Christopher Thomas
Sermon for the Seventh Sunday of Easter, Year B – 5/16/21
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
Psalm 1
1 John 5:9-13
John 17:6-19
It started off a day like most any other.
Safety. Security. Familiarity. That which is known, my life, clung to me, even at that tender, early age, in such a way, that I somehow knew, trusted, that it had been present, was now present, and forever would be present, in every fiber of my innermost being. It had always been; why should I think that would change?
Trust.
And then, she did something so different, so completely out of character, this person that I trusted, that I relied upon, so very intimately, that my world, my world-view, my life as I knew it, was changed forever, in an instant.
SHE LEFT ME!
Yes, it was, in fact, my first day of preschool, at the First Baptist Church of Patterson, Louisiana, and yes, the villain was my mother, and yes, it was miserable for EVERYONE involved (I made absolutely sure of that), for it was my first recognizable, discernable, palpable breech of…
Trust.
Trust and obey.
Ok, until you go off and leave me.
(Remember unconditional love, “There’s no place you can go that I won’t come get you?” Every now and then, unconditional love means…)
Trust.
Will she return? Will all things be right again with the world?
Of course, you know how that particular story ended. She returned, tears were dried, the world set a right, and a tiny little piece of trust, in that sacred foundational bond, put into place.
“Ok, we’re good, but don’t do that again, mother!”
She did!
Wash, rinse, repeat!
Trust is the foundation, the floor upon which we stand, as we stare outward into relationship. There is simply no way I’m going to make myself vulnerable, to open myself up, to risk, pain, and hurt, and growth, if I don’t stand on terra firma, the foundation of trust. “If I show you who I am, will you still love me?” “If I show you who I am, will you stay?” “If I show you who I am, will you retract, recoil, reject, and ultimately abandon, me?” Because, ultimately, I believe, the greatest fear that each of us shares in common, is the fear of abandonment. “You will leave me, and won’t come back.”
They, the disciples (and by disciples, I mean ALL those who were in on the Jesus story), by acts of the Roman Empire, the world, are shattered into diaspora, togetherness, relationship rent asunder, only to be recollected and reconnected by a resurrected Jesus.
Unconditional love! He came back to get us!
Well, not exactly.
Unconditional love. Trust.
For even before he, Jesus, was crucified, Jesus knew. He knew that THE WAY (the truth and the life) was not the way that they had envisioned (and maybe even we have envisioned). He knew that the way was the way through the world, not the way around the world. For even though we are IN the world, but not OF the world, that the evils of empire infiltrate the world, the world is still God’s creation, which means, in fact, that the world is inherently good. What God began in those seven days of Genesis, including but not limited to humankind, is part of the ongoing co-creative process that we are to live in to, with each and every single breath that we take!
And we get to overhear something today that Jesus does, something so basic and simple, an act that undergirds their relationship-building process. Jesus prays for the disciples, for us. For in that prayer, something in Jesus changes, something in the disciples changes, and I can only imagine that something deep in the heart of God changes.
And by virtue of that, we are strengthened again, to go just a little further, to trust a little more, to risk our part in the sanctification process that is bringing the world into line in birthing God’s great world order. So yes, we are in the world, but we are not of the world. The world does not shape our identity, our faith, and our values. And we don’t allow desperation or eschatological hope to cause us to abandon the world. For we know that we are under the protective care of God at every single moment we are in this world!
Trust!
Jesus “ascends,” merging back in to God, God’s self, in another one of those great incarnational intersections of Chronos and Kairos, God time and human time, the Ascension. It’s an important and necessary moment in the life, witness, and purpose of Jesus, because it is Jesus’ final act of trust in releasing the body of Christ, the disciples, the Church, to do what the Church is empowered to do, which is to set about God’s co-creative redemption in and of the world.
We can trust God’s process and get on about the work!
So, we are well into the second year of our relationship, this new formation of Rector and parish known as St. Thomas the Apostle Church. Our relationship, as individuals, and as a collective body, develops much the same as other relationships; over time, trust is established through the living of life, and we (hopefully) see that we can risk being vulnerable, and we continue to show up, and risk, and grow into the body of Christ that Christ envisions for us to be.
That process usually takes several years to solidify. The first year is always the honeymoon. Everyone’s in love. “We’re so tired of the way things were, in the most immediate past, that ANYTHING that might be seems reasonable.” “We know we need to change, or we will die.” Projections of all our hopes and dreams onto the other (Rector and parish) abound.
And then the second year sets in, and, as in any marriage, it becomes clear that Prince Charming isn’t so charming, isn’t so perfect, isn’t so witty, or glamorous, or everything we’d hoped for, and things get a little more crunchy. The realities of life set in. Date masks fall away. But these are the places where foundational trust gets built! “Are you still there when you see me for who I really am, warts and all?” “Will you still love me when you realize I am not a prince or particularly charming?”
Now, we, you and I, parish and Rector, have gotten to do this relationship-building process in the world of COVID-19! You have had no choice but to trust me, your Prince Charming, in situations that involve your spiritual and physical health in the midst of a global pandemic. And I will be honest with you, it has been a frightening journey, to witness us go from gathered community into diaspora, and now finding our way back together again. This is not something that is taught in any seminary course, or MBA class, or leadership 101. I promise, because I have had them all, plus 25 years of experience. They don’t!
But, what they do teach, and what life teaches, and what my mother knew, and knows, from so many years ago, is that trust IS the foundation that makes all relationships possible. If you can trust that I am acting from the very best place, from the best motives and intentions, that I know how, then you can make decisions about our relationship based on that trust. It doesn’t mean that I, or you, we, don’t mess up, and make mistakes, and gaffes, and decisions that we don’t like. It means that we trust that our motives and intentions are for each other’s best interest.
By the end of the second year of relationship, most of you will have decided whether you trust me enough to be your rector, to be your pastor. Some will, and some won’t. And that is ok. My job is not to make everyone like me, or to like every decision that I make. My job is to lead and to shepherd (and all that that means) this parish as authentically, and holistically, and intrinsically, as I envision God has called me to do, as long as God calls me to do that.
I do believe that the work that we will be called into, the redemptive, co-creative work of God that will stretch and grow and change not only the world, but us, will require the kind of trust that comes in that third year, the year that we being to know we are all in this for the long haul. Because the work we will do will be hard, and scary, and frightening, and sorrowful, and joyful, and joy-filled, and spirit-filled. “Happy are they who walk in the way of God.” Because that’s the way God-work goes. It’s not for the faint of heart. It can make COVID-19 look like a walk in the park. But I know we can do it, together.
I always knew that when my Grandmother Thomas started calling her minister “the Preacher,” that person had ascended into her sacred level of trust, to be not only her minister, but her pastor.
I look forward to the day I can be your “Preacher.”
Amen.
