"Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living one. I was dead, and see, I am alive forever and ever; and I have the keys of Death and of Hades. Now write what you have seen, what is, and what is to take place after this." Rev. 1:17-19.

Sunday, May 9, 2021

Friends

 

As I come to know this community of St. Ambrose, there’s one thing that I’m sure of--the value of friendship in this place. Over and over, I hear that St. Ambrose is a place where you can find friends, a place where you don’t need to feel lonely. I hear that many of you choose to attend St. Ambrose because of the friendly community. “We are here for each other, in good times and bad,” you say with pride. The importance of friendship in this community is one reason why this Pandemic year has been so very hard on us: I know that you have deeply missed giving each other hugs. You long to share food at coffee hour and at barbecues and to catch up with friends. We are grateful for Zoom, but it’s just not the same.

Indeed, for each and every one of us, Covid has only intensified the loneliness that pervades our world. One psychotherapist describes it in stark terms: “We are living in a new Dark Age, in which the world is enduring a loss of love, a loss of tenderness . . .  The yearning to love and to be loved is stifled and replaced by a constant watchfulness and defensiveness. Lonely people, belonging nowhere and to nobody, cope as best they can. The search for intimacy has never been so desperate.”[1] It sounds to me as if we at St. Ambrose have something to offer to a lonely world. Some might argue that church should be about God, not friendship. “If we simply need friends,” they might ask, “then why bother coming to church? You can make friends at school or in your neighborhood.” Well, let’s see what Jesus has to say about that.

As Jesus bids farewell to his disciples at the Last Supper, he gives them their instructions on how to live together in community. “Remain on in my love… [Jesus tells his friends.] I have said this to you that my joy may be yours and your joy may be fulfilled…. You are my friends if you do what I command you.” For the author of John’s Gospel, this “divine love” that Jesus has been talking about over the past few weeks in our lectionary is friendship! Yes! In Jesus, God comes to us as Friend.

In Greek, there are many words that we translate into English as “love.” You may remember some of them from C.S. Lewis’ book, The Four Loves. There’s eros, or sexual, romantic love. There’s storge, or affection, like I feel for my sweet baby granddaughter. There’s agape or self-giving love—charity—love for the sake of the other. And then there’s philia, or friendship-love. Our world tends to give a lot of air time to the excitement of eros and to the cuddly comfort of affection. Our theology, on the other hand, tends to be all about agape, calling us to imitate the self-giving love of God. Friendship, however, is often dismissed. “Who has time to spend on friendship?” we shrug, as we rush around in our busy lives. “That’s just for children’s playdates and teenage cliques.”

That’s not true for St. John the Evangelist, though. John uses both agape and philia interchangeably in his Gospel. When we read “beloved” in English, the Greek word is philos, “friend.” God’s beloved is “God’s friend.” The beloved disciple is “Jesus’ friend.” The relationship between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is holy friendship. And in today’s Gospel, Jesus bestows that friendship with God upon us, and then commands us to bestow it upon one another. It is in friendship that God’s joy and our joy are fulfilled.

Now, before we get too carried away, let’s look more carefully at what this philia-love really is. Think for a minute of your best friends. What drew you together? What do you share? When you are away from your friend, what do you miss? What keeps your friendship going? When I think of my friends, I think first of sharing my true self with them: I know that with my friends I can be myself, in all of my weirdness, and that will be enough—they will love me for who I am. When I used to ask the teens in my youth group what was special about Sunday School or church camp, they always told me that they could be themselves with their church friends. They didn’t have to pretend. They could laugh and be silly without fearing ridicule. And that this is what kept them going through the tough times at school. I pray that as St. Ambrose friends, we can offer one another this same kind of relief, that we can provide a safe place for all, without pretense or fear of ridicule.

One definition of friendship is that it is about “risky caring and respectful give and take.”[2] Friends are willing to sacrifice something that one wants in order to make the other happy, and vice versa. There is a voluntariness and reciprocity to friendship. Here at St. Ambrose, we give up our precious time to help a friend in need. We compromise on music choices and service times to bring joy to our friends. Jesus says in our Gospel that there is no greater friendship than to lay down one’s life for one’s friend. And then he allows himself to be led away to be crucified. The goal is not the sacrificial suffering itself, however. Jesus’ goal was the healing of his community. When we make sacrifices for the sake of others, we do it not to suffer or to submit resentfully. Here at St. Ambrose, for example, we sit outside in the cold and in the heat for worship not because we have to, but in order to keep the vulnerable safe. We do it for the sake of our friends.  

When I think about my friends, it’s clear that friendship grows out of a shared interest, out of a common bond of some kind: Young mothers in a children’s playgroup; men who play golf or watch football together; children with the same teachers and classroom experiences; teens who share the same interest in music. If we lose our common bond, the friendship weakens and bears no fruit. As C.S. Lewis writes, “Those who have nothing can share nothing; those who are going nowhere can have no fellow-travelers.”[3] It makes me wonder: What is our shared interest, our common bond, here at St. Ambrose? Is it maintaining our buildings or getting our personal needs met? Is it a shared vision of the past? I hope not. I pray that our common bond is friendship with Jesus: learning more about him, following his Way, worshiping God in his Name, serving as his hands and feet in the world, and expanding the circle of his friendship to the lost and lonely.

The best definition of friendship, I think, comes from the movie Shall We Dance. Susan Sarandon says, “We all need a witness to our lives.”[4] Friends are our witnesses: they know us for who we are, they love us through the everyday ups and downs. When I was a rather lonely child, I used to imagine that my deceased grandparents were watching me live my life. In my imagination, they would just watch and notice; they would keep me company from afar. We all need a loving witness. Jesus promises us in the Book of Acts, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be my witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the remotest part of the earth.” Jesus, too, needs our witness to his life. A circle of true friendship is never closed. It only improves with the addition of new friends. Otherwise, it becomes merely a clique. I pray that our circle of friends will grow as we continue to form ourselves as a community of true witnesses to the life of our Friend Jesus: in Boulder, in Colorado and in the west, and even to the remotest part of the earth. Amen.



[1] Brian Thorne, quoted in Margaret Coles,  “Why Julian of Norwich is a Mystic for Troubled Times,” The Times, May 8, 2021.

[2] Dorothy Bass and Don C. Richter, Way to Live Leader’s Guide (Nashville: Upper Room Books, 2002), 82.

[3] C. S. Lewis, found at https://www.cslewis.com/four-types-of-love.

[4] Quoted in David J. Wood, “The Promise of Friendship and the Practice of Ministry.” In The 2007 Princeton Lectures on Youth, Church, and Culture, 5.

Saturday, May 1, 2021

What's to Prevent Us?

 

When we read our lessons this week in Bible study, we all wondered about the strange way in which Phillip is whisked around by the Holy Spirit. There he is, going about his business, when suddenly God sends him out into the boonies. There’s no explanation, no plan: just the instruction to “get up and take that wilderness road over there.” Then, while he’s out in this strange territory, he meets the most unlikely of conversation partners. After this strange conversion, Phillip is snatched away once again, randomly plopped down on the coast. The whole thing makes my head spin. God just doesn’t work like that today …. Right ….?

Let’s try to imagine:

          You’re out at St. Ambrose trimming some vines and pulling some weeds. You’re just minding your own business, doing your part to keep the parish grounds looking decent, focused on the task at hand. As you clip, your mind drifts to this week’s Gospel: “I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you … the harvest is sure to be abundant.”[1]  

Before you know it, you’re no longer safely ensconced in the flower bed. Instead, you’re standing by the picnic table, facing a complete stranger! This person, wearing a diamond-studded nose-ring, is huge, dark-skinned, and scowling. He has arm-muscles the size of your thigh, and his bare skin is covered with a web of strange tattoos.[2] The front seat of his bright yellow Lamborghini convertible is pushed way back to accommodate his long legs.  He seems to be reading something on the fanciest iPad you’ve ever seen. It looks like it’s in a gold case.

“What am I doing here?” you wonder. You never lurk around strangers at the picnic table. You would never approach a stranger unbidden, especially a strong, angry-looking one. You like to mind your own business. Yet, your lips move on their own. “What are you reading?” you blurt out.

          The stranger looks up without surprise and responds, “Oh, I’m reading some poetry or something from a holy man named Isaiah. I downloaded this Bible last night in my hotel room for kicks and just can’t seem to put it down. It’s really bugging me, though. I don’t get it.” He frowns more deeply and slowly shakes his head back and forth.

"Hey, I need to head to the airport,” the stranger blurts, looking at you. “You go to this church, right?” he asks, nodding at St. Ambrose. “Why don’t you jump in and teach me something?” He pats the leather front seat.

You stare, trying to think of a good excuse stay out of that car. You’re wearing shorts. Your shoes are muddy. It’s foolish to climb in a car with a stranger. Who knows where you might end up? Besides, you don’t know much about the book of Isaiah, anyway. You don’t have the answers for lots of things about your faith. How could you guide someone else? You might say the wrong thing and get him angry … and then what would happen? But you find yourself right beside him in the front seat, anyway. Much too close for comfort.

“Read verses 32 and 33” commands the serious stranger, handing you the golden iPad. You obediently begin: “As a sheep led to slaughter, and quiet as a lamb being sheared, he was silent, saying nothing.  He was mocked and put down, never got a fair trial. But who now can count his kin since he’s been taken from the earth?”[3]

“What does it mean?” the stranger asks.  “Is Isaiah talking about himself? Hmmm. ‘Led to the slaughter. Mocked, no fair trial’ … It sounds like what happens to black bodies like mine. It sounds like God should intervene.” He’s agitated now.

Before you can say anything, the stranger keeps going: “Man, I sure have felt like a lamb being sheared, silent, afraid to speak. I know about being mocked and put down. I sure would like for my suffering to mean something. Could the scriptures be talking about me ….” Then he grows silent and pensive.

You don’t know what to say. Do the scriptures really have anything to do with our lives? Especially the Old Testament …. All that fighting and angry-God stuff … Was Isaiah even a real guy? But you don’t say any of that. Instead, these are the words that come out of your mouth: “'God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him … There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment… We love because he first loved us.' Jesus said, 'Remain in this love. Remain in me as I remain in you.’”

          About this time, you are headed down McCaslin and the stranger spies Harper Lake. His face is now glowing. He shouts, “Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?”

You start to sweat. “What is to prevent you??? Lots of things,” you think glumly. First, there’s the fact that you don’t know if this man has already been baptized. We can’t just go baptizing people over and over in the Episcopal Church. We have strict rules about this kind of thing.  Second, there’s the little problem that lay people aren’t allowed to do baptisms—at least not unless someone is dying. Third, there’s the issue that this guy hasn’t been properly prepared with classes. You can’t just jump into a lake and start baptizing people like some free-floating evangelist. What if someone sees you? What if you end up in a viral video, looking like a fool?

Yet, amazingly, as you are still listing all the stumbling blocks, there you are knee deep with a tattooed giant in the chilly water of Harper Lake, naming the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, while incredulous joggers roll their eyes.

Until, of course, you wake up from your dream. Yes, you must have fallen asleep in the shade while you were taking a rest from trimming vines in the sun. “What a crazy dream,” you muse, rubbing your eyes with profound relief.

It had to be a dream, right? We would never get ourselves in a situation like that one in real life. Lose control over a situation like that? No way! Trust a scary stranger, lay all of our judgments totally aside? No, that wouldn’t happen. Evangelize like some TV preacher instead of following the proper Episcopal way of doing things? No way, we think with a shudder.

I wonder, though. Why must it be a dream? Perhaps what should have made me and others pause this week in Bible Study wasn’t the Holy Spirit’s power to move Phillip around physically, but the Holy Spirit’s power to move us around spiritually. “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” the eunuch challenges Phillip. What, indeed? What’s to prevent the flourishing of God’s dream of love and justice for all to become reality? What’s to prevent abundant growth from happening right here in our lives at St. Ambrose? What, indeed? No matter what judgment, fear, custom, and despair we put in its path, God’s miraculous love will find a way around them. “Faith will [somehow] find the water,” writes Willie James Jennings.[4] Loving my neighbor in the way that God loves us involves more than acts of will on our part—more than deliberate, thoughtful plans. It involves living our lives connected to the source of the love, in Jesus. And it involves giving that love the freedom to bless those whom we encounter on the road.

 

 



[1]Eugene Petersen,  The Message, John 15:5.

[2]Example given by Resmaa Menakem, My Grandmother’s Hands. (Las Vegas: Central Recovery Press, 2017), 94.

[3] Eugene Petersen, The Message, Isaiah 8: 32-33.

[4] As quoted in Debie Thomas, “When all are welcome.” April 25, 2021. Found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2995