Living in the Spirit with Peace

James 3:13-18
Matthew 6:25-34
July 2, 2023
William G. Carter

Who is wise and understanding among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom. But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be boastful and false to the truth. Such wisdom does not come down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual, devilish. For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace.

“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace…” The fruit of the day is peace. Peace. All of us want peace. All of us would like more of it. But what exactly do we think peace is?

A scene comes to mind: mountain cabin, mist on a nearby pond, nobody else is awake yet. The soundtrack is a symphony of bird song. There’s a steaming cup of coffee in my hand. Ahh, that’s peace. But it’s not the kind of peace that the New Testament describes. Not necessarily.

A few weeks ago, as I traveled around my block, I noticed one of the neighbors put a new statue in the front corner of his yard. It’s an eighteen-inch statue of Buddha, placed among his rose bushes. When I see the neighbor, I’ll have to ask him about it. I thought he was Catholic. And I imagine he will respond, “Meditating by that statue gives me peace.” But that is not a New Testament kind of peace. Not really.

Not long ago, the world received the news that George Winston had passed away after a long battle with cancer. Maybe you heard some of his piano music. His recordings resonated with his personality: gentle, never rushed, deeply grounded, and very melodic. Winston could fill a large auditorium to hear his quiet music – and for admission, he requested concertgoers to donate food to a food pantry in whatever city he was performing. 

Some of George Winston’s music meanders for a while. It gurgles like a stream in the woods. Winston specialized in creating music that calmed troubled spirits. Listeners could sink into the ostinatos and let the rhythms carry them for a while. I remember somebody who told me, “His music offered peace in a frantic and fragmented world.” I turned to his wife and asked, “Did you enjoy it too?” “Honestly,” she replied, “I was bored.”

You have to wonder. Is this the peace that grows as the fruit of the Holy Spirit? The kind of peace that calms down some and bores others? No, not really.

In our theme song for the summer, Paul sings of peace. Today we hear Brother James, an early Christian preacher, speak of “a harvest of righteousness sown in peace.” Paul and James use the same word. It’s the Greek word “Eirene.” Eirene was the name of a Greek goddess. Everybody prayed to Eirene for peace. It’s the basis of our word “irenic,” which means peaceable. It’s become a proper name – Irene.

When my brother and his wife had a baby girl, they named here Grace Irene. I couldn’t wait until she was old enough to understand when I said, “Hey Gracie, your name means ‘Grace and Peace.’” My brother just rolled his eyes.

Peace has that kind of effect, you know. It’s no big deal. We assume it’s always there. Or that it’s always somewhere. True enough – unless your life has precious little peace in it. Then peace is a big deal, a precious commodity, a heavenly gift.

So this summer, we’re working through those invisible attributes that the apostle Paul calls “the fruit of the Spirit.” These are qualities of life that God offers to us, holy attributes that build our Christian maturity and flesh out our faith. Peace is a big one. It is elusive and intangible. It comes, it goes. The question I pose: how can we cultivate it? How can we nourish the garden of our soul so that peace can grow within us, among us?

You know one of the answers. There is a time-honored approach to a peaceful life, namely, you avoid those people and those situations that don’t feel peaceful. These days there are plenty of both: contentious people, angry conversations, conflicted families, fragmented institutions. One response: keep your distance from all of it.

I asked somebody about something that was reported on the news. “Did you hear about it? What do you think?” She said, “I don’t watch the news. It only makes me angry.” So she sticks to Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, and any number of cooking channels. That’s a way to keep the blood pressure down. It’s also a fine way to avoid the real world. And if you have enough money and stability, as she does, it’s a way to disconnect. Seems like peace, but it’s not what the Bible calls peace. It’s more a form of escape.

So what do we do? Another answer is to place ourselves among green pastures and still waters. That’s such an idyllic image, an irenic image. No wonder so many of us live the 23^rd Psalm – because there’s so much turmoil, so much disruption. And we want peace. This is what fuels the taking of vacation, the going on long trips, the pursuit of quiet locations. This is another time-honored approach to creating peace.

I recall visiting a friend whose wife is an interior decorator. The pillows matched the curtains. The fresh flowers were here, a modest table sculpture here. On the walls, a modest amount of art, nothing distracting. Pointing to a room full of interlocking pastel colors, she said, “I love the feng shui of this space.” You’ve heard that phrase, no doubt. Feng shui is the Asian art of purposeful balance, utilized to calm the mind and still the soul. Done well, we breathe deeply and rest calmly.

Yet even though we love green pastures and still waters, this is not what the New Testament has in mind when it speaks of peace. No, it’s more like the song of the Christmas angels. Remember that, from six months ago? The shepherds are tending the flocks by night when they are disrupted by an angel: “I bring you good news of a great joy.” Suddenly there’s a choir of angels, and what do they sing? “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth, peace among those whom God favors.” (Luke 2:14) Earth praises heaven, heaven gives peace to earth.

That’s what we are talking about. Peace is the affirmation that God rules over all things. In the night Jesus was born, God ruled over Caesar (who mistakenly thought he ruled the world). God ruled over the shepherds, normally forgotten by their society and pushed to the margins in poverty. God ruled over Mary and Joseph, young, confused, anxious about bringing a baby boy into a world like this. God ruled over all of it – and still rules.

That’s the truth about peace. Think of all the trouble in the world. Peace is the affirmation that God is bigger than this, God is in the middle of all of this, God will outlast all of this, ultimately God will correct all of this. That’s the truth of the Gospel.

Years ago, one of our ancient members stopped me after the worship service. “Do you know why I come to church?” she said. “It calms me down.” Are you saying the sermons put you to sleep? “No, no, no,” she replied. “The sermons wake me up. So do the hymns, the prayers, the presence of children. It reminds me that God is up to something, even if I can’t see it. And that gives me peace.” Peace.

Remember the invitation that Jesus offered in the first text for today. “Look at the birds of the air. They are cared for. Look at the lilies of the field.” Don’t look at yourself, look beyond yourself. Take notice how there is an unseen Benevolence that surrounds us and holds us. There is a grace greater than ourselves. If we can trust it, there comes a peace greater than our fears. We gain that peace by striving to see the Rule of God over all things.

And we’ve already heard from my ancient friend how to cultivate a sense of peace: go to church. That’s how she said it. Put yourself in a place where you can hear a lot more of God’s good news than the world’s bad news. Study the Bible. Make like-minded friends. Get involved in some activity that aspires to correct something wrong in the world.

Please note that I’m not suggesting that anybody withdraw from real life. Nor am I suggesting we overdose on religion as if it is some kind of opiate. Rather, I suggest we take responsibility for the stewardship of our spirits. That we fill our hearts and minds and hands with some gracious good news. Don’t let the darkness cloud your perspective. Find the Light and move toward it. Breathe in some peace. His peace.

In the words of a summertime hymn, “This is my Father’s world, O let me ne’er forget / that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.”

If we forget how God rules over the world, the weeds creep into the garden. In the wisdom of Brother James, he names some of the weeds: “Bitter envy, selfish ambition, boastfulness” (that is, an inflated sense of self), and a condition that James calls “false to the truth.” That is, a distortion of reality all rooted in lies. The weeds take over the garden. The evidence, he says, is “disorder and wickedness.” Aren’t we all a little tired of “disorder and wickedness”?

The alternative is God’s alternative. You know what it is: peace. Not the kind of peace that pulls a pillow over the head and pretends the disorder and wickedness aren’t there. Not the sort of peace that puts on a plastic grin and whistles a happy tune. Not the peace that attempts to control all the unmanageable circumstances. But the peace of God – the peace that surpasses understanding – the peace rooted in the confidence that God loves us no matter what, that God loves the world in spite of how that world treated Jesus, that God is working out all heaven’s purposes within us, among us, beyond us.

This is the peace that comes from the Holy Spirit. We welcome it, we rest in it, we pass it along.

The peace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.

(c) William Carter

Living in the Spirit with Joy

1 Peter 1:3-9
June 11, 2023

Rev. William Carter  

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who are being protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.

 

In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

 

Picture this: a preacher in a black robe stands behind the communion table. It’s the first Sunday of the month. The Lord’s Supper has been prepared. The trays of bread and cups are on the table. The mood in the sanctuary is sober. Everybody is silent. With a deep, resonant voice, the preacher intones the words, “This is the joyful feast of the people of God.”

 

And I ask, “Does anybody respond by saying, ‘Whoopee!”

 

This is caricature of the communion services in the church of my childhood. They were deadly serious. The congregation did not handle the moment with frivolity and glee. There was no dancing in the aisle, no clapping along with the organ music – not ever, and certainly not then. Nobody talked but the preacher. Nobody dared to smile. This was communion. And the preacher called it “the joyful feast.” Joyful? Really?

 

Over the past few decades, we’ve recovered a broader sense of the Lord’s Supper. The sacrament was never intended as a funeral meal. There was a Last Supper, when the sacrament was inaugurated, and the Host for the meal was crucified. Yet he is alive again, raised from the dead. That warrants a few smiles. We can lighten up on the gloom and doom and a dress code suitable for undertakers. Christ is risen! He can lead us in a memory of his sacrificial death – and he does this as one thoroughly alive. It’s the paradox of the Christian faith: we remember the saving death of our Risen Lord.

 

And yet, joyful feast? I just completed some worship planning for the next year. April 7, 2024 is a communion Sunday. It’s also Holy Humor Sunday. Will the broken bread be served on unicycles? Will the cup be poured out by Holy Fool with a yellow polka dot bowtie? Ahh, the anticipation is already building.

 

Joy, joy, joy. It’s the fruit of the Holy Spirit. Sometimes muted, sometimes rejected, and waiting to be understood.

 

First thing to note is that it’s not the same as happiness. If you’re happy and you know it, it is a mood. Something happened to prompt the happiness. A high school senior crosses the stage to receive a diploma. That makes you happy; you never thought she’d finish up. All the seniors are happy too. School’s out for summer.

 

In the bottom of the ninth inning, two runs down, a shortstop hits a three-run homer to win the game. Everybody cheers! There are fireworks in center field.

 

He gets down on one knee, pulls out a ring, pops the question. She breaks into tears, not because she’s sad. She’s happy. Happiness is situational. It’s sparked when something happens.

 

Grandma admires the latest progeny, declaring, “She’s such a happy baby.” Surrounded by love, safe and comforted, receiving a lot of attention, getting plenty of sleep. Those are optimum conditions for a happy baby.  

 

Contrast this with today’s text from an early baptism sermon, titled the first letter of Peter. The preacher says, “Rejoice when you suffer through various trials.” Wow! Last we checked, “suffering through various trials” is not the sort of thing that sparks a lot of rejoicing. And not merely “rejoicing” but “jumping for joy.” That’s the verb that Peter is using. “Rejoice” – “Jump for joy”! What a curious gift from God.

 

Christian people often do come across a little strange; some of you are particularly unusual. I think of the apostle Paul. He wrote the other text that we heard today. It’s that famous line, “Rejoice in the Lord always! Again I say rejoice!” Did you know that he wrote those words when he was in prison? Some would say he was another strange bird. Perhaps, but I think the clue to real joy is in the phrase he uses.

 

“Rejoice in the Lord.” It’s different from rejoicing in yourself. It’s not drawing on a deep reservoir from our own capacity. Rather joy comes from a deeper assurance – that God rules the world, that Christ has somehow overcome the world, that the Holy Spirit is testifying among us that there’s no reason to fear, not ultimately. God is ruling, God is working, God is rescuing. If you have assurance, if you really know it, joy happens.

 

For Peter and for Paul (don’t know about Mary, but Peter and Paul), joy is the voice of protest – a loving protest, a holy protest, a truthful protest that God is alive, Christ is risen, and the Spirit governs the ultimate future. Is there suffering? Peter says, “Suffering doesn’t have the last word on us. God does.” Are you in prison again, Paul? “Sure,” he replies, “but I’m not worried. Christ has set me free.” They are pointing to something the world can’t yet see.

 

Years ago, my friend Tom traveled to South Africa for research. It was just before the 1994 elections, when that complicated nation was turning toward a multiracial democracy. One evening, he drove the freeway into Pretoria, the administrative capital of the country. He described it like a forest of steel and glass, large imposing buildings. As he took a circular exit ramp, he was surprised to see a small gathering of black Christians worshiping in the little green circle inside the highway exit.

 

He writes,

 

The contrast could not have been more stark. Here against the skyline of the great governmental city of Pretoria, strong symbol for many of the butter years of apartheid was a tiny group of those who had been denied standing in the society. Here, in the shadow of the capital of a nation built on gold and diamonds and ivory, was a poor band of Christians with no building, no pews, no paid clergy, no musical instruments save tambourines … Pretoria stood majestically, the embodiment of the present power. The little flock danced and sang and praised the God of Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit.[1]

 

How could they do that? Because they knew that God’s future belonged to them. That hope was sealed in their hearts, and it gave them joy.

 

I think of remarkable people I have known, some of them pastors. Like Sarah, who serves in a small town near the center of this state. She’s naturally pleasant, but there’s something else than mood or optimism that keeps her going. The steel mill in her town has been gone for years. Some of the plaster has dropped off the sanctuary ceiling. She said, “I tell them when we pray, it’s OK to keep your eyes open. Never know when a gift might literally fall from heaven.” She put her head back and laughed.

 

Somebody asked why she doesn’t move to a bigger town, a better church. She says, “God wants me here.” But why are you here? How do you keep going? “I’m here because I believe the Gospel is true. God loves every person. God loves every community. God is giving us work to do.” When she said it, her eyes were radiant, burning from within. That’s joy. It is fruit from the Holy Spirit.

 

So how do we cultivate it? Is it a matter of handing out tambourines or telling jokes? Well, that might help. But something deeper is required. We keep telling the story of what God is doing in the world. We keep singing the songs that point to the truth. To cultivate the joy of the Spirit, we put ourselves in those events and places that teach us what kind of God we have – and what God cares about.

 

Of all people, I learned this from a Jewish rabbi. He presided at a Passover meal, a seder. (Have you been to one of those? We may be due to have one next spring.) The Passover seders that I’ve attended are formal affairs. Everybody dresses up. The tables are elegant, with crystal goblets and fine china. There isn’t a lot of laughter. Rather it’s a long recital of the story of Israel. “We were slaves in Egypt, oppressed so hard we could not stand. God heard our cry and called Moses to tell Pharoah to release us.”

 

We sing, we recite the psalms, we pray. Our plates are loaded with symbols of oppression and freedom. It is a stern and sober affair – and the rabbi says, “This is the most joyful night of the year, for we remember that God is a God of freedom and liberation, a God who grants dignity to every single soul. God refuses for us or anybody else to be put down or cast out.” That’s the kind of God who is celebrated – it is the basis of our joy.

 

Gives us a little perspective on our monthly celebration of the “joyful feast of the people of God,” doesn’t it!

 

We’re talking about joy. Joy is the response of God working in us. Joy is the engine that drives our spiritual car. And sometimes, if we see God clearly enough, joy can give us purpose.

 

One of our longtime church members isn’t here this morning. A lot of them aren’t here. I don’t know where they are, but I know where she is. She is preparing and serving a meal at the St. Francis soup kitchen in the city. She went to help, discovered they needed more helpers. She felt a tug on her heart, so she came and confessed it to me, saying, “I think I need to be there. I’m in a position to help.” Most Sundays, that’s where she is, and that’s OK with me. Sometimes she sneaks in and sits on the back row with some of our comedians, but she doesn’t stay long. Off she goes.

 

Here's what I need to tell you: she started volunteering because there was a need. But her motivation has changed. To quote her directly, “Providing those meals and spending time with those folks gives me joy.” That’s the word she uses. She believes in a God that creates every person. They may be hungry, but they have dignity. And she knows the Great Day is coming when all of God’s children will dine at the wedding feast in the kingdom of God.

 

Joy, joy, joy – the kind of joy that carries us through all suffering and points us toward God’s great and glorious day. How is this joy cultivated? I’ll say it again: keep telling God’s story, keep singing God’s praises, keep putting yourself in the lives of people and places that God cares about.

 

For the day is coming, says the preacher Peter, “when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith.” It’s called salvation.

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

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[1] Tom Long, in Sharing Heaven’s Music: The Heart of Christian Preaching, ed. Barry Callen (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995) 202.

Living in the Spirit with Love

Galatians 5:16-26
June 4, 2023
Rev. Bill Carter

Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not subject to the law. Now the works of the flesh are obvious: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these. I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, competing against one another, envying one another.

According to Rodgers and Hammerstein, “June is busting out all over.” Some of you may remember that old song from the Broadway musical, “Carousel.” A small fishing village on the cost of Maine prepares for the first clambake of the season. Winter’s over, spring is done, summer is at hand. The ladies in town break into song, “You can see it in the trees, you can smell it in the breeze.” Nettie Fowler continues, “Buds are bustin’ out a-bushes, and the romping river pushes…”   

It's that time of year. We can start sleeping with the windows open. The farmers’ markets will open soon. And we are not surprised to hear the apostle Paul raise the issue, “What’s blossoming in your life?” It’s a good question.

Last week was Pentecost. We remember the coming of the Holy Spirit. The Gospel of John told us that before Jesus returned to the Father, he breathed on us and said, “Receive this Holy Breath of God.” It has been his continuing presence, igniting faith and guiding life.”

The Gospel of Luke said the faithful gathered for a festival in Jerusalem. Suddenly a Wind from heaven blasted through the windows and the church had something to say. Not only did they encounter his presence, but that Spirit pushed the church beyond its measured and cautious boundaries. God empowered the church to speak to all nations.

And today, we hear from Paul. He’s writing to a troubled church in the land we now call Turkey. They are fighting among themselves. Their unity has been ripped apart. Paul says, “Knock it off!” Then he reminds them that they, too, received the Holy Spirit. It came through the preaching (3:3). It took root in their believing (3:5). The Spirit confirmed they were included as adopted children of God (4:6). The Spirit filled them with hope (5:5). Not only that, the Spirit cut them loose from the ways they used to live (5:16).

But what seems to be busting out all over are a lot of old habits. They are fueled by good old-fashioned selfishness. They are expressed in behavior both abusive and self-destructive. He gives a list of fifteen vices (impurity, idolatry, bickering, fighting, partying), capping it off with the words, “and things like these.” Apparently, the church folks of ancient Turkey were as nasty to one another as anything we see today.

Does anybody doubt there’s a whole lot of bad behavior out there? I think we’ve seen it – and keep seeing it.

How many times after supper do we click on the remote and some fierce voice appears on the evening news? I remember seeing one man, an attorney, self-described as a political operative. The lady with the microphone asked a question, he started shouting at her. She tried gently to ask the question again, he cut her off and began to attack her. (Have you seen this sort of thing?)

Whatever she tried to say, he talked over her. Domineering, contentious, with anger in his cold, dark eyes – and it was her show, and he was the guest. I watched the scene, and wondered, “What’s this about?” He wasn’t merely having a bad day. His demeanor was monstrous. So I hit the remote and switched over to a rerun of “The Big Bang Theory.”

But you know how it is. When peace and calm is fractured by a lot of shouting, it’s hard to settle down. I couldn’t get the scene out of my soul. What has happened to one of God’s children that they seek to destroy a host who invited them to ask some serious questions? What’s pulling their strings? What’s eating at their soul? It was so sad. Pitiful, in a way.

And I remember the concern of the apostle Paul: “What’s blossoming in your life? Hatred or love? Impurity or peace? Quarreling or kindness? Drunkenness or self-control?” In a church in first century Galatia, just like the all-too-common mood in our own land, there is a continuing battle. Paul calls it the battle between “flesh” and “spirit.” And it’s a battle that’s frequently misunderstood.

In a Bible study, someone once asked, “Is that the battle between body and soul?” Fair question, you know: they thought that sounded like flesh and spirit. But the answer is no. Paul’s not sinking into some old Greek dualism, as if to say, the body is ugly, the soul is good. No, there are a lot of beautiful bodies and some really ugly souls.

When Paul says the word “flesh,” he’s not referring to skin and bones. It’s more like he’s talking about all our animal instincts. You and I are animals, after all. We are part of the animal kingdom. There are some things we do out of our natural inclination.

Like the two dogs who live in my house. If we leave donuts on the countertop and go to the store, Pippa will say to Oakley, “Did you see the donuts that they left on the countertop?” When we return and the empty package is on the floor, I start to yell – and my kind-hearted wife says, “Honey, stop. They can’t help it.” Yes, they could – “No, they couldn’t.” What she’s talking about is the natural inclination, what Paul calls “the desire of the flesh.”

It’s that natural appetite. It’s why I, for one, can’t keep Utz barbecue potato chips in my cupboard – because if I start, I can’t stop. Ah yes, the appetites of the flesh. Paul says we are a bundle of these natural inclinations. In some Bible translation, they are even described as “lusts.” Imagine that: a lust for jealousy. A hunger for carousing. An appetite for anger…and all the rest.

Without the intervention of the Gospel, without the interruption of the Holy Spirit, all of us are prone to those fifteen-plus vices. I don’t care how nice you dress up on Sunday – all of us. It is our natural barbarian inclination.

What God has done in Jesus is to show us the alternative. There is another way to live. You heard the list: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Nine nouns, none of them a surprise to us. The surprise is how Paul describes them. They constitute the “fruit” of the Holy Spirit. Not the “fruits,” plural – but the singular “fruit.” God wants to work in our lives – and the evidence will come in these nine nouns – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

I’m preaching nine sermons this summer. Guess what the topics will be! That’s right – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Which is to say, the word for today is love.

Paul puts that first, to accent its importance. A case can be made for the other eight nouns living under the umbrella of love. I find that to be a bit of a stretch. But we can quickly understand how the fifteen-plus vices of the flesh are the opposite of love. Sleeping with somebody to whom you do not belong (fornication) is about “me,” not “us.” Worshiping something not worthy of ultimate devotion is self-determined idolatry. Stirring up fights (described in five near-synonyms on Paul’s list) is about personal victory and demolishing others. Envy is the rat poison we sip while we wait for others to die. What a terrible way to live!

Love is the alternative. In particular, the self-giving, other-directed benefits that express our love. Love declares a basic truth both human and holy – that life is about other people. It’s not about us. It’s about others. That’s love. True love pushes us out of the isolation of a self-centered life, prompting us to ask, “What can I do for you? And for the world?”

If you know physics, you know the difference between centripetal force and centrifugal force. Centripetal wants to pull in, like gravity. To experience centrifugal force, put a ball on a string, swing it around your head, and let it go – it flies out.  That’s the difference between “flesh,” which is about me, and “Spirit,” which is about what God is releasing in me. Paul says, “Live in the Spirit.” Live according to what God wants to blossom through you.

The fruit of the week is love. It’s the first marker of life brought alive by God working in us. Is there any love around here? That’s the first question of a community of Christians. And my first response is to step back and say, “Did you see what happened here yesterday?” Over two hundred souls stuffed this room to thank God for a saint named Shirley. She created smiles and liberated our laughter. She loved us – and we loved her.

It’s the same reciprocal love that Jesus commands. It’s the same love that the Gospel proclaims. It’s the first blossom of God in our communal soul.

And it occurs to me that if God’s Spirit is going to create love within us and among us, this love is going to come in two ways. First, we learn to love by receiving love: somebody out there (God, Jesus, Spirit, or another) has determined we are lovable. So we learn love by letting them love us. The second way: we learn to love by loving. It’s another case where practice will someday make perfect. Love will be perfected by more loving.

Listen, says the apostle Paul, and I will sum up the entire ethical teaching of God in a single commandment. Then he stood on one foot to say, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself (Galatians 5:14).” Any questions?

Next week, the fruit of the week is “joy.” See you then.

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

Remember?

John 14:25-26, 15:26-27, 16:4-15
Pentecost
May 28, 2023

14:25-26”I have said these things to you while I am still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.

15:26”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.”

16:4-15 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.”


A nice note arrived from a church friend who could not be here this morning. She ended the note by writing, “Happy Memorial Day and Happy Pentecost!” In case you missed it, both events coincide this weekend. Sometimes the national calendar bumps into the church’s calendar. Sometimes one of them pushes the other away.

Tomorrow is Memorial Day. We pause to honor those who have died in the service of our country. At eleven o’clock, the fire engines drive down State Street, the high school band and the Scout troops will march, all of them preceded by the Veterans who made it out alive. If you’re in town, park up here and join us on Presbyterian corner at the bottom of the hill. It’s a big parade to mark a special day. When it’s over, someone will give you a ride back up the hill. That’s tomorrow.

Today is Pentecost, the 50th day of the Easter season. Originally a harvest festival, it became a celebration of the Torah, the Word of God. That’s why faithful Jews gathered in Jerusalem. And while they were there, the Spirit of God blew in through a window and out to the street. Jesus told his first followers to wait for this. On the fiftieth day, the Holy Spirit showed up and has never left.

Memorial Day and Pentecost, two quite different holidays, as different from one another as war and peace. At first hearing, they inhabit two different spheres. One celebrates the commitment to country, embodied in the ultimate sacrifice. The other names a Mystery which remains far too mysterious for many.

Yet as divergent as they are, the two days hold a single word in common: remember. Remember.

For Memorial Day, we salute the flag and spruce up the graves as we remember those who did not make it to this day. For Pentecost, there is no flag, no inherent nationality, for the Holy Spirit has pushed the followers of Jesus beyond their own borders. What began as a dissident fellowship in Judaism is now an international movement with Jesus at the center.

“I will send you the Spirit that proceeds from the Father and the Son,” says the Lord to his friends, “and this Spirit will remind you of everything I have said.” The gift of Pentecost is memory.

For some of us, memory would be a gift. Especially short-term memory. Where did I put the car keys? What time did you want me to pick her up? Is tonight garbage night? And where is the calendar where I wrote everything down?

I would ask if all of you remembered to unplug the iron before you came to worship, except I don’t want anybody to scoot out of here, anxious, and forgetful. Or course, I don’t want anybody’s house to burn down, either.

John brings the words of Jesus, who is speaking to the church. He knows a forgetful church is tempted to reduce its reach and become a private club. Or in a lapse of amnesia, will forget that it’s born from the grace of God and not cobbled together by the achievements of its adherents. You don’t have to be anybody special to be part of the family of Christ. It probably helps if you’re not special at all.

And I’ve seen churches that forget who they are. Every week is another fundraiser, fleecing the flock for candy sales, raffles, tickets to tea parties, and bus trips to the casinos. Somebody asks, “Why are you doing these things?” The answer: “We need the money.” Why do you need the money? “To stay open.” But why are you open? They stare blankly. The blood drains from their faces. Nobody’s sure. That’s a church with amnesia.

See why memory is important? Jesus says, “I will ask the Father, and we will send the Spirit, and you will remember.” When John talks this way, the word for “remembrance” sparkles because it is rarely used. He’s not talking about the inscription on a post-it note, something to reaffirm what might be forgotten.

That’s what the rainbow is. One day, God decided to wipe out the world. Too much corruption, too much sin. God had enough. So he picked out Noah, and said, “Build a boat and climb aboard,” then send a whole lot of rain. Everything and everybody was washed away, as Noah, his family, and the animals floated in safety. When that terrible episode was over, God said, “I shouldn’t have handled it that way.”

So God took his bow and put it in the sky as a perpetual reminder. “I will not wipe out the world again,” said the Lord, “I will look at the rainbow and I will remember.” So God remembers.

But Jesus looks at the church to say, “You shall remember.” Remember? Remember what? He says, “You shall remember my words,” at least the life-giving words, like love and life, grace and truth, judgment, and joy. “You shall remember because the Holy Spirit will come to teach, to testify, to confirm, and to guide.”

In this passage, “remember” is a remarkably passive verb. Jesus is not calling on us to memorize all the verses of scripture, although that wouldn’t hurt if we memorized a few. No, he’s hinting how the Spirit will come alongside us, how the Spirit will suggest something important to us, how the Spirit will keep speaking in the voice of Jesus, long after Jesus has gone.

When John says, “Remember,” he’s not calling on us to pick up a package of hot dog buns for the picnic that we were likely to forget. Rather, he is making a claim about the Resurrection of Jesus. The Spirit is coming as the presence of the Risen Christ, and we will know this through his Voice. Jesus continues to speak. When he does, we will remember.

I don’t know how all of this sounds to you, and that’s OK. It’s his text, not mine. It’s his promise, not ours. What I do know is that I have heard Christ speak – and perhaps you have too.

I grew up in a small town seventy-five miles northwest of here. The great gift that I received from my parents is that I was never given a choice how to spend a Sunday morning. Our family spent the morning in church. There was learning time, worship time, and cookie time. We did all three. And I know, those were the days before sports on Sundays, traveling every weekend, or any number of other diversions. My folks took us to church. Every week. It was not optional. They had committed to making Christian disciples out of us.

That’s not to say it was exciting. It was not. My church didn’t have a children’s sermon. We didn’t have a bell choir. But I’ll tell you what we did have. We had a preacher. Every week, he stood with his big, black robe and he talked as if something were at stake. I didn’t know what it was, but I recognized his passion. He had spent hours during the week, unlocking Bible passages, praying about what to say, writing it down, even practicing in the empty room when nobody was there.

A lot of the time, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Or why he went on so long. I was given permission to take the little stubby pencil in the pew and fill in the letters in my worship bulletin. Every zero or O was blacked in like a standardized test. I admit I was killing time while sermon words were ricocheting off my eardrums. Then the preacher would say “Amen,” the organist would crank up a hymn, and the quietest kid in our family pew was allowed to put the envelope in the offering plate.

Anybody else have a childhood like this? Anybody else not know what the preacher was talking about?

But then, one day, I don’t know how, I leaned forward. One of those words landed, it didn’t ricochet. I realized he was talking to me. I didn’t get all of it, but something got through and I was startled. I put the pencil down. Whatever the preacher said was coming from somewhere really deep. He was telling the truth, even though I didn’t comprehend the whole thing. And I kept leaning forward.

One day, I spoke to the preacher on my way out the door. I told him what I liked about what he had said. Can’t remember what it was. He smiled and said, “Thank you.” Later I discovered from my dad that what I thought the preacher said, he hadn’t said at all. But that was OK, because a good sermon doesn’t merely impart information; it enrolls us in a conversation – and by that, I mean, a conversation between the Alive Jesus and the people who are learning to love him. And he’s still speaking.

It's not to say that every word in a sermon is worth hearing. I’m sure you know that. But you never know which word is the one that carries Christ to somebody who is open, available, and listening for him.

Years later, I discovered a line from the Apostle Paul, who was a vastly different writer from John. It’s a good line, a truthful line. It’s where he says, “Faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes through the word of Christ.” Romans 10:17. Jesus keeps speaking. Sometimes it’s a whisper, occasionally it’s a shout. Often, I’ve heard some of you say it’s a gentle nudge, or a metaphor that you can’t chew, or a parable that turns a picture sideways so you can see it better. Christ speaks and faith happens.

Let me assure you that, when something like that happens, that’s not the preacher. That might be the Holy Spirit, giving you a friendly elbow, inviting you to lean forward and drop the pencil. If and when that happens, listen – and remember.

This is a good place to conclude fifteen Sundays with the Gospel of John, because John never actually finishes his book. The Voice of Jesus goes on. The cross did not silence him. The resurrection took him out of our sight, yet he comes again in the presence of his Spirit to keep speaking, to keep teaching, to keep commanding us to love one another – and to love all that he loves.

So it’s a weekend to remember. We remember faithful souls who gave their lives for our freedom, and that’s important. And we remember the One who has given his life for all. He’s the One still speaking. Remember?

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

The Question That Nobody Asks

John 17:1-11
Easter 7
May 21, 2023
William G. Carter

After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.

 

”I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them.

 

And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

We have just heard the opening words from the final prayer of Jesus. The Gospel of John remembers Jesus giving final instructions to his friends and then lifting his eyes toward heaven. He has told them not to worry. He has commanded them to love one another. He warns them of a hostile world that he has overcome in his cross and resurrection (16:33). Now, he seals his work by offering this prayer.

It is a long prayer, longer than the other prayers recorded in the New Testament. You remember the Lord’s Prayer, taught in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, and offered in Luke’s gospel as a model for prayer. There’s the prayer in Gethsemane before the cross, “Father, let this cup pass; but your will, not mine.” (Matthew 26:29) And there’s the prayer from the cross, “Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

The Bible describes Jesus as a person of prayer. He prays at his baptism (Luke 3:21), prays before selecting his disciples (Luke 6:12), prays before his transfiguration (Luke 9:29), prays before raising the dead (John 9:41-42), prays before breaking the bread (9:16). It comes as no surprise that Jesus concludes his ministry with a prayer.

But this prayer of his raises a question that I’ve never asked out loud. I’ve thought it many times through the years, but never dared to ask. When I was a teenager, taking Jesus Christ seriously for the first time, the question bubbled up – but I worried I might get in trouble for asking it. Maybe it’s a question that I alone have pondered. Maybe it’s a question you’ve never thought about.

Well, here it is. Ready for the question? When Jesus prays, who is he talking to?

Ever think about that? First time that I tuned into the question, I thought, “Here is a human being talking to God in heaven.” That’s what I was taught about prayer. We are down here; God is somewhere up there. Tell God what you need. I didn’t probe the issue too deeply. It had not yet occurred to me that God knows what we need even before we ask. Prayer was asking for what we did not have within ourselves.

In this line of reasoning, Jesus was praying to select the right people as disciples. He was asking for permission and power to feed a hungry multitude. He wanted God to forgive the world that put him on a cross. Likewise, when we pray, we ask for strength in trying times, for bread when the cupboard is bare, for the capacity to love those who do not love us, and for the teenagers to return home safely from prom night. The fragile and needy humans turn toward a strong and generous God. That’s prayer.

But when Jesus prays, particularly the Jesus of John’s Gospel, to whom is he speaking? John tells us outright: Jesus is divine. He and the Father are one. So some time in my irreverent youth, I recall the moment when a sassy answer surfaced in my brain. When Jesus prays, is he talking to himself?

It seemed a fair question. Quite a few times, John tells us that Jesus knew what he was going to do before he did it. Like when he fed the multitude (John 6:6). Or before he washed the feet of his friends (John 13:3-4). Hypothetically speaking, if you are the Christ and you know what you’re going to do, why pray? Why speak to the hidden Father with whom you are one? Sassy, yes, but I thought it was a good question.

And then we landed on the prayer for today, the long prayer that constitutes the 17^th chapter of John. Interesting, isn’t it, that Jesus doesn’t pray for us until verse eleven, the final verse for today? No, the first part of the prayer is a request that his words and actions will glorify the Father (17:1). Then he says, “Father, I have glorified you in the work that I’ve done.” (17:4) His prayer requests, then names, what has already been accomplished.

He speaks to the Father, so it’s obvious that Jesus and the Father are distinct from one another. He’s not talking to himself; he’s praying to God. Yet then he says, “I pray that they may be one, as we are one.” The Father and the Son are separate – but they are united. In fact, four time in this chapter, he declares to the Father, “we are one.”

Suddenly the light goes on, at least for me. And I realize that whenever we hear Jesus pray, we are lifted into the mystery of the Trinity. Jesus and the Father are united in relationship (The Holy Spirit too, but we’ll hear about that next week). The Jesus we’ve heard about, the One who walked the earth on Palestinian feet, was – is, and ever shall be – united with the Creator of the world. They are distinct yet there’s no daylight between them. One is on earth, the Other in heaven, yet they inhabit the same space, the same life, the same purpose. Prayer, for Father and Son, is a form of communion – of being together.

Now these are big thoughts. It’s so much easier to regard Jesus as the One down here and God as the One up there. Trinitarian thinking is multidimensional and so much harder to nail down. That’s why I called it a mystery. Or as one of you once said to me, “Whenever I think about the Trinity, it makes my head hurt.” Fair enough.

The concept of Trinity is more than we can take in. As one of our resident scholars asked recently, “Did God die on the cross? Or was that Jesus alone?” He paused and said, “If Jesus is God, didn’t God die?” I suggested he take a breath and have another sip of coffee. Then I pointed out that all the accounts say, “Jesus was raised from the dead.” It’s passive language, suggesting Somebody else (like God the Father) was doing the raising.

I’ve been doing this work for nearly thirty-eight years, and I don’t have it figured out. Whenever I try to explain the Trinity to kids, I oversimplify it. Then I go back to the books and discover I was teaching a fifth century heresy. I was trying to make Monophysites out of little kids.

Like I said: Trinity is a capital-m Mystery. The 17^th chapter of John is ushering us into it. Jesus, distinct from the Father, prays in communion with the Father. They are distinct and they are One. I get it, mostly. This is big, really big. I take it as truth, but I don’t entirely understand.

But here is I do understand: prayer is the practice of relationship. Through Jesus, God has reclaimed us as the Beloved Children. We belong to God, distinct from the selfish and destructive ways of the world. Because prayer practices relationship, it’s possible to pray without words. There’s a kind of dwelling. Or what Jesus calls “abiding.” It’s being still, being quiet, being held. In this quiet, we trust. We release our worries and fears. We open our hands – and therefore our hearts and minds – to the Presence which is best described as “life.” The life of eternity.

When the well-intentioned Baptists down my street ask, “Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ,” I return the smile and say, “I pray.” Prayer is the relationship. These days, my prayers are a lot less verbal, a lot less verbose, and have more of a sense of hovering, of seeking the Presence of God and remaining within it. If there’s a need, I bring it into the Presence. If there is somebody in need, I carry that person into the Light. The God I’ve met in Jesus knows what they need, knows what is best. What he desires for them is what he desires for all: Life. Abundant, Everlasting, Well-Illumined Life.

This is what is on my mind and on my heart, on the day when we “set aside” normal Presbyterians for service as elders and deacons. We ask a lot of them: care for our people and reach out to our community, plan worship services and deliver the flowers, oversee budgets and encourage the rest of us to underwrite them, take care of this building and build the people who pass through its doors.

Yet we ask at least two things more.

The first is the most obvious. They are called to serve as leaders of the church. On the face of it, the church is a very human community. There are differences of opinions in any group of people. Different points of view, different experiences, different joys and sorrows, different stations in life. Diversity is a given. Monoculture is impossible. How can we possibly remain as one?

The answer is in this prayer from Jesus. He prays it on the eve of his cross, the singular event in which he takes away the sins of the world. What holds us together is self-giving love of God shown through Jesus, by which we are claimed together as a community. We are not here because the shape of this building, the songs that we sing, the ways that we worship, the economic status of those who are here, the places where we serve, or the adjectives that the world foists upon us. All of us are here because we are forgiven and loved. Elders and deacons don’t let us ever forget that. We are included in God’s Beloved Community.

The second thing we ask of our elders and deacons is keep us in prayer. To pray for us, of course, and for the rest of us to pray for them – yet greater than this, it means to keep us grounded in the continuing relationship with Father, Son, and Spirit. The great invitation of the Gospel is to dwell in the Presence of the Holy One-in-Three who is Three-in-One. With words, silence, or deeds, to abide in Jesus as he offers to abide with us.

This is to know God, and to know God is life eternal.

To that end, let us pray: (after silence) Holy One, grant us the fullness of your presence, that we may know you, the only true God, now and forever, and that we may know Jesus Christ whom you have sent. In the light of your Spirit, we pray. Amen.

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