In a 2011 essay in the New York Times, young mother Emily Rapp described some of the pressures she felt to be the best parent she could possibly be.
 
During my pregnancy, I devoured every parenting guide I could find. My husband and I thought about a lot of questions they raised: will breast-feeding enhance his brain function? Will music class improve his cognitive skills? Will the right preschool help him get into the right college? I made lists. I planned and plotted and hoped. Future, future, future. …All parents want their children to prosper, to matter. We enroll our children in music [lessons] or take them to Mommy and Me swim class because we hope they will manifest some fabulous talent that will set them — and therefore us, the proud parents — apart.
 
I discovered Emily Rapp’s essay in a new book called Seculosity. It’s by Episcopal layman David Zahl, and reviews and interviews about it have showed up a lot of places: the LA Review of Books, The Guardian, the Associated Press and seemingly every podcast in the world. The title, Seculosity, is a word that Zahl coined: secular plus religiosity. The book is based on the empirical observation –which to me seems inarguably true, though of course you are free to argue with it – that now that very few Americans shape their lives around any historic religion, the human instincts and needs to which the historic religions respond have not disappeared – far from it. They’ve just attached themselves to other things.

“As you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”
You see the sequence there in our Colossians reading? Paul writes about Receiving Christ – then continuing to live in Christ. Rooted in Christ – then built up in Christ and established in him.
 
And again, just a few sentences later: “When you were buried with Christ in baptism, you were also raised with him through faith in the power of God, who raised him from the dead. And when you were dead in trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made you alive together with him when he forgave us all our trespasses, erasing the record that stood against us with its legal demands.”
 
You see the same sequence coming back? First you’re buried with Christ in Baptism – then you’re filled with his resurrection life as you live by his power after Baptism. First you are dead, spiritually, until God makes you alive in Christ – then you are living in freedom as the record that stood against you is completely erased. In all these cases the second is a result of the first -- it only happens as we take in and process what God has done.

Something like 2100 BC is the date of the events we’re hearing about today in our first reading. Genesis is the first book of the Bible, and today’s reading comes from fairly early on in that book, though of course scholars argue over exact dates. Something like 4000 years ago, at any rate. Given that, you might think that what a text like this records would be something so distant from the things that matter to us now that it would just be a kind of curiosity, that we might find little more to say than “How different people were then! What quaint ideas they had!”
 
But in fact, in this brief story we find God acting just the way he acts today, and we find Abraham responding in just the way we have the chance to respond today. God has not changed, and human nature has not changed. We are still in the same story now as we were then. After all, the Bible’s not a history textbook or a rule book or a book of ideas about spirituality. It’s a coherent narrative across time, spanning centuries but generously given to us by God so we can better understand both him and our own nature – which we never will, unless we come to fit into that narrative ourselves.

Today’s gospel lesson is one of the most beloved of Jesus’ teachings.  I would guess that for us here today, this is not the first time we have heard it. The “Good Samaritan” is a well-known idiom in the English language and most people understand it for its meaning even if they do not understand its reference to this particular passage from Luke.

So for those of us who know this text, how do we listen to it today and how do we gain from it, when its meaning is so well known?

The lawyer in this gospel was also one who knew his scripture well. The passage began by him asking Jesus, “What must I do to achieve eternal life?” As was Jesus’ style, Jesus replied by asking a question of the man, “What is written in the law?”  The lawyer answered quickly, drawing both on Deuteronomy and Leviticus, “Love the Lord your God with all heart, and all your soul, all your strength and all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself”.  He knew the correct words to say but then by asking Jesus his next question, “Who is my neighbor?” he demonstrated that he really did not have a complete understanding of the words he had memorized.

So even as well-known as this passage may be for us, we need to hear these stories again and again. As a favorite collect says, we need to hear them, to read, mark and inwardly digest them because their message taken as a whole is what living a Christian life is all about.

​My question then this morning is for you to reflect on what being a neighbor means to you. Specifically think about who has been a neighbor to you? What person or persons have taught you how to act as neighbor? Where have you seen a Good Samaritan in your midst? How do you put yourself into this morning’s gospel?

I’ll begin with a brief sketch of some biblical background before diving into the Gospel for today. Across the Bible, the movement of the plot is almost always from activity to rest, from work to sabbath, from journey to destination, from exile to home. In Genesis, God creates the world for six days and then rests on the seventh. Abraham is called away from his ancestral lands to journey as a stranger on his way to the land that God promises to his and his descendants. And a once wayward Israel, taken away captive to Babylon, returns to the Lord in repentance, and in so doing is allowed to return to Jerusalem, to return to home. In Scripture, labor or effort or movement is never the end goal in and of itself. It is always a means to the end, which is ultimately the eternal rest of the vision of God.

And so today, just a little further down into Luke 10 where we get our Gospel lesson this morning, we find this recurring theme again. Martha is distracted by her many tasks and frustrated with her sister Mary, who instead “sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying.”

Martha asks Jesus, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me. But the Lord answer her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

​From this brief exchange, Christian thinkers from across the centuries have found deep metaphors for the relationship between the active life and the contemplative life, so-called, the life of Martha and the life of Mary, respectively. And just as Jesus suggests, the contemplative life, exemplified by Mary’s posture of relaxed attention, is the better part. Jesus’ teaching here sits upon this foundational theme in the whole of Scripture that I’ve set out so far: we are taught here to move from many things to the one thing, from distraction to undivided contemplation of God, just as God himself moves from work to rest in creation; Abraham, from wandering to promised land; and Israel, from exile back to the Holy City of Jerusalem. 

“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”
 
This sentence from Galatians is a foundation scripture for much anti-racism work in the larger church. I will say more about that later but first I want to examine today’s Epistle in more depth.

 As Todd Daley mentioned in his sermon regarding the Trinity last week, throughout church history there have been many theological disagreements involving councils and conferences. These have produced faith statements and creeds, some of which we still use today. In the earlier days the losers in those arguments were often excommunicated or exiled or in some cases even put to death. Some of these disagreements produced splits into various groups or denominations. This continues even today. Of note in the recent news some Illinois politicians have been restricted from taking communion in the Catholic Church due to their voting position on abortion. And the denomination currently divided over sexuality questions is the United Methodist Church which may result in a split for them in the year ahead. We Episcopalians are currently on the quiet side of the news on doctrinal issues but we also have had our turn.

One of the first theological issues facing the early church is what Paul addresses in his letter to the Galatians. This major disagreement was to answer the question, “Does a Gentile have to become a Jew before he can become a follower of Christ?” Or, are the followers of the Way (what we now call Christians) a sect of Judaism or is something entirely new going on with these believers?
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If believers are a sect of Judaism then yes, they must follow the law with all its requirements of circumcision, clean and unclean foods and so on. If however, God is forming something new in establishing his church then no, the law is no longer a requirement. 

Introduction

Well Avery’s mother knew this question would come one day, but admittedly she was caught off guard when her eight year old son approached her in the kitchen and said, “Mom, where did I come from?” After several false starts she stumbled and stuttered out a vague explanation, but it was clear that Avery looked very puzzled. So she tried again, pointing out the differences between men and women, sprinkling in terms like ‘embryo,’ ‘fertilization,’ and ‘gestation,’ which only made things worse. Finally, and thankfully, he interrupted her and said. “No mom! My friend Caleb says he’s come from Cleveland.” “Where do I come from?”

Now this was an innocent misunderstanding. Clearly, something was lost in translation. We’ll come back to this shortly. 

Well, this is Trinity Sunday, the day the church has set aside to reflect on one of the more opaque doctrines of Christian faith. Since it’s certainly not something we hear in our culture—at least since Don McLean sang about the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost catching the last train for the coast—it is good for us to set aside a day to reflect on Trinity, as challenging as this might be.

Without a doubt, one could argue that one of the worst ways to address the Trinity is by listening to theologians talk about. For the last 800 years, for instance, theologians have helped clarify the essence of the Trinity into five notions, four relations, three persons, two processions, and one nature. These five notions are—because I’m sure you’re dying to know—innascibility, paternity, filiation, common spiration, and procession.  If you go online you can find diagrams that describe these aspects (and more) with no less than twelve arrows—some unidirectional, some bidirectional—between the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Little wonder that seminary students will say five notions, four relations, three persons, two processions, one nature, and zero sense. Moreover, if anyone were ever to explain the Trinity, it would be no less difficult so say why it matters. 

Isn’t this just one more reason for why we don’t need doctrine? It’s hardly a compelling term. If there were a lexicon of exciting words, “doctrine” would be up there with like “Tupperware” or the “beige.” Historically however, doctrines have mattered a great deal. They nearly always developed in the context of heated disputes over the interpretation of Scripture, where the losers were often excommunicated or killed, or both. Ultimately, doctrine determined whether people could continue to worship together, including the doctrine of the Trinity. In fact, we confess the doctrine of Trinity every week in the Nicene Creed.

The development of Trinity actually grew out of questions concerning who Jesus Christ is, as to whether Christ was divine, or human, or both. Once the church recognized that Christ was divine, God in the flesh, the “oneness” of God required a different meaning than the monotheistic interpretation of the Old Testament. The church eventually came to confess that while there is only one God, this God nevertheless consists of three persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—sharing the same “substance” or “stuff.” 

The Nicene Creed (ca. 381) not only speaks to this reality, but the particular language employed came from several disputes over various texts of scripture, and who had the better interpretation. When Jesus Christ is described as “begotten of his Father before all worlds,” (or, “eternally begotten of the father”) “eternally begotten of the Father,”and as “begotten, not made,” this language reflects an explicit rejection of Christ as a created being. 

We could easily spend the next hour unpacking the language of the creed by looking at the disputes that produced it. I know. I can sense your disappointment. As exciting as that would be, I’ve got 8:30 to wrap this up. The church would also come to confess that the Holy Spirit is divine, the Spirit who proceeds from the Father and the Son, who, with the Father and the Son is worshipped and glorified. If the Spirit weren’t divine, such worship would be idolatry.

John 16:12-15 (NRSV)

Our text in John’s Gospel highlights the activity of the Holy Spirit. In this extended discourse which stretches over several chapters, Jesus has foretold of his own betrayal, predicted Peter’s denial, and announced his imminent departure. On top of all that, he tells the disciples that they will be hated, and should expect to suffer in his absence. But on four separate occasions Jesus has also mentioned that he will be sending the Counselor, the Holy Spirit (14:16, 26; 15:26; 16:7). 

In verse 12 Jesus says he has more to say, but recognizes that they just can’t bear it at the present moment. We have no idea what Jesus was going to say, but he stops, and changes course. Might it be on account of their sorrow? Possibly. When one is still reeling from the initial shock of a troubling medical diagnosis, the death of a loved one, or the loss of a job, absorbing more information would prove extremely difficult. It could also however, have been on account of their spiritual immaturity. Either way, Jesus’ timing—and the Spirit’s timing—is perfectly attuned to their weaknesses and limitations. 

So Jesus breaks off from these warnings of the future and returns once again to the Holy Spirit, pausing to elaborate on what he only mentioned in passing before. There are at least two major activities of the Spirit that we can discern here. The Spirit guides and the Spirit glorifies.

The Spirit Guides

In verse 13 Jesus tells the deflated disciples that when the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide them into all the truth. Note that the word “guide” evokes the image of a pathway, one that they’re already walking. This may point back to Jesus’ earlier declaration in chapter 14, where he declared that he is “the Way.” (v. 6). The Holy Spirit, the Spirit of truth, will keep them on the right path, the path that leads to truth.  Such guidance has nothing at all to do with privileged information regarding the choice of one’s vocation or mate, or which numbers to choose for the lottery. 

But Jesus also points out that the Spirit does not guide by speaking on his own behalf, but speaks only what he hears. We’re not told whether the Spirit hears the Father or the Son, but this is likely not important. This expression bespeaks a harmony among the divine persons. Because the Spirit is in intimate communion with the Father and the Son, and because the Father, Son, and Spirit share the same substance or “stuff” or being, there is no miscommunication; nothing ever gets lost nothing lost in translation, so to speak. 

It is worth noting here that we find the personal pronoun “he” to describe the Spirit as a person, and not an abstract force. Now while the Spirit is not male, the use of a personal pronoun in verse 13 is all the more interesting because grammatically—bear with me—grammatically the word for Spirit is neither masculine nor feminine, but neuter. To be grammatically correct, we would expect to find the word “it” instead of “he.” Something like “When the Spirit comes, it will guide you into all truth.” 

But that simply will not do. John is anxious to underscore that the Spirit is a person. In fact a more literal rendering would read something like this, “But when he, the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth.” The personal pronoun is mentioned twice. But enough with the grammar.

The Spirit Glorifies 

If the Spirit guides, the Spirit also glorifies. Jesus says of the Spirit, “He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you.” The Spirit shines a light on Christ in conveying the message from Christ. This is probably the best way to interpret Jesus’ statement that the Spirit “will declare to you the things to come” in verse 14. That is, it is likely that the Spirit would reveal a deeper understanding of Christ, one that could give an account of his crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension. We might say the Spirit’s word here is Christocentric. Then Jesus then closes the loop in verse 15, if you will, by pointing out that all that the Father has belongs also to him. The Spirit takes what Christ gives, and Christ has all that the Father has.

The Spirit Ensures that Nothing Is Lost in Translation
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Which brings us back to the story of Avery and his mother. I’d like to offer a few reflections on the work of the Holy Spirit as the One who does not speak on his own, but “speaks whatever he hears.” Because God is Triune, it cannot be any other way. Unlike Avery and his mother, there’s no possibility of mistranslation or misunderstanding between Christ—who has everything the Father has—and the Holy Spirit.

To acknowledge even the possibility of mistranslation is to move from the Trinity to tri-theism, or three separate gods who can do what they please, and may not always get on well with each other. Greek mythology has plenty of stories depicting epic battles among the gods. Chronos against Uranos. Zeus against Chronos. But there is no disorder in the Trinity. When the Spirit is sent, Christ and the Father are there. There is nothing lost in translation. 

Imagine the discouragement of the disciples, knowing that Jesus is leaving them, being told by Jesus that the Holy Spirit “will probably show you the way.” Imagine Jesus saying that he hopes the Holy Spirit will follow what he says, staying in line with his message, or even warning the disciples that from now on they’re going to have to “watch their backs” because the Spirit’s known say one thing but do another.

Those messages are more akin to our patterns of communication. We know that transitions rarely go smoothly. We know full well how quickly things can degenerate when there is turnover at work or in the church, when the new program director says that she’s enthusiastic about fulfilling the predecessor’s vision, which inevitably entails extra hours to learn new procedures for the same amount of pay. We’re left wondering whether the new director really gets the vision, or whether something has been lost in translation. 

We live a world where we often talk past one another, whether it’s innocent or malicious, whether through misunderstanding, or through sophisticated innuendos, equivocation, deceptive words, or outright lies. We are quite adept at forms of speech that intentionally malign and wound others. How easy it is for us to wreck relationships and kill community with our words. Indeed, our “speaking whatever we hear” often takes the form of gossip. We also know the pain of being misunderstood and the sorrow of broken fellowship. The root cause of most divorce is a failure to communicate—to speak truthfully, to listen and be heard.

And yet, we are created in the image of the Triune God, the God who is a social reality, an eternal, uninterrupted fellowship of love shared between the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, where nothing is ever lost in translation.  Being made in God’s image means, fundamentally, that we are made for fellowship with God and one another. We may not all be sociable, but we are social beings. One of the deepest longing of our souls is to be heard and understood. 

But being created in God’s image also means that we have the responsibility to speak truthfully to others, to speak, through the Holy Spirit, words that shine a light on Christ, whether we’re talking about him or not. If the Spirit repeats the words of Jesus, then perhaps we should ask the Spirit to bring to mind those who may be in need of words of reconciliation.

• Is there someone who has suffered on account of your words? 
• Have your words been heavy—not due to their profundity but because of their judgment? 
• Have we wounded those who love us because we, unlike Jesus, decided to go ahead and release words that another was unable to bear? 
• Have we refrained from speaking words of life to another, preferring silence and misunderstanding to the possibility of embarrassment?

You might be thinking, well that’s an impossibly high standard—and you’d be right. On our own, the demand would indeed be unbearable. But this same Spirit of whom Jesus speaks, the Spirit who perfectly reflects Christ and God, has been given to us too.

I teach Christian ethics for a living, and I don’t know if Augustine’s statement in his Confessions (X.29) can be improved upon when he said “Give what you command, and command what you will.” As it turns out, Romans 5:5 was one of Augustine’s favourite verses. When Christians were discouraged, he would point to hope, and its foundation: “and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

There is of course a place where there is no miscommunication—not because of our ability to grasp the truth, but on account of the nature of the Giver. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that our shortcomings, our sin, and even our inability to fully believe is not a hindrance to the gifts we receive here. Where, through the mediation of the Holy Spirit, who sanctifies the bread and wine, we feed on Christ. May God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit grant us the power to speak words of grace and reconciliation to one another, words in a world that—whether it knows it or not—hungers for God.

Amen.

​In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I come from the very windy state of Oklahoma, windy enough that our state song describes Oklahoma as the place where the wind comes sweeping down the plains. The wind is literally always there to some extent, and you come to accept it and live by its rules. So eating outside demands intricate strategies for securing napkins and every home video of your little league games sounds like dad was filming next to a window unit. When the wind changes, every Oklahoman knows it in their bones that there is more change to come. If the new wind brings with it the smell of ozone, that’s when you go inside to “turn on the weather” and watch the formidable red blob on the radar lay siege to your town as your favorite meteorologist -- and you have a favorite -- narrates the action for you. Oklahomans are instinctively responsive to the wind because the wind determines the change.

​Pentecost reminds me of that. Our Epistle lesson from the Book of Acts begins like this: “When the day of Pentecost had come, the disciples were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting.” The wind brought with it the presence of God, the Holy Spirit, and as the wind filled the room, the Holy Spirit filled the disciples. Languages not their own were suddenly spoken, though I imagine everyone having to speak up so as to be heard over the deafening sound of the wind. Hardly confined to the house, this wind was so intense that it caught the attention of a whole crowd which then was filled with the Spirit itself. They were bewildered, “because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.” The wind changed, and with it, the Spirit changed the very nature of human communication. Language was no longer a barrier, a structure of division and incomprehension; it was now an orchestra conducted in perfect harmony. The topic of conversation is itself significant. The crowd is astonished not only by the fact that people from numerous countries can understand one another, but that what they hear are testimonies to “God’s deeds of power.” This is not a coincidence. The implication here is not that a diverse group of people are suddenly able to speak to each other and then they just so happen to talk about God. There is something way more profound being revealed here: that the proclamation of God’s work is what is spoken by humanity that is at one with itself

 
Throughout this community the month of May and early June is a time of transition. There are final concerts, end of year banquets, graduations of all sorts from kindergarten to PHD hoodings. These are days to mark the end of something big, a time to say congratulations and thanks for all that is past, and days to look ahead to what the future might be. It is a time to pause for a moment to celebrate accomplishments and to acknowledge all those who have helped to see that the event has occurred. Transitions such as these are usually filled with more than a little emotion. Often there is much excitement and joy but this can also be tinged with sadness, hints of grief, and maybe even fear or apprehension. While we look forward to what is coming next with anticipation, we are also sad that something has ended. We look back and say goodbye for one last time before heading into the uncertainty of the future. Emotions are high during times of transition.
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Today in the church we are celebrating the 7th Sunday of Easter. Seven weeks we have had to process and celebrate the joy of Jesus’ Resurrection. In this worship space there are still a few signs of the great news of Easter. The liturgical color is white; the Pascal Candle is still by the pulpit instead of in the back near the baptismal font, we have the tinkly bells. During the liturgy we do not use the confession among other small differences. A week ago I was in our cathedral in Springfield and noticed that they still had flowers around their Pascal Candle. Sister Joan Chittister, the popular Roman Catholic theologian, writes that in her convent there are bowls of raisins on the breakfast table only during Eastertide. Having raisins in the oatmeal for the 50 days is a small reminder of the importance of God’s gift of the Resurrection and the joy that gift brings. For the church, Easter is a season, rather than just one day.