especially among those who call themselves Christian, to know more about God, to go deeper into the story, to understand who God is and what God does and how these events speak to us even today. We long to have answers to the question of who Jesus is.

It’s an age-old question, one we see asked boldly and directly in the gospel of Matthew this morning. The time has come for the Passover festival and Jesus is about to enter the city of Jerusalem for his final week. Over the course of his ministry, word has been spreading about Jesus and what he can do, and so as he comes to the city gates, crowds have gathered to welcome him, to cheer and rejoice, to cry out, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” They have high hopes for this Jesus, that he will be the one promised, the messiah who will save their people, overthrowing Roman rule and occupation and taking his rightful place as king of their nation. They make a ruckus, throwing clothes down on the path, cutting branches off of trees and laying them on the road, a kind of ancient day red carpet for Jesus to ride in on.

But there are those in the city of Jerusalem who haven’t been paying attention to this peasant carpenter from Nazareth. Though Jesus is well known in the country and the outskirts, his fame hasn’t quite spread to Jerusalem yet. And so, as the people lead and follow Jesus in a triumphant parade, the crowds in the city are stymied. Confused. They are in a turmoil, Matthew says. “Who is this?’ they exclaim, wondering who this visiting dignitary might be who draws such attention and deserves such acclaim.

“Who is this?”

It’s the central question, isn’t it? This is the heart of the matter for us as followers of Jesus. It is the focus, not just of this Palm Sunday, but of the whole season of Lent that has gone before, and the Holiest of Weeks that lies ahead of us. We have spent Lent hearing the stories of Jesus, watching him encounter all sorts of people and beings, and all of them have this same question in the back of their mind. As they have seen how he speaks and interacts, as they have watched what he does, this is what they want to know. Who is this? From the devil in the wilderness who calls Jesus’ identity into question: “If you are the Son of God…” he says three times as he tries to tempt Jesus; to Nicodemus who comes to Jesus at night, saying, “Teacher, we know that no one can do these things you do apart from God”; to the Samaritan woman at the well, “Come, see a man who has told me everything I have ever done. He can’t be the Messiah, can he?’; to the man born blind, whose spiritual sight grows with every interrogation by the people around him – from “I do not know where he is,” to “He is a prophet,” to “If this man were not from God, he could do nothing,” to a final face to face encounter with Jesus, who asks him, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” to which he replies, “Lord, I believe,”; to Lazarus and Mary and Martha, who hear Jesus say, “I am the resurrection and the life…”; and finally, to this day, when some welcome Jesus as prophet and warrior king and others are shaken, saying “Who is this?” All of these meetings, everything has been leading up to this, and we may think that we know him, we may think we know what he is about. We may think we don’t need to hear the old, old story again, that we can’t afford the time to come to worship on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, that it will be enough to show up Easter morning to rejoice and celebrate in the year’s high point of festive worship.

But think again. Because the stories of this week to come are where Jesus reveals himself most fully. To miss the events of Holy Week and skip right to Easter is to miss the point. Here we will see Jesus as humble servant, kneeling at the feet of his friends, tenderly washing them, even Judas who will betray him, even Peter who will deny him. Here we will hear him give us our mission: “Love one another as I have loved you.” Here we will witness Jesus, betrayed and handed over to the authorities, deserted, tried, convicted and hung on a cross to die, willingly giving up his life so that we may see the depth of his love for us and for this whole world, that we may begin to know how far that love is willing to go to restore and redeem us. Here we see Jesus revealed, power arising out of weakness, love winning out over death and anger and fear, life emerging victorious from death.

Who is this? Come this week and see.

Amen.

March 23, 2014 - Lent 3 - Worshipers Who Witness

Worshippers Who Witness

Lent 3 - March 23, 2014

John 4:5-42

Watch & listen to this sermon here.

I imagine that many of you are familiar with the song, “If We Are the Body,” by Casting Crowns. But in case you’re not, or you need a refresher because your coffee hasn’t had a chance to kick in quite yet, the verses describe first a girl coming into worship, trying to avoid attention, trying to melt into the crowd, hearing the other girls laugh at her behind her back, and then a man, a traveler far from home who also seeks to be invisible, only to meet the judgmental stares of the people around him, letting him know he’s really not welcome, that he’d have been better just staying out on the road. And then the chorus asks these questions:

[But] if we are the body, why aren’t his arms reaching?
Why aren’t his hands healing?
Why aren’t his words teaching?
And if we are the body, why aren’t his feet going?
Why is his love not showing them there is a way?
There is a way…

Now, I don’t know how you hear these words, but whenever I hear them or sing them in worship, I take them as a call for me to stop judging people based only on what I can see on the surface, as a call for us as the church, as the Body of Christ, to be open and welcoming and seeking to live out the love of Jesus, that we would go past all of the boundaries we set up between us and others, reaching out for a hurting world. And obviously, that’s a worthwhile goal. It’s certainly something we should strive for.

But I was wondering this week about those times when we are on the flip side of this song, the times when we are the girl who tries to be invisible and feels mocked, the times when we feel like the man out on the road, not welcomed in, all of those times when we feel the burden of being an outsider looking in and longing to belong. I was thinking of the ways we sometimes feel like we need to hide or cover up who we really are, lest we suddenly find ourselves cast out by the court of public opinion. I was reflecting on the masks we wear in public, even and often especially in worship – masks that try to cover up the depression or anger that wells up within us, the addictions with drugs or alcohol we or someone we love fights against, the loneliness we experience or the grief over a lost loved one that we carry as a wound that lingers for years, the relationship teetering on the brink of the end – and yet we pretend to those we meet that everything is okay. We are masters of this, hiding our vulnerabilities, numbing our pain and anxiety and stress with food or TV or the Internet or constant busyness, never letting our guard drop, never letting anyone in, rarely letting anyone else have even the opportunity to be the hands and feet and heart of Christ to us.

But the woman at the well who we encounter this week in John’s gospel has no such mask. There is no way for her to pretend about her struggles. People in Sychar know all about her, know her life story: married 5 times and now living with a man who is not her husband. This doesn’t necessarily mean what we’ve often been taught to believe it means. We assume she’s promiscuous, living in sin, hopping from man to man; but remember for a moment how life was in Jesus’ time, how women were treated mostly as property, at the mercy of their fathers or husbands. It’s just as likely that this woman has been widowed one or more times, or cast aside by these men because she was barren, unable to give them children, and that her husbands have divorced her one after the other as it was their right to do for pretty much any reason – and that she is now living with another man simply out of necessity if she is to survive. Perhaps she is shunned by the other women in town because they fear her bad luck is contagious, or they just don’t know what to say to a woman who is so beaten down by life. But whatever the reason, this unnamed Samaritan woman comes to the well in the heat of the noon sun, when you normally wouldn’t meet anyone else there, coming once again to draw water for her household’s daily needs. And it is here that she comes face to face with Jesus. Jesus, who has the prophet’s gift of knowing things about her that he has no natural way of knowing. Jesus, who has his longest conversation with her out of anyone in John’s gospel. Jesus, who senses her thirst to know and be known, her inability to hide her hurts, and her hunger to be welcomed and accepted just as she is. Jesus, who offers her living water that she may never know thirst again, a spring of water gushing up to eternal life. Jesus, who then invites her, shunned Samaritan woman that she is, to worship the Father in spirit and in truth.

Did you hear that? Jesus calls her to worship in truth. To put aside any pretense about who she is, to set aside the masks that she may try in vain to wear as self-protective gear, to come before God just as she is: vulnerable, broken, human. “…for the Father seeks such as these to worship him” (v. 23).

This is the life of worship Jesus calls us into today too. To stop spending so much time and energy on hiding who we are and to be real. To stop wearing the mask of self-sufficiency and admit our need for help, for welcome, for acceptance. To acknowledge before God and each other our brokenness and sin and pain, trusting that God can handle it, daring to believe that God can heal us, despite ourselves, having faith in the One who offers us living water that will quench our thirst, a spring that gushes up to eternal life.

We see what happens when the woman at the well does this… when she sees that Jesus sees her for all that she is and all that she may be, she drops her water jar – symbol of her thirst and longing – and races back to town, the same town that has set her aside and dismissed her for so long. She runs back, the water of life overflowing from her heart. “Come, see a man who told me everything I have ever done!” she says. “He can’t be the Messiah, can he?” And something about her is so profoundly different, so radically transformed that the townsfolk come hurrying to meet Jesus. The woman becomes a worshiper who witnesses, daring to speak of this One who has found her and known her, not worrying that she’s not qualified or not good enough for anyone else to believe. In fact, I’d bet it’s the very fact that her brokenness was so well known in town that causes the people to come and see, curious about who this was that caused such a dramatic change in her.

Just so with us! We spend so much time worrying about appearances and looking like a “good Christian”, whatever that means, that we are afraid of sharing our story with others – but so often, it is when we reveal our failings and frailties and our experience that Jesus knows and loves us anyway, without judgment, without condemnation, but instead with compassion and love – that’s when we become worshipers with a witness.
That’s when we become part of the body of Christ, arms reaching, hands healing, words teaching. The people around us? They don’t need a perfect example, they need a living example, someone who has been where they have been, or at least has struggled too – and can testify, witness to the ways that Jesus knows, claims, heals, restores, invites, loves us all – so that they may come to see for themselves and come to believe that Jesus is truly the Savior of the world.

Go, be a worshiper who witnesses.

Amen.

March 16, 2014 - Lent 2 - Born of the Spirit

Born of the Spirit

Lent 2 - March 16, 2014

John 3:1-17

Watch & listen to this sermon here.

A story from the internet:

Once upon a time, twins were conceived in the same womb.
Weeks passed, and the twins developed. As their awareness grew, they laughed for joy, "Isn't it great that we were conceived? Isn't it great to be alive?”
Together the twins explored their world. When they found their mother's cord that gave them life they sang for joy, "How great is our mother's love that she shares her own life with us."
As the weeks stretched into months the twins noticed how much each was changing. They began to feel gentle squeezes from the womb around them.

"What does this mean?" asked the one.
"It means that our stay in this world is drawing to an end," said the other one.
"But I don't want to go," said the first twin. "I want to stay here always."
"We have no choice," said the other, "but maybe there is life after birth!"
"But how can it be?" responded the one. "We will shed our life cord, and how is life possible without it? Besides, we have seen evidence that others were here before us and none of them has returned to tell us that there is life after birth."
And so the one fell into deep despair saying, "If conception ends with birth, what is the purpose of life in the womb? It's meaningless! Maybe there is no mother at all."
"But there has to be," protested the other. "How else did we get here? How do we remain alive?"
"Have you ever seen our mother?" said the one. "Maybe she lives in our minds. Maybe we made her up because the idea made us feel good."

And so the last days in the womb were filled with deep questioning and fear and finally the moment of birth arrived. When the twins had passed from their world, they opened their eyes and cried, for what they saw exceeded their fondest dreams.

Birth is an awesome, exciting, but sometimes frightening thing. For as much as we know about it in our day and age, as far as medical science and technology have come, the process of bringing a new life into being in this world is mysterious. Even though we can find out the gender months before a baby is born, so we can pick names and buy clothes and decorate the nursery; and even though we can schedule a day to induce labor when baby overstays their welcome; and even though we can plan a C-section birth when there is the concern over complications, there is still so much that we don’t know, so much that remains outside of our control. Babies don’t always come when we expect or plan for them; they don’t always cooperate with ultrasounds and medications and procedures designed to give us the illusion that we are in control here. And don’t even get me started on what happens with our carefully planned schedules and our misconceptions about how life will be after they are here…

But the story I just read of twins talking in the womb helps us imagine how much more out of control it feels for the one being born. They have no experience of the world that waits for them outside the womb. In their mother’s body, they are bathed in amniotic fluid, they constantly hear the rhythmic swooshing of their mother’s heartbeat, they are fed continually through the umbilical cord. And though this story describes the twins’ wonder at a world that exceeds their fondest dreams, we can also imagine that it is terrifying to suddenly burst into a world filled with light and sound and cold air on their skin. What a shock to their system! Well might they long to be back where they came from!

This morning, we hear a familiar story from the Gospel of John. Nicodemus, a prominent religious leader, comes to Jesus by night, seeking to learn more about him and what he is about, to see how God is at work in Jesus’ life, to get some answers to the burning questions that are keeping him awake. And Jesus answers these unspoken questions bluntly. He gets right to the point. “No one can see God’s kingdom unless they are born from above, born again, first."

Nicodemus is stymied, confused. He takes Jesus literally. “How can someone be born again? You can’t go back into your mother’s womb and re-enter the world!” Hard to imagine – but there’s something powerfully appealing about that, isn't there? Who wouldn't like the chance to start over, to begin again?

But “No,” Jesus says. He’s not talking about a physical birth. He’s talking about a spiritual rebirth. “No one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.” And much like physical birth, there is so much beyond our control here. “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it,” Jesus says, “but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” (v. 8) Try as we may to manufacture it or harness it, the Spirit who bears us into new life is not something or someone we can command. And this kingdom of God, the place where God’s will rules – it’s a whole new world, unlike anything we've ever known. Much like the twins in the womb, it is a world beyond our imagination, and we have a hard time sometimes even believing that it could exist. We may prefer to stay in the world we know, rather than take a chance on the unknown. We hesitate to let go and let God, as the saying goes, to surrender to God bringing to birth a new thing in our lives, because giving up control can be terrifying. We see this in our individual lives; we see it in congregations. Some of us may be experiencing that now as we stand here on the cusp of Ascension Arise – hearing God call us to a huge task, one that will set Ascension free to multiply God’s mission and ministry in and through this place and you, this people – and we may wonder if it’s too much, too soon, if it wouldn't perhaps be better to wait and move forward another day.

And yet the Holy Spirit is at work, even now, laboring to bring new life to birth – in you, in me, in all of us. She is bringing the new life that comes from above, from the depth of God’s love for us – light bursting into our darkness, belief breaking through our unbelief. It is the sheltered but confined life of certainty in the womb suddenly shattered by the wide open spaces and possibilities of eternal life – which, let me remind you, isn't just about what happens when we die, but about who we are and how we live in the here and now! It’s about abundant life lived in hope and faith and trust centered in the One who gives us this life.

This is the quest – and the promise – of the Holy Spirit: to bring the things of God, the will of God, the love of God to birth in each of us and in the life of the church, that we may learn to see with the eyes of God, to hear with the ears of God, to work with the hands of God, to love with the heart of God, who loved the world so much that God sent Jesus, the only Son, to save the world – not to condemn it, but in order that the world might be saved through him and be born into this eternal life. It is a mystery that is beyond our control, but one that we are blessed to be part of. Thanks be to God.

Amen.