Three Faces of Love given May 31, 2015

            Some years ago there was a minister in a small industrial town in Massachusetts.  It was a mill town, and most of the parishioners were mill workers. They were good sturdy people who put in long hard hours at work. Yet once a year, their pastor would preach a sermon on Astronomy.  Once he was asked why he did such a thing. After all, Astronomy certainly didn’t have much relevance in the day-to-day lives of his people.  And it most certainly wouldn’t be much help in the pressing personal crises that they, like all of us had to struggle with from time to time. The Pastor was more than willing to grant all those points,

            “But, I do it,” he explained, “because it greatly enlarges my idea of God.”  I need that, too. You need that. We all need that--a greatly enlarged view of God.

            Many people who believe in God are running around with a conception of God in their heads that is relatively small.  We shortchange God when we do that. And we end up shortchanging ourselves out of God’s gifts to us when we do that.

I’m reminded of the story of the home where Dad, Grampa, and Grandson all lived together—and were all named John. One day someone called the house and asked to speak to John.

A very exasperated voice answered, “Which John did you want to speak to? John the father, John the son, or John the holy terror?”

The Historic Theological witness of the church is clear.  Christ’s church is Trinitarian. We believe in the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit—three faces of the One God—co-eternal and co-equal in power, authority, Grace and Love.

 Over the centuries, Creeds were written, peoples and nations were included and excluded from the church both fairly and unfairly, over understandings and misunderstandings over the nature of the Trinity.  But the Trinity was always affirmed in the end--the church asserts that God is Three and One--unity in diversity.

            The church’s witness in worship is even clearer.  Every single one of us here was baptized in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.  Most Sundays in most churches we repeat a creed, or sing a hymn or response, or we say a prayer, that affirms the Trinity. We pastors pray for the congregation, and send them on their way with a blessing in the name of the Father, Son, and Spirit. Some may pray in the name of  Maker, Redeemer and Sustainer—or Creator, Christ and Spirit—whatever the choice of words--the essential three-fold nature of God’s self-revelation is always retained.

It’s our profession of belief in the Trinity in one way or another that officially makes us Trinitarian Christians. And yet, though we probably are not aware of it, the plain fact of the matter is that in our heart of hearts, a surprising number of us are really  (small “u”) unitarians of one sort or another. Let me quickly add at this point that some of my best friends are capital “U” Unitarians.

Are you? How do you understand God? How do you visualize God? How have you encountered the Divine presence in your life? To whom do you address your prayers? Which spiritual gifts and graces have you experienced? What are some of your favorite hymns? Where do you find God?

            Many of us say that we feel close to God out of doors. We speak of the beauty of Creation, the wonder of the Universe, the ordained perfection of the natural order of things.  We are people who are moved to prayer on first seeing the Grand Canyon. Our God is the One who made the Universes, who set the stars in their courses and yet notes the falling of sparrows.

This is the God first revealed in the Hebrew Bible—the God Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Moses and Miriam knew. This is the God who led the Hebrew children into the desert.  This is the God who gave us the prophets and the Law. This is the God praised, loved, sang to, and at times complained to in the Psalms.

            Those of us who encounter and love deeply this face of our God praise the Creator in songs like “How Great Thou Art”, and “All Things Bright and Beautiful” and “For the Beauty of the Earth” We are people who know and experience God as Creator, as Maker, as Loving Father, as Eternal Parent.

Others of us have come to our faith through a personal encounter with the face of God in humanity.  We have been "saved"-- inspired, rescued, forgiven-- through Jesus Christ, the Son of God and Savior of the World—the face of God we see in the Gospels.  And we follow Him. And we come to Him as Brother, Christ, Redeemer, Word made Flesh who was always with God and is of God. 

And many, many of us who come to the faith and to God as (or in) Jesus. We sing of our relationship with Him. “I Come to the Garden Alone.”  “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”,  “Blessed Assurance”, “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior. ’Hope of the World”.

            Still others of us think of ourselves as “Spirit people”. We pray to the God revealed in the Book of Acts. We come  for moments of strength in times of trial, for empowering love to persevere through crises, and to find ecstatic joy in our faith. It is the Spirit who works the miracle of empowerment and faith in our hearts. It is the Spirit who gives the lesser gifts of ecstatic utterance, of healing, of preaching, of administration, of prophecy, of teaching, of doing works of mercy and stewardship. It is the Spirit who gives the eternal gifts of Faith and Hope. It is the Spirit who gives us the greatest gift of Love.

            Those of us who pray to the Spirit often encounter that Spirit in the helping hand of a friend,  in the fellowship of other committed Christians, in the opportunities to serve in God's name, in study and in action in the world, and above all, in the highest expressions of human love. We find the Spirit spoken of in songs like “Sweet, Sweet Spirit”, “When the Storms of Life Are Raging”, “The Spirit Song” and "Spirit of the Living God".

            Perhaps your experiences and understanding of God are limited to mostly one of the members of the Trinity. If so, you probably only got about a third of what I just said. If so, I’m here to tell you that's okay. But there are experiences and blessings you’ve missed and that are available to you. I encourage you to open your heart and experiences to God in new and unexpected ways and places.

            I invite you to open your eyes a bit wider. Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live. One is as though nothing is a miracle, the other is as if everything is." Do you perceive the miracle? How much? When?

             Some of you may relate to two persons of the Trinity more than the third. Some may relate to God equally in all three persons of the Trinity. What difference does it make?

            Simply this. The bigger the concept of God that you and I carry around in our heads and hearts, the more power we give to God in our lives. And the clearer we can see the miracles of life in everything that Einstein spoke of. You and I can see God at work in this world all the time--but we have to be willing to stop and look around.

Our God can move within us and among us only where we are willing to make room. Our God can speak to us only when we choose to have ears to hear. God’s only hands in this world are yours and mine. God’s only words of witness in this world are the words you and I speak.

            Like God, you and I are each of us one, and at the same time many. Each of us plays many roles in this life—parent, spouse, employer, employee, friend, grandparent, and neighbor. And we are each a slightly different person to each different person who we encounter in each of our roles in life. Intentionally or unintentionally, I am not quite the same man to my grand-daughter Eden, as I am to my nephew Kyle—or to any of you. Yet I am beneath it all—I am essentially the same me. And so it is with God.

We all share a common humanity that makes us brothers and sisters. We all are children of the same Heavenly Parent. And yet, no two of us are totally alike—not even identical twins. For better or for worse, there is not, and never has been, and never will be, another me—or you. 

Each of us is distinct, unmatchable, unique, unrepeatable, precious and irreplaceable. We’re each hand-made by God.  That's cause for celebration!

            In 1953 Phyllis McGinley wrote a light-hearted poem called “In Praise of Diversity”,

….Yet who would dare

Deny that nature planned it other

When every freckled thrush can wear

    A dapple various from his brother.

When each pale snowflake in the storm

Is false to some imagined norm.

Recalling  then what surely was

     The earliest bounty of creation

That not a blade among the grass

     But flaunts its difference with elation,

Let us devoutly take no blame

If similar does not mean the same…

Rejoice that under cloud and star

    The planet’s more than Maine or Texas

Bless the delightful fact there are

    Twelve months, nine muses, and two sexes.

And infinite in earths dominions

Arts, climates, wonders and opinions...

Praise the disheveled,  praise the sleek;

   Austerity and hearts and flowers;

People who turn the other cheek

   And extroverts who take cold showers;

Saints we can name a holy day for,

And infidels the saints can pray for.

Praise youth for pulling things apart,

    Toppling the idols, breaking leases;

Then from the upset apple-cart

     Praise oldsters picking up the pieces.

Praise wisdom, hard to be a friend to,

And folly one can condescend to.

Praise what conforms and what is odd,

   Remembering if the weather worsens

Along the way, that even God

    Is said to be three separate Persons.

Then upright on upon the knee.

Praise Him that by His courtesy,

For all our prejudice and pains,

Diverse His creation still remains.

            Creation is awe inspiring and bountiful in its diversity. Humanity is multi-colored and multi-cultured and beautiful in its diversity. The timeless, still on-going History of our Maker’s interaction with humanity and the world reflects the on-going self-revelation of God’s very nature in many ways—at least three--and at the same time one.

Our God is a God who exists in all things. The same God who moved across the face of the waters of chaos to create all that is, transcends that Creation.  And that same God moves into the world and into History in saving and redeeming acts revealed in Jesus Christ.  And that same God works and moves in the hearts and lives of men and women as the Spirit, to bring them to respond in faith to that same saving action.

            One God--three movements. One God—three Persons. . One God—three faces revealed to humanity and the world. One God—Father, Son, and Spirit---beyond us, among us,  and within us all. One God—Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. One God—Eternal Parent,  Living Word, and Transforming Power. One God—One Ultimate Reality revealed in three faces of Love.

           

           

            

Francis got it right!

Witness to Pentecost:Timon

            Welcome to my prison cell. My name is Timon. I have never been a man who is a slave to his feelings. I have always made the important decisions in my life on the basis of reason and practical necessity. That principle carried me far in the world. My father was a prosperous traveling merchant. It was accepted as a matter of fact that I would follow in his footsteps. I knew that I would one day take over his business when he died. And so I did not object-- although I did not really care one way or another for such a life.

            My parents arranged for me to wed the daughter of one of my father's suppliers. By combining our businesses through marriage,  both families would prosper. It made sense to marry her. And so I did not object-- although I really did not care one way or another for her, either.

            Both of our families were Jewish. That might have put us in a minority-- except that in our home city of Alexandra there are many of us--more Jews than in any other city in the Empire—even in Judea, or here in Rome, or in Jerusalem itself.

            Although I was a Jew by birth, I practiced it because it was expected of me. I had been circumcised according to the customs of my people as a new-born infant. I learned Hebrew as a boy in order to read the Torah in the synagogue. But we never used it as an everyday language.  At twelve I became a man, according to our traditions, From then on I could take my place among the men of our congregation.

            As a man, I attended Sabbath services and came to the synagogue a few times and listened to the wise men and scholars debate.   But in the end that held little interest for me.  And I was not alone in that attitude. Like my father, my Jewish-ness was more a matter of fact-- a recognition of my heritage and history-- rather than a choice of faith. 

            I never really thought much about it. Truth to tell-- Religion did not mean very much to me. The gods of Rome were no longer held in the awe that they once were. People had been exposed to the gods and cults of many other lands and the Roman gods had come to seem somewhat petty and inadequate to many.

            In the Roman Empire one might worship to ask for divine help in times of crisis, or to secure a blessing for the state, or simply to gain comfort from being part of your own heritage and tradition. It was the respectable thing to do. It was a civic responsibility. Our religion is ancient, and therefore respectable in Roman eyes.  My family worshipped the God of Israel. Our neighbors worshipped the gods of Rome or Egypt or Greece. By law,  the Empire tolerated and protected all foreign religions. So there was no reason not to be a Jew.

            . For a while I was attracted to the speculations of some of the Greek philosophers. There was a part of me that was intrigued by their devotion to live lives guided by reason and dignity in order to try and make sense of the world.  But in the end, I discovered that I did not really care any more for Gentile philosophy than I did for Gentile religion.  You might say that I did not object to being a Jew.

            Until that last trading trip I took with my father. We had come to the Province of Judea-- where our ancestors had migrated from over a hundred years ago.  I was a young man then, and I was curious to see the land of my ancestors.

            As it happened, my father and I had arrived in Jerusalem on one of our people's historic festivals-- the Feast of Weeks--or Pentecost, to use the Greek name.  This festival remembers and celebrates the giving by God of the Covenant  of Law to Moses and our people in the desert at the holy mountain of Sinai.  So the city was full of Jews-- not only the Aramaic speaking natives of Palestine, but Gentile proselytes, and Greek-speaking Jews from all over the Roman world-- Jews like my father and myself. 

            Hearing the many tongues chattering and competing on the streets made me think this must have been what it was like at the foot of the Tower of Babel that the Torah spoke of. There was Hebrew of course, and the Aramaic the common people of Judea spoke, but also Egyptian, Arabic, Latin, Cretan, Spanish, Persian, and many, many tongues I could not recognize-- much less identify. Yet I realized with a shock-- almost all of this teeming, noisy crowd considered themselves Jews-- just as I did. Frankly, I did not know quite what to make of that thought.

            The Temple itself was very grand. It had been rebuilt by the Ethnarch Herod and was a forest of huge marble columns, with gilded spikes on the roof to keep the birds from roosting. It was  as massive and impressive an architectural achievement as anything Alexandria or even Rome itself could offer. 

            But then we actually entered it. Just inside, I was struck at once by the sight of a massive altar devoted to animal sacrifice.  I had seen animal sacrifice before-- but the sheer scale of this was overpowering. There was a continual flow of worshippers bringing forward doves, lambs, rams, even cattle for ritual slaughter; and teams of priests and attendants butchering and burning the carcasses in shifts.

            I noticed that this giant sacrificial altar even had gutters built into the sides of it to carry away the blood. And the smell! It seemed more like a giant outdoor meat market than the sedate, beautiful synagogues I was used to. 

            I could hardly believe this blood-soaked, almost barbaric display was a part of the same austere faith of Law and reasoned debate  I had been part of all of my life. I realized with a small part of my mind that I-- the Jew who did not care one way or another about his heritage-- was shocked. I was surprised to learn that it bothered me. But it was true. My heart wanted to deny what my mind was telling me was true.

            Just as my father and I exited the steps of the Temple that morning,  we became aware of a commotion in the street before us.  At first we could not make out the cause of this excessive tumult. After a few moments, the crowd parted.  A group of men and women were streaming forth from a house into the square in front of the Temple.

            What a group they were!  Men were singing and shouting, women were dancing, others raised their hands in the air in an attitude of prayer.  They were hugging one another,  and laughing and crying.  Some turned and began speaking to the crowd around them in the street.

            I could hear the bystanders around whispering and wondering aloud    at such bizarre behavior.

            “What’s going on?” “Who are these people?” “They’re Galileans--  I think-- like that fellow the Romans executed a while back..” “Never mind that, what do they think they’re doing?”  “What are they saying?”

            Frankly,  I couldn’t make out what they were saying or doing either. Whatever it was though, it was contagious. As we watched, some of the bystanders began to cry out, claiming that these mad fools were speaking to them in their native tongues. And then they began singing and praying aloud as well.  It was almost as if that legendary tower of Babel had never fallen.

            In the light of my unease with what we had seen inside the Temple, this disruptive chaotic behavior was too much to bear.  I found myself angry with these people-- and a bit embarrassed by them.

            “Isn’t obvious?” I called out in exasperation. “They’re all drunk!”  Some of those around began to nod in agreement with my words.

            Then one of these seemingly mad Galileans stepped forward. He gestured for silence,  and surprisingly, he got it. He was a big man, dressing in worn clothing-- obviously a native Judean, not young, with a weather-beaten face. His scarred hands,  the rope sandals he wore, even the smell of his clothing proclaimed this was a man who brought his living forth from the sea.  A bit awkwardly, he began to speak in badly accented Aramaic. 

            “Friends,  we aren’t drunk. It’s barely nine in the morning..”  And then he quoted from one of our prophets.  The big man spoke of the coming of portents and signs from the Almighty. He spoke of a Messiah-- Yashua –“Jesus” in our Greek tongue-- a Galilean who had taught and healed and had recently been executed by the party of the High Priest.  He told us of the marvelous deeds and wise words and miraculous healings this Jesus had performed in the name of the Almighty.

            And as he spoke, Peter (for that’s who it was),  Peter’s words became more eloquent. His bearing became more confident.  And after a few minutes, his words sounded to me as if they were being spoken in Greek as polished as my own.  And here’s the odd part-- later on when I got to know him, I never heard Peter speak Greek again-- indeed, all those years I knew him, he kept insisting that did not speak it at all!

            In any case, as Peter spoke to us that day, I begin to feel as if he was speaking directly to me-- rather than to the crowd in general. As he told me of Jesus, his words burned into my soul. That this man Jesus would give his life-- that these uneducated, rude believers could find such ecstatic joy in following him and telling me about him-- made me realize exactly what kind cold, uncaring creature I had been up until that moment. I was forced to see myself-- as in a mirror-- and I did not like my reflection. 

            I realized that despite my family's wealth and position, despite my educated, snobbish ways and well planned future, I had not really been alive.  I had only been existing, up until that moment. I had been  going from this enterprise to that undertaking, half awake-- never feeling anything-- not really living my life at all. I had only been half-alive-- not caring or committed to anyone or anything.

            That was when I realized that to be fully human, to be authentically alive, one has to care. Not care about ritual observances, but care about others, care about the world, care about God, care about one’s own self.

            And I felt my eyes fill with tears. I wept tears of anger and grief for all the years I had wasted and the opportunities I had squandered. And I wept tears of joy for the new life I could feel being born in me at that very moment.

            That was many years ago. Many wondrous and even miraculous things have happened in my life since-- and all of them began on that day.  That was the same day that I, the Jew who did not care one way or another about being a Jew , gladly claimed my heritage as a Jew. That was the day  I moved beyond my Jewish-ness and embraced something new-- my true humanity

            That was the very same day I became something else-- a follower of the Way of Jesus. I became a believer in Him and in His Gospel. That was the day that the Presence of the Living God-- the Holy Spirit of Jesus entered into my heart and made me whole. That was the day I unreservedly became Christ's man.  That was the day I at last knew joy, and power, and true freedom-- in His service.

            Since that day, I have given my life to Kingdom of God that Jesus our Messiah had taught about and lived for, and finally died for.  I have preached for Him, tried to live my life after the example of His life, and served His people as a Deacon-- along with my brothers in the Way-- Philip and Stephen and the others.

I have even from time to time, found myself at times forgetting my foolish self-consciousness and my so-called dignity,  and singing aloud, raising my hands in prayer, even dancing in praise of  Him.

            The Way of Jesus hasn’t always been obvious to me, or easy to live out.

I followed Him in Judea, until He led me back in Egypt, and then to Greece, then to Rome and to this prison cell. My work for Him has at times seemed like drudgery, and my service has not always been recognized or rewarded.  I have at times had to without the necessities of life-- much less comforts. I have been mocked, threatened, even imprisoned at times.  I have gladly given up fortune, family,  security, and respectability in following this Jesus. I have even wandered from the path and lost hope at times.  But even then, Jesus always found me and restored me, and brought me back to the Way.

            The Way of gentleness to others—of faithfulness to God---the way of peace, of hope, of kindness. The Way of Jesus—the Way of the Spirit—the Way of God.

            Today walking that Way will cost me my life, in the arena above us. And I shall give glory to God. Because I would not have traded a minute of it-- not for anything on earth or in heaven-- because in Jesus, I have at last found a life worth living and a cause worth dying for.  In Jesus, I have at last awakened. In following Jesus, I have at last become fully human. In living my life for Jesus, Timon of Alexandra  at last learned to care. In dying my death for Jesus I follow his path to the end.

            

Witness to the Ascension: Philip, Apostle and Deacon

                       My name is Philip. I was one of the Twelve.  Later, I was one of the Seven.  I am an Apostle of Jesus Christ, Deacon of the Church, Baptizer of the first Gentile convert and Missionary to the Samaritans. 

            I am  Jewish by faith and birth-- Greek by tongue and culture. My ancestors had been scattered and driven from this land over a hundred years ago under the persecutions of the  Empire ruled by the descendents of  Alexander's generals.  Living in a world where everything Greek was good and noble, and anything else barbaric, my forefathers and foremothers did what the displaced  have always done-- we bowed to the needs of time and circumstance and culture-- we compromised, we adjusted, we assimilated.

              We dressed like Greeks. We acted like Greeks. We learned Greek and spoke it even in our homes, Some of us even forgot our native tongue. We read Greek poets and plays and philosophers. We began to think like the Greeks.   We proudly considered ourselves-- like all civilized folk-- "Hellenists".

            But we held on to our historic faith with our fingernails. We could no longer offer sacrifices in the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem. But we could come together on the Sabbath for prayer and instruction in our synagogues.  When the Romans conquered the Hellenistic Empire those of us who wished to returned to Judea. 

            But by now we were a different people-- strangers in the land of our ancestors.   Still believers, but not really accepted by our cousins who had remained here and kept the old ways, who still prayed in the old tongue and offered sacrifices in the Temple. 

            It made it hard to keep to the faith of your ancestors-- or at least, for me to take it to heart as fervently as the Hebrew-speaking Jews. I was prosperous enough to be able to spend my days in the synagogue studying and arguing with the learned rabbis. But that held no interest for me. I found it  equally hard to accept the preposterous stories of the pagan gods or the neatly laid out and categorized view of the world and the cosmos taught by Aristotle and Plato. 

            I was looking for something on that first day that I meant Jesus.  I sought an assurance that everything around me-- the world, the stars and planets, the sky and the earth and other people were not just the result of a cosmic accident-- or worse a joke. I was looking for assurance that this seemingly short and tragic life on this planet was not all there was to our existence as human beings.

            I had seen enough suffering and pain in the world that I wanted to believe that there was some kind of an ultimate justice in which sinners and war-mongers and exploiters would get their due and the suffering innocent would receive recompense.  I needed to believe that the universe was a friendly place, that I had a position in it,  that my life, my decisions, my actions counted for something. 

            I wanted to believe that the Creator cared about creation and that there was a point to life. But the senseless cruelty of fate, the dumb brutality of nature, the meaningless suffering of so many caused me to wonder and doubt. I couldn’t put it  into words-- but I was looking for more than reassurance-- I was looking for meaning and direction for my life.

            I found it.  And I knew I had,  from the start. I can recall that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.  Jesus had just called Andrew and Peter and the Zebedee brothers the day before.  It was in Bethsaida, my home town.  He walked up to me, looked me in the eye and said simply,  “Follow Me.”  and I did.

            The day after I threw in my lot with Jesus, I encountered my friend,  Nathaniel.  I told him that I had met the Messiah. I can’t even recall what I meant by that word at that time of my life.  But I invited Nathaniel,

             “Come and See” . And he did. He too, became a follower of Jesus.

            We all followed this teacher Jesus for our own reasons-- for different reasons.  We were after all, a group of very different people. All that we had in common was the call he had extended to us-- "Follow me"-- and our response.

             It was Peter who first confessed him as Messiah-- but that meant many things to different ones of us. Some, like Simeon, thought that Jesus was the leader, sent to us from God who would free our people from the Roman yoke and restore the earthly kingship of his royal ancestor David.             

            Some of the others-- the sons of Zebedee for example-- seemed to expect that the kingdom of God Jesus talked about was coming in the next world. They looked forward to a reward of eternal life in a heavenly kingdom to come. They looked for the day when Jesus would be recognized  and acknowledged as God's son. They expected that He would rule as king of the saints and angels while his faithful followers stood beside him in places of honor.

            Others of us simply saw Jesus as a great prophet and teacher-- a latter day Elijah calling us to lives of integrity and faith.    Some dared to believe he would overthrow the corrupt priests and Levites who controlled the temple and purify our faith like Moses reborn. 

            Some, I suspect,  weren't even totally sure that Jesus was human-- they wondered among themselves if this Rabbi of our might be an angel and not a man.  Some followed seeking a cure.  And like Mary Magdalene, once they found themselves made whole-- they followed out of gratitude, wonder, and love.

            And some of us-- like me-- most of us, I suspect-- were just content to be with him. We followed Jesus because something about his words touched us, something about the wonders we saw him work awed us, something about him as a man and a teacher and a friend drew us to him with a joyous intensity that could not be resisted.

            Like the Beloved one-- we followed because we loved him. And it was in that love that we knew him-- and it was through that love that somehow we knew that this Jesus came from God. And that was enough for us.  

            We must have traipsed up and down every dusty road,  visited every tiny village, stopped at every well from green and hilly Galilee to the parched deserts of the Dead Sea-- and then back. I lost count of how many times we crossed the Jordan River.  I lost count of the number of people I saw Jesus heal. 

            Once, I recall I was privileged to assist him, when he fed over 5000 people with just a few scraps of bread and a couple of fish. Later, when we arrived in Jerusalem,  some other Greek-speaking Jews came to me, asking permission to approach the Rabbi. I knew-- what they were really asking was if Jesus had come as Messiah for them-- for us-- for all the people of our God-- as well as for the Jews of Judea.

            “Sir,” they said to me, “we would like to see Jesus”. When I told Him that-- it was like their coming to him was a sign to Jesus. Not just a sign of another step on the journey-- He saw if as a sign of the completion of His ministry.

            “Now“, he said “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”

            And the very next night, we found ourselves gathered together with Him for the last time, at that last Seder we shared  in that borrowed attic.

            I won’t dwell on that night,  or my role in it, or on the Rabbi’s betrayal and arrest and torture and trial.  Suffice it to say I was there. I saw it all-- right up to the moment when to my shame, I lost heart and fled. 

            I was there that morning after the Sabbath,  when He returned among us.

I didn’t understand how it had happened. I still don’t understand it all. I didn’t even recognize him at first. But when he spoke-- I knew-- we all knew it was Jesus. We all knew at last who He was-- Messiah, Savior, Son of God-- our friend and Rabbi had risen from the grave.

            In those few days and weeks various ones of us encountered him again-- in the garden outside his tomb, once more in that upper room, on a beach at early morning,  even walking on the road. It was a wondrous and holy period of time. I  recall the last time we were with him. That too, was a day I’ll never forget.

            We had been in the Upper room, eating, talking, sharing, listening as he taught. Once he had baptized us in water in order to forgive our sins. Now he promised us a new baptism of power and authority from God. He ordered us to remain in the city,  waiting for the fulfillment of that promise. 

            After a while, Jesus rose up from the table, and  led us out into the street, and out of the city . I thought we were perhaps on our way to the home of Lazarus and his sisters in Bethany.  But at the top of Mount Olivet, Jesus stopped.  He turned to us as if he were about to began to teach us. But something was going on-- you could sense that something was about to happen. Recalling what Jesus had said about God’s promises-- someone asked,  

            “Lord, tell us. does this mean that you’re about to re-establish the kingdom in Israel now? Is this the time?”   And he replied,

            “Never mind about times and dates. You have no need of knowing any of that. Timing is the Creator’s business-- not yours.  What you are about to get is power through God’s own Holy Spirit. Once that happens you’ll be my witnesses--  witnesses to my teaching, my life, my death, my resurrection. Not just in Judea.

Not just in Samaria. No, you will be my witnesses to the ends of the world.”

            And then he raised his hands to bless us, just  as he had some many times in the past. Then in the blink of an eye, Jesus was gone from our midst.  If you ask me what I saw or how that happened, I can only reply that there literally are no words I can use.  Later, some among us claimed they had seen him rise up into the air. Others thought they’d see him enter into a heavenly chariot like Ezekiel.  Some said he’d been taken up on a cloud,  or vanished in an explosion of light.  It seemed as if each of us there, saw what happened differently. 

            And I realized that it had come to an end.  But before any of us could do or say anything,  two strangers,  dressed in white spoke to us.

            "Galileans,  what are you doing staring into an empty sky?  Get you heads out of the clouds. Just as certainly and mysteriously as Jesus has left you, you can be sure that He will one day return to you." 

           

            As soon as they spoke to us, I understood.  Jesus had been with us as a man-- but now He was gone. Yet I didn't feel any grief or sense of loss. I could still feel His presence with me-- but now in a new and totally different way.

            From that moment to this--  Jesus has never left me. Once, in his human face, I had looked upon God’s face. Now, in His presence within my heart,  I know God's continuing presence within me From that moment to this-- He has been with me-- in the deepest part of me. He has been a model, a friend, a challenge,  a comfort,  a hope, a strength, a solace for me.

            Now, I understood what Jesus had meant that day about the Son of Man being Glorified. The Gospel would go forth into the world. His time among us was complete. Jesus had come to us from God-- and now he had returned in glory to God.  Like a mother bird who knows when to push her chicks out of the nest to fly, Jesus knew the time had come to step out of the way and allow me, and all of us room to grow unhindered more and more in love and holiness into his image.

            And from that moment to this-- my hunger, my search for meaning and justice in creation has been met. My questions have been answered-- not with words, but through the ultimate act of love.  In Jesus' life and ministry and death and Resurrection and Ascension,  I came to know that the Creator does care, that our existence is blessed, that this world is but a stage on our journey, that the universe is a welcoming and holy  place for me and all  human beings.

            I know now that my own actions in this world are not trivial or meaningless-- but of ultimate value. Jesus, the Eternal Word of God, the Cosmic Christ dwells-- not only in highest heaven-- not only at the very center of the Universe at God’s right hand-- but also in me. And I know that one day, I shall look upon Him and be with Him once again.                                                                               Amen.                                                                        

           

           

                                            

Witness to the Resurrection: Cornelius the Centurion. given 5/10/15

            I was born in the slums of Rome. I was little more than a boy when I enlisted in the Legions of Caesar and began to serve as a common foot soldier.  Over time, I rose through the ranks to Centurion, commander of a hundred soldiers in the Italian Cohort.  In my time in the Army, I marched across half the world. I dug enough ditches to fill in a sea. I erected enough fortifications to fence a mountain. I shed a lake of the blood of Caesar's enemies in the service of the Empire.

            Finally, I was sent here to this forsaken Province of Judea, in this city, named after Caesar and settled by veterans of the Legions like me. My faithful service to Rome had earned me position, respectability, modest wealth, a home, family and even servants. I should have been content.

            Believe it or not, I have always been a religious man. Or at least, I have always been a man with an open mind. But, truth be told, I was never much for the gods of Rome. Frankly, I found all their scandals and seductions, betrayals and intrigue a bit hard to take. Oh, I would perform the appropriate sacrifices with the official piety expected of a man of my rank. But my heart was never in it. All those years in the Army, I stifled my questions and my doubts. Here in Judea, I encountered the God of these people who call themselves the Jews.

            They are a stiff-necked people--quarrelsome and chauvinistic and proud. They think themselves chosen for some special purpose by Heaven. And they think all foreigners are unclean and unfit to worship in their Temple. Once a week, on their holy day, they refuse to do any work. They follow absurd dietary restrictions. They have laws upon laws regarding every aspect of daily life and leisure. Their moral code is strict and inflexible. They will not even enter the home of one of their own who does not follow all those laws--much less the home of an unbeliever.

            Yet their religion has a simple beauty and a purity of truth that appealed mightily to me. They worship only one God, More than that, they insist that their God is the only God! Never depicted and never directly named, this one and only God insists that no other gods be served or even acknowledged.

            Something about that spoke directly to my heart. I wasn't about to convert. They insist that all male worshippers submit to circumcision! I certainly wasn't ready for that at my age! But I could be what they called a "God-fearing gentile". There were a number of us around, I discovered. We were tolerated, but not really accepted.

            I went to their synagogues and listened to their learned teachers debate. In accordance with the dictates of their faith, I began to donate to the upkeep of some of their congregations. I began to support some of their widows and orphans. I found that it made me feel good to help those unfortunates. I stood on the steps of their Temple and observed them at their worship. I studied the teachings of their faith.

            A single Creator God. That made sense. Did all this around us come from nothing? I tried to pray to this God of the Jews. But my doubts kept getting in the way. I was too concerned, I found, with questioning this one God, to be able to stop and simply listen.  I wanted to believe but.. to accept that the Creator of the world I had seen could care about me gave me pause.

            One day it happened. It was about three in the afternoon. A vision! Not an illusion, not my imagination, not wishful thinking. Centurions of Rome do not engage in wishful thinking! There, in my chamber, in the midst of my meditations, he appeared clearly, yet out of thin air. I cannot begin to describe the appearance of that figure in shining robes.

            "Cornelius, your prayers and your acts of charity have not gone unnoticed in Heaven."

            "They haven't?"

            "No. Such kindness and piety speaks well for you before God. Now, The

Almighty One is calling you to send to the town of Joppa for a man named Simon Peter."

            I summoned my orderly and two other trusted servants. I sent them to Joppa to find and invite this Simon Peter to visit me. I am a direct man, perhaps a bit too blunt after so many years of giving orders. But I am also a private man in some ways. My religious searching has always been deeply personal to me. Could I, should I share this extraordinary vision with my family and friends?

            After considerable prayer I realized that such an experience of God did not belong to me alone. It was difficult. Harder than anything I had ever done in battle. But something inside me gave me strength. I was able to tell my fellow God-fearers, and invite them into my home that day to join with my household in greeting this Simon Peter.

            When Peter arrived, I was struck by his humble appearance. I had expected someone who would look like one of their Pharisees or high priests. And in fact, there were a good half-dozed of that breed accompanying Peter. But with his worn clothing and big workingman's hands, this fellow Simon Peter had "peasant" written all over him. Yet he walked with a self-assurance and calm I had rarely seen even in generals and nobles of the Empire. His companions clearly deferred to him. I found myself bowing, as I would to a learned rabbi or holy man.

            "Stand up." He said as he gripped my arms. "I'm just an ordinary man, like you or anyone else." Still talking with me, he entered my home.  There I had assembled my household and my guests. Peter seemed to be perfectly at ease. But his companions acted as if they were standing in the middle of a sewer. Peter began.

            "I need not tell you that a Jew is forbidden  by the faith of Israel to visit or associate with those of other races and faiths. Yet in a recent vision, God has shown me clearly that I must call no one unclean or profane. That is why I have come at your request."

Then I told him of the vision that I had received. I invited him to share with us any message he might have from God.

            "It is clear to me now, that God plays no favorites." said Peter.  "In every nation the man or the woman who honors God and lives uprightly is acceptable in God's sight." Then Peter went on to tell us of Jesus of Nazareth, the long-awaited Messiah sent from God, the Lord of all peoples and nations. Peter spoke of the wondrous healings and miracles he himself had witnessed. He shared with us many wise teachings and deep sayings. He spoke of the forgiveness of sins and shortcomings by God and of the offer of new and abundant life through this Jesus.

            And as Peter spoke, I realized that what he was saying was true. I felt within myself at last, a sureness that I, a simple soldier whose boots were stained with blood, was cherished and forgiven and cared for.  I felt such wholeness and acceptance as I had never known. The God I had previously believed in only with my mind, I now knew in my heart. I felt cleansed and loved.

Somehow or other, I knew that this Jesus had come from God. I knew all that Peter was teaching us was trustworthy and true. I felt the presence of this Jesus, the Holy Spirit of the Creator God, touching me!

            And as I looked around, I could see that all those I had invited were feeling it as well. And I was filled with joy that I had found the courage to bring them here.

Simon Peter hadn't even finished his sermon when the Spirit took hold of us. It broke forth from us in song, in chant, in word, in ecstatic prayer.  All at once we were crying and laughing and singing and praising God. 

            After all those years serving in the Legions of Rome, I thought that I had seen just about everything in the world worth seeing, done just about everything worth doing. I thought that I had experienced every kind of high and low, known every moment of joy and sadness this life had to offer.  But this...  this was unlike anything I had ever known.

            As I peered out through my laughter and my tears, I looked at Peter. He had turned to confront that half dozen former Pharisees who had accompanied him to my home. Their previous scorn and sneers had been replaced with astonishment. How could God have done such a thing they seemed to want to ask. How could the gift of God's own Holy Spirit fall on a group of unclean gentiles? It was clear that all their old expectations and prejudices had been turned totally upside down.

            "Are any of you now prepared to withhold the waters of Baptism from these newest brothers and sisters?" Peter demanded of them. "Can you not see that they have received the Holy Spirit, just as we did ourselves?" He challenged them. Then, like a officer on the drill field, he commanded that I and my household and my family and my friends and my neighbors and fellow God-seekers be immediately baptized. And none were willing to deny him.

            That was many years ago. It was quite a row that Peter raised with the brothers and sisters in Jerusalem when he baptized us. Many of them, I suspect, wanted to control the spread of our faith. They saw themselves still as Jews, as Pharisees blessed with a new revelation for Judaism.

            All of us Samaritans and Greek-speaking Jews and women and gentiles upset their view. They didn't understand that our Lord Jesus had come for all men and women, all peoples and nations.  They wanted to fence in the Spirit of God, just as the Pharisees had fenced in the Law of Moses.  They wanted to control us, to control the growth of the family of our Lord. With the best of intentions, they thought that they could put a handle on God's work in the world and restrict the Divine Plan to one nation, one people, one land.

            It didn't work out that way. I am very old now, and I've seen so much more than I could have ever imagined on that day so long ago. I saw Jerusalem rebel and fall before the Legions of Rome. The church in Jerusalem was all but wiped out in that conquest. But God had provided for the Gospel to be preserved and spread. Through the witness of Gentile believers like myself, I have seen my Lord's word grow out of Judea, out of Asia Minor, across the Mediterranean all the way to Rome herself!

            I may well not live to see it. But I believe with all my heart that some day the Gospel will conquer the world. And I, and my family, and Simon Peter, and my friends, and all of us will be united at our Lord's Table in faith and hope with men and women of all races, of generations yet unborn, in lands as yet uncharted. And then, one day, I believe that I shall at last look upon the face of our Lord when He returns to earth to rule in peace and in glory! What wonders of faith I have seen!  What wonders remain to be seen!

            Let us pray.

            It is hard, Lord Jesus to have to courage to share our faith.  Something inside makes us hesitate when we have opportunities to witness.  We are fearful of ridicule, of embarrassment, of revealing too much of our selves to others. Help us to recall at those moments your promise to be with us.  Help us to find the courage within to testify, to share, to offer the good news of forgiveness and acceptance and purpose with our families, our neighbors, our friends, those honest God-seekers whom we encounter.  This we ask in your Holy Name.                  Amen.