It's Okay If You Don't Get It—A Sermon for Trinity Wednesday

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

On the sign out front, it says that the Belfry is a Lutheran and Episcopal Ministry. Not everyone here identifies as Lutheran or Episcopalian, which we’re actually pretty into, right? But what we’re up to is certainly Christian—we focus our learning and our worship on the stories about Jesus, and how Jesus relates to God the Creator and to their Holy Spirit. We’re not always sure about the meaning of those stories, but we’re in it together—we learn from each others’ stories, too. I don’t know if you go home from here each week and wonder about the things we read and sang, but you keep coming back, so there’s something happening that’s of value to you.

Being UC Davis students, or LEVN volunteers, you’re in a developmental stage known as “emerging adulthood”—you’re still in the process of becoming yourself, differentiated from your family of origin. You’re absorbing information about the world and yourself at breakneck speed, processing and processing and processing. That’s enough to keep anyone lying awake at night.

I’m just moseying my way out of emerging adulthood into regular ol’ adulthood—boring, not recommended—and I occasionally find myself experiencing something called “night dread.” Waking up at some ungodly hour like 2:37am because my brain has chosen that moment to run through the whole list of things that need resolving IMMEDIATELY for some reason.

Has this happened to you? What do you do? Do you will yourself back to sleep? Do you toss and turn until the sun comes up? Do you watch a movie on netflix? Do you scroll through tumblr? Do you get up and try to do some of the stuff you’re worried about; answer some of the questions your brain won’t stop asking?

In our Gospel story for this week, I think Nicodemus had night dread. The story says that he came to see Jesus by night. This is probably for a few reasons—no one would see him, he knew where Jesus would be, and perhaps he just couldn’t sleep without going and asking. I imagine him half-whispering, “Rabbi, we know you’re a teacher come from God, for no one can perform the signs and wonders you do, unless by the power of God.” To say this out loud, as a Jewish religious leader, is to admit that this rabble-rouser just might be for real. He has probably been tossing and turning about this since he first encountered Jesus.

As usual, Jesus does not simply say yes or no, but says, instead, that the truth of the matter is that in order to truly experience the beloved community of God, one has to go through spiritual transformation. Nicodemus doesn’t know what to do with this, either, because he takes Jesus literally, assuming he needs to be re-born, which even in the first century, they understood could not be done. Three times, Nicodemus speaks to Jesus in this encounter, and all three times, he focuses on the logical possibility of explaining what God is doing, and all three times, he gets more confused. And he’s not alone.

This week, our liturgical calendar brings the focus to the Holy Trinity, our favorite confusing Christian paradox. God the three in one, one in three. We name God the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit. We name God the Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer. We have countless names that could go on this list—Savior, Rock, Shepherd, Prince of Peace, King of Kings, Source of Life, Fountain of Mercy, Wisdom, Healer, Mother, Advocate...I imagine you have a favorite or two. Our scripture and our hymns are full of these images and metaphors and names for God. Are there any I left out that you love?

Trinitarian monotheism is a critical component of our Lutheran and Episcopal Christian theological heritage. Councils have been called, creeds have been written, heretics have been burned, and wars have been fought over this and other doctrines of our church. You may be a person who is very concerned with orthodoxy—and you are not alone—and so you are committed to understanding the sticking point of the Son being “begotten, not made, of one being with the father” in the words of our Nicene Creed. Or perhaps you are drawn to the Gospel According to John, in which it is written than “in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the word was God” (John 1:1).

You may be unsure what any of that is that I’ve just said, and are pretty okay wrapping your head around just that God the Creator, Jesus the Christ, and the Holy Spirit are fine by you. Often, I find myself safely in that camp. Yep, I have a seminary education and so am technically proficient in explaining that the Holy Trinity is consubstantial, and that the words “person” and “substance” in their ancient languages are not quite direct translations to our clumsy English. I could point you toward the writings of Martin Luther and many others about the delicate intricacies of this divine dance, to try to ensure that you’re not committing a heresy in the process.

But several years ago, a pastor of mine reminded me that the Holy Trinity is not merely a complex theological concept to be comprehended, but a relational reality to be lived. God-for-us, God-with-us, God-in-us. [1]

It is awesome—and by that I mean the slang of my Southern California home and the literal inspiring of awe—that God relates to us in these varied ways. God created this universe and everything in it. God came among us, their beloved creation, as one of us. God continues to move through us and inspire us.

We need not be able to explain why or how this is so in order to respond to it.

There’s a famous old diagram of the Trinity that attempts to express how it is possible that God is the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, but also that the Father is not the Son, and the Son is not the Spirit, and the Spirit is not the Father. They are all of one being, but they are not the same.

That’s helpful, kind of. But theologian Kee Boem So says that “the Trinity is not an abstract doctrine but a practical reality with implications for Christian life.” [2] Nicodemus came to Jesus hoping to understand who Jesus was, in order to assess those implications. Coming to believe that Jesus was the Son of God would mean radically transforming his life, his community, and his religious practice. The same is true for us! Recognizing the community built into the God who loves us—God the Creator, God the Redeemer, God the Sustainer—should lead us to build a community, too. If God is multi-faceted, and co-creative, we ought to be, too.

Throughout our lives as Christians, there will be times when we understand most deeply God as Creator, and then there will be times when we really dig into relationship with God as Redeemer, and there will be times when we really feel the movement of God as Sustainer. This is the beauty of our Trinitarian monotheism. God is always doing a new thing, making us new, keeping us moving.

God-for-us, God-with-us, God-in-us.

God-for-you, God-with-you, God-in-you.

That’s awesome. Amen.

_____

[2] Kee Boem So, "The First Sunday After the Pentecost" in Preaching God's Transforming Justice: Year B, 259.

Power and Pentecost—A Sermon Somehow Featuring Both the Avengers and Bishop Curry

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you always.

Last week, Leigh and I had a very in-depth conversation about all our theories about what’s next after the wild ending of Avengers: Infinity War. I promise, no spoilers, unless you are surprised to hear that the ending was wild. It’s a multi-billion-dollar superhero franchise that somehow keeps us all hooked, so I think a cliffhanger ending is kind of a given. Leigh and I talked about all these different characters, and their fates, and weird details we didn’t know about them—neither of us has read any of the comic books that serve as source material for these movies, but we have read a bunch of fan theories online.

One of the things that true, deeply committed, lifelong superhero comic book fans tend to know about is the whole complex relationships between the heroes, as well as the heroes’ origin stories. Some of them are more obvious than others, like, Peter Parker became Spider-Man when he was bitten by a radioactive spider on a school field trip. Or Captain America, who was an American soldier during WWII who was given this “super soldier serum” and woke up decades later, essentially indestructible. The narratives and relationships that develop are set in motion by those origin stories, and we can always go back to them to see the motivation of that character, what drives them to be the hero they are.

Pentecost, my friends, is the Christian Church’s origin story.

The reading from Acts—the one we did in various languages—sets the stage for the rest of the work of the apostles, the early Church, and us. The apostles are all together in one place, as the story goes, because it was the Jewish festival of Shavuot, seven weeks after the second day of Passover. Pentecost is the Greek word for “fiftieth day” and is celebrated 50 days after Easter. Shavuot is the celebration of God giving the Torah at Mount Sinai, and God “re-gives” the Torah each year.

In this way, these holidays are deeply linked for us as Christians, as they commemorate receiving something important from God, forging deeper connection between God and God’s people. The gift received on Pentecost, for those first Christians, was the power of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit showed herself by making it possible for all of the people gathered there—from different regions, tribes, cultures—to hear the good news spoken in their own language. The family of God is so expansive, that language does not limit us.

Each of us, as children of God, carries within us that same power, that same gift. Each of us can—and must—share the story of Jesus with everyone we know. Now, I know what you’re thinking, that sounds scary and your friends are already not sure about your whole Christian thing, and you’re not about to start yelling on street corners about how the kingdom of heaven has come near.

The Most Reverend Michael Curry, the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, was the preacher at the wedding of Prince Harry to Meghan Markle last Saturday. I imagine you’ve heard that the royal wedding took place, and perhaps you’ve heard that Bishop Curry brought the house down with his jubilant 13 minutes on the power of love. Did you watch the video? It’s so great. He is a very dynamic preacher, and you can imagine that the congregation at the royal wedding is a bunch of stuffy white British people, who are definitely not used to someone with so much enthusiasm.

After the wedding, Bishop Curry was quoted as saying that he was only allotted 8 minutes, but that he “caught the spirit” and went off-script in the middle. Nobody else has ever gone over their time limit, so there was, apparently, no protocol to stop him. Bishop Curry is an incredible person, and will keep doing God’s work in the world that will be worth talking about, but I sort of want this to remain my favorite story about him, forever. Bishop Curry was given the responsibility of preaching the good news of Jesus Christ on one of the world’s biggest stages. He knew what the parameters were, and he intended to follow them. But once he got going, he still left room for the Holy Spirit to move him. And she sure did!

As a black man preaching in one of the world’s oldest whitest institutions, Bishop Curry quoted the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King and an old slave spiritual. In the video of the ceremony, audience members are shown looking at each other sideways, suppressing smiles, raising eyebrows.

In our Acts story, I can only imagine that those who were witnessing the Holy Spirit in action were doing the exact same thing. The story tells us that someone thought the apostles were drunk! Clearly they were behaving outside of the expectations, speaking in all of these different languages, and those in the vicinity did not know how to respond. This may not be convincing you that you, too, should be engaging in this behavior, but I swear I’m getting to the point.

In Bishop Curry’s sermon, he quoted the spiritual There Is a Balm in Gilead. Balm like b-a-l-m, like lip balm. Like healing balm. One of the verses goes “if you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul, just tell the love of Jesus, how he died to save us all.” What that songwriter, and Bishop Curry, and Pentecost are all telling us is that it doesn’t have to be fancy. Because of this Pentecost daty, we are filled with the breath of God, inspired—literally—to spread the word. We do this each in our own ways, each in our own languages, each according to our own cultures and capacities.

When we treat each other as equal partners in the work of the gospel, we are telling the love of Jesus. When we treat every person with dignity and respect, we are telling the love of Jesus. When we tell the truth about things we have done wrong and then work to do them right next time, we are telling the love of Jesus. When we strive for equity for everyone, we are telling the love of Jesus. When we share in experiences of joy with each other, and sorrow with each other, we are telling the love of Jesus. When we live in response to the grace we know we have received, we are telling the love of Jesus. When we do this authentically, when the love of God shows through us to others in their own language, we can change the world.

The Holy Spirit changed the world on that first Pentecost day, and she hasn’t stopped. Today, we are celebrating that we share in that story and we share in that power.

After worship tonight, it’ll be time for our annual Pentecost balloon launch. Every year, we write our prayers for the church and the world on pieces of paper that we tie to—biodegradable, minimal turtle murder—balloons. We launch these prayers into the sky, in hopes that our words and our work will move far beyond these walls.

This activity may feel silly; we live in a cynical world. Our cynical world routinely disparages or gives up on something before it has even begun, rather than risk being disappointed or rejected. We struggle to trust that any good news is not fake news. In this environment, the bearers of good news are desperately necessary.

You may not ever have the opportunity to tell the love of Jesus from the pulpit at a royal wedding. You may not ever have the opportunity—or desire—to tell the love of Jesus from any pulpit. But you have the power to do so, and you have the power to tell the love of Jesus in whatever way you know how. In whatever languages you speak, in whatever time and place you live, you are co-conspirator with the Holy Spirit!

Hallelujah! Amen.

Back to Work—A Sermon on Economic Justice and the First Week of Classes

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Welcome! Welcome back! Welcome home!

Writing the back-to-school sermon is such an exciting and odd experience for me. Throughout the year, when I’m writing, I’m thinking back to who was here in the chapel the week before and what did we talk about after dinner and what have y’all been up to this week and what’s going on in the world...but for the first week back, there’s so much mystery!  I am thinking about returning students and what y’all have been up to all summer—research, internships, summer session, working, sleeping. But also I am imagining the possibilities of new students, and who might be wandering into our little yellow house this week for the very first time.

Perhaps you just moved to Davis a few days ago, or have been here a year or more, but today seemed like the right day to come. Perhaps you saw the sign that said Free Dinner, and that sealed the deal. Whatever brought you to this table, welcome.

Here at the Belfry, you know or will come to know that we get together for a few pretty specific reasons: to eat food, to make friends, to laugh a lot, to sing songs, and to hear stories from scripture. Sounds simple enough.

In the Gospel stories, Jesus has a habit of telling parables—sort of riddles—that cause a lot of confusion. Sometimes, the people to whom he’s telling the story within the story aren’t sure what the moral of the story is; or, they totally get it, and they realize he’s telling them that they are wrong, and they get very upset; or, they get it backwards and they think he’s calling them good when he’s really telling them to get their act together.

And we’re not so different. Sometimes, we hear the words of Jesus and we sit back and say, “huh?” And other times, we hear the words of Jesus and realize that we are not living into the Christian life quite the way we thought, and we feel convicted. And other times, we hear the words of Jesus and we think we’re doing all right but then someone points out that it’s not so simple. Every once in awhile, though, we hear the words of Jesus and something clicks.

I don’t know if tonight’s story puts you in any of these camps, and it’s pretty okay if you’re solidly in the “huh?” zone. That’s where I hang out a lot of the time.

Luckily, many Christians and many scholars have come before us, and they can offer us some wisdom to help us on our way. One of the best people that I like to turn to when I read a parable and go, “huh?” is a professor named Amy-Jill Levine. She’s a Jewish woman who teaches the New Testament to people studying to be Christian ministers. She is very snarky and she is a genius. She wrote a book called Short Stories by Jesus, in which she lays out how the people Jesus was talking to would have heard these parables. Such a helpful lens to look through! She had excellent things to offer me, as usual, about tonight’s.

Let’s think back to a few minutes ago when I read that. In the parable, we’re in a vineyard, with the owner of the vineyard and some hired laborers. He hired some of them first thing in the morning, and promised to pay them “what is right,” a day’s wages. He hired some more at 9 and at 3 and even at 5. He paid them, at the end of the work day, one full day’s wages. Those who had worked since sunrise, since 9, since 3, and since 5.

Now, I think most of y’all have probably worked an hourly job before, and absolutely could not expect to be paid for hours you did not work. And probably would have been upset to find out that someone who worked for fewer hours than you did was paid the same as you were. It is pretty easy to understand the laborers who “grumble” against the landowner.

The landowner has behaved sort of oddly, paying them this way. He gives them all a day’s wages—a right and just thing to do, as these people probably have families to support, and the work they did for him was all the work they could get that day. He doesn’t pay them based on the quality of the work they’ve done, how much they’ve achieved, how effective they’ve been. He pays them what he believes everyone deserves.

Naming this parable “The Laborers in the Vineyard” encourages us to identify with the laborers as opposed to the landowner, whom we are then free to identify as God.[1] Easy enough. No matter what we do, God has claimed us in our baptism and we will all receive grace upon grace. End of sermon, see you later.

Not so fast! What if we change that? What if, instead of interpreting this as “God is generous with salvation”—thought that is true, and a good thing to remember—what if we thought about this as a much more literal example for how to treat one another? I will rarely encourage you to engage in Biblical literalism, y’all, so when we go down that road, it’s for a good reason.

You could interpret this parable as “no matter what you do, God loves you, and so it doesn’t matter.” But complacency is not the best look for Christian life. Showing up at the end of the day and hoping to eke out the same benefits as those who have worked all day is not recommended. Especially when we turn this into a prescription for the work of justice. Looking at a situation that will take a day’s labor, we cannot assume that if we do the bare minimum, that’s “enough” to get the real, long-term work accomplished. We can take it one step further towards the literal, and wonder about who is receiving benefits for whose work.

Amy-Jill Levine, the professor I mentioned before, she puts it this way: “If we refocus the parable away from ‘who gets into heaven’ and toward ‘who gets a day’s wage,’ we can find a message that challenges rather than prompts complacency. If we look at economics, at the pressing reality that people need jobs and that others have excess funds, we find what should be a compelling challenge to any hearer.”[1]

As residents and citizens of the United States of America, we are well aware that there are disparities in our society—racism, income inequality, sexism, heterosexism, xenophobia, white supremacy, and more.

A report by PayScale.com and Equilar says that “the average CEO-to-worker pay ratio….stands at about 70-to-1, with some CEOs making more than 300 times the median salary of their employees.” And, for the data-driven among you, that is only talking about cash, before stock options and other compensation provided to many executives.

Truly seeing who is doing the work and who has the most money at the end of the day, this parable does not mirror the way our society is structured. In this parable, the landowner freely gives away his money to those who need it. He seeks out those who need work, and he pays everyone a living wage. Even those who have not done what the rest of the market might deem a day’s work.

This landowner should “not only be a reference to God, for what God does is often what those who claim to follow God should do.” [1] As Christians, we should seek to be so generous, so just. We should seek to find all those who look for meaningful work, and provide it to them. We should ensure that everyone has enough resources to live well in our communities. We should ensure that even those who cannot work—the chronically ill, for example—are not forced into poverty because of it.

We should notice if any of this makes us feel uncomfortable. We work hard for what we earn. Yes, and we should be paid appropriately for that work. We should not, though, have to sentence a huge segment of our population to a life of poverty because there isn’t enough to go around. There is enough. There has always been enough, and there will always be enough.

God, who is rich in mercy and abounding in steadfast love, serves as an example for us of how well we can treat one another, if we want to. We learn from these stories big truths about God, like these, and big truths about ourselves, too. As we gather at the table for communion, there will be enough. It is my prayer that we will carry that fullness and richness out into the world together.

It’s a new day here in Davis. It’s a new quarter, a new school year. As we go through the motions—get settled into the new schedule, figure things out with new roommates, remember how to ride a bike—we can decide what this new year will be like. We can wonder about how our life and work is related to all the lives and all the work happening around us. It is my joy and privilege to be among you this year, wondering along.

Amen.

[1] Amy-Jill Levine, Short Stories by Jesus: the Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi, HarperOne, 2015.