Several years ago, on a mission trip to New York City, the mission team and I visited the cathedral of St. John the Divine. Though an ordinary Episcopal parish in many ways, its gothic architecture and cavernous nave—the nave being the technical name of the part of the church building where people worship—astonished us. At least to my recollection, there was no posted sign asking people to be quiet. There was no need. For as soon as the group of teenagers I was leading stepped into this staggering height and length, into the majestic columns and intricate stained glass, they stopped talking. Towards the back of the nave, a large sculpture collection of dancing animals delighted us. Walking past the sculptures, we inspected the chapels along the sides of the nave, intimate spaces for small weddings and funerals. We walked and walked, making our way past sections set up with chairs, past the baptismal font, past sections roped off, past the choir stalls, and finally reaching the altar surrounded by enormous columns. We set our heads back and peered at the cathedral’s tiled dome. 601 feet long, meaning nearly two football fields long, 177 feet high, meaning 16 stories high, St. John the Divine is the largest worship space in the United States. In that majestic, awe-inspiring space, we had no doubt: God is here.
During my first call, a woman in the congregation, Esther, had been battling illness. Esther had gone in and out of the hospital for months, so routinely that each time I passed the hospital on my way anywhere, I would stop to visit her. On this particular day, I stopped to see her even though I had seen her the day before. When I made my way to her room, I was surprised to see nearly her whole family gathered there: adult children and their spouses, grandchildren and great grandchildren. To my inexperienced eyes, Esther’s health appeared as stable as ever, but something kept me there, at her bedside. After an hour, I was about to leave and was actually walking out the door and down the hall when what I assume was the Holy Spirit stopped me, and I walked back. When I walked through the door of Esther’s hospital room, the nurse followed me in and announced, “It won’t be long now.” She meant Esther was about to die. Shocked, we gathered back around Esther’s bed, and I held her hand in mine. “Into your hands, I commend my spirit,” I sang with my eyes closed, a portion of the compline prayer from the green Lutheran Book of Worship hymnal. “In righteousness, I will see you. When I awake, your presence will give me joy.” When I opened my eyes, Esther was gone. And I had no doubt in that thin, liminal space between life and death, the temporal and the eternal: God is here. Today, Holy Trinity Sunday, we proclaim a mystery: that God is One and Three, that God is majestic and awe-inspiring, that God is close and intimate. We proclaim a mystery: that God who created the heavens and the earth also became flesh and lived among us. We proclaim a mystery: that the One who died and was raised now lives in us, the body of Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit at work in us. This mystery challenges our notions of who God is for One who is Three cannot fit in any of our boxes. God is not simply the booming, distant creator, not simply love incarnate in Jesus, not simply the wild, fiery spirit of God. My favorite children’s book Old Turtle explores this mystery, and so I share it this morning. If you’d like to come close to see the pictures, you are welcome to come sit in the front pew. I read Old Turtle with the children gathered in the front pew to see the pictures. At first, all creation declares that God is only like them. To the fish in the sea, God is a swimmer. To the stone, God is a great rock that never moves. To the mountain, God is a snowy peak. And their competing views of who God is creates conflict among the animals and the people who follow them. But later, the animals and stones, mountains and breezes discover God in the elements of creation most unlike them. The stone says: I sometimes feel God’s breath as she blows by. The breeze whispers: I feel his still presence as I dance among the rocks. The star declares: God is very close. Old Turtle speaks to the fullness of who God is—out beyond our categories. Not simply a twinkling and a shining far, far away like the star. Not simply a smell and a feeling that is very, very close, like the ant. Not simply like the wind who is never still. And God comes to us not just in immense, cavernous cathedrals but also in tiny hospital rooms crowded with family. God comes to us, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And before we reduce God to just One, Holy Trinity Sunday announces: God is more than any one of us can comprehend. On Holy Trinity Sunday, I am less a scientist, figuring out how God could possibly be One and Three and more an appreciator of fine art, content to marvel and be "wowed." We give thanks for the beauty of this greatest mystery: God who is One, God who is also Three. Thanks be to God! Amen.
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Pentecost makes me giggle. As Lutherans, we come into the worship space, pleasant and chatting with our neighbors. When the bell rings, the prelude music concludes, and I stand, the room obediently hushes. I say “please stand and sing,” and you do. We do the work of the people, the liturgy, in time-honored fashion. Then, we get to the reading from Acts chapter 2, where the Holy Spirit breaks loose. It’s total chaos! But then the reading concludes and we move on to the gospel and Children’s Time, the sermon and a hymn, and we just go on as if the Holy Spirit, the star of the Pentecost show, were as pleasant and obedient as us. It’s not.
To properly embody the spirit of Pentecost, I need 4 people to be wind, 4 people to be tongues like fire, and one whole pew to be the disciples—you will remain seated but have speaking parts. Everyone else, you are the crowd of devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. Disciples, when you are filled with the Holy Spirit and begin to speak in other languages, each one of you, please choose one of these translations of either Spanish, German, or Swahili and read it—all at the same time, not in unison or chorus, just read, just read even though I will still be talking. It’s fine. It’s Pentecost. The Story of Pentecost: When the day of Pentecost had come, the disciples were all together in one place. 2And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and the wind filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among the disciples, and a tongue rested on the head of each disciple. 4All the disciples were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. 5Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” Say it together: What does this mean? The story of the day of Pentecost goes on, but we’ll end there. How would you describe Pentecost? People said things like: Confusing, wild, chaotic. The disciples did not control the Holy Spirit in any way. Rather, the Holy Spirit showed up and did exactly what the Holy Spirit intended. The languages through which the disciples proclaimed the good news of Jesus were languages they did not speak and had never studied. The violent wind of the Spirit rushed in with no regard for closed doors. The flames as of fire mystically danced upon the heads of the disciples in a way mortals could not understand then—or now. And Pentecost is only the beginning for the Holy Spirit has, since then, just come and done whatever she wants. (Note, just as an aside, that in Hebrew, the word for “spirit,” ruach, is feminine and in Greek, pneuma, is gender-neutral while the other two persons of the trinity are masculine. Given that, most contemporary biblical scholars refer to the spirit using feminine pronouns--which is why I am here.) Humans can’t and don’t control the Spirit. She doesn’t care if we think what she’s doing is controversial or improper or just untimely. The Holy Spirit will do whatever the Holy Spirit wants. That’s Pentecost. After Pentecost, the Spirit called Jesus’ disciple Peter and the Apostle Paul to include Gentiles, non-Jews, in the 1st century church, a move that sparked intensely heated debate in the newly formed church. The Spirit called women to serve in positions of leadership in the early church despite the patriarchy of the 1st century. The Spirit called enslaved people to gather in Christian community with free people which we learn about in Paul’s letter to Philemon. The Spirit called Martin Luther to question the corruption of the 16th century Roman Catholic Church and to proclaim we are saved by grace through faith apart from works for the sake of Christ, sparking a reformation that changed not just the church but the world. The Spirit called Christians in Europe, in the colonial US, and now around the world to open hospitals and nursing homes, in the fashion of Jesus’ healing ministry. In large cities across the US, most hospitals are of Christian origin. For example in Phoenix, the two largest and oldest hospitals are St. Joseph’s Hospital and Good Samaritan Hospital. The Spirit called Christians around the world to establish colleges and universities, lifting up the Christian value of education. Nearly all of our oldest educational institutions in this country are of Christian origin, including 26 ELCA colleges and universities. The Spirit called Christians to respond to human suffering and need with compassion and generosity, establishing countless social service organizations, like Lutheran Social Service of Minnesota. Today, the Holy Spirit is still out and about, doing her thing. In us. Through us. Through others. For us and for our neighbor. I mean, what led you here this morning? You could have been drinking coffee on your porch, fishing, playing or watching softball, having brunch with friends or family, or doing whatever you normally do on a gorgeous May day. What leads you to spend your life caring for others in this community? What leads you to serve others, either in service projects here at church or in the community or in your daily work? What led you to be generous at the Youth Pie Auction or to participate in Grubby Sunday? What led you to bring offering today to support the ministry of St. John’s? What leads you to unexpected conversations or meetings, situations that amaze or perplex or astonish you? It’s not a mystery. It’s the Holy Spirit. The wind will fill this entire house. Flames will dance upon our heads. We will proclaim the good news of Jesus in words we’ve never spoken before. We will advocate for justice and serve our neighbor. We will visit those who are sick and care for the most vulnerable among us. We will lead and serve and give in all the ways God calls. In all this, we are not the movers and shakers but God’s Spirit at work in us. And for that we can say: Thanks be to God! And come, Holy Spirit, come. Can I get an amen? Amen! Today, the Ascension of our Lord, Jesus passes the baton to the disciples. All along, Jesus had been the one doing, the one speaking, the one guiding. He had healed the multitudes, forgiven sin, taught the Sermon on the Mount, spoken in parables and explained them to the disciples. Yes, he had sent the disciples to heal and teach and preach in his name, but when the disciples returned, Jesus had to go back and clean it up. Yes, Jesus gave the 5 loaves and 2 fish to the disciples to be shared with the crowd of 5,000 but only after blessing the loaves and fish and giving the disciples explicit instructions for its distribution.
But now, on the day of his ascension, it’s time to let go. Like a relay runner who has come to the end of their leg, like a CEO who knows it’s time to retire, like a grandmother who always hosted Christmas but knows it’s time to let her daughter do it this year, Jesus has come to the end of his earthly chapter and is ready to hand off his ministry to others. For 40 days, Jesus is with the disciples after his resurrection. 40 days of teaching, sharing life, unpacking everything that had happened. But still, still, when Jesus’ ascension is finally upon them, in the book of Acts the disciples ask Jesus: “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” They still believe that Jesus plans to unseat the emperor and violently overthrow the government! They couldn’t be further from the truth. For Jesus isn’t planning to do anything—but pass them the baton. From now on, the disciples will be witnesses of “these things,” the things pertaining to Jesus’ life and ministry, death and resurrection. From now on, the disciples will heal and teach, forgive sin and raise the dead, preach and proclaim the kingdom of God come near. This whole Easter season, we have concluded worship with the dismissal: “We are the body of Christ raised up for the world. Go in peace. Share the good news.” For two months, as the kids have come up for Children’s Time, we have sung: “We are the church, the body of our Lord. We are all God’s children, and we have been restored.” Or as Teresa of Avila, 16th century Christian mystic, wrote, “Christ has no body now but yours, no hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world.” The disciples received the baton and ran with it. They became the living body of Christ in the world. And because they did, nearly 2000 years later, our ancestors founded St. John’s Lutheran Church of Cedarbrook. And our ancestors, the ones whose own names we bear, the ones whose gravestones lay just outside, are the ones who passed the baton to us. Those Kellermans and Fellermans, Hasskamps and Gravelles and Dotzlers, among others, taught Sunday school and gathered for Ladies’ Aid. They brought their children to the baptismal font and then to worship and confirmation. They read the Bible at home and prayed at bedtime. They supported missionaries and built the church. From one generation to the next, Jesus-followers have been passing that baton. Telling the old, old story of Jesus and his love. Walking the walk of healing and forgiveness, justice and love. Today, we’re up. We have the baton. We are witnesses of these things, the things of Jesus. We spend $90 on a peach pie so that youth can go on mission trips and children can attend Vacation Bible School. We come to church in grubby clothes to plant trees and wash windows, to ensure church is both beautiful and functional. On the day our young people say yes to following Jesus, the day of confirmation, we crowd into these pews and lay hands on them and eat together in celebration of a faith passed down and embraced by the next generation. We honor our ancestors by cleaning the cemetery. We tend creation by cleaning ditches. We care for our community by serving the community meal. We have the baton and are running with it. It occurred to me this week that Jesus could have stuck around indefinitely. Since God can do whatever God wants, God could have made that happen. No need for a church. Jesus could have just continued doing his thing until, literally, the end of time. But that’s not what God did. Which makes me think we need to be witnesses of these things as much as the world needs to hear and see them, that Jesus ascended so that we would have the opportunity to be passed the baton at all. Jesus came to heal and forgive, to do justice and love kindness—and to shape and form us by doing the very same. Because healing and forgiveness, justice and love are good for the world and good for us. At his ascension, Jesus lets go so that the disciples—and we—can be transformed by following Jesus. We are the church, the body of our Lord, we are all God’s children, who are being transformed. Thanks be to God! Amen. Today, Jesus commands the disciples to love. To love in action, like Jesus washing the feet of the disciples on Maundy Thursday.
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AuthorPastor Sarah Stadler shares her sermons from the previous Sunday. Archives
June 2024
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