Groaning for What Cannot Be Seen

Romans 8:18-28
Trinity Sunday
May 30, 2021
William G. Carter

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.

Years ago, there was an animated movie that I just loved. I bet many of you have seen it too. It was called “The Incredibles.” It was the story of a family of superheroes who had been forced to hide in the suburbs and lead normal lives. Bob Parr was the alter ego of Mr. Incredible, and he was married to Helen – who used to be known as Elastigirl. They have three kids, Violet, Dash, and baby Jack-Jack. It was a fun movie, had a great soundtrack, and was worthy of an excellent sequel. I just loved “The Incredibles.”

And that has nothing to do with this sermon.

But the title of the movie bubbled up for me when I gave some thought to our text from the apostle Paul. He’s not talking about “The Incredibles.” Rather he’s pointing to The Invisibles. That’s what a good Christian preacher is supposed to do.

He takes up pen and ink to draft a letter he has not met. They are invisible to him, but he knows they are there. He writes shamelessly about the mess that all human people have made of the world. The diagnosis is honest. By all accounts, the situation looks hopeless. And then he begins to talk about Jesus. Jesus comes from God, not as a superhero but as a different kind of savior. He gives himself freely in a sacrificial death, and it’s the event by which God cancels the big mess.

Not only that. God has raised this Jesus from the dead. He lives, he breathes, he speaks, and he is at work, correcting the big mess. The day is coming when he will finish the job. Every broken heart will be mended. Every broken life restored. Paul leans back to take in the largest possible view. Indeed the whole world will be repaired. The entire universe will rejoice (Paul never thought small!). The whole thing sounds Incredible!

And so much of this now seems invisible. The Invisibles. The Gospel proclaims they are true. But we cannot see them. Not yet. That doesn’t mean they are not there. It doesn’t mean they aren’t going to happen. But we cannot see what seems invisible.

Sometimes I wonder if that is a reason why people drop out of church. They get tired of waiting for the promises to come true. Jesus healed other people; why won’t he heal me? Jesus fed the multitude; why am I hungry? Jesus came to lift up the downtrodden; why are so many folks kept down? Those are good questions. They don’t come with quick answers. It is tempting to throw in the towel and decide it’s all a vain fantasy.

But the apostle Paul won’t do that. He holds on to the Invisibles. By this, I mean he holds on to the really big words, like “glory,” “revelation,” “freedom,” “adoption,” and “redemption.” None of these things are obvious. They cannot be seen. They cannot even be verified. But they are real.

It's almost as if they have a residue that has lasted ever since the Garden of Eden. Can you remember the Garden of Eden? I know, some of you aren’t quite that old. You may look it, but you’re not. But can you remember? It’s not an historical question. It’s a spiritual question.

In the Garden of Eden, there was peace. All the critters got along. The wolf and the lamb, the leopard and the calf and the lion, the cow and the bear – they were all playing volleyball. None of them were hungry. None of them were enemies. None were disadvantaged. There was tranquility, justice, and equity. No need for punishment. All lived in a state of grace.

Can you remember that? I ask because the experience is real. The memory is real. And now it’s Invisible. That doesn’t mean it is all fake, or an illusion, or an opiate for the masses. Only that we cannot see any of it now. And Christian people live by the Invisibles. That’s where our hope is lodged.

For this reason, I like to read the words of those who can see what most people cannot see. They aren’t dreamers. They are seers. They are not drunk on the 9 AM wine. They are intoxicated by the Spirit of God.

The other day, I went back to read a speech that was given from the Lincoln Monument when I was three years old. A young Baptist preacher raised his tenor voice and sang these words:

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.  I have a dream today! …

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together."

Dr. King could see the Invisibles. He could see what few others could see. Then he threw back his head to proclaim:

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

“My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, From every mountainside, let freedom ring!”

I simply make the point: Dr. King was well-schooled in the Invisibles. Life matters only because of the things we cannot yet see. We cannot see them because they are Enormous and True and Right and Holy. But if we have the memory, it will fuel the hope.

So the apostle Paul is giving us hope. He is reminding us that God saved us in Christ because God bears this great hope – the hope of renewal, the hope of restoration, the hope of all things redeemed. It’s what the Jewish mystics call “Tikkun Olam,” literally “taking the world in for repairs.” This is God’s great purpose for the earth – a complete salvage operation.

But just as soon as Paul points to this, he adds, “Now hope that is seen is not hope. Who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” So here we are, week after week, supporting one another. Encouraging one another. Standing with one another. Praying with one another. And we are pointing, not merely to the end of a fifteen-month pandemic, but for a world renewed and healed.

Some may dismiss all of this as Incredible. That is, “not credible.” I believe it to be Invisible. And there’s a difference. Do you know how I know there is a difference? Paul has given us a clue. He says it’s in the groan. Creation groans, he says. It is the sound, not merely of pain, but of longing. Of expectation.

And if we groan – hoping, waiting, expecting the Invisibles – it is a certain sign that the Holy Spirit is within us. It is the evidence that God is at work with us.

Now, it’s a sound that is easy to miss. If your ears aren’t tuned to the right frequency, you might not hear it.

It was there in the prayer with a woman we know. We talked through face masks, separated by plexiglass, tears flowing because she misses you all. But the love is there since love is the greatest of the Invisibles. She trusts the day is coming when she shall be healed. Our prayer together sounded like a groan.  

I overheard the groans in the Halls of Injustice. One more case dismissed, one more wrong unaddressed, one more wound in the cause of Truth, another one of the great Invisibles. But there was enough of a residue, enough lingering Hope, that those who had been wronged committed themselves to work for what is right. You could hear it in the groan.

Yesterday morning, shortly before 9:00, a new voice was heard on the maternity floor. One of the young couples that I married off last summer during the pandemic became parents together. The Momma was groaning in her labor, but when the little boy emerged, all three of them sang with delight. What kind of people bear children in times like these? Those who are held by Hope.

These are always uncertain times. We can speculate what lies ahead – but the assurance has already been given. So we groan, expecting the Invisibles that are promised to us, to the world, to the entire created universe. These are the gifts that will save us. They come through the grace of God, through the mission of Jesus Christ, and sealed in the heart and mind through the Holy Spirit.

So we join all creation in our Spirit-filled groan, and we pray:

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
            All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth and sky and sea.
            Holy, holy, holy! merciful and mighty!
            God in three persons, blessed Trinity!

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

God's Gift to Church Folks

John 15:26-27, 16:4-15
Pentecost
May 23, 2021
William G. Carter

When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf. You also are to testify because you have been with me from the beginning.

But I have said these things to you so that when their hour comes you may remember that I told you about them. I did not say these things to you from the beginning, because I was with you. But now I am going to him who sent me; yet none of you asks me, ‘Where are you going?’ But because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your hearts.

 

Nevertheless I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. And when he comes, he will prove the world wrong about sin and righteousness and judgment: about sin, because they do not believe in me; about righteousness, because I am going to the Father and you will see me no longer; about judgment, because the ruler of this world has been condemned.

 

I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.

 

“Nevertheless I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away.” Of all the harsh things Jesus ever said, that must be the most difficult.

The setting is the Last Supper. The Lord has announced that one of the twelve will be betray him. All of them look around the table, wondering who it will be as Judas Iscariot slips out into the darkness.

They know the time is coming. Anybody who has followed Jesus knows that his departure is imminent. There were murmurs in the city. It had been a week of conflict and testing. Jesus won every gambit by the Pharisee, scribes, and Sadducees, but this is their town and their rules.

According to three of the Gospels, Jesus told them he would be arrested, tortured, slandered, and crucified. He said it here in the Gospel of John, too, but, well, John doesn’t always say things straight. Nevertheless they know – they must know – that Jesus is on his way out.

Today’s text is a slice taken from four chapters where Jesus is saying goodbye. It’s followed by one more chapter where Jesus prays a farewell prayer. The mood around the Table is affectionate but sad. “Don’t let your hearts be troubled,” he says to them. You know why he says that: precisely because their hearts are troubled.

They know he is going away. It’s crystal clear even on a gloomy night. He seems to make it worse when he says, “And it is to your advantage that I go…” Ouch. That hurts.

It’s hard for us to say goodbye to the people we love, whether they are moving to Delaware, or Colorado, or some higher form of heaven. And to bid farewell to a leader, to a person of significance, to the One who has stood in the center of our circle, well that’s just brutal. And when he says, “It’s to your advantage that I go,” that’s like the prune flavored frosting on a stale cake.

John gives us this lengthy section of his book to help us make sense of the departure of Jesus. He reminds us that the fundamental crisis of the early church was the departure of Jesus. He is the source of our lives, like the vine beneath so many branches. We did not choose Jesus; he chose us and appointed us to be faithful followers. Yet he is gone. That is what Easter means. Remember what the angel said at the tomb? "He is risen, and he is not here." John’s Gospel faith tries to make sense of that absence.

One of my teachers described it this way. "Before the departing Christ, the disciples had been as children playing on the floor, only to look up and see the parents putting on coats and hats. The questions are three (and they have not changed): Where are you going? Can we go? Then who is going to stay with us?"[1]

Where are you going? "I am going to the Father and you will see me no longer" (John 16:10).

Can we go? "Where I am going, you cannot go.” (John 13:36)

Then who is going to stay with us? “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.” (John 14:16-17)

Here is the advantage, the hidden advantage of Christ’s departure. Jesus goes so the Holy Spirit can come. It is this Spirit, this Advocate, who is God’s gift to church folks. The promise of Jesus comes true. He promised, “I will not leave you as orphans,” as those without father or mother. “I go away so that I may come to you again.”

Now, this is the first of three clues to comprehending the Spirit. The Holy Spirit is often described as the “shy member of the Trinity.” I’m not sure I agree with that description. I’ve found myself in some Spirit-filled moments that were noisy. What made it a Spirit-filled occasion and not merely an amplified moment was the presence of Christ. It was a holy moment because Jesus was there. Somehow, he was there.

John wants us to know that the Holy Spirit is the Presence of Jesus. That’s the first clue. This is the Risen Christ, available at any time, in any place. This is why Jesus must go away in order for the Spirit to come. They can’t both be there because they are the Same Thing - essentially, they are the Same Person, or better said, Two Persons of the Same Trinity. Jesus the Human is crucified, raised, and goes to the Father, in order for Jesus the Risen Presence to come. That’s how John understands the Holy Spirit.

Why is this important? Because there is continuity. The same Christ who spoke still speaks. The same Savior who healed still heals. The same Lord who serves still serves. And he does it through the people who love him.

This came home to me some years ago when some of our Deacons were delivering flowers. One of them went to see a senior citizen in the hospital. She was struggling with her illness, and the Deacon stopped in to say hello and take a bouquet from that morning’s worship service.

I’m not sure what happened in that hospital room that day. Don’t know how long the Deacon visited, if they had a conversation, if the Deacon felt confident to offer a prayer. I don’t know what happened. What I do know is the lady’s adult daughter called the next day to check in.

She said, “Somebody stopped by to deliver flowers. I think they came from the church. We appreciate it very much.” She paused and said, “Do you know who made the delivery?” No, I’m sorry, I don’t.

“Well, I asked my mother about it. She said Jesus brought the flowers. I kind of went with it for a minute, and said, well, Mom, are you sure about that? She looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘I’m absolutely sure.’”

We both paused for a moment on the phone. Then I said, “Well, why not?” John says the Risen Christ is among us. He continues his kindness in our midst. He brings the grace of God into the world. Whenever we experience that unexpected love, it’s a sign that, not only is he alive, but he is also working among us.

But from the beginning, John has also taught that Jesus doesn’t only bring grace; he brings truth. It’s grace and truth, truth and grace. They are inseparable. That’s the second sign of the Spirit. The grace gives us the freedom to be honest about ourselves, where we have fallen short, where we have gone off the tracks. The Spirit’s truth is that honesty. And if we are honest, truthfully honest, the Spirit’s grace receives us and scrubs us clean.

Truth seems to be in trouble these days. Truth has frequently been reduced to someone’s opinion. In one all-too-common example, someone might say, “This corona virus thing is nothing.” Well, where did you learn that? “Well, I just know it’s true.” Who told you that? “Everybody knows it’s nothing.” And I think of the people I know who have gotten sick, and those who died, and here is this person who has convinced themselves of something false. And if someone exposes the falsehood by giving evidence, they twist it around and declare you’ve been hoodwinked by fake news.

One thing I know about myself is that I am capable of convincing myself of just about anything. If I keep repeating something over and over again in my head, and surround myself with people who agree with me, I can put some legs on a lie, and it will run a good way down the track.

That’s why it is so important to be in a church where everybody doesn’t always agree. That’s healthy. If you can stay in community even though you differ, the Holy Spirit bubbles up with the truth. I have seen this when church elders come together around some important matter. They may differ. They may come from different points of view. But if they speak honestly and listen respectfully, they may change their minds and build a consensus. It can happen. I have seen it happen. And I name it as the work of the Holy Spirit.

What I’m talking about is that moment when the opinion in somebody’s mind gives way to the mind of Christ, which becomes shared within the community. If we are open to the presence of Christ, and welcome the truth of Christ, together we often are led into the mind of Christ. We discover together what he is inviting us to do. It makes all the sense in the world. And then we have to go home to our loved ones and confess how we changed our minds – or maybe, how the Lord has changed our minds.

The Holy Spirit brings truth. In my experience, the Spirit builds truth among us. The Spirit reveals what we are called to trust and what we need to do.

This leads us to the third indication that Spirit is among us: we are given a future. The same Lord who floated on a boat in the Sea of Galilee is here, present, and true, and leading us forward. The One who came before us is also ahead of us – doesn’t that just blow your circuits?

And if that’s true, we don’t have to worry about the future of our church. We don’t have to fret about the condition of the world. It’s already in the hands of the One who is both with us and ahead of us. For our part we must show up, and listen, and pray, and follow, and trust.

I love that line that Jesus speaks in chapter 16:12 – “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear to hear them now.” The Lord sounds like a preacher whose sermon has gone on far too long. The congregation is zoning out, but he reminds them there is even more to say, more to learn, more to discover. And it’s there in the mind of God, which leads us forward.

“When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth.” What truth? Well, the truth about Christ, and the truth about us, and the truth about us living in the presence of Christ. And what is that truth? Well, he hasn’t told us that truth yet. You’ve got to come back tomorrow, and next week, and the week after that.

What is required is a new openness to the Spirit. That’s how our Presbyterian Church’s Book of Order puts it (F-1.0404). In the church there is continuity with the past. We never begin from scratch. We begin with Christ. And there is the continuing call to change and become more like Christ. Continuity, as the Holy Spirit reminds us of everything Jesus says. Change, as the Holy Spirit beckons us forward. There is continuity and change because we are alive in Christ.

Christian faith is just that: faith in Christ. We trust what we have heard him say through scripture, yet we remain open to hear him still speak through the Holy Spirit. In the end, we trust God will sort everything out, for the primary role of the Spirit is to point to Jesus and guide us into his truth. The Spirit of Christ will lead us into the life that Christ has come to give. The Spirit will teach us; the question is whether we are willing to learn.

That, it seems to me, is how we live without the physical presence of Jesus and with the mysterious power of the Holy Spirit. Like the wind, the Spirit blows when and where it wills. We have no control over what God is doing in the world. But if we open our arms like a cross-mast, if we set our sails and wait for the Spirit to blow and propel us, we find ourselves directed into the deep waters of grace.

Jesus says, “Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away. And if I go away, the Spirit of truth will come and testify on my behalf.” This is the promise of Pentecost. And if we remain open to that promise, we may discover that, even in his absence, Jesus has been with us all along. 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Fred Craddock, John: Knox Preaching Guide (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982) 98.

Can't Touch This

1 John 5:13-21
Easter 7
May 16, 2021

William G. Carter  

I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, so that you may know that you have eternal life.

 

And this is the boldness we have in him, that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have obtained the requests made of him. If you see your brother or sister committing what is not a mortal sin, you will ask, and God will give life to such a one—to those whose sin is not mortal. There is sin that is mortal; I do not say that you should pray about that. All wrongdoing is sin, but there is sin that is not mortal.

 

We know that those who are born of God do not sin, but the one who was born of God protects them, and the evil one does not touch them. We know that we are God’s children, and that the whole world lies under the power of the evil one. And we know that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding so that we may know him who is true; and we are in him who is true, in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life. Little children, keep yourselves from idols.

I’m sure you have noticed. There are some things that just don’t fit together.

• Ketchup on a peanut butter sandwich. No, don’t do it.
• Motor oil and maple syrup. One of them will ruin your car, the other destroys your pancakes.
• Filing for divorce on Valentine’s Day. That would be a stupid gesture.
• New York Yankees fans and Boston Red Sox fans. They can’t stand to sit in the same stadium.

Some things just don’t fit together. Here are two more: Jesus Christ and evil.

It is a stark duality, typical of John, typical of early moral teaching in the church. It’s either this or that, Christ or evil. Love or sin. Truth or lie. Clarity or illusion. There is a difference between them.

John can see the divisions rather clearly. Over here is the realm of righteousness. Over there is a world of destruction. We belong to either one or the other. This is simply the way John talks. It’s there on the very first page of his letter. Chapter 1, verse 5: “God is light and in him there is no darkness at all.” Can you hear it? 

“If we say that we have fellowship with him while we are walking darkness, we lie and do not do what is true; but if we walk in the light as God is in the light, we have fellowship with one another.” Chapter 1, verses 6 and 7. Either we lie, or we tell the truth. Either we walk in darkness or walk in the light. For John, there doesn’t seem to be a dusk or dawn.

Maybe you have known Christians who talk this way. They have the whole world sorted. It’s this or that. You’re either one of them or you’re not. Such clarity can lead to the temptation of superiority. Either you are on the road with me, or you are on the wrong path.

I had a college roommate who was wired this way. He was so certain of everything. If I was reading a novel in the dorm room, he felt the need to comment on whether he approved. If I lingered too long with my wayward friends, he quoted the Bible, “Bad company ruins good morals.” (1 Cor. 15:33). If I played raucous music on the stereo in our room, he would leave immediately. There were some weeks I played a lot of that music just to clear him out of there.

We graduated in the same year, parted ways, never saw one another again. Invited him to my wedding, didn’t get a reply. Lost track of where he went or what he’s doing. And I’m fairly certain that he didn’t expect me to become a minister. According to his typology, I wasn’t pure enough.

Now, John divides the world this way because other biblical writers divide the world this way. We heard Frank sing the first psalm, the overture to a collection of 150 psalms. On the one hand: “Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or take the path that sinners tread, or sit in the seat of scoffers; but their delight is in the Torah of the Lord.” On the other hand, “The wicked are not so; they shall not stand in the judgment, nor sit in the congregation of the righteous.”

It’s either-or. The righteous are like trees planted by streams of water, well-rooted and prolific. The wicked are like dry stalks of wheat, cut from their roots, ready to blow like chaff in the wind. Through the generations, there have been far too many preachers and prophets, so certain of their own clarity, that they would turn the either-or into a decision and ask, “So where do you want to be?”

One of my teachers canceled some of his teenage dates on Friday nights, after his minister said, “When the Lord returns, do you want him to find you at a drive-in movie?” And it would scare him. The clarity would frighten him.

I guess my response is that it’s never that easy. For one thing, clarity doesn’t always keep anybody out of trouble. To follow the news of the day, or the news of any other day, why is it that some of those who prop themselves up as “right,” as morally correct, as pure, should fall so dramatically? I could name names, and you could name names. They were so clear, so self-assured, so triumphant, so full of themselves – and now they circle around the drain.

This is where John reminds us declares that none of us can ever claim to be superior or exempt. For the six weeks that we have worked through this letter, we have heard the Prayer of Confession introduced with truth from chapter 1:

If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1:8-9)

Self-deception is always a possibility. Brennan Manning says the best way to save our lives is through simple honesty. Here’s how he says it in his book, The Ragamuffin Gospel:

 The Good News means we can stop lying to ourselves. The sweet sound of amazing grace saves us from the necessity of self-deception. It keeps us from denying that though Christ was victorious, the battle with lust, greed, and pride still rages within us. As a sinner who has been redeemed, I can acknowledge that I am often unloving, irritable, angry, and resentful with those closest to me. When I go to church, I can leave my white hat at home and admit I have failed. God not only loves me as I am, but also knows me as I am. Because of this, I don’t need to apply spiritual cosmetics to make myself presentable to Him. I can accept ownership of my poverty and powerlessness and neediness . . . My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.[1]

The first step to “walk in the Light” is to simply get over ourselves. To knock off all pretense. To be real. To stand on the same ground as everybody else. If we are honest about the times we stumble, the missteps that led us astray, God can do something about us. The Gospel offers us a good cleansing, and the possibility of a fresh beginning.

But there’s something else here. John reminds us that life is inherently dangerous. It is remarkably easy for any of us to go astray or get ourselves in trouble. We do not – and cannot – live in insulated bubbles. We live in the world, as Jesus stepped foot in the world. And “the world that Christ so loved” is the world that crucified him. We can’t ever forget that.  

Now, that word “world” – in Greek, “cosmou” - is a loaded word in John’s writings. It refers to the whole system of operations, to the twisted and destructive ways that the world usually works. This is a world consumed with consumption – we will mow through a field like a cloud full of locusts. Power becomes an aphrodisiac. Rebellion leads to arrogance. Arrogance leads to abuse. Truth is compromised by cover-ups. Life can be destroyed and dismissed as expendable.

John puts it this way: “All that is in the world – the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eyes, the pride in riches – comes not from the Father but from the world. And the world and its desire are passing away, but those who do the will of God live forever.” (2:16-17).

It reminds me of an old youth group exercise. We would learn the Ten Commandments, get a handle on what they mean. Then we would say, “Let’s read a magazine together.” Or “let’s watch a half-hour of television together.” We would give a scorecard to the teens and say, “How many of the commandments were broken?” After about ten minutes, we would lose track.

We can’t be deceived by the sunshine. There are shadows too, all the time. John reminds us that there are “mortal sins.” At this, all the Roman Catholics in the room snap to attention. Some of you were raised with the medieval classifications of “mortal sins” or “venial sins.” To translate for the Presbyterians, a mortal sin is a deliberate act of disobedience, done with forethought, malice, and rebellion. A venial sin may merely be a mistake. In other words, heavyweight sins and lightweight sins.

But John writes our text a long time before the church began to classify sins. When he says, “mortal sin,” what he means is there are some sins that can kill us. Without constant vigilance, without regular self-reflection, we could become ensnared and be the next one to circle the drain.

That’s why our spiritual tradition offers a prayer discipline called “the prayer of examen.” It’s usually a bedtime prayer, at the end of the day. The invitation is to reflect on the day from start to finish, to call to mind the foul thoughts and the nasty inclinations, and to also remember the moments of grace. We pray for God’s forgiveness as we step into the cleansing light of Christ. There is no need to cling to what God has already released. Try this some time. Try it tonight. You might sleep better.    

As someone paraphrases our text, “My purpose in writing is simply this: that you who believe in God’s Son will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you have eternal life, the reality and not the illusion.” (The Message, 1 John 5:13). The Easter life is an honest life, a forgiven life – and therefore a life filled with God’s eternity. That is what Christ has come to offer each one of us – a life that breathes peace because Jesus invites us into the peace. This is what he comes to do. This is what he continues to do.

Some things don’t fit together.

• Like meanness and mercy; one of them must win, so it’s best to choose mercy.
• Or death and life. You can bet on life.
• Or selfishness and sacrifice. Only one can remain, and the wrong one will deliver a mortal blow.

Two more things that don’t fit together: Jesus Christ and evil. They are incompatible. And it’s just as well. Evil tried to get rid of Jesus, and he came back from the dead. Ever since, evil has been exposed. The world still does its best to pull us into the darkness, but Jesus continues to be the light of the world. Trust that. It’s the truth.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel (Sisters, OR: Multnomah Publisher, 1990) 25, 27.

Belief and Birth

1 John 5:1-6
Easter 6
May 9, 2021
William G. Carter

Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ has been born of God,
and everyone who loves the parent loves the child.
By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and obey his commandments.
For the love of God is this, that we obey his commandments.
And his commandments are not burdensome, for whatever is born of God conquers the world.
And this is the victory that conquers the world, our faith.
Who is it that conquers the world but the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?
This is the one who came by water and blood, Jesus Christ,
not with the water only but with the water and the blood.
And the Spirit is the one that testifies, for the Spirit is the truth.

This spring has been marked by a new event at our home. A mother robin has built a nest in a weeping cherry tree. It’s just outside the big window in our living room, about six feet from the chair where I write my sermons.

Mother Robin moved in quietly. We didn’t notice her arrival. Mostly we have been watching the activity at three birdfeeders in the back yard. Blue jays, cardinals, and grackles have been jostling for the suet feeder, while the sparrows, wrens, and the occasion finch have swarmed the bird seed. Those feeders get filled at least once a day.

When I was working on a sermon about two weeks ago, my wife came into the living room. We were talking about something when she interrupted herself in midsentence. She said, “There’s a bird nest right behind your head. Don’t move. She’s in there.” Well, that was too much temptation to avoid. I turned slowly to look over my left shoulder. Sure enough, there she was. I looked at Mother Robin and she replied, “What are you looking at?” I went back to the sermon and she went back to whatever she was working on.

Last Sunday, after I threw the sermon into the air and a few of you caught it, I went home, picked up a rake, and did a bit of yard work. We are sprucing up the flower beds. A load of mulch arrives tomorrow. Oblivious to most things around me, I wandered into the flower bed in front of the house. Mother Robin said, “Hey, what are you doing?” and then flew away. “Sorry,” I apologized, “forgot you were there.” That’s when I saw a bit of blue eggshell on the ground. Somebody else was in the nest. Turns out she gave birth to triplets.

So we have been watching respectfully all week, keeping our distance, letting her do her mothering work as we have gone about ours. Yesterday morning, I wanted to cook up blueberry pancakes for kids who were in town, while Mother Robin went grocery shopping for her offspring. She returned with a worm in her mouth, about the time I pulled the maple syrup out of the pantry. Three of our young adults watched with our own Mother Bird as Mother Robin returned again and again with her breakfast.

That’s how we counted three hungry beaks, all raised toward heaven, waiting for the Mother who would provide for all their needs. And when their bellies were full, she tucked them in for a nap and nestled down close.  

Life is a gift. Ever stop and give thanks for that? The month of May is our reminder. The lawns are green, speckled with a little yellow. A sequence of flowering trees has burst into color. The tulips give it all they’ve got, praising the One who called them out of a long winter’s nap. As more and more of us gather in the same room, we testify to the truth that nature confirms that the power of life is stronger than the threat of some old weary pandemic. We testify that Easter continues.

If all of that weren’t enough, today we celebrate the baptism of a handsome little guy who is new to us all.

Life is a gift. Behind all this emerging abundance is the Unseen God who calls all of it – all of us - into existence. It’s astonishing. It’s humbling. If we stop and consider what’s going on, it can take our breath away.  All of us are part of something grand, glorious, and subtle. There is life going on around us, and it’s a miracle.

Maybe the only miracle that compares with it is the miracle that comes when any one of us perceives the first miracle. Birth is a miracle. So is belief.

Now, by “belief,” I’m using the sense of how John uses that word. It has a different shade to it than what we often assume. Sometimes we assume “belief” refers to a mental assent to something we cannot otherwise see. Like the White Queen, who says to Alice in Wonderland, “Sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” Well, we’re not talking about impossible things. We are talking about trust.

That Mother Bird outside my window flies off to find some food. Her triplets trust she will return. They trust that she will feed them, that she will raise them. Those of us who have known the care of our own Mother Birds over the years are trained to trust. Those who didn’t have that experience can learn trust in other ways. And trust is that kind of miracle.

That’s the sense in which John uses the word that we translate as “belief.” It’s not merely something you do in your head. It’s something you do with your soul. It’s something you learn by committing your soul to do it.

And that’s why John can’t separate “belief” and “trust” from “love.” We learn love by loving. We learn the love of God by letting people love us. We learn to love God by loving one another. As we heard old John say last week, “How can anybody say they love God if they don’t love the people around them?”

That’s one of the great hypocrisy tests, isn’t it? Picture that pious man with the angelic smile. He thumps his Bible, can quote all the verses, parses all the ethical matters of the day. And in his breast pocket, he carries the list of people he despises. On the way out the door, he kicks his dog. How can he say he loves if he doesn’t love? It’s a matter of integrity.

And it’s a matter of practice. Those of us who have ever blessed with a child know what a conversion experience it can be! We were settled in our ways, comfortable in your routines -- and then the baby comes. There is no greater disruption than the birth of a child. We are pushed beyond our selfishness to care for our little bird. And the experience will change us. Our small hearts can grow three sizes in a single day. This is how love breaks in and promises to take over.

By the way, this is why I have come to smile whenever we welcome a child inside the church, especially if he or she won’t be quiet, or she or he won’t stay still. One of the gifts of children is that they disrupt us. They knock all the crust off our souls. We don’t give birth to children in order to confine them and reduce them into boring, little adults. No, we welcome children because they remind us that all of us are children. We want to be loved, we want someone to trust, and we never outgrow our dependence on one another.

Last week, we quoted Frederick Buechner, who told us not to be afraid. Today he gives good advice, especially for the pandemic: “You can survive on your own; you can grow strong on your own; you can prevail on your own, but you cannot become human on your own.” (The Sacred Journey, p. 46)

We learn love by loving. We learn trust by trusting. And it’s all interwoven.

Maybe that’s why old John speaks of loving God when he’s speaking of loving the neighbor. He speaks of belief when he speaks about birth. And he speaks of belief as a new kind of birth. He says Christ commands us to love, then he says, “And that isn’t a burden, is it?” At the heart of it all he speaks of Jesus as the One who weaves everything together. Because he is.

As for me, after my first cup of coffee this morning, I read out loud this jumbled-up sermon to Mother Robin. Not sure if she was paying attention. She was busy providing food, offering comfort and protection, keeping an eye on the neighborhood, and presiding over the nest. When I got to the line about “not becoming human on your own,” I could have sworn she rolled her eyes and said, “Why would I want to do that?” Then she tucked in her triplets and told them to rest on the Sabbath.

It must be wonderful to have a Mother like that. Aren’t you glad that we do?

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

 

The Evidence of Perfect Love

1 John 4:7-21
Easter 5
May 2, 2021

William G. Carter  

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us. By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit.

 

And we have seen and do testify that the Father has sent his Son as the Savior of the world. God abides in those who confess that Jesus is the Son of God, and they abide in God. So we have known and believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.

 

Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because he first loved us. Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.

In case you wondered where it is, this is the real “love” chapter of the Bible. Paul may have given us the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. But John gives us the fourth chapter of his first letter. And there’s a lot more love than Paul’s famous chapter thirteen. 

John mentions “love” 29 times in 15 verses, That’s a lot. Every couple of words, he is ringing the bell. Love, love, love. A greeting card for an anniversary would be much more modest. When two lovers whisper to one another, they don’t overuse the word. There’s so much love here, where do we start?

Love is a big word with a wide embrace. It encompasses so many things: the consuming of another, the expression of pleasure, an interpersonal bond, a magnetic attraction, a burning emotion, and a long-term commitment. Love means all these things, hopes these things, believes these things.

But when we hear John sing about it, we are only scratching the surface. He can’t stop talking about love because he can’t stop talking about God. Did you notice that? 29 times he speaks of love in this text, 22 times he speaks of God. If you add the five references to Jesus and the Spirit, that makes twenty-seven times. Add up the pronouns, it’s even more. Apparently John cannot talk about love without talking about God.

 This is a chapter that makes at least three connections. First, God is the source of love. John says, “Love is from God." Love is not a cloud that floats above our heads. Rather it comes as a gift from heaven above to us below. We never asked for it. We did not deserve it. Yet God gives it. The Greek word is “agape.”

Second, God is the essence of love: "God is love." Notice the writer doesn't say, "Love is God."  Otherwise we would think that every pleasant feeling is holy and that simply isn't true. No, John declares, "God is love."  That is, "all God's activity is loving activity."[1] If there is anything we need to know about God, it is that God is been inclined in the world’s favor. Our Maker created us in joy. In Christ we are redeemed in delight. Everything the Holy Spirit does for the world is in the world's best interest. That's how God is, and it defines the word: love is acting in the best interest of your Beloved.

Third, when we love, it is because God is at work in our lives. As John puts it, when we love one another, it is because "God lives in us." If God plants the seed within us, it is up to us to nurture the seed and harvest its fruit. If God gives us the capacity to love, we either use it or risk losing it. In God’s economy, gifts are given to be used and shared. This is how the gift is enlarged.

So that’s a quick summary of some high points from chapter 4. John can't talk about love without also talking about God. He never tells us what love is. He simply points to God and says, "You will know what love is."

But in the thick of all these lofty thoughts, there is a pebble in the oatmeal. He says something else, something we never talk about. And is the phrase that catches my ear: “There is no fear in love.” Let that sink in for a bit.

No fear in love. Love is fear-less. Love and fear cannot co-exist. You cannot love completely if you are afraid.

Hmm… how did he know? How did old John know about the boyfriend who was never invited to the family dinner table? Was she nervous? Not ready for that big step? Afraid of what her brother might say? Anxious about the parents’ approval? After all, he gave her an engagement ring, she said yes, but she hides the ring and hasn’t told anybody yet? Sounds like John is onto something: love and fear cannot co-exist. 

Or remember that office romance. Everybody could see it blossom, one flower petal at a time. He was wounded by the experience of losing his wife, now raising a young daughter alone. She never had much luck in her brief romances; the guys weren’t sincere. Since she was so pretty, they assumed there was little substance. And he was different. He listened, he laughed, he took her seriously. They had so much in common. Yet did they have cold feet? He said, “I’m afraid of what my daughter will think.” And she didn’t want to get hurt again. The possibility of love was frozen by fear. 

And John is talking about something more than romance. He’s talking about all the ways we regard one another, all the ways we treat one another.

That man who just put a new lock on his door – why did he do that? Why does he have a room full of guns? Did he buy them because he was feeling love? Or was he feeling something else?

Or that nice, pleasant lady wearing the yellow blouse. Did you notice she cannot make eye contact with someone who is black, or someone who is Hispanic, or someone from India? Why do you suppose that is? It could be that fear is all she can feel. It has filled her up. There’s no room for anything else. No room for love.

I think old John’s on to something here. In proper Bible language, he declares, “Whoever fears has not reached perfection in love.” Oh yes, he’s properly correct about that. John knows what we do: we stick to the people we know. We resist having our circle enlarged. We don’t want our equilibrium off-center. And we don’t like falling out of control. Fear goes by a lot of names. And fear can freeze us into place.

And yet: there is really no way to shut out God. Not totally. Not when God’s very essence is love. That reminds me of a story.

You have heard me quote Frederick Buechner many times over the years. Presbyterian minister, prize-winning author, insightful sage, he’s well into his nineties now. He tells about a dark time when one of his daughters was hospitalized for anorexia. She had lost a lot of weight. The authorities agreed she was a danger to herself, so they signed the papers to have her hospitalized against her will. She was three thousand miles from home and her father was terrified.

The whole family had seen the illness develop. It came steadily and none of them could stop it. It began with nothing for breakfast, maybe a carrot or Diet Coke for lunch, a salad with lo-cal dressing for dinner. Fred hovered with concern. “You have to eat,” he insisted. “Here, let us fix a meal for you,” and so on. None of his attempts had worked, and now she was institutionalized on the other side of the country.

He was a preacher. He knew the words of 1 John, chapter 4: “Perfect love casts out fear.” But the other side of that verse, he writes, “is that fear like mine casts out love, even God’s love. The love I had for my daughter was lost in the anxiety I had for my daughter. The only way I knew to be a father was to take care of her, as my father had been unable to take care of me.”

It was her hospitalization, far from his ability to control the outcome, that eventually saved her. “I was not there to protect her, to make her decisions, to manipulate events on her behalf, and the result was that she had to face those events on her own. (The doctors, nurses, social workers around her) were not haggard, dithering, lovesick as I was. They were realistic, tough, conscientious, and in those ways, loved her in a sense that I believe is closer to what Jesus means by love than what I have been doing.”[2]

This is how God loves us, he concludes. Always present, rarely overpowering us. Working for our well-being even when we fight against it. Staying with us in the hush and the worry and waiting for us to wake from the bad dreams of independence and isolation. And in the end, God-in-Christ proclaims the fullness of the Gospel in just two words: “Fear not.”

Ever since, we have received a choice: love or fear. Fear or love. They cannot co-exist. God is love, God is not punishment. God is grace, God is not interested in dis-grace. God is light, says this poet John, and there is no darkness in his power. Only light, lots and lots of light. In that light we are seen completely, known completely, forgiven completely, loved completely. This is the Good News we have received; our part is to wait on it.

So repeat the words over and over: Love, love, love. God, God, God. There is nothing else. Sometimes we have to get to the brink of losing everything else in order to discover we have been given everything we need. God and Love; and God is Love.

Don’t be afraid.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Raymond Brown, The Gospel of John – Anchor Bible (New York: Doubleday), p. 515.

[2] Frederick Buechner, Telling Secrets: A Memoir (New York: HarperCollins, 1991) pp. 23-28.