Waiting for the Spirit (Easter 7B)

Waiting for the Spirit
Seventh Sunday of Easter (Year B)
20th May 2012
Homily Preached at Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon
8:00 a.m. Spoken Eucharist; 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26; Psalm 1; 1 John 5:9-13; John 17:6-19

In those days Peter stood up among the believers (together the crowd numbered about one hundred twenty persons) and said, "Friends, the scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit through David foretold concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus-- for he was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry. So one of the men who have accompanied us during all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day when he was taken up from us-- one of these must become a witness with us to his resurrection." So they proposed two, Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias. Then they prayed and said, "Lord, you know everyone's heart. Show us which one of these two you have chosen to take the place in this ministry and apostleship from which Judas turned aside to go to his own place." And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias; and he was added to the eleven apostles. (Acts 1:15-17, 21-26)

God, take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

I think all of us have memories of long car trips either as children or with children.  Questions abound.  “Are we there yet?”  “How much longer?”  “When are we stopping for a potty break?”  “Are we there yet?” “When do we cross over into the next state?”  “Where will we be eating dinner?  What will we eat?”  “Are we there yet?”  “Oh, Look--an amusement park!  Can we stop, can we?”  “ARE WE THERE YET?”  Sometimes, the tiresome questions can annoy, and nerves can fray.  “Mom, tell NN to stop it!”  “Kids, don’t make we have to come back there!” 

Waiting is something our modern American culture does not value or particularly equip us for.    We value action, measurable results—the quicker the better, and taking charge.  For many of us, the single image that most summarizes a failure of government is a long line in a state’s—any state’s—Department  of Motor Vehicles office where you have to wait to get to see the person at the service window.  One of the most frequently seen occasions for arguments between a married couple is where one of them through inattentiveness makes the other one wait. 

But not all cultures share this loathing of waiting.  No one likes to wait, and “waste one’s time.”  But in many cultures, especially Asian ones, the ability to gracefully manage oneself during wait times, patience, is highly valued, and time when you have to wait is seen as an opportunity to develop this virtue.    And when we Americans live in such cultures, we often react to such values by believing that the local people are only getting what they deserve when they have to put up with unreasonably long wastes of time on a daily basis.  “You get in a society what you are willing to tolerate,” they say.  

In today’s reading from the Book of Acts, the disciples are in an in-between time where they need to wait for something.  Jesus, after his death and bodily reappearance, has been visiting and appearing to them on a regular basis.  After forty days, he departs definitively by ascending into the skies, with the clouds and the brilliant light hiding him from the eyes of the disciples.  He leaves with a command and a promise: he orders them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there until they are “clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49) in a promised outpouring of the Holy Spirit, and as he ascends angels declare that he will come again and descend in a like manner (Acts 1:1-11). 

So the disciples in today’s story are in waiting mode, or at least should be in waiting mode. 

But they are unhappy.  They know that Jesus called twelve of them to be special witnesses to the arrival of the Reign of God, that number being symbolic of a newly constituted and restored people of Israel, with its ancient twelve tribes.  The tribes haven’t been around for several hundred years; most of them were wiped out and lost at the time of the Assyrian conquest of Israel in 720-740 B.C.E.   During the Last Supper, Jesus had promised the Twelve that they would sit on twelve thrones and judge the tribes of Israel (Luke 22:29).   But now one of those twelve chosen special symbols of the newly restored Kingdom of God, Judas Iscariot, has defected and helped Jesus’ enemies capture him and put him to death. 

So Peter proposes that they fill the place left by Judas.  Now, the truth be told, if you asked me, it seems that the best person to take this place among the special twelve witnesses to Jesus would have been Mary Magdalene, since according to many of the stories, it was she who first saw the Risen Lord.  But the society at that time being what it was, and Peter being who he was, Peter restricts the opening to men.  In Luke’s story, Peter gives several criteria for the replacement—he must be a man, he must have been a companion of Jesus from the start, and he must have been a witness of the reappearance of the Risen Lord after his death. 

So far so good.  The eleven realize that two men, Matthias and Joseph Barsabbas, meet the criteria.  But they cannot decide who it should be.  So they use the ancient method of determining which animal would be the sacrificial offering from a group—they draw lots.  And so Matthias it is.

Despite the fact the pre-Christian Dead Seas Scrolls community had a governing body of Twelve elders, there is absolutely nothing in the Acts text that suggests that Peter’s intention was that the Twelve would become a permanent fixture in a permanent Church governance.  He and the disciples at this time fully expected that Jesus would come again quite soon, and the need to find a replacement for Judas was with the express goal of having the Twelve as a group ready for that moment, so they could sit on those twelve thrones as judges, presumably when Jesus returned in glory.

Other than the fact that he clearly wants to restrict the use of the word “apostle” to just the Twelve, it is not clear what Luke’s attitude to all this is.  He simply recounts the story in Acts without commentary.  But interestingly, this is the last we ever hear of Matthias.  Later on, it is another person, Paul, who ends up being, along with Peter, as the great witness to Jesus. 

I think that the lesson to be learned is this.  Jesus in ascending had told them to return to Jerusalem and wait there to receive power from on high.  Ten days later, on the great Feast of Shavuot, or Pentecost, the promised outpouring of the Spirit would occur.   But in the meantime, the disciples have neither the direct guidance of the Risen Lord, who has now gone up out of their sight, nor the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, which has not yet been poured out upon them. 

But they are impatient and must act.  And this is a good thing, and they are trying to do God’s will.  But instead of just waiting, as Jesus commanded, they reconstitute the Twelve.  But they are reduced to throwing dice to actually make the pick.  And their action seems not to have had much effect of the course of the Church thereafter. 

It is normal and natural to be impatient, and to want to take action, especially when it seems that things are coming to a critical moment.  That was clearly the position of Peter and the Eleven here.  And it is not necessarily a bad thing to actually take the steps that we think are placed before us even when we appear to be in a place where we need to wait. 

But we must not let fear or discouragement make us impatient and act out of turn, or intemperately.  God’s time is not our own, as much as we would like that to be so. 
In the Hebrew Scriptures, there is a key idea—the need we have to be patient and let God do his work in his own good time.  Sometimes this means simply trying to get out of the way of God.  The Psalmist says, “Wait for the Lord: be brave and strong-hearted, but wait for the Lord” (Psalm 27:14).  

Second Isaiah, speaking to the exiles of Judah after they had lost their nation, their temple, and many had lost their trust in Yahweh, said this:  “But those who wait upon the Lord will take new strength; they shall soar as on eagles’ wings; when they run, they will not be weary; and when they walk, they will not faint” (Isaiah 40:31). 

Sometimes we find ourselves in over our heads. And like the eleven in this story, direction from God might not come right away.  Our path may not be clearly set before us.  Our natural inclination is to try to dig ourselves out.  Sometimes, that may be simply taking the one or two simple actions that appear to be within our reach and tend toward what God intends.  Like eating chicken soup for a cold, it may not necessarily help, “but it couldn’t hoit.”  

When we find ourselves alone and without direction or comfort, we must not be like those guys in Waiting for Godot, simply repeating nonsense lines and distracting ourselves from the fact that the anticipated one does not appear to ever be coming.  God has promised to help, and to guide and direct us.  And he will.  But, like people in a DMV line, we mustn’t give up because we don’t like the discomfort of waiting. 

Sometimes we find that there’s no right way to proceed. We can keep trying to dig ourselves out... or we can wait patiently for God to help us.

Next week, we will be celebrating the coming of the Holy Spirit to the Church on the Feast of Pentecost.  That’s because God does act and send his direction and comfort.  He did it then, and he does it now. 

This week in our prayers, let’s take more time to listen.  In our daily life, let’s take more time to be patient.  Because patience is a virtue, and a gift from God, one of the signs of Love’s presence in our lives.   

In the name of Christ, Amen. 

Begotten by Water, Borne on Wind (Lent 2A)

Begotten by Water, Borne on Wind

20 March 2011

Homily Delivered the Second Sunday in Lent Year A

9:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist; 11:45 a.m. Said Eucharist

Cathedral Church of St. John the Evangelist

Hong Kong 
[Note: at the 8:00 a.m. Said Eucharist, Fr. Hutchinson preached an abbreviated form of "Not in the Earthquake," the homily he gave in Beijing a week ago, also posted on "an Elliptical Glory."] 

Genesis 12.1-4a; Psalm 121; Romans 4.1-5,13-17; John 3.1-17

There was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you unless God is with him." Jesus answered him, "Amen, Amen, I tell you:  unless a person is begotten from above, he or she cannot see the Kingship of God." Nicodemus said to him, "How is anyone able to be begotten once they’ve grown old? Are you able to enter a second time into your mother's womb and be born?" Jesus answered, "Amen, Amen, I tell you: no one is able to enter the kingdom of God unless he or she is begotten of water and breath (wind). What is begotten of the flesh is flesh, and what is begotten of the breath is breath. Do not be astonished that I said to you, 'You must be begotten from above.' The wind breathes where it chooses, and you hear its voice, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is begotten by the Breath." Nicodemus said to him, "How can these things be?" Jesus answered him, "Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

"Amen, amen, I tell you:  we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you people do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

"Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." John 3: 1-17

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

 

When I was very small, our family went on vacation to a warm spring in the Rocky Mountains, and spent an afternoon at a swimming pool there.  I remember very clearly, because I almost died there.  I loved the water.  My family sat on the edge, talking and watching me as I played on the steps going into the shallow end.  On the middle step I could splash and play, and put my face under. But I stepped too far back, off the steps. I took a breath, and sunk down.  Standing as tall as I could, I was about 4 inches short of the surface.  I bounced up and took a breath, and sank again.  But I had not gotten enough air.  I could see my father through the surface, but he was looking at my mother and not at me.  I bounced up again.  Again, not enough air.  I started to panic.  I couldn’t breathe.  I bounced again, gulped, but to no avail.  I looked up just as things started to go dark, when my sister started pointing to me.  My father’s strong hands were at once around my arm, pulling me into the air, sputtering and gasping.  

I went on later to become a competitive swimmer, lifeguard, and swimming instructor.   But that early experience left a mark.  I had a very hard time learning how to float on my back, perfecting it only when I was 14 years old.  All my teachers said, “Oh, but it’s so easy! All you have to do is put your head back and relax!  Let the water hold you up!”  But try as hard as I could, every time I put my head back, it felt like I was falling.  I tensed up and sank, the water rushing up my nose.  I had learned from that earlier experience fear, and the need to be in control.  And to float, I had to learn to relax, and give up control. 

In today’s Gospel, Jesus meets a man who wants to stay in control.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night, in private, away from the crowds that surrounded Jesus during the day.  This “Pharisee” this “teacher in Israel” says, “I know who you are, Jesus.  I have seen the signs that you perform. I know you are from God.”  He calls Jesus “Rabbi,” wanting to ask him questions about scripture,  the commandments, and how to enter God’s kingdom.

But as we read in the verse just before this story begins, Jesus knows “what is in each person” (John 2:25).  He sees Nicodemus’ heart, and tells him what he needs to hear, not what he wants to know. 
 

“Unless you are begotten from on high, you cannot see God’s kingdom.”   Spiritual rebirth is required, not discussions about religious rules.  

Nicodemus misunderstands: he thinks that Jesus is speaking of biological rebirth, tripping over the fact that the word used for “from above” can also mean “over again.”  Jesus corrects him by contrasting the physical body and the breath that animates it (or the “wind” or “spirit” that gives it life--it’s the same word in Greek and Aramaic). “Truly, I tell you: no one is able to enter the kingdom of God unless they are begotten of water and wind. Flesh begets flesh, but wind begets wind.”  Spiritual life is unpredictable and as invisible as the wind:  You can hear the sound it makes, and see its results, but cannot see it directly. “So it is with everyone who is begotten by the wind.”  

Nicodemus still misunderstands.

Jesus tells him that it won’t make sense unless Nicodemus accepts Jesus’ own explanation of who he is rather the conclusions he has already drawn.  “How can you understand my teaching on heaven when you can’t even understand a simple example drawn from day-to-day life?” 

At this point, it is clear that Jesus is no longer talking to Nicodemus. The Evangelist is talking to us.  In a phrase Martin Luther called “the Gospel in miniature,” he concludes “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who puts their trust in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” 

OK—the story is complicated, relying on many puns and plays on words not apparent in English. But basically, the drama of the story is pretty straightforward:  Nicodemus says, “I know who you are.  The signs that you perform show you are from God. Tell me what you know.”  Jesus replies, “You don’t have a clue about who I am. You heard about me supplying wine for a wedding feast, and driving out money-changers from the Temple; so you think I am worth listening to, and come here. But you do this in secret.  If you think you’ve just professed faith in me, you don’t know what faith is.  Faith is not about opinions privately held, conclusions safely stated.  It’s about commitment, about risk.  It requires a totally new orientation, a new life.  In fact, it’s like a new birth.”  

Nicodemus misses the point, and asks, “How? How can this happen? How can these things be?” Nicodemus has questions, but not the right questions.  He wants Jesus to give him a formula, a check-list on how to be born of God.  Jesus sees that Nicodemus will not get closer to God without relaxing, without giving up control.  So he tells Nicodemus about water and wind.

Scripture uses many different images to describe what Jesus is talking about here: turning back, surrendering to God, being washed clean, becoming a child, getting married to God, finding a treasure buried in a field and selling everything to buy the field,  being sprinkled with purifying water, new creation, new life, waking up from a deep sleep, coming to one’s senses, regaining eyesight.  Some passages describe it from how it feels on the inside and call it forgiveness; others look at its results and call it a healing.  Though Jesus here calls it a new birth, some passages call it a death, or dying to one’s old way of life. 

Early Christians, who borrowed from John the Baptist a rite of full immersion into water as a way of marking and helping this process of death and new life along, called it a burial in the water.  That is why Jesus here says we must be begotten both of water and of wind. Though the Gospel of John never directly refers to sacraments like baptism and the Eucharist, it does make passing meditative allusion to them, as it does here. 

Jesus has in mind being pushed backwards into water, once and for all, with that feeling of falling, with that feeling of drowning.  The contrast could not be sharper—this is not Nicodemus’ view of tidy purity ritual washings, done regularly and on schedule according to the rule book he wants from Jesus.

Jesus doesn’t give Nicodemus the rule book he wants. Though Jesus is no slouch when it comes to the demands of justice and faith, he knows that without God breathing in us, rules only bring frustration and arrogance:  flesh begets flesh.  Nicodemus wants a list of things he must do; Jesus talks about being begotten.  Nicodemus wants rules; Jesus talks about the wind blowing here and there.  Nicodemus wants to play it safe; Jesus wants us to take risks. 

The wind blows where it will, the breath breathes where it wants—giving up control to God, living in the Spirit, cannot be mapped out, counted up, or predicted. This confuses Nicodemus, who knows how to trust the security of the rules, rituals, and moral aphorisms of conventional religion.  He asks Jesus “how can I make this new birth happen?”

Jesus replies, “This is not about what you need to do. You cannot give birth to yourself. This is about God, who breathes life and makes the wind blow.  Take the risk.  Relax and let go.  Let God do whatever God wants to do with you. He may surprise you.”

Some people misread this story just as badly as Nicodemus misunderstands Jesus’ words. They think that “being born again” is an action they must take.  Like Nicodemus, they think their salvation lies in taking an action, even if it just confessing Jesus with their lips and believing in him with their hearts.  But Nicodemus confesses Jesus in the opening line of the story.  And Jesus says that is not enough.  We have to open ourselves to God, trust him fully.  It is that simple. It is that risky.  It may feel like drowning until God reaches down and pulls us into the breath of  new life. 

Nicodemus bringing myrrh to anoint Jesus' dead body. 

Nicodemus later in the Gospel learns to allow himself to be carried away by the wind.  He speaks up for Jesus in the Council, and after Jesus’ death, with a friend asks to help bury Jesus’ body.   Risks, indeed, but exactly where the wind blew. 

What happens when we learn to let go and let God wash over us?  What happens when we let ourselves be borne up on the wind of God? 

We are more sure of the love of God, but less sure of our own formulations about God. 

We can look at true horror in the face, even horror like the natural and man-made disaster now overtaking Japan, and not be afraid, still trusting the love of God. 

We stop trying to use rules to limit God or control others.

We begin to listen to  God’s Word without prejudgment, without fear.  

We begin to notice God where we least expect Him.  

Our heart is more and more open, and our mind less and less closed.

We love others as we know God loves us.

We do good out of this love, not because it is required.

Sisters and Brothers, we are damaged goods, all of us.  We are like Nicodemus in the night.  But God made us for a home we have never yet seen, and that we can barely even imagine now. Jesus tells us of that home, because he came down from there. He loves us dearly, each and every one.

Jesus not only showed us the way, he is the way.  He accepted and opened himself to the will of his Father, risked all, and let himself be borne away on the wind, even to the point of being lifted high upon the cross.  Through this and his glorious coming forth from the grave, he is reaching down to pull us from the deep water.  

Let us all learn to relax as we let ourselves fall back into the mysterious love of God.  Let us lose our lives so that we may find them.   Let’s not struggle as he buries us in the waves and pulls us up again, sputtering, into new breath and life.  Let us allow ourselves to be borne away on his wind.   

In the name of Christ, Amen.