The Wild Breath of God

A Pentecost Selfie at Holy Apostles

Acts 2:1-21

Psalm 104:25-35, 37

Romans 8:14-17 

John 14:8-17, (25-27)

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached on Pentecost Sunday at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. Video of the sermon may be found here. 

 

Holy God, let my words be your words—and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

Happy birthday to you. Cha cha cha!

Happy birthday to you. 

Happy birthday Mother Church,

Happy birthday to you!

 

I tried to bring candles, and no not the ones already on the altar, but the Holy Spirit keeps blowing the little ones out. Okay, I kid, but…

 

Today, Pentecost is a day full of wind, fire, confusion, and—as Peter helpfully points out—supposed pre-noon intoxication. And that’s just the opening verses of Acts. 

 

Today is the moment when we celebrate the Spirit bursting onto the scene not as a polite suggestion, but as a rush of violent wind and divided tongues of flame. It’s holy. It’s chaos. It’s Holy chaos. And somehow, in that chaos, people hear clearly in their own native tongue.

 

In Bible Study earlier this week, we recalled that this story is the undoing of what happened at Babel. When all the people of the earth all spoke the same language, which sounds lovely; however, it was highly problematic. For, as Genesis 11:1-9 informs us, the people attempted building a mighty tower to make a name for themselves, avoid being scattered—which God had commanded them “fill the earth”—and reach (beyond) heaven. Why? It's not quite clear, but some think it was to exert control over who gets into heaven. What happened?

 

The tower collapsed. The efforts failed. But, here on Pentecost we observe a throughline. Like Jesus undoing the denials of Peter on the beach, which we read earlier in Easter, here the Spirit brings back together these people from across the world. And yet, they keep their individual identity, still they can hear through the mighty power of not Google Translate, but the Holy Spirit!

 

It's as though the Spirit doesn’t just stir the pot—it lights it on fire and tosses it out the window. And, truth be told the Spirit is wild like that. God is wild like that.

 

I had a moment a few years ago that I think of every Pentecost. It wasn’t a wind or a fire. It wasn’t even very dramatic. It was just a breath.

 

It happened during an ordinary Tuesday. I was feeling worn down. Emails piling up. Laundry left unfolded. Parishioners in pain. Children growing faster than I could process. I sat down in a chair in the corner of our living room, not to pray—just to be still. I didn’t say a word. I just sighed.

And in that sigh, something happened.

 

Not a dove descending. Not a voice from heaven. But in that moment, a sense of peace washed over me—not like a solution, but like companionship. I felt held. It was as if the very air in my lungs was whispering: “You are not alone. I am with you.”

 

Jesus calls the Spirit the Advocate. The Greek word here is Paraclete, which literally means “the one called alongside.” The one who shows up. Who sighs with us. Who intercedes with sighs too deep for words, as Paul says elsewhere.

 

The Spirit is not just fire and frenzy; the Spirit is breath. In Hebrew, the word is רוח (ruach or roo’aak). It even sounds like a breath. And like breath, the Spirit is steady. Unrelenting. She’s ever pulsating within our mortal being. 

 

And the Spirit is ever present within our Holy Scripture, too. Like in Psalm 104, which reads, “You send forth your Spirit, and they are created; and so you renew the face of the earth.” That may sound familiar to anyone who has gone through Cursillo—precisely because that piece of the Psalter is quoted within the prayer invoking the Holy Spirit. “Send forth your Spirit and we shall be created and you shall renew the face of the earth,” is almost a direct quotation and just think about what that is saying: the Spirit’s mission is not just creation, but also re-creation. Renewal. She didn’t simply move over the face of the Deep at the beginning of Genesis, she renewed those weary ones on the first Pentecost, and she’s here now (and I heard she’s bringing tacos and ice cream).

 

Yes, the Spirit is not done. God is not finished. And if you’re here today wondering whether God still shows up—wondering if there's anything left to breathe into the dust of your soul—then I have good news: Pentecost isn’t a one-time event. It’s a daily reality.

 

Sometimes I think we imagine the Spirit like a wind turbine out in the desert—powerful, yes, but distant, industrial, mechanical. What Scripture offers is more like this: the Spirit is the wild breath of God, as close as our next inhalation, as unpredictable as a summer storm in Alabama, as fierce as wildfire and as intimate as a whispered name.

 

Now I know that sounds poetic, but it’s also terrifying. Because if the Spirit is wild, then we can’t control it, like those ones wanted to do at the Tower of Babel. The uncontrollable nature of God’s Spirit unsettles us. We like to know the plan. We like to keep things orderly—thank you very much, The Book of Common Prayer. But the Spirit doesn’t follow our rubrics—those little italicized instructions.

 

As one preacher said: “The Holy Spirit will not be boxed, bottled, or booked in advance.” The Holy Spirit is more jazz than classical—improvisational, collaborative, and full of unexpected grace notes. 

That’s the kind of God we have. A God who breathes into locked rooms where disciples cower in fear. A God who sets shy fishermen on fire with courage. A God who whispers peace—not in the absence of trouble, but right in the middle of it.

Jesus told the disciples, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives.” This isn’t Hallmark peace. It’s not spa-day peace. This is hard-earned, crucified, and risen peace. It’s the kind of peace that keeps showing up when everything else falls apart.

 

Friends, I don’t know what kind of Pentecost you’re hoping for. But I know what kind we need.

We need a Pentecost that breaks open our tightly sealed agendas.
We need a Pentecost that speaks to our divided tongues and reminds us we are still one body.
We need a Pentecost that breathes new life into the weary, the grieving, the burned out, and the fed up.

So breathe, Church.

 

Take a deep breath—like right now.
That breath is a gift.
That breath is a promise.
That breath is the Spirit.

And God’s Spirit is wild enough to help us wherever we journey next.

So, Come Holy Spirit fill the hearts of your faithful, kindle in us the fire of your love, and through your work help us to renew the face of the earth. It may be the Church’s birthday, but we are nothing without the gifts of the Spirit. Amen. 

Bad Analogy Sunday

 

Despite what my childhood self would have wanted, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit do not come together to form God, like a mega-robot in Voltron or the Power Rangers (that's Partialism), and just one of the many Bad Analogies preached today!

May 30, 2021—The First Sunday After Pentecost—Trinity Sunday (Year B)

Isaiah 6:1-8
Psalm 29

Romans 8:12-17
John 3:1-17

© 2021 Seth Olson 

Holy and undivided Trinity, One God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be cunning enough to know the same. Amen.

Good morning and welcome to Bad Analogy Sunday. Or, as it is also known Trinity Sunday. This is a day when preachers hop into the pulpit and do their best… not to commit heresies or theological atrocities. This is a day when we try to say just the right things about who God is. Often in the process the sermon-giver bores the congregation into submission and all leave displeased or upset.

Maybe this is a good time to say hello to everyone who is coming to All Saints for the first time, WELCOME! Perhaps you are looking for a church home after the pandemic or trying to make meaning out of the last fifteen months. Now usually on Sunday mornings we do not celebrate a theological doctrine, nor do we attempt to simplify the immense nature of God into a ten or eleven-minute homily. Still, it feels fitting to be talking about the complex nature of God in this complicated world in which we live.

Just like it is nearly impossible to easily explain the challenges we have lived through during this pandemic, it’s nearly impossible to easily explain the nature of the Trinity. Still, we preachers try, and we do so with terrible analogies. For example, that God is like the three states of water: ice, liquid, and vapor. This, of course, is Modalism, which is a heresy that wrongly claims God is not three distinct persons, but rather takes three different forms. Or, we say that God is like a star that creates light and heat, which is Arianism. Arianism is another heresy that wrongly attests that the Son and the Spirit are subordinate creatures of God the Father.[1] Or, my favorite bad analogy, to become God the Father, the Son, and the Spirit must come together like a mega-robot in Voltron or the Power Rangers (That’s Partialism). There are many other bad analogies wheeled out today (keep reading you might spot another), for today preachers try to explain our infinitely transcendent and indelibly intimate God who is Father, Son, and Spirit!

Now, your being here is not all bad. Watching homilists on this day is sort of akin to watching an athlete, like a gymnast trying a never before completed vault or a steeple chaser trying to clear the big water jump. Part of what is captivating is knowing that at any moment the competitor could crash and burn. But, why is that? Why is talking about the Trinity so tough?

In the Western world, we do not do well with ambiguity, such as God being three-in-one and one-in-three. The West craves certainty. We want to know for sure. We desire certitude beyond a shadow of a doubt! But, let's face it, we have reached an age of laziness when it comes to pursuing the truth. When we want to know now, we just google it, right?

Nowadays, what matters most is not actually gathering evidence, but rather fighting for the position, the candidate, or the side that we feel is right. So many are too entrenched in one way of thinking to see beyond the way they have always seen things. So, what happens? Either/or thinking emerges.

We see the world in binaries, dichotomies, black or white thinking. And we say things like, “One of us is right and the other is wrong. It is either true or false. That person is either gay or straight, male or female, black or white, Christian or not, American or not, us or them.” Not only this, but a moralistic overlay gets placed on top of this way of seeing the world. And people believe that one way—their way—is good and the other is bad. So, to talk about the Trinity is not only precarious—because I might put my foot in my mouth—but it is also subversive and even a little dangerous because it runs counter-cultural opposing this either/or way. Usually in the Church we have an authority on challenging subjects and turning to it, you might wonder, what do our Holy Scriptures say about the Trinity? 

Often our Biblical passages throughout the Sunday Lectionary (the readings we hear each week) provide us with clarity. However, today it is a bit more challenging. When the Books of the Bible were written the Church had a very primitive articulation of the Trinity. God as Father, Son, and Spirit did, does, and always will exist, but the early Church’s expression of the Trinity was in its theological infancy.

So why shoehorn a complex idea into the Sunday after Pentecost? Why cobble together bits of Holy Scripture that barely mention the persons of the Trinity? What is the point of this day when we celebrate God as three-in-one and one-in-three? For one, we do this because it is God’s eternal nature. God is Father, Son, and Spirit. God has always been this divine community that is forever and always both distinct and united at the same time. But, given our current context of either/or, us/them, my tribe/your tribe existence the concept of not two, but three-in-one and one-in-three challenges the black or white lens through which we so often see the world.

This bucks against our desire to talk about God in a definitive way, but when we do this we can fumble and stumble too. Like saying that God’s nature is akin to an egg—whites, yoke, and shell—which is actually Tritheism, or the belief that there are 3 gods who share the same substance. Working out what we believe about God is good and right so to do, as is saying something conclusive.

And, as much as I am poking some fun at historical heresies, individually we will struggle to fully articulate the indescribable nature of God. So, when other people say something different about who God is, what if, instead of immediately casting them out as wrong, we listened? I wonder, how will we learn about the complexities of God if we only rely upon how we individually see God? How will we learn of the nuances of each other if we have already made up our minds about who the other is? The Divine Community of the Trinity teaches us that something can be multiple things at the same time, even if you or I can only see one of those viewpoints.

The mysterious nature of the Trinity makes sense one moment and defies our feeble minds the next. God is Father, but God is also Son, but God is also Spirit. God is Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer all at once. While none of these is the other, they are all God, and they are all one. One equals not the other, but all equal God. To see this truth though we cannot simply see things with our either/or, literal minds. This is what got Nicodemus stuck, at least for a time.

In today’s Gospel lesson, we heard Jesus say that one must be born “again.” The word for “again” is also the word for “from above.” Jesus was talking about both at the same time. Nicodemus only heard “again,” and thus was stuck. He could not get the full grasp of who God was in that moment, for he was seeing through a literal lens.

We too can see get stuck seeing God or other people with either/or vision. However, this will only allow a very limited view of God or the world. A view that will keep us thinking only on the literal level. Now, here’s the thing, we need the literal level, but to see the immensity of God we need both/and vision. We really need beyond both/and vision—sort of like having beyond 20/20 vision. We need three-and-one vision. We must be willing to be mystified, stupefied, and astonished by God being THREE—Father, Son, Spirit—AND ONE—God.

The gift that Trinity Sunday provides us is not good preaching—by now you all clearly know that. Rather, the gift is an opportunity to wonder about the ultimate reality of who God is. God and the multiverse that God creates goes far beyond a literal, either/or existence. The Trinity and our wrestling with this BIG theological idea gifts us with a chance. A chance to see what is on the surface and what runs much deeper. It helps us to see that we need each other’s viewpoints, especially today as we come back together and discern who God is calling us to be beyond this pandemic. In God’s very nature we are gifted this opening to dream beyond the either/or thinking that pervades so much of society. We are invited to see that God’s essence is divine community, which is what we are called to be as well. May we expand our vision to see the beauty, the enormity, and the complexity of each other and God who is one-in-three and three-in-one. Amen.

---

[1] “St. Patrick’s Bad Analogies” Lutheran Satire, published March 14, 2013, accessed May 30, 2021, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQLfgaUoQCw&t=99s.

A Much Needed Challenge

An image depicting the martyrdom of Thomas Becket of Canterbury.

Way back during the Middle Ages the Church ordained Thomas Becket as the Archbishop of Canterbury. Better known for his martyrdom when he stood up to King Henry II over the rights of the Church, Becket also bears a powerful connection to this coming Sunday. After Becket was consecrated as archbishop on the Sunday after Pentecost, he instituted a new festival to be celebrated yearly on that occasion. It was not a self-congratulating feast but rather a day dedicated to the Holy Trinity. Thus, Trinity Sunday was born—and for almost 856 years now clergy people throughout the Western World have been grumbling.

For 51 other Sundays throughout the year the Episcopal Church has a fairly straightforward way of doing things. Particularly, we practice a familiar pattern in regards to the Liturgy of the Word when we learn from parts of the Bible. Through various seasons we celebrate God’s saving love as exemplified in Holy Scripture and particularly in the story of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. Easy enough right? Well, it’s not easy, but it is at least straightforward. But then, almost out of nowhere comes this Trinity Sunday, which feels a bit like the tail wagging the dog.

Even with almost a millennia of practice, Trinity Sunday retains a certain sense of oddity. It is a day in the Church when we remember a doctrine. The rest of the Sundays in the Church Year we let the Scriptural themes and stories speak for themselves, but on this day we shoehorn chosen Scripture to fit this belief about God. This day almost feels backwards. Almost. As we have been practicing it for the better part of a thousand years, it has also almost gained some sense of normalcy. But, imagine for a moment if we had Resurrection of the Dead Sunday, Justification Sunday, Total Depravity Sunday, or Doctrine of Your Choice Sunday. I am sure some would love it, but it would feel odd to me.

You may be thinking, other parts of the Church do this, and you are right. Nowadays in the broader Church, preachers circle a topic for a week or multiple weeks. They might use a thematic series to discuss sin, relationships, prayer, mission, or calling. And yet, rarely do preachers engage such a challenging doctrine as that regarding the Holy Trinity. It is one that has led to so many heresies. So, why do we do it?

The cop out is to say that all powerful word in the Church: TRADITION! Still, I think there has to be more to this than we did it last year (and the 850 something before it). Why would we keep doing something that is so challenging? Why keep going with something that leaves us—not just the preacher but the entire congregation—feeling a bit off kilter? Why continue bumbling and stumbling around in a delicate area that could get us labeled as a heretic? Well, perhaps it is because despite reciting our belief in a Triune God every week in the Collect, the Nicene Creed, and the Eucharistic Prayer, we seldom live our lives with this belief at the core. Maybe it’s dangerous to speak for you, but I have to sadly admit that I am a bad Trinitarian Christian.

How many of my prayers start with Father? How many of them end with Jesus? We just celebrated the Spirit coming down at Pentecost yesterday, but how easy it is for me to overlook the work of the Holy Ghost! I am deficient in remembering that Our Triune God exists co-eternally together. It is hard for me to remember that while the Father is not the Son is not the Spirit, and the Son is not the Father is not the Spirit, and the Spirit is not the Father is not the Son, they are all God.

So, while this week is frustrating, and while I might say a few choice words under my breath about Thomas Becket, I need this week. I need the challenge that God gives me to try and wrap my mind, heart, spirit, and strength around who God truly is. I won’t ever finish that work on this side of the grave. And, I will probably butcher some description of God this week—if I have not already. Still, I believe when we try to faithfully understand, experience, and express the beautifully complicated nature of God we please God. Yes, we must be careful and cautious to speak the Truth, but to be afraid of speaking it altogether is like not sharing the best news you have ever heard.

As I bumble my way through speaking of the unspeakable, I find that a couple good places to start the work of understanding, experiencing, and expressing God's Triune Nature are the Collect for Trinity Sunday (below) and the Creed of Saint Athanasius.

Almighty and everlasting God, you have given to us your servants grace, by the confession of a true faith, to acknowledge the glory of the eternal Trinity, and in the power of your divine Majesty to worship the Unity: Keep us steadfast in this faith and worship, and bring us at last to see you in your one and eternal glory, O Father; who with the Son and the Holy Spirit live and reign, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

(Book of Common Prayer, 228).

On the Edge

What a joy to welcome John Theodore Olson as a new member in Christ's Body!

The Readings which inspired this sermon were:

• Genesis 1:1-5
• Acts 19:1-7
• Mark 1:4-11
• Psalm 29

If one does not proceed with caution during this time of year, one might develop a severe case of John the Baptist fatigue. Since the start of December we have heard almost every Sunday morning about this unique forerunner to Jesus. What he wore and what he ate stick in our minds like an article from People magazine detailing a celebrity party. The baptizer donned a custom camel’s hair suit fitted with a vintage leather belt. He noshed on a minimalist paleo diet of free range locusts and organic wild honey.  When we hear the story so often we tune out what is going on and just as importantly we tune out where it is happening.

John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness. The specific location of that wilderness matters immensely. John baptized those from town and country at the River Jordan. Now, this seemingly mundane detail about the location of John’s baptizing could appear too common to be noteworthy, but in Mark—the briefest of the Gospel accounts—nothing is superfluous data.

Meaning overflows from the Jordan. In particular, this was the border between the barren wilderness and the rich land of milk and honey, promised of old to God’s People. As we remember this story today, we stand on the edge of these same waters, the edge of this border, and the edge between what was promised and what will be fulfilled. We do not stand alone—no, we are here with John and Jesus and all those who came and still come in search of something that cannot be found in the established religion of the day. That is why so many went out to John, isn’t it? To search for something new and fresh and real. What is it precisely though that we are doing here at the edge of these baptismal waters?

We who may love our church and our traditions, what are we doing? The lessons from today lead us toward an answer. Genesis describes the Spirit’s moving over the waters ever since the beginning of Creation. Our Psalm for today celebrates God’s voice upon the waters. The portion we heard from the Acts of the Apostles depicts some followers of John receiving the Spirit in the waters of baptism when Paul ministered in Ephesus. In each of these we find something earthly linked with something that lies beyond the worldly—the sacred mingling with the secular, the divine in the everyday. Of course, the Gospel lesson from Mark most fully exemplifies this: “And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.” Is this why we’re here? To catch a glimpse of God through a thin place? What was really happening with Jesus in that river?

For a long time the Church has argued about whether Jesus “needed” to be baptized by John. Mark’s telling of the story runs somewhat at odds with the others. Matthew tells it as though John would not baptize the one coming after him. Luke does the same. The Fourth Gospel account (the Evangelist John) supposes that Jesus’ baptism happened, but does not describe the event. Here in Mark’s narrative though things appear simpler. After John proclaims his message as the forerunner of the Messiah, Jesus appears to be baptized. Did he need it? Was he with sin before? Was he trying to fit in with the rest of humanity? As frustrating as it is, the text remains silent on these issues. More importantly though, we find something transformative happening as we watch from the edge of the River Jordan.

When Jesus emerged from the murky river a voice declared from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.” The holy cut into a simple ritual out on the edge between the civilized and the uncivilized, between what was promised and what will be fulfilled, between what had been and what was to come. God entered into the lives of human beings as they grasped at a new way of approaching their lives. For regardless of what we make of Jesus’ decision to be baptized, the others out in the wilderness around the Jordan were searching for an amendment of life. The message John preached that attracted so many focused upon turning back to God—repenting or refocusing upon the Holy One. This too brings us to the holy waters over which the Spirit still moves.

This morning, John Theodore Olson will be baptized—yes, we related. For many of us raised in the South, this moment collapses upon only one faucet, the aforementioned forgiveness of sins. While I am partial to my son Teddy, I know that he will not be immune to iniquity. He is after all a preacher’s kid—and all of us at some point go astray. But, if one merely believes that baptism is about eternal fire insurance—that is not going to hell—then one has sorely missed what is at the heart of these lessons and what is at heart of God’s love for us.

When Teddy, or anyone else, undergoes the holy gift, the holy sacrament that is Holy Baptism the baptized are forgiven their sins, but something else happens too. When through Christ we celebrate baptism we hear God’s voice adopting the baptized as a beloved child. Yes, there is a turning that presupposes the voice; however, God does not utter from heaven, “Your sins are forgiven.” No, God says, “This is my beloved, in you I am well pleased.” The lesson from the Acts of the Apostles illuminates this truth in a specific manner.

Those in Ephesus got the baptism of repentance from John the Baptizer, but somehow they missed the crucial second step in the process. They had not been baptized with the Holy Spirit. They were ones who had been baptized by the water, but they had avoided somehow the Spirit and the spiritual fire that accompany baptism through Christ. In other words, they had only been focusing on the forgiveness of sins, but they did not hear their rightful calling through Christ. They had not heard the words that God speaks to all of God’s Children, “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”

Some of us too might have missed the Holy Spirit. Like those in Ephesus we might have solely aimed at amending our lives that we did not get the full power of baptism. The gift of initiating and engrafting a new member into the Body of Christ shines both in the freedom that comes with forgiveness and also in the transforming fire from the Spirit. The Holy Spirit gifted those disciples in Ephesus long ago with the abilities of tongues and prophesy—Teddy already has the gift of tongues, as his morning babbling has exemplified. What gifts will the Holy Spirit impart on Teddy in this moment? How will Christ’s Spirit transform us as we welcome this new member? In what ways does the Spirit gift us?

For us to focus only on the forgiveness of sins in this moment of Holy Baptism is to miss half of the Spirit’s powerful gifting. In Baptism the Holy Spirit brings profound, marvelous, world-transforming abilities—how will we receive them? How will you be transformed as you hear God saying to you, “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”?

The Model Shepherd: An Ordination Sermon

Corey Jones (left) the newest (for now) presbyter in the Episcopal Diocese of Alabama.

“The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father” (John 10:13-14, New Revised Standard Version).

Apophatic Theology has been around for a long time. Whether its roots stem back to the Cistercians of the 11th Century, to the Neo-Platonists of the 3rd Century, or to the origins of philosophy itself is widely contested. Of course, you know this Corey. You graduated from the School of Theology at the University of the South. What scholars do not debate is the usefulness of this way of taking about God. See, apophatic theology stands out as the practice of speaking not in positive statements about God—like God is good—but instead saying only those things we are certain do not pertain to the perfectness of God. Our own Presiding Bishop Michael Curry has championed an apophatic slogan lately: “If it ain’t about love, it ain’t about God.”[1]

Well, Corey on this day when God’s one holy catholic and apostolic Church will ordain you as presbyter—a shepherd of the flock—it feels oddly appropriate to start in an apophatic way. Much of our friendship finds its basis in apophatic humor—finding reverence in the irreverent, the sacred in the profane—so, why not begin not with the paragon of priestly perfection, but with the inverse? Why not commence not with the Good Shepherd, but with the bad shepherd?

To this end and drawing upon the great modern day prophet David Letterman, formerly of the Late Show, here are the Top 10 Ways to be a Bad Shepherd:

10. Starting every vestry meeting with 30 minutes of silent meditation.

9. Saying to a grieving family at a funeral planning meeting, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do the funeral at that time because my fantasy football team is playing then.”

8. Teaching an Augustine of Hippo Christian Education class entitled, “My Confessions: The True Life Tales of Corey Jones Before He Met Jesus”

7. Forgetting your microphone is on when you find your way to the facility and say to yourself out loud that your church musicians should “not quit their day jobs.”

6. Instead of using the BCP, siding with a bridezilla‘s desire to write her own vows, which include a line about how her husband will spend every Monday night watching ABC’s the Bachelor with her.

5. Wearing a purple clerical shirt around your home and making your family refer to you as the bishop of Narnia.

4. Doing anything to upset the Episcopal mafia a.k.a. your altar guild. Remember: they run the Church. (Forget about it!)

3. Waking up at 3 o’clock in the morning to wage theological warfare with your parishioners using the 140 characters of Twitter.

2. Starting and ending your sermons with the catch all prayer, “Roll Tide!”

1. The number one way to become a bad shepherd is… well, hold on a minute!

As funny as some of these are, there is a sad kernel of truth that runs through each of them. Hidden in the background of the 10th Chapter of John’s Gospel account about the Good Shepherd are some words from the prophet Ezekiel. Ezekiel and Jesus were concerned not only with describing God as the Good Shepherd, but also with the apophatic practice of pointing out the bad shepherds too. As Ezekiel put it, shepherds who had “not strengthened the weak...healed the sick...bound up the injured...brought back the strayed...sought the lost, but with force and harshness [had] ruled them” (34:4). Bad shepherds—sadly enough—are not characters confined to ancient history. Painfully, we know examples that are not humorous, but heart-wrenching. We can think of church leaders who have been bad shepherds—teachers who have caused us pain, priests who have violated our trust, and pastors who have scattered the flock. We may wonder why this happens.

The Quaker thinker and author Parker Palmer, in his great little book Let Your Life Speak, borrows a line from the Sufi mystic Rumi that surgically cuts to a deep and painful truth—a truth that gets at answering this question of why. “If you are here unfaithfully with us, you’re causing terrible damage.” Palmer adds on, “If we are unfaithful to [our] true self we will extract a price from others. We will make promises we cannot keep, build houses from flimsy stuff, conjure dreams that devolve into nightmares, and other people will suffer—if we are unfaithful to our true self.”[2] This is the apophatic description of the Good Shepherd.

Here’s how we might say it along more positive: The Good Shepherd gives to others. The Good Shepherd keeps promises. The Good Shepherd builds houses that last. The Good Shepherd conjures dreams that grow. The Good Shepherd takes away suffering. The Good Shepherd is faithful. Corey, what you are called to do among this congregation, in this diocese, and in the Church is to be not the bad shepherd, not the hireling, but it’s also not up to you to be the Good Shepherd. We are getting closer to the number one way to be a bad shepherd.

Because I do not get to preach in front of this fine congregation including my fellow priests and the bishop too often I did more sermon prep than I usually do—and that is never a good thing—but I found something odd. The Greek word that we so casually throw around as good, doesn’t mean good—at least not how we commonly use it. Good has as its opposite bad. The original word here (kalos) though means model or example.[3] The model, the example shepherd. Jesus is the Good Shepherd, as in the model shepherd, the one we are to follow.

Corey, Jesus has called you to follow him in a very particular way. It’s rather like being a shepherd—not that I have actually herded any sheep myself, only cats.[4] Jesus has called you to get to know your people, to provide nourishment for them, and even to lay down your life for them, like the model shepherd does for his sheep. This last bit is scary though, especially with a family. Laying down one’s life is not something that commonly appears in a job description from a church. And while the Ordination Rites are right next to the Burial Rites in our Book of Common Prayer—a rather peculiar placement if you ask me—the type of martyrdom you are called into is a living one that requires you to choose the life of a priest and dying to self on a daily basis.

In just a moment, our Bishop will illuminate the particular tasks of this life as a priest. You are to…

·        Shape your life around the Good News of Christ Jesus

·        Love and serve those with whom you work regardless of age or wealth or race or anything else

·        Preach God’s Good News

·        Declare God’s Forgiveness to penitent sinners

·        Pronounce God’s blessing

·        Share in the Sacraments of Holy Baptism and the Mysteries of Christ’s Body and Blood

·        And that beautiful catch all: perform the other ministries entrusted to you

(Book of Common Prayer, 531).

Corey, I believe whole-heartedly that you have every gift you need to do each and every one of these things, but there’s one more bit to this whole priesthood thing that needs to be mentioned.

The number one thing that makes a good priest into a bad shepherd is thinking that you are the Good Shepherd. You aren’t the Good Shepherd. You aren’t called to be the Good Shepherd. None of us are. But, to help clarify this whole Good Shepherd thing let us consult the classic film Home Alone.

Now, you may recall that Kevin McAllister—played by the exquisite Macaulay Culkin—gets left at home alone by his family. Kevin survives pretty well for a couple of days, but soon wants nothing more than to be surrounded by his family again. So on Christmas Eve, Kevin finds a mall Santa who is smoking a cigarette with his fake beard halfway off his face, and he says, “I know you’re not the real Santa…but I also know you work for him.” Likewise Corey, you aren’t the Good Shepherd, but we know that you work for the guy. And good news, so does everyone else here.

Lionel Mitchell—the Liturgical Theologian not to be confused with Lionel Messi the soccer Phenom—makes clear that this occasion is not the coronation of a new presbyter in the Church, instead this Ordination is the celebration of our ministry together as the Body of Christ.[5] Our Prayer Book states, “[ordination] is a gift from God for the nurture of [God’s] people and the proclamation of [Good News] everywhere.” (BCP 510). Not only do we witness a person making some huge promises and the bishop and some priests laying their hands on him or her, but we also experience this action of the Body of Christ, so that the good news of God’s love may be shared with the world—a world that desperately needs good news right now! Your family, your sending congregation, the commission on ministry, the Standing Committee, the Bishop, your seminary, and the entire Church share in this moment. All orders of ministry—the priesthood of all believers and deacons and priests and a bishop—rejoice and point to the ministry of a new shepherd AND the ministry of the Good Shepherd, our model shepherd.

Corey, you will never do ministry in a vacuum—that is Worth’s job because he’s in Hoover. Sorry. I couldn’t help it. I actually have a whole lot of vacuum jokes, but the rest of them suck. Okay, I needed to make sure y'all were still with me, but I digress. None of us actually do ministry in a vacuum.

We are all part of the ministry of the Good Shepherd, which means all of us are called to follow the example of the model shepherd Jesus. All of us are called to strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bind up the injured, bring back the strayed, and seek the lost. All of us are called to give to others, keep promises we make, build houses that last, conjure dreams that grow, take away suffering, and remain faithful. All of us are called to follow our model shepherd.

Beloveds, this means that though we be people with unclean lips we say to God, “here am I, send me!” This means that we seek whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise. This means that we protect the vulnerable lambs, feed the hungry sheep, and go in search of any lost member of the flock. In a world that is so filled with bad news Jesus calls us to participate in this Good News with every one that we meet.

Of course, sometimes advanced theology doesn’t make sense to me, so maybe a final analogy will be helpful. Corey, we’ve worked in camp settings together on occasion. I think you know the game “Sharks and Minnows.” A single shark starts as the person who is “it,” but once a minnow is tagged she turns into a shark that tries to tag the rest of the minnows. Well, for the purposes of today let’s change it to Shepherds and Sheep. All of us wander like lost sheep without the Good Shepherd, but once the love of the Good Shepherd hits us we are called not to hoard it away—no we are called to share it by going in search with the Good Shepherd for other sheep who will become shepherds too. Corey, you have been so loved by God. Now, you are called to share that love with all whom you meet through the specific ministries of being a shepherd in God’s Church. 

Corey, will you please stand? I charge you to remember that you are not the Good Shepherd, but that you work for the guy. I charge you to trust that God loves you, has called you, and has given you every gift you need to succeed. And, I charge you not to hide this love or your talents away, but to share them through the ministry that we all share with the Model Shepherd.

Now, as this thing is not just about you, will all followers of Jesus please stand? I charge all of you to remember that you are not the Good Shepherd either, but that you too are called to take part in God’s ministry. I charge you all to support this newest presbyter in God’s Church. And, I charge you to receive God’s love and then to share it with all whom you meet. For if it ain’t about love, it ain’t about God.

Amen.

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[1] Sidebotham, Jay. Renewal Works. November 21, 2016. http://renewalworks.org/2016/11/monday-matters-november-21-2016/ (accessed November 30, 2017).

[2] Palmer, Parker J. Let Your Life Speak. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2000, 31.

[3]Henrich, Sarah S. "John 10:11-18: Exegetical Perspective." In Feasting on the Word, by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, 449-453. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.

[4] See: Cranmer Meme: “I retained the title of priest for ordained Anglican ministers because cat herder though more appropriate didn’t seem to have sufficient dignity.”

[5]Mitchell, Lionel L. Praying Shapes Believing. New York: Morehouse Publishing, 1985, 252-53.

He Knows You

How do you know if you have met someone? I know that’s a funny question, and I am not talking about whether or not you can remember meeting someone. Think back to a time when you encountered someone new. What was the threshold of actually meeting that person? Do both people have to acknowledge one another? Could only one of them say hello? Does that count?

Meeting someone gets slightly more complicated when people discuss brushes with celebrities. I find it odd that we gush so much over popular figures, but when encountering famous people quite often lowly devotees want nothing more than to say, “I met ‘so and so’ this one time in an airport.” Like any big fish story often these tales morph from just walking past one another in the terminal to having drinks together in the frequent flyers lounge. Usually these meetings though leave something to be desired. Not always though.

You probably heard this week of the death of Roger Moore who played James Bond among other roles on the silver screen. Perhaps what you did not hear was a story from a man named Marc Haynes. When Haynes was seven and traveling with his grandfather the two saw Moore in an airport in Nice, France. Haynes had just seen James Bond and begged his grandfather to help him get the star’s autograph. After a brief encounter including getting the actor’s signature the boy and his grandfather walked away, only something was not right.

The autograph read “Roger Moore” and not James Bond. Haynes told his granddad that he had signed it wrong and felt crestfallen. The sweet grandfather walked back over to Moore and told the movie star he had signed his name incorrectly—not even knowing who James Bond was in the first place. Just then, Moore called over the little boy. Looking around Moore raised an eyebrow and spoke in a very hushed tone, “I have to sign my name as ‘Roger Moore’ because otherwise… [my nemesis] Blofeld might find out I was here.”[1] Then, the movie star made the boy promise to keep his identity safe. Moore’s behavior was remarkable, funny, and brilliant—more than living up to his reputation!

Years later Haynes worked on a UNICEF advertisement that featured Roger Moore. During one of the breaks Haynes told Moore of the story from his childhood. Moore appeared amused and charmed by the story, but claimed that he did not remember the encounter. Then, something profound happened.

As the filming was wrapping up, Moore went to leave, but intentionally passed Haynes in the hallway. As he did he paused ever so briefly, and in a hushed tone he raised his eyebrow to say, “Of course I remember our meeting in Nice. But I didn’t say anything in there, because those cameramen—any one of them could be working for [my nemesis] Blofeld.”[2] WOW!

Encounters do happen that far outpace anything we could ask for or imagine. This was the case with Marc Haynes when he met Roger Moore, but what about us? When have we met someone that blew us away? Are there moments when you not only met someone, but would say after only a brief encounter you know them? What about God? Have you met God? Do you know God?

In today’s Good News from John we heard a line that has been reverberating within my soul all week long. Jesus, in the midst of a prayer to God the Father, spoke, “This is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.” What a remarkable statement: Eternal life is knowing God. Knowing of God is important. Knowing about God seems crucial. However, KNOWING God is eternal life. It does not lead to it, knowing God is in and of itself eternal life!

We may be amazed at the kindness of a movie star to stop and play along with a seven-year-old and later a young man, but what about God? Have you ever had a moment when you felt the profound, mysterious presence of something beyond you come down not only to meet you, but also to know you? We articulate that God came down in the person of Jesus, He was the Christ, the Messiah, and God incarnate. At that time, parts of humanity got to meet him. What about us?

Thursday was our celebration of the Ascension when we remember that Jesus not only came down, but also that he was carried away being lifted into heaven. Our opening prayer, also known as the collect, for today reminds us that we are liturgically speaking in a precarious position. Jesus has been lifted up with great triumph into God’s Kingdom, and we beseech God, “Do not leave us comfortless, but send us your Holy Spirit to strengthen us, and exalt us to that place where our Savior Christ has gone before.” How do we know God in this time between the Ascension and when the Spirit descends at Pentecost? How do we know God now?

No single answer exists. We know God in a multitude of ways: in creation, in exploring it; in community, in sharing it; in intimacy, in moments of love with friends, family, spouses and partners; in fellowship, in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup; in hearing the Word of God, in letting it inspire the Good News to live within us; in reaching out, in sharing God’s love in word and deed with those around us; and there are still countless other ways. Chiefly we know God through the life of the one who walked before us and walks with us on the path of eternal life, which will lead us even through death. Still, that is not all.

There will be moments in life when despite the all-encompassing presence of God we believe that we are lost or alone. In moments when we feel like we do not know God or maybe we may feel like we have not truly met God—even in these moments—God knows us. In ways far surpassing a simple meet-and-greet, God knows us. God knows every hair on our head. God knows us. God has known us even before we were born (when we were still in the womb). God knows us. God knows each and every one of us. And what is more, God loves each and every one of us.

How will you get to know God? Be known. Get to know God. Experience eternal life.

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[1] Marc Haynes, “Roger Moore Story,” https://twitter.com/marchaynes, shared May 23, 2017 accessed May 27, 2017.

[2] Ibid.

Concentrated Contents

This coming Sunday’s Gospel lesson seems short to me. After several weeks and months of lots of words from accounts of the Good News of Christ Jesus we stumble upon this passage from John 14. Do not let its brevity deceive you though, as its contents are like a concentrated beverage mix, without some liquid, or in this case time and space they may taste or seem overwhelming.

This passage opens with a doozy of a first line. Jesus says, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” Wow! If we are not careful we may very well read this as an ultimatum or law and not as the graceful invitation that it is. God’s grace hits us where we are, but the transformation that comes with that grace typically leads us into following not some prescriptive path without any creativity or latitude, but rather into a life full of exciting co-creative moments when the Spirit of God moves through us. Not surprisingly, the next words of Jesus’ mouth pertain to the Spirit.

Jesus pledges that he will ask the Father to send the Advocate that is the Spirit of truth. Dangerously we may distinguish too much the persons of the Trinity making them separate entities (Father creates, Son saves, and Spirit sustains, or something like that). Maybe this is why Jesus warns of how the world has trouble receiving the Advocate. It cannot see the Spirit and does not know the Spirit, but in an attempt to nail down the mystery of the Divine Community that is the Trinity, we who make up the world **try to** pigeonhole God into the compartmentalized, dichotomous, either/or boxes in which we live our own lives. Said more concisely, the language of this world breaks down in the face of the Trinity, so Jesus speaking of Father and Spirit can come off sounding confrontational—and it is. However, this confrontation stems from Jesus’ love of us, his desire for us to live within this holy community, and the truth that we so often sell the gift of our lives short by not living in the Trinity.

If any of this worries us we only need keep reading this passage, for Jesus reminds us that we will not be left orphaned, alone, or abandoned. “I am coming to you,” Jesus promises, “In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live.” Sometimes the words through which John shares the Good News tend towards an esoteric realm that may be tough for us to fully grasp. Sometimes I find it frustrating, but typically I find it strangely reassuring. Christ—whom we identify as the eternal salvation-bearing person of the Trinity—continues to live now and always. But really we need say God lives always, which also means that Christ and the Father and the Spirit live always.

When Christ made himself fully known in the person of Jesus what also became fully sanctified was humanity. Yes, our bodies even in their varying degrees of failing, but not just that physical part. All aspects of our humanity were swept up in Christ Jesus’ divinity. Take a moment to remember at once both the Incarnation and the Ascension, for these were not just about God coming to earth and leaving to go to heaven, but rather providing a divine eraser for the perceived space between heaven and earth and earth and heaven. Christ lives on beyond that moment of Ascension, and through this we live. To expand this further, the divine community known as the Trinity is where we came from and it is where we are going, so certainly it is what we are made of at this very moment and it is who we are at our core. We may not currently see this reality with the eyes in our heads, but hopefully we observe it deep down with the eyes of those deeper parts of ourselves.

These Holy Words challenge us this week (and beyond) to merge the deeper vision with the way we look at the world. Christ’s Incarnation, life, death, Resurrection, and Ascension speak of the grand truth of the stages and seasons of our lives too. We do not live separately from God, but eternally dwelling in the community of the Trinity. This does not mean we always get it or see it or that life is a piece of cake. Rather, we live in this reality in which we must practice trusting that God’s Word is true that we live in Christ and Christ lives in the Father and the Father sends the Spirit and the Spirit lives in us. And yet, this statement is way too clean. For the life of the Trinity of which we are a part is both more interconnected, interwoven, and unified and at the same time more precise, distinguished, and specialized than my words can ever describe. So, it’s time I stop typing for awhile and instead experience life in the Trinity!

Saint Philip: If the Spirit Leads

If you have come here today, then I imagine that for just a moment you are seeking some sort of respite. A word of peace that pierces the awfully violent, loud, and overwhelming balloon of a world that spins and circles around the sun these days. Even at this moment something might be screaming out for your attention: the chores at home, the work still to do, the impending doom of an election, the bills to pay, and even really good things like time with family, social gatherings, or a favorite book or TV show. St. Mary’s Chapel at St. John’s Church in Decatur does only a minimal job of shielding us from the outside noises of a world that screams for our attention, but even if the traffic is silent the inner rumblings of our thoughts, feelings, and emotions may prevent us from experiencing true peace. You have come here though and probably not to hear a great sermon, but to commune with God.

 

In this violent, loud, and overwhelming world you might believe that God does not speak, or maybe you are here wondering if in this peace God might speak. The silence of God might seem like the case. How could it not be with the state of things? I believe that God never ceases speaking. God never stops talking with us. God speaks overwhelming love that still creates, restores, and sustains all things, but if we never stop to listen how will we hear God’s voice?

Philip, a deacon and an evangelist, could not help but hear God talking with him. So, in this moment of rest listen to the story of Philip. One of seven honest men appointed by the apostles to distribute the common funds and resources of the nascent Church, Philip stationed himself at first in Jerusalem. When a group of murderous men stoned Stephen to death Philip traveled to Samaria to preach the gospel there. Amazingly while Philip traveled he listened for God’s voice. Even more amazingly he heard it.

A messenger from God spoke to Philip telling him to travel south to Gaza. This appears strange enough to us that an angel made his travel arrangements, but then the Spirit of God sometimes asks us to do peculiar things. This was even more the case when Philip felt God calling him to approach a treasurer from the queen of the Ethiopians. This Ethiopian eunuch had traveled to Jerusalem to worship. On his way home he struggled in his chariot to understand a beautiful passage from Isaiah about the suffering servant. So upon God’s calling Philip (out of nowhere) ran up to the chariot to ask, “Do you understand what you are reading?” This was a bold call by the ever bold Spirit!

To put it into a modern analogy, I believe this would be like someone running down the aisle of an airplane to grab an open seat (on a Southwest flight obviously) next to someone who seemed to be struggling reading the Bible on their Kindle. Although we may find this type of behavior crazy, I think the Spirit is starting to call us into this type of absurd behavior. As our Presiding Bishop says we are the Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement and we are called to be Crazy Christians. To do this though, we need to be like Philip.

Philip did not just run up to the Ethiopian man and say you need to believe in God or else. No, Philip saw this man struggling with the Word of God, so he approached, he asked, and then once the invitation to share had been extended Philip shared the good news of Christ Jesus. We do not think that we like evangelism in the Episcopal Church, but the truth is that once we actually try it we are pretty good at it. I know you are skeptical, but let’s slow this down using Philip as our example.

Philip was called by others. He was given a servant’s position. He listened to God and used common sense that he must move after Stephen’s death. He heard God’s voice calling him elsewhere. He approached a person in need with humility. After an invitation to converse Philip shared God’s Good News. Once he did this the man even wanted to be baptized! This is the model of discipleship.

We have been deputized at our re-birth in Baptism to be just like Philip: To listen and be fed by the Holy Spirit; to seek out with humility those who are in need; to share the Good News (not scary news or bad news) of Christ Jesus as we have received it, and even, in emergency situations, to baptize those who want to be part of this movement with us. You have come here to be fed, to experience a bit of respite, but you will be sent out to serve others and to share the Good News. This Good News is that God has shown us a path of Salvation through Christ Jesus. Let us be so wise as to listen when God calls us, like God called Philip, even if it seems a bit crazy what God may tell us to do next!