The Poetry of God

Trinity Sunday; Isaiah 6:1-8; John 3:1-17; St. Paul’s, 5/27/2018

Jim Melnyk: “The Poetry of God”

Our journey begins with God.  For Jesus, like for all of Israel, it all begins with God.  It is God who creates.  It is God who longs for creation.  It is God who loves.  It is God who sends. For God so loves the world, John tells us, that God gives to us all God’s only Son.  

Our journey continues with Jesus.  The stories from John show us Jesus as the unique expression of God’s love.  The Word made flesh.  One who teaches with authority and relates to even the least loved with compassion and grace. 

Our journey carries on in and through the Holy Spirit of God, who hovers over creation at its birth and filled the first human creatures with breath, who blows where the Spirit chooses, and who ultimately connects us intimately with God. 

The story of Nicodemus ties all this together. It’s a story about what happens when the world of the literal and the world of metaphor and mystery collide.  It’s a storyline that is as real for us today as it was for poor old Nicodemus who had his literal world, and his orderly religion and faith, turned upside down and shaken out by a simple – or perhaps not so simple – preacher from Galilee.  “What are you saying, Jesus? Can a person return to his or her mother’s womb?”

It’s been said that “Nicodemus comes to Jesus expecting a dialogue in dogmatics, but what he gets from Jesus is poetry.”  (Nancy Hastings Sehested, Sojourners Online, paraphrased).  In other words, when the world of the literal and the world of metaphor and mystery collide, it’s the sure-footed, it’s the absolute-minded, it’s the Life-in-Control, and the I-Know-What-it’s-All-About, sorts of people who get swamped; and it’s the God-is-Beyond-Us, the Welcome-the-Mystery, the Don’t-Need-Proof, and the Don’t-Need-to-Know-it-All, sorts of folks who find themselves on a wild ride into the mystery of God, and therefore into the very heart of God.

Jesus and Nicodemus talk about being “born from above” or “born again” and Nicodemus can’t seem to get beyond the literal words of Jesus – though the story tells us he gets it later – that by the end of the gospel he is a faithful follower of Jesus. 

Isaiah talks about being transported into the presence of the Living God, who is sitting high and lofty on a throne with smoke and fire and awesome creatures serving and praising the Holy One.  Is it a vision, or is he really there?  Does it even matter?

Paul talks about Abba – the Aramaic word for “father” – a parent-like God who adopts us as God’s own children. 

The Psalmist tells us that God makes Lebanon skip like a calf, and Mount Hermon skip like a young wild ox!  Imagine that! Almost as cool as the Leviathan from last week!

As modern day human beings, many of us struggle – at least from time to time – with the same sorts of questions posed by Nicodemus.  Can a person return to his or her mother’s womb?  Can we really believe in a God who becomes human flesh and dwells among us?  Can we truly believe in a God who embraces death as a way to bring about new life?  Can we believe in a God we can take into ourselves in the sacrament of Holy Eucharist and who fills us with Holy Spirit – a God who fills us with the dream that through embracing and celebrating our diversity, we can become one with each other and one with God?

If it’s all about what we can prove we might as well fold up our tents and go home.  Understanding the idea of Holy Trinity – understanding the whole idea of our faith all boils down to a God we experience rather than a God we can explain.  We see the evidence of someone-something beyond us, and yet mysteriously within us.  We find ourselves transformed by a God who comes to us in so many ways, and through so many people in our lives.

In the end, it’s the experience of God that gets us – not the word pictures of ancient Scripture or even modern-day parables like The Shack.  The words may capture our attention – they may even get us to take a closer look at this whole God-thing – but it’s the experience of the Living God in our lives, and the experience of God in the lives of those around us, that actually captures our hearts, that actually captures our minds, and captures our souls.

If we get ourselves all flustered over where in the world – or beyond the world – Jesus meant when he said “born from above,” or how three persons can be one person, or one can be three, well, then we’ve left the world of metaphor and mystery behind and joined the ranks of all the literalists – those who in their minds limit the scope and power of God to only the words in the Book – and then seek to legislate those words for everyone else.  We find ourselves trying to calculate the speed of light rather than enjoying a sudden flash of lightning or the warmth of the sun.  We find ourselves wrestling over the scientific impossibility of things like two people in love becoming one flesh, rather than reveling in the dizziness of a lover’s kiss.

The truth is this: the Trinity is one of the best, and perhaps even one of the hardest, ways we’ve come to speak about a God who from the very beginning of time loves us; who from the very beginning of time calls us; who from the very beginning of time comes to us; who from the very beginning of time longs for us; and who from the very beginning of time lives within us.  The Trinity is about a God whose very personality – a God whose very genetic code (if I may wax metaphorically about God for a moment) a God whose very genetic code is that of relationship. The Trinity is about a God who creates us in love, it’s about a God who calls us in love, and it’s about a God who lives with us and in us through love.

The Trinity is a great dance of God with God – where God is the Ultimate Participant and the Ultimate Partner (Richard Rohr).  And we’re invited into that great dance wherein we become beloved partners with the Divine.  Can we allow ourselves to be lost in the wonder – lost in the music – lost in the fullness of God’s love?

Our Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, has been front and center in the news since his powerful sermon at St. George’s Chapel in Windsor.  He’s been reminding the world that God’s call to us is all about love.  Love God with all your heart, and soul, and mind; and love your neighbor as one like yourself.  In fact, he’s always quick to remind us of the need to love ourselves as well. 

“Love the neighbor you like, and the neighbor you don’t like,” says our Presiding Bishop.  “Love the neighbor you agree with, and the neighbor you don’t agree with.  Love your Democrat neighbor, your Republican neighbor, your Independent neighbor and your Green neighbor.  Love your black neighbor, your white neighbor, your Anglo neighbor, and your Latino neighbor.  Love your LGBTQ neighbor, and your straight neighbor.  Love your neighbor.  That’s why we’re here.”

The Trinity is about a God of relationship who creates simply for the joy of relationship – who creates simply for the joy of love – and who creates us to live out that very same purpose in our lives.  Trinity Sunday, though our hymns often speak about awe and majesty, is simply about the love of God made manifest in the whole of creation – the love of God made manifest in us. 

As St. Julian of Norwich wrote so long ago, “Would you know our Lord’s meaning in this? Know it well, our Lord’s meaning was love” (paraphrased).  Our God says, “Who will go for us?  Who will love the world for us?  Whom shall we send?”  Here we are, Lord.  Send us!

Baptism Check-in

Easter 7B; John 17:6-19; St. Paul's, 5/13/2018

Jim Melnyk: “Baptism Check-in”

So – we're gathered together this morning near the end of the Great Fifty Days of Easter – just one week away from the Feast of Pentecost.  Six weekends ago we celebrated Easter and the resurrection of Jesus, the Christ.  We began our Easter celebration by renewing our Baptismal Covenant.  Next week, as we celebrate the Feast of Pentecost – as we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit – God's gift to us all – we will once again renew those same Baptismal promises.

And so, as we stand in this moment of time between celebrations of resurrection life and the gift of God's Holy Spirit in our lives, I have a question for each of us.  How are we doing with our baptisms?  How are you – how am I – doing with those promises – with that covenant we proclaim so often at St. Paul's?

How's that baptism thing working for us?  When we find ourselves slogging our way through work or school each day – or sitting with family or friends at the dinner table – or resting in the solitude of being alone – how is our baptism going?  Now I don't know about you, but I find that an intriguing and tough question to answer – if I'm willing to dig a little bit into my life – if I'm willing to answer it truthfully.  How are we doing with our baptisms?  Are our promises – the promises we make in our Baptismal Covenant – are our promises shaping our lives?  Are those promises part of why you – part of why we – gather together each week?

If you're at all like me – and that's probably a good guess – your Baptismal Life might be a bit like a dirt road that hasn't seen a road grader in a few years.  There are certainly some smooth, easy-going spots that allow us to sail along at a good clip.  But there are also some potholes here and there that we strain to avoid – often able to make some quick course corrections, and just as often, it seems, catching us unawares with a jarring thud!  And then there are some areas that resemble a washboard more than a road – and we bump along with our teeth rattling in our skulls and our hands gripping the wheel firmly lest we lose control of our lives. 

Sometimes our baptism burns hot and strong – a blazing beacon of life for the world around us.  Sometimes it's more like a fire that's been banked – held in check by the world's disbelief – by our own disbelief – waiting to be rekindled by the fire of God's Holy Spirit in our lives.  And so I ask – how's your baptism going today?

In a passage from her book, Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott unknowingly describes my Baptismal Life quite well.  She opens by explaining how her “coming to faith did not start with a leap but rather like a series of staggers from what seemed like one safe place to another.”  Sort of like hopping from one lily pad to another across her “swamp of doubt and fear.”  The Psalmist describes this swamp as the “desolate or miry pit.”  I know what those images evoke in me.  I know what “staggering toward faith” feels like for me – wrestling with self-doubt – the struggle with a world that that thinks it knows better, and that faith is just the stuff of fairy tales. 

Jesus, I think, knew what it meant to be “staggering toward faith” – whether through the lives of his disciples as they attempted to follow him on the road toward Jerusalem and the cross – or in the garden when he prayed, “if it's possible, let this cup pass from me...” – or even later on the cross when he cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Jesus, I'm sure, knew what it meant to find oneself “staggering toward faith,” all the while challenging the world's power to dominate and control people's lives.

I think this knowledge on Jesus' part is what led him to pray what we call the “High Priestly Prayer” in John's Gospel, a part of which we just read a few moments ago.  Jesus knows what his death will do to his disciples.  Jesus knows what following his clarion call to servant leadership will mean for all who would come after him.  Jesus knows that one's journey into faith always has been, and always will be, more of a stagger than a sure-footed leap.  And so Jesus prays for each of us who follow: “Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”  Asking God to sanctify us – to set us apart from the brokenness of the world – to bless and strengthen us in the truth of God's grace and love, so that we might not just participate in that grace and love, but also become messengers of God's love to the rest of the world.

So, whatever trail we're following on our journey of faith – however sure-footed or unsure it may seem at the moment – the question remains: how is our baptism today?  How well are we living into the promises and the commitment of our life in Christ?  Do we secretly, or subconsciously, cross our fingers whenever we recite the Baptismal Covenant?  How real for us, in all their glorious mystery and metaphor, are the stories of our faith?  How willing are we each to put aside the powerful “givens” of a world that refuses to follow the lead of our Servant God – the one whose power and authority are most clearly understood through acts of compassion, mercy, and love?

When someone asks us if we’ll will take on a ministry – whether it be with Christian Formation, the Vestry, or Stewardship – how's our baptism?  How does our baptism shape what we want – what our hearts desire for ourselves and for St. Paul’s – and then how does our baptism call us to make those desires – those dreams – a reality?    Or are we willing to let others carry the load by themselves?  How's our baptism going?

Singing the words of our Gospel Hymn today (603) – recognizing a world still divided by race, gender, class, and sexuality – how's our baptism going?  Do we feel called to help a world full of people stagger toward a faith that recognizes the image of God in every human being?  Do we feel called to help a world full of people stagger toward a faith that will work for justice and peace among all people, and recognize and celebrate the dignity of every human being?

Where do we need God's direction, God’s protection, and God’s grace that, as Jesus prayed, his joy may be made complete in our lives?  Where does the hope of our faith run head-long into the realities of life, causing us to stagger in our witness? 

Jesus prays his prayer for us, that we may not be fearful or timid, but followers of his way.  That we might become credible and fervent witnesses – credible and fervent options to the world's many overbearing “givens.”  Jesus prays his prayer for us that as God's new option –

as God's new hope – we might stand against a world given to domination, separation, and marginalization.  Jesus prays that we might stand as God's new option against a world given to power plays and fearful days – where so many fellow human beings are seen as expendable.  Jesus prays that we might stand as God's new option against a world given to a lack of compassion – a world given to a lack of God's justice – justice which is always rooted in forgiveness, in mercy and in love.

As we live out this option in our lives – as we witness to, and act upon, the call to follow Jesus – the empires of this world will tremble!  Because who we are, and how we choose to live our lives – our baptismal calling to follow Jesus – makes a difference in this world.  We can be a critical mass for God if we choose to be so!  Think of it – everyone from St. Paul's living for Christ every day – living for each other – living for a world of God's people – for all of God’s people – for those who can celebrate life every day, and those most often forgotten or ignored – and everyone in between. Sometimes so sure of the pathway before us, and sometimes staggering toward faith – but hopefully always with a surety that God is with us – and for us – and in us!

So, as we prepare to renew our baptismal vows next Sunday, I’d like to give all of us a little homework.  Over the course of the next seven days we have a chance to consider the question: How is it going with my baptism today?