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.