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.

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

The Acts of the Apostles—A Community in Conversation

Dear Reader,

You may have noticed that my sermon posts have been a little inconsistent these past few months, as I've been traveling about doing the parts of my job that take place in communities outside of Davis. This past week was one such week, as I was in Ohio to meet with the board and program directors of Episcopal Service Corps. I looked up the propers for this week so I could begin thinking about my sermon on the plane, and I inadvertently clicked ahead a week. So, the sermon that follows does not match the scripture you (may have) heard on Sunday, but rather the one you (may) hear this coming Sunday. Next week, we are participating in the third annual Davis Interfaith Games, so I won't be preaching—hence, using this text this week rather than tabling it for its proper week. Fortunately for me, grace abounds! Also, this sermon is largely audience participation, and I wouldn't want you to miss out on that. So, when you get there, I'd love it if you would come out of the woodwork and comment, answering questions 1 and 2. Humor me.

xo Case

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In the season of Easter, our lectionary readings hop into the Acts of the Apostles, the first book of the New Testament after the gospels. Scholars say that it's a continuation of the Gospel According to Luke, like by the same author, and so it continues to tell the story of what happened after the first Easter. Jesus is gone, again, and the disciples are out and about, building the beloved community.

For them, that looked like what our first reading suggested: “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people” (Acts 2:44-47a).

It's been 2000 years, and our society has evolved over and over and over. Communities may look like this, or they may look like something else.

One of the things that is most important to me about our community here at the Belfry is that everyone gets a say in what our community looks like. When we gather for Spirituality Group or Bible Study, we decide as a group what we’re going to be learning about together. I have some ideas, always, and am here to provide the structure and the expertise. But the groups aren’t here for me, they’re here for y’all.

I did go to seminary and get ordained for a reason, so I’m not completely abdicating my role to y’all. I did, at least, start the sermon from up here. But I’m going to sit down now, and listen to you. I have some questions to ask, but the answers are yours. Surprise! This sermon is “some assembly required.”

1. What is the most life-altering community you’ve ever been a part of? Life-altering in a big way or a small way, and a big group or a small group.
1. What characteristics did you notice, as everyone was sharing, these communities had in common?

2. If you were going to design a community, what would it have? Who would be in it with you? Hypothetical or literal, (ie your best friend, or “people who like xyz”).

3. If you were going to make the Belfry a more ideal community, what would we have? Who would be here with us? What would we do?

Some of us gathered together this afternoon, and will gather on Wednesdays for the remainder of the quarter, to talk about becoming a Reconciling in Christ ministry. This will designate us, primarily, as a place where LGBTQ Christians are invited, and where we’d be willing to call a pastor who identified as a member of the LGBTQ community. On top of that, it will give us an opportunity to look at ourselves as a community and see where we have room to grow.

I am so grateful to be in community with all of you, and to work together and play together toward building the beloved community. The first reading tonight was from The Acts of the Apostles, a book written millennia ago. Our lives, though, are the lives of the apostles, and we have more work to do and more stories to tell—together.

Every Morning is Easter Morning

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.

Hallelujah! Christ is risen! (He is risen indeed, Hallelujah!)

We have said and sung it in just about every grammatically possible way. Jesus Christ is Risen Today! Christ is risen, Alleluia! Alleluia, Jesus is Risen! And maybe you feel like we’re a little late to the party because Jesus Christ was risen on Sunday, and this is Wednesday, but, let me tell you—every morning is Easter morning, from now on.

You may have a heard a story about a cheesy song with those lyrics, but, all jokes aside, it’s the truth. We don’t say “Christ was risen” or “Christ has risen” but “Christ is risen” because the resurrection of Jesus the Christ is not limited to a historical moment, but rather is for all time. Jesus Christ is Risen Today, and tomorrow, and the next day. We can sing these songs throughout the entire Easter season, and really every day except for a handful leading up to the celebration of the resurrection, again.

I read a great article on Sojourners, and shared it on Facebook yesterday, called “Christ is Risen. Now What?” It was written by Kaitlin Curtice, a Native American Christian and author. As the title suggests, in it, she asks, “now what?” Now that Easter Sunday has come and gone, what has changed? What did we spend six weeks of Lent in preparation for? I think it helps us to decide how to look forward if we take a second to look back. Back to the very first Easter morning.

As I read this gospel story, and imagine the experience these women had early that morning, I just sort of shake my head in wonder. They had come to the tomb of their friend to do what they would have done if he had died any other way—they had come to mourn and, as it is written in some of the other gospel accounts, bring spices for funeral rituals. But he hadn’t just died, naturally, he had been crucified publicly but the Roman government. Their whole world had turned upside down, and so they sought comfort in the only shred of normal life they could muster, their duty to their friend, even in death. The other disciples were off, secluded somewhere, afraid and unsure. And here’s the thing—it’s hard to blame them! Jesus has been executed by the state, and so it’s not like the political unrest has come to an end after three days. They were probably still in danger. Leaving the relative safety of the place where they are staying in Jerusalem to go out in the dark and visit the tomb—which is guarded by soldiers, remember—absolutely outs them as friends and supporters of this convicted, executed criminal. Who’s to say they won’t meet the same fate? Peter’s denial of being associated with Jesus, while not exactly brave, is pretty easy to understand.

But something brought Mary Magdalene and the other Mary out into the world that morning. I think that thing was hope.

I read a book called Hope in the Dark last month that I am obsessed with. I underlined like half the sentences, and mailed copies to a bunch of friends and pastoral colleagues I hoped could be similarly affected by it. I will get you a copy, if you want. In it, Rebecca Solnit writes not about a shallow or casual hope, but a deep and serious hope. It’s this true hope that led these women out to the tomb that morning. They weren’t hoping that Jesus would be alive, but they were hopeful that life could go on without him. They were hopeful that they could get up and go do the work that he had called them to do, keep the movement going, one day, one step, at a time. “Hope just means another world might be possible, not promised, not guaranteed. Hope calls for action; action is impossible without hope.” [1]

The story of Jesus’ resurrection does not have to be a critical dissection of just how it worked, biologically. We can sit here and wonder about how a dead man came to life again, and never get anywhere closer to solving the mystery. I know this question is one that some of you are asking, and it’s a question I ask, too. We talked about this just the other week, when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. Since we cannot know the historicity of this event, what about it can we know? What does this story tell us about God? Time and time again in our scripture and in our own lives, something that was once dead is alive again. Something that was seemingly hopeless returns, full of possibility. What does this say about the nature of our God, about the persistence of God’s love and liberation? Jesus the Christ was crucified and died, and then, somehow he lived again. The empire put Jesus to death, but his movement and his followers could not be silenced. The message of the gospel is not quieted by fear, is not silenced by death. The message of the gospel is not to be whispered, but shouted.

The story of the women leaving the tomb to tell their friends about Jesus puts this so clearly. “So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy,” it says. There’s a reason that we sing all of our happiest songs for Easter, all the ones with exclamation points in the titles and hallelujahs all over the place. Part of the radical nature of Easter is that, in the midst of political violence and social turmoil, God calls us to bring good news of great joy. “And when you face a politics that aspires to make you fearful, alienated, and isolated, joy is a fine initial act of insurrection.” [1]

So, if we circle back to Kristin Curtice’s question--it’s Easter, now what?--have we come to an answer? What do we do, if every morning is Easter morning? Do we go about our lives, quietly? You can, if you want. Or, you can go about your life, as the Easter people, bringing good news of great joy. You can shout HALLELUJAH at all available opportunities. You can rejoice in the knowledge and love of God, you has freed you from the power of sin and death. You can celebrate today, and every day.

In a few moments, we’re going to have the opportunity to renew our baptismal covenants. When you were baptized, if you were baptized, you were baptized into Christ’s death as well as his life. We need not be reminded that there is death in this world, that is thrust before us pretty routinely. But what we do need to be reminded of is that there is life in this world. There is new life in us today because we have heard the story of Jesus’ resurrection and made it part of our own story. We who were dead are alive again. That’s pretty good news.

Be not afraid, sing out for joy! Christ is risen! Hallelujah!