Author: J. Barrett Lee

Do Whatever He Tells You: A Practical Guide for Turning Water into Wine

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Sermon, Uncategorized1 Comment

Sermon for the second Sunday after the Epiphany, Year C.

Delivered at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Coldwater.

Click here to read the biblical passage.

“The key to the perfect wedding day is imperfection.”

That’s the one piece of advice I give to every couple who asks me to officiate their wedding. So long as both parties arrive at the ceremony safely, say their vows in front of an officiant and witnesses, and sign the license, it qualifies as a successful wedding. Everything else is extra. You can bank on some kind of hiccup with the DJ, the catering, or the dress. At my own wedding, the pre-recorded entrance music cut out while my wife was still halfway down the aisle, so she had to walk the rest of the way in silence. It was still a lovely day and a successful wedding.

In biblical times, however, things weren’t so simple. Weddings back then were week-long affairs that involved the entire town. The ceremony was a reaffirmation of the social bonds that held their community together; the couple served as a sacred symbol of God’s covenant with the people of Israel.

Furthermore, wine itself was an important symbol of blessing and joy, so it’s absence would have undoubtedly be interpreted as a bad omen for the new couple.

Running out of wine during such an auspicious occasion would have brought permanent shame on the family. This level of shame, more than mere embarrassment, would lead to the entire family being cut off from the community and not allowed to participate as functioning members of society. The closest thing our culture has to this kind of shaming is when a celebrity gets ‘cancelled’ for acting inappropriately with staff or fans. The difference is that the stakes were much higher: Firstly, because the people involved were regular, working-class folks and, secondly, because the bar for getting ‘cancelled’ was much lower than it is today. The shame of running out of wine at a wedding would have absolutely ruined the family involved.

Knowing this cultural background helps us understand the urgency in Mary’s voice when she informs Jesus, “They have no wine.”

Jesus’ curt response, then, seems shocking: “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you?”

This is a sentence that requires some explanation. At first glance, it sounds rude and dismissive, like a teenager who has just been asked to clean his room (“Ugh… whatever, bruh!”), but a careful examination of the language reveals a very different tone.

First of all, the term “woman” was a term of respect, much like “ma’am” or “madam” would be today. Since our culture uses different words for respect, I would personally not recommend calling your wife, partner, or mother, “woman.” (If you would like to test this hypothesis for yourself, I invite you to do so, and I will happily come to visit you in the hospital afterward.)

Second of all, the comment “what concern is that to me and to you” is meant to be more reassuring than dismissive. If Jesus had been Australian, he might have said, “No worries, mate!” In America, we might say, “No problem. Piece o’ cake!” That phrase is used in other parts of Scripture when a minor issue does not present a barrier to a relationship between two people. In essence, what Jesus is saying here is, “Don’t worry, ma’am. Everything is fine.”

Of course, this response is also shocking, albeit in a different way. Given what we just learned about weddings and wine in ancient Galilee, it would have been perfectly understandable if Mary had said, “What do mean, Jesus?! Everything is not fine! This is a real crisis!” But Mary doesn’t do that. Instead, she calmly turns to the servants and says, “Do whatever he tells you.”

The rest of the story plays out as we read it in today’s gospel. The servants follow Jesus’ instructions and a miraculous transformation ensues. Symbolically, the joy and abundance of life is restored to an even greater level than where it was before.

I’d like to think that I would have the same quiet confidence as Mary during a catastrophe, but I’m not 100% sure that I would. (Then again, maybe that’s why God chose her, instead of me, to be Jesus’ mother.) I’ve been known to indulge in more than my fair share of “doom-scrolling.” Like so many of us, I frequently feel overwhelmed by the crushing pressure of crises, in my life and in the world, that I can do nothing to fix. Mary’s plea to Jesus, “They have no wine,” has often escaped my own lips as a cry for justice, freedom, or hope, sometimes for others and sometimes for myself. When I imagine Jesus telling me, “Don’t worry, sir, everything is fine,” I want to shout back at him, “No it isn’t! We’re in a real crisis, here!”

It is then, when I find myself in times of trouble, that I need Mother Mary to come to me, speaking words of wisdom: “Do whatever he tells you.”

When I hear those words from Mary, I think of the things that Jesus has always told everyone to do: Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give to the poor, welcome the stranger and the outcast, visit the sick and incarcerated, and love your neighbor as yourself. There is so much wrong in this world that I have no power to fix or control. What I do have power over is my own choices. I can choose to give in to despair and cynicism, or I can choose to be the kind of person that Jesus was by doing the kinds of things that Jesus told me to do.

The popular author (and dedicated Episcopalian) Brené Brown refers to this power-to-choose as “micro-dosing hope.” She says:

“I have no access to big hope right now, however, I am asking myself how I can support the people around me. The people on my team, in my community. How can I make sure that, in the maelstrom of my emotions, I stay committed to courage, kindness, and caring for others regardless of the choices made by others? Doing the smallest next right thing is hard, but sometimes it’s all we’ve got.”

There is a particular community of Christians that has been practicing this principle for more than a millennium: the Benedictine Order of monks and nuns. They were founded in the early sixth century by St. Benedict of Nursia as a community committed to round-the-clock prayer. Every three hours, starting in the middle of the night, they would stop whatever they were doing and chant psalms in the church. Their practice forms the basis for the Daily Offices of Morning and Evening Prayer, which we use in The Episcopal Church today.

The Benedictine commitment to a life of prayer also opened their hearts to the practice of radical hospitality. Whenever strangers would present themselves at the monastery gates, the monks and nuns would welcome them as if it was Christ himself knocking at their door.

Over a thousand years later, the monks and nuns of the Order of St. Benedict continue to live by their rule of prayer and hospitality. In fact, they have a community just 30 minutes away from here by car: St. Gregory’s Abbey of Three Rivers. This small group of Episcopalians has lived by the Rule of St. Benedict since their founding in 1939. [NOTE: Your current rector is an oblate of St. Gregory’s Abbey. If you would like to know what that means, please feel free to ask me after the service or stop by my office sometime.]

[Click here to learn more about St. Gregory’s Abbey, Three Rivers.]

This dual-commitment to prayer and hospitality led the Benedictines to establish sustainable communities with adequate food, shelter, healthcare, and education. The stability of the monasteries made it possible for the Benedictines to preserve the cultural treasures of Western Europe, even as the Roman Empire was collapsing around them.

The entire goal of Benedictine monasticism is to become the kind of person that Jesus was by doing the things that Jesus told people to do. The monks did not set out to save civilization, but the miracle is that they ended up doing so, almost by accident.

This historical example presents us with a possibility for how we too might transform “water into wine” by putting the teachings of Jesus into practice in our own lives. Beyond voting in elections and writing letters to our elected officials (both of which we should absolutely be doing), there is little we can do to directly effect the biggest problems of the world. We can, however, “do whatever Jesus tells us” by putting into practice the things he taught his disciples. We can take care of each other and the most vulnerable people in our community by feeding the hungry, caring for the sick, sheltering the homeless, welcoming the outcast, and loving our neighbors as ourselves. Each of us can choose to be the kind of person that Jesus was.

This, I believe, is the secret for making it through tough times. In the days to come, I pray that each of us (myself included) will understand the reassuring words of Jesus: “Don’t worry ma’am/sir/friend, everything is fine.” I pray that each of us (myself especially) will heed the advice of Mary: “Do whatever he tells you.” I pray, most of all, that we will become the kind of people that Jesus was: Transforming the water of crisis into the wine of hope.

May it be so. And “may the God of peace give us peace at all times in all ways” (II Thessalonians 3:16).

It’s Not About Me!

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the first Sunday after the Epiphany: Baptism of the Lord

Click here for the Scripture readings.

“It’s not about me.”

That is St. John the Baptist’s message to the people in today’s gospel.

Allow me to explain:

Judea, in the time of John the Baptist, was a very tense place to live. Approximately 170 years before John’s time, about as long ago as the American Civil War is from our time, a revolutionary hero named Judas Maccabee overthrew a foreign tyrant who had tried to forcibly eradicate Jewish culture. For the next century, the Jewish people enjoyed a period of semi-independence under the leadership of the Maccabee family, known as the Hasmonean dynasty. Over time, the Hasmoneans themselves became entrenched in their power and gradually fell out of favor with the people. When the Romans conquered the region, they hand-picked King Herod and his sons to be puppet rulers who, while powerful due to their allegiance to Rome, were almost universally despised by the common people.

In their vexation, the Jewish people remembered the golden days of Kings David and Solomon, when Israel was prosperous and free. They dreamed of a future time when God would send an “Anointed One” (Heb. Mashiach/Messiah; Gk. Christos/Christ) who would liberate the nation from foreign domination and restore the people to spiritual purity.

When John the Baptist started his movement in the Judean countryside, people began to get excited. He was a priest, by lineage, but he didn’t act like any other priest they knew. He was young, charismatic, and energetic (though some wondered, “What’s up with that hair?”). Most of all, he was unafraid to speak his mind and call out the corruption he saw in the ruling elites. As word spread and this grassroots movement picked up speed, the people began to speculate that John might be the anointed leader they had been hoping for.

This scene is an excellent example of the psychological concept of transference. Transference is what happens when people project their own hopes or fears onto another person. If you’ve ever fallen in love, then you know what I’m talking about. You spend all day thinking about this person and will gush about them to anyone who asks: “Oh, they’re so wonderful; they’re so perfect; they’re my whole world; they’re my everything!” If you’ve never had that experience yourself, just listen to love songs on the radio and I promise you: You’ll hear it. The way infatuated people sometimes talk about their beloved almost makes that person seem like some kind of deity.

We don’t just do this with our romantic partners; we do it with political and religious leaders too. Parishioners or constituents think a particular leader embodies everything right (or everything wrong) with the world. Once again, our projections elevate a person to the level of a deity (or a demon) in our own eyes. Neither of these things is true, of course. Our partners, presidents, and priests are neither angels nor devils. They are ordinary human beings, fabulous and flawed, just like the rest of us.

The problem with projecting our hopes and fears onto others is twofold. First, as I already said, it stops us from seeing them as real human beings, which they are. Second, projecting onto others prevents us from doing our own inner work of self-awareness and self-improvement.

Let’s try an exercise: To find out where you are making projections in your own life, I invite you to think about someone who brings up big feelings for you. Please don’t say any names out loud (especially if that person is sitting next to you). This is just between you and God.

  • This could be anyone…
  • The feelings could be good or bad…
  • Think about what qualities, in that person, evoke these big feelings in you…
  • Now (and this is where you have to be very honest), ask yourself: “Where do I see those same qualities in myself?”

When we project our feelings onto other people, we unconsciously assume (in the case of positive projections): “If I could just be in a relationship with this person, or elect that candidate, or attend this church, then I would automatically possess the qualities I admire in them.”

Conversely, in the case of negative projections, we unconsciously assume: “If I could just get rid of this partner, president, or priest, or if I could somehow fix them, then I would no longer have to be reminded of the things I don’t like about myself.” That’s the danger that comes with projecting our feelings about ourselves onto other people.

Of course, the same thing holds true when other people project their feelings onto us. Sometimes, their projections help us to see something we need to work on in ourselves. But other times, all we can do is step back, take a deep breath, and say, “It’s not about me.”

Other people are neither angels nor demons; they’re just people. Of course, it’s perfectly normal to have opinions about them, to agree or disagree with them, and work together to solve problems in our relationship or society. But the fact remains that our fellow human beings are unique individuals, in their own right and on their own journey, and no one can do our inner work for us.

John the Baptist, in today’s gospel, understood this truth. He saw clearly the hopes and fears that people were projecting onto him, speculating whether he might be their long-awaited Messiah, and he denied it outright.

“It’s not about me,” he said, in effect, “but one who is more powerful than I is coming, and I’m not even worthy to untie his shoes.” The people pointed to John with their hopes and fears and John, very wisely, pointed them back toward Jesus. That is the first duty of every faithful leader in the Church. Furthermore, pointing to Jesus is everyone’s duty to their fellow Christians.

The Risen Christ, the Incarnate Word of God, who lives in our heart of hearts, loves us unconditionally, and knows us better than we know ourselves, is the only one qualified to guide our inner work.

John said, when people came to him with their projected hopes and fears, “It’s not about me; it’s about Jesus. Jesus is the one you’ve been waiting for, not me. I baptized you with water; he will baptize you with fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to bring you the clarity you need in order to sort out the wheat from the chaff (the good from the bad) in your own soul.”

To borrow a rhetorical image from the Buddha, John the Baptist is “a finger pointing to the moon.” So long as people are looking at the finger, they’re looking at the wrong thing; they need to look where the finger is pointing. John, the faithful prophet, is pointing them to Jesus.

Kindred in Christ, my prayer for you this week is that each of you would look to the presence of the living Christ in your heart of hearts, that you would know yourself to be fully known and loved for the fabulous and flawed human being that you are, and that you would go forth in the blessed assurance of that love to extend the same grace to your fellow fabulous and flawed human beings.

I pray that you will be you, so that I can be me, and we can be us together, giving glory to God, whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. Glory to God from generation to generation in the Church, and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever. Amen.

Funeral for Patrick Jones

On By J. Barrett LeeIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Click play to listen to an audio recording of the funeral service:

Click here to read the bulletin for the service.

Full text of the homily posted below:

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus says, “Anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.”

This statement is a testimony to the infinite breadth and unfathomable depth of God’s unconditional love. This fact about divine love was the single most important truth in the life of our friend, Pat.

Jesus’ statement begins with that all-inclusive word: Anyone.

Jesus makes no provisos or exceptions to the kind of people who are welcome in his presence. The divine welcome is not limited to any particular ethnic background, gender-identity, sexual orientation, social class, political affiliation, or even religious belief.

Jesus says this particular invitation is addressed to “anyone who comes to me.” Now, this addendum might seem like a barrier to some. People like to talk about having a “come-to-Jesus moment” when they need to face a difficult truth. This is understandable, considering that Jesus is the kind of spiritual teacher who will not let the delusions of powerful people go unchecked. To others, “anyone who comes to me” might sound like it only applies to those who identify as Christians. This too is understandable, but that’s not what Jesus is talking about here.

Jesus’ open invitation seems merely polite, but in fact, it flies in the face of a divided world that would prefer to separate insiders from outsiders, based on any number of artificially-manufactured categories. But Jesus doesn’t play that game. In the words of the late spiritual author Rachel Held Evans, “What makes the Gospel offensive isn’t who it keeps out but who it lets in.” For Jesus, “anyone” means ANYONE!

Think about all the different kinds of people who come to one another, in big ways and small, throughout the course of a day: at work or school, in line at the store, walking down the street, or coming home at the end of the day. According to the sacred Scriptures of the Christian tradition, Christ is present in each and every one of these people we encounter (including the person we encounter in the mirror). Whatever we do unto others is what we do unto Christ himself.

“Come to Jesus” is a phrase that applies, not only to difficult conversations or religious epiphanies, but also to the many ways in which people meet each other in the humdrum of daily life. Jesus understood this, which is why he taught his followers to “love one another as I have loved you.” When we meet one another in an attitude of love, the Christ in us is loving the Christ in them, whether we realize it or not. When we do so, we complete a spiritual circuit that increases the energetic flow of love in the world.

Pat understood this truth at a deeper level than many others care to do. It drove his spirituality and informed his activism for social justice.

Pat once told me a story about his confirmation. For those who may not be Episcopalians, confirmation is a ritual where a young person, after an extended period of study and reflection, “confirms” the promises made by their parents and godparents at their baptism. It’s the Christian equivalent of a Bar Mitzvah in the Jewish tradition. Confirmation is the moment when a young person becomes an adult, in the eyes of the Church, and chooses to follow the way of Jesus as their own spiritual path.

Pat told me that, when the bishop laid hands on his head and prayed for the Holy Spirit to enlighten him, he felt unworthy of undergoing this ritual because he didn’t think he had studied as hard as he should have during his time of preparation. There were questions to which he still had no answers and commitments that he still did not understand. He felt that the bishop must be making some kind of mistake in confirming him, so God would surely intervene and stop the ritual from taking place.

But that is not what happened. Instead, the bishop laid hands on Pat’s head and prayed the traditional prayer:

“Defend, O Lord, this thy Child with thy heavenly grace; that he may continue thine for ever; and daily increase in thy Holy Spirit more and more, until he come unto thy everlasting kingdom.”

What Pat experienced, in that moment, was an unconditional love, which transcended his lack of understanding and sense of unworthiness, yet fully accepted and embraced him anyway. His young mind was unable to fully comprehend this love, so he persisted in his belief that there had been some kind of mistake.

Pat’s doubt and felt sense of unworthiness propelled him into a lifelong journey of spiritual searching and reflection. He spent time in churches and monasteries. He prayed fervently and read books. In time, he decided that what he was learning should propel him into action to make this world a better place, so he marched, worked, and organized to help those who were less fortunate than himself. He loved his family and friends, his wife, sons, stepchildren, and grandchildren, to the best of his ability. As many of us know, he was far from perfect, but his life was driven by a passion to experience and express the depth and breadth of divine love.

I believe that God answered the bishop’s prayer at Pat’s confirmation. When I look at his life, I see a man who was richly defended with heavenly grace, daily increasing more and more in the Holy Spirit. Pat expected to be “driven away” at confirmation because of his unworthiness, but instead he found a Lord and Savior who said to him: “Anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.”

Pat’s favorite theologian, Paul Tillich, wrote extensively about this unconditional love. He says:

You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted!

As his chaplain and pastor for many years, it was my honor to reflect this observation back to Pat before he died, just as it is my very great honor to celebrate his life with all of you today. I pray that, today, in this gathering of remembrance and thanksgiving, each and every one of you would know and feel yourselves to be loved and accepted by the same love that took hold of Pat’s mind and heart.

It does not depend on your faith, understanding, or worthiness to be effective. This love is real, whether you believe in it or not. It is yours, whether you want it or not. This love holds you close to God’s heart with a gentle power that is stronger than the force of gravity, which holds the galaxies together. Whoever you are, whatever you’ve done, and however you believe today, you are loved with a love that will not let you go.

The only thing this love asks in return is that we complete the circuit by loving one another with that same unconditional love.

In memory of Pat, and in the light of this love that embraces us all, I pray that you will love one another today and remember always that you are loved by a love that says, “Anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.”

Love in the Past Tense: Grief Without Shame

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Sermon, Uncategorized1 Comment

Sermon for the Feast of All Saints.

The text is John 11:32-44. Click here to read it.

Here is the video of the entire service. The sermon starts at 32:23.

“Jesus began to weep.”

John 11:35

This brief verse, John 11:35, rendered even more concisely in other translations as, “Jesus wept,” is well-known as the shortest verse in our Bible. For that reason, it was a favorite among students at the Christian high school I attended, where our teachers required us to memorize a Bible verse each week.

As a teenager, I liked this verse because it was short, but today, in my middle age, I have found other reasons to love it. I continue to love John 11:35 (“Jesus wept”) because it puts the grief of our fully divine and fully human Lord and Savior on full display and, thereby, it gives us mere mortals permission to grieve, when we feel the need to do so.

Grief is a tricky subject. We pragmatic Americans tend to think of grief as a problem and grieving as an emotional symptom of said problem. When we operate under this misconception, we try to solve the “problem” of grief by making the “bad feelings” go away. This is why so many well-intentioned friends tend to offer so many problematic platitudes like:

  • They’re in a better place;
  • Everything happens for a reason;
  • Heaven needed another angel;
  • God has a plan;
  • It’s not up to us to question the will of the Almighty;
  • Maybe God is trying to teach you a lesson.

If you’ve ever found yourself in a state of grief, and heard this kind of pseudo-theological drivel spat at you by well-intentioned believers, then you too know just how unhelpful such slogans can be. These kinds of “bumper sticker theology” serve to comfort the minds of the bystanders more than the hearts of the bereaved.

Through my years of service as a hospice chaplain, I have come to realize that the beliefs that “grief is a problem to be solved” and “grieving is a feeling” are fundamental errors. Grief is not a problem; it is a process, and grieving is not a feeling; it is a skill. And frankly, speaking as a fellow pragmatic American, grieving is a skill at which we tend to be very, VERY bad.

If we were to look for a culture that is more skilled at the art of grief than our own, I think we need look no further than the Jewish culture of our Lord Jesus. Jewish culture tends to understand the process of grief better than our own. Our Jewish neighbors have, over the course of several millennia, developed a practical approach to mourning that guides people through the process of grief in a systematic way.

During the first stage of grief, between the death of a loved one and their funeral, Jews recognize that people are in an initial state of shock. The bereaved are exempted from performing many of the commandments of the Torah while they process the loss of their loved one. For the first week after the funeral, they are said to be “sitting shiva,” where they are not expected to go to work, leave the house, or even prepare meals. During this time, friends will visit the family to bring food, sit with them, tell stories, and say prayers. Gradually, after this week of sitting shiva, family members will begin to reintegrate into society. There are certain limitations placed on their activity for the first month and the first year after their loss. After that first year, life has more-or-less returned to normal, but they still pause once a year to remember their loved one on the yahrtzeit, the anniversary of their death. Jewish culture understands, better than American culture, that grief is a process and grieving is a skill that must be taught and can be learned.

In today’s gospel reading, we get to see an example of Jesus sitting shiva with his close friends, Mary and Martha, after the death of their brother Lazarus. What’s amazing about this passage is how Jesus meets each of the sisters where they are, according to their distinct personalities. Both sisters begin their conversation with Jesus in the exact same words:

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

John 11:32

And then, with Martha, the more practical and intellectual of the two, Jesus engages in a theological discussion about resurrection; with Mary, the more emotional and contemplative sister, Jesus says nothing, but simply weeps.

Though we know, from the rest of the gospel story, that Jesus is about to miraculously raise Lazarus from the dead, that knowledge does not stop Jesus from being fully present with these bereaved sisters in their grief. Jesus knows what he is about to do, but he still takes time to meet people where they are.

The most beautiful thing about the Christian faith is our belief that God, in Christ, has entered fully into the human experience, including our experience of grief and death. Divine omnipotence does not create a stoic barrier between us and our feelings, but allows us to enter into them more fully. Real faith enables us to skillfully navigate the troubled waters of grief, charting a steady course between the way things are and the way they ought to be.

When I, as a hospice chaplain, am invited to the bedside of one who has recently died, I notice how often the bereaved family members feel ashamed of their grief. While I stand silently by, they sometimes say to me, “I’m sorry for crying; I know they’re in a better place and I should have more faith, but I just miss them so much!”

Those are the moments when I, as their chaplain, will break my silence by referring to the very Bible verse that inspired this sermon. I say to them, if they are Christian, “When Jesus visited the grave of his friend Lazarus, the Bible very clearly tells us that ‘Jesus wept.’ If it’s okay for Jesus Christ himself to weep at the death of a loved one, then it’s okay for you to do it too.”

As further evidence for my position on this matter, I would cite St. Paul the Apostle, in his first letter to the Thessalonians, chapter 4, verse 13:

“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.”

1 Thessalonians 4:13

St. Paul does not say, “so that you may not grieve;” he says, “so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.” Grief is a very good and natural part of human life, even for the life of a Christian. Grief, as I like to say, is simply “love in the past tense.” Others have said that grief is just “love with no place to go.” Grief is not a sin. Grief is not a problem to be solved. Grief is a normal process, which we all must go through. Grief is a natural consequence of love, which our Lord Jesus commands us to do.

Kindred in Christ, I want you to hear today that there is no shame in grief; it is simply “love in the past tense.” If you feel sad because you are working through the process of grief, I want you to know that Christ is with you in your grief and this shortest verse of the Bible, “Jesus wept,” is spoken for you this day.

The grief that you experience might be for a loved one who has died; it might also be because of the loss of a job or the end of a relationship. Your grief might be part of coming out of the closet, because you yourself or someone you love is not the person you thought they were. The grief you experience might even be because of something good, like getting married, having a baby, graduating from school, or retiring from a career after many years of faithful service. All of these events are good things, but each of them also involves the end of a previous identity and way of life.

Whatever the source of your grief is today, I want you to know that it is healthy, normal, and good. Jesus Christ does not stand in judgment over you for your grief, but kneels down in the dirt and weeps with you for your loss.

I pray that you will take this mental image with you into your experience of grief. I pray that it will give you the grace to go easy on yourself while you are going through the process of grief. I pray further that your self-acceptance, and your faith in Christ’s acceptance, will give you the wisdom to have mercy on others who are going through their own process of grief.

Through it all, may the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, our Lord. And may the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be amongst us and remain with us always.

Amen.

Reviewing The Divine Office Hymnal

On By J. Barrett LeeIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

I’m taking a deep dive into my church nerdery today. More specifically, I’m diving deep into a particular subset of church nerdery to which I am obsessively devoted: The Divine Office (a.k.a. The Daily Office or The Liturgy of the Hours).

The Divine Office Hymnal arrived in today’s mail. It is part of the Roman Catholic Church’s ongoing update to their Liturgy of the Hours in English. Promulgated by the USCCB in 2022 and published by GIA in 2023.

The hardcover is simple and elegant; the binding is solid.

On the inside, there are sparse illustrations that are lovely and do not interfere with the flow of the music. I particularly like the one on the title page.

The contents include a calendar of saints (Roman), hymns for all major seasons and saints, including a 2-week cycle for Ordinary Time. There are separate indices for metrical and plainsong tunes, as well as English and Latin first lines, which is helpful.

The hymns included are the traditional Office hymns, each offered with a metrical melody (odd numbers) and a plainsong melody (even numbers). I like this much more than the hymn offerings in the previous American edition of the LOTH. The musical layout is easy to read and follow. Text size is good. All music is in modern 5-line notation, rather than Gregorian neumes. This will be a turnoff for some, but I personally don’t mind. The English translations are decent and probably more accurate than Newman’s more familiar translations, they fit the meter well, but don’t often rhyme.

In form and style, this hymnal bears the most resemblance to the now out-of-print Lumen Christi Hymnal, but is greatly expanded. Included in this version are hymns for the Office of Readings and the Little Hours, which were lacking in Lumen Christi. An English Te Deum is included for the Office of Readings, but the translation is different from the ICEL one I am familiar with from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer.

What I would have liked to see, which aren’t in The Divine Office Hymnal, are settings for the Marian Antiphons after Compline. These are readily available in other resources, like The Parish Book of Chant, so their omission here is only a minor problem.

All in all, it looks like GIA has done a good job of putting together a very useful resource for USCCB’s long-awaited update of the Liturgy of the Hours. Since it contains only hymns, it will also be quite useful for Christians in other denominations, like me (Episcopal), who also pray the Daily Office.

The price is also very reasonable, at $25 (before S&H).

I give The Divine Office Hymnal a thumbs-up and would recommend it.

Moments of Clarity

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the Feast of Pentecost

Click here to read the biblical text.

This morning, as we celebrate the Feast of Pentecost, we heard a story from the book of Acts where the Holy Spirit descends upon the gathered community of Jesus’ disciples after his resurrection and ascension. The majority of sermons on this passage focus on the first part of the story, where the really interesting and dramatic depiction of the Spirit’s arrival takes place. But I want to focus our attention this morning on the much-neglected second half of the story, where St. Peter stands up and interprets what is happening to the people around him.

The events of that day were confusing, to say the least. There were reports of inexplicable wind and fire. People were suddenly able to speak fluently in previously unknown languages. The crowd didn’t know what to make of it. The most rational explanation was to dismiss the pandemonium as a whole lot of drunken nonsense.

But that’s when Peter got up and began to offer some perspective about what was going on. Like any good Christian, he begins by setting these seemingly random events in the context of Scripture. Citing a passage from the book of Joel, Peter showed the crowd how it had always been part of God’s plan to “pour out [the] Spirit upon all flesh”: male and female, young and old, slave and free. We are, all of us together, the temple of the Holy Spirit.

What Peter does here is tie together current events, recent history, and the biblical text with the cord of the Spirit. He showed them how everything that was happening around them was not in fact a series of random events, but the unfolding of the divine plan in history.

Peter’s explanation of current events in the context of the biblical story is a perfect illustration of the term prophecy.

Words like prophet and prophecy have been misinterpreted and misunderstood in Christian history. For many people, prophecy has become a kind of fortune-telling about the imminent end of the world. Popular authors scour the book of Revelation for clues about when and how Christ will return to earth. When many people think of prophets, they conjure up images of mysterious, occult figures like Nostradamus, who claim to have special, insider information about the end of days.

It will come as no surprise to most of you that I think these so-called “prophecies” are absolute and total nonsense. The historic Churchwholeheartedly affirms, in the text of our creeds, our belief in the second coming of Christ, the final judgment, and the resurrection of the dead, but we decline to speculate about the details of when or how those events will happen.

When the disciples asked Jesus himself about these things, he responded in no uncertain terms, “About that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” If Christ himself doesn’t know when or how it will happen, I think the rest of us can absolve ourselves of the responsibility for figuring it out.

So then, prophecy, in the biblical sense, has nothing to do with predicting the end of the world. To the contrary, it has everything to do with interpreting the present.

Peter interpreted current events to the people from a spiritual perspective. He brought clarity to their confusion and reality to their delusion. This is the work of prophecy in the world. It is a gift of the Spirit that continues to this day. Here is one example:

I have a close friend in Canada who lives with Schizophrenia. Several years ago, when he suffered his first major psychotic break, he was in pretty bad shape. In a delusional state, he walked several miles on foot from the town where he lived to the nearest major city.

Once there, he was tired and bored and wished he had something to read. Reaching into his pocket, he found a pamphlet of Christian literature. As he looked over it, he thought to himself, “This is what I need!” So, right there in the middle of the street, in downtown traffic as the horns of frustrated commuters surrounded him, he knelt down and prayed.

And as he prayed, something remarkable happened: he had a moment of clarity. He realized that something was wrong in his brain and he should go home and get help. So, he turned around and walked the many miles back to his house. When he got there, his mother was worried sick. The police had arrived and were trying to locate him. My friend walked through the front door and said to them, “Hi. I am a danger to myself and others. I need help. You should take me to the hospital.”

Today, I’m happy to report that my friend went to the hospital, stayed there, and got the help he needed. Today, he continues to lead a meaningful life with the help of medication and therapy. And beautiful thing is how it all began with this brief moment of clarity in the middle of downtown traffic.

This personal story is just one example of the many ways in which the Holy Spirit continues the ministry of prophecy in the Church today.

It also continues in the Church’s ministry of Word and Sacrament. Every Sunday, before we read from the Scriptures, the priest recites a short prayer called a Collect. This prayer (the Collect of the Day) highlights the theme of the readings or the liturgical season. One of my favorite Collects from the Book of Common Prayer is the one for Proper 28, which we recite each November:

Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Book of Common Prayer, p. 236

We pause to pray before reading the Scriptures each Sunday because we depend on the Holy Spirit’s insight in order to properly understand them. 

Episcopalians call the Holy Scriptures the Word of God, not because we think the Bible is an infallible source of historical facts, but because we believe that

“God inspired their human authors and because God still speaks to us through the Bible.”

The Book of Common Prayer, p. 853

In a similar way, the Spirit’s ministry of prophecy continues in the Church through the Sacrament of the Eucharist. In the Great Thanksgiving, the prayer we say before receiving Communion, the priest recalls the saving deeds of Christ and tells again the story of the Last Supper. She then calls upon the Holy Spirit to descend upon us and upon the physical elements of bread and wine, so that our celebration of this meal might be a Communionin the Body and Blood of Christ. 

We do not believe the Eucharist to be a mere memorial of past events. We believe Christ is really, truly, and spiritually present in this Sacrament, therefore we need the Holy Spirit to open the eyes of our hearts, so that we can receive his Body and Blood by faith as we partake of the physical elements of bread and wine.

Of course, the Scriptures and the Eucharist areby no means the only ways that the Spirit continues to work in the Church. I could keep going about Baptism, Confirmation, Ordination, Reconciliation, Matrimony, and Anointing. All of these are ways that the Holy Spirit continues to work in the life of the Church, but we would be here all day if I went into detail about each of them.

The Holy Spirit works in our lives outside church as well. I already spoke about my friend’s “moment of clarity” in the midst of a psychotic break. Many others, especially those who are in recovery from addictions, can tellabout similar moments when they decided it was time to get clean and sober. Most of them describe this moment as pure grace: that clarity came to them, not from them. They say it felt like something (or someone) was speaking to them, but without words. Not all of them are ready to believe that it was “God” who spoke to them, but you can visit any Twelve Step recovery meeting in this town and find people there who say, “We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” I, personally, have no trouble affirming that this too is the work of the Holy Spirit in people’s lives.

The Holy Spirit is all around us and within us, continuing the ministry of prophecy today: gifting us with moments of clarity in the midst of our confusion. The Spirit is at work today in the priest celebrating at the altar and is also at work in the alcoholic struggling for one more day of sobriety (and sometimes, the Spirit works both of those things at the same time, in the same person). The Spirit is at work today in the friendly usher who joyfully greets worshipers on their way into church and is also at work in the sceptic who barely scraped together enough faith to make it to church this morning (and sometimes, the Spirit works both of those things at the same time, in the same person).

The Spirit is at work today, confronting us with moments of clarity and leading us to let go of our delusions. The Spirit is at work today, inviting us to follow where Jesus leads and to trust that our life (as individuals, the Church, and the world) is not a series of random events, but the unfolding story of God’s love for us.

Whoever you are, and wherever you are on life’s journey, know this: the Spirit is at work in you today. Trust this and remember that you are loved.

In the Eye of the Hurricane

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the Seventh Sunday of Easter, Year B

John 17:6-19

“Sometimes God calms the storm. And sometimes God lets the storm rage and calms his child.”

Bishop Gene Robinson

I first heard these words from one of my personal heroes: the Rt. Rev. Gene Robinson, who made headlines in 2003 as the first openly gay man to be consecrated as a bishop in The Episcopal Church.

In the wake of his election and the ensuing controversy, Bishop Robinson was made the object of numerous injustices: he was smeared with slanderous lies and even received death threats. On the night of his ordination, Bishop Robinson had to wear a bullet-proof vest underneath his liturgical vestments because he had just received an anonymous letter that contained a photograph of himself with his husband and a message that read, “I have a bullet for both of your heads when you least expect it.”

When I think back on those events, I imagine Jesus saying to Bishop Robinson what he said to his disciples, warning them about the coming persecution: 

“[People] will put you out of [their houses of worship]. Indeed, an hour is coming when those who kill you will think that by doing sothey are offering worship to God. And they will do this because they have not known the Father or me.”

John 16:2-3

In all of this, I don’t think anyone would have blamed Bishop Robinson if he had started to become a little bitter or resentful inside. After all, he had done nothing to these persecutors except exist, embrace the way God made him, and follow God’s call on his life as a bishop. For these three things, it seemed, he was being tossed into the raging winds of a hurricane.

But the amazing thing is that he wasn’t bitter at all. I had the privilege of meeting Bishop Robinson, hearing him speak, and communicating with him by letter. In all of that, I never saw the slightest trace of bitterness or rancor in him. He has this incredible heart that is full of hope and kindness, even for the ones who persecute him. He writes, 

“Christians are hopeful by nature – not because we have any special confidence in the desire of human beings to do the right thing, but because of our confidence in God to keep prodding, inspiring, and calling us until we do it.”

Bishop Gene Robinson

While the storms of persecution were still swirling around him, Bishop Robinson was given two pertinent gifts. The first was a satellite photograph of a hurricane, a massive raging storm with a deep blue spot of stillness at the center. The second was a piece of calligraphy with the following quote: “Sometimes God calms the storm. And sometimes God lets the storm rage and calms his child.”

Bishop Robinson has come to see himself in that still, blue spot of calm, but not by his own power:

“…the fact of the matter is that I cannot live in the eye of the storm on my own. I can’t get myself there or keep myself there. Only God can bring me to that place of peace and sustain me there. Only God can calm and soothe me when hatred and vitriol come my way. Only God can persuade me not to step into the powerful winds swirling about me; when I do, only God can keep me from being swept away by their destructive power.”

Bishop Gene Robinson

This power that Bishop Robinson describes, the power of God to calm his child while the storm rages on, to keep us in the eye of the hurricane come what may, is what Jesus prays for his disciples in today’s gospel reading.

In this passage, Jesus is praying for his followers on the night was arrested.

It seems that Jesus knew (or at least had a very strong hunch about) what was going to happen to him at the hands of the authorities. He also had enough insight to see that this persecution wouldn’t end with him: his disciples would endure it as well.

There is something about Jesus that puts those who follow him perpetually at odds with society’s status quo. Jesus said, in his prayer to his Father, “I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world.”

Jesus knows that we will be hated, just as he was hated by the world. Once Jesus opens the eyes of our hearts, we simply cannot be at home with “the way things are” anymore. Quite simply, we “do not belong to the world,” as Jesus said. That hurricane of hatred that came for Jesus on Good Friday is sure to come for each one of us as well. We don’t belong here anymore.

So what, then? What’s the next step? Do we hole up and wait for Jesus to “beam us up” to heaven where these worldly problems can’t bother us anymore? Many Christians have certainly taken that route: they sing, “This world is not my home, I’m just a-passin’ through”, sit around on their “blessed assurance”, and dream of the day when “I’ll fly away” to a home up in the sky.

But that’s not what Jesus prays for his disciples in this passage. In fact, he prays the exact opposite: “I am not asking you to take them out of the world”. Jesus is very specific that “flying away to heaven” is the one thing he is not praying for.

What he does pray is that we would be “protected” in the midst of the storm. The world’s hatred will swirl all around us (as it did to Jesus), but we are anchored to a rock that is much stronger than the winds of that storm.

Our Christian faith does not provide us with a way of escaping that conflict, but with a way of getting through it. Faith is what gives us the courage to stare into the face of the storm and say, “I’m not afraid of you.”

The Church is not afraid of life’s storms because we, her members, know that we do not face them alone. Jesus revealed as much to us when he prayed, “Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

Now, this is one of my favorite things that Jesus ever said. He says so much with so few words in that little phrase: “that they may be one, as we are one.” It would be too easy to breeze by these words quickly and move on to the next sentence, but I want us to stop and really listen to what Jesus is saying: “that they may be one, as we are one.”

Let’s break it down: Jesus is praying that we would be “one”. In polite society, we often think Jesus is saying “that we should get along/be nice”. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not what Jesus said. The “oneness” about which he speaks is much deeper. 

Jesus prays that we, his disciples, would be unified at a level that transcends human consciousness and understanding. He wants us to be so unified that, when one of us is pricked, the rest will bleed because we are one.

This oneness has its roots, not in an ideology or an ethnicity, but in something much deeper. Jesus prays. “that they may be one, as we are one.”

He is, of course, referring to his relationship with his heavenly Father. For Christians, the connection between God and Christ is so deep and powerful that it forms the foundation upon which the entire universe is built. This divine oneness is the central fact of reality; everything else exists because of it. That’s what Jesus means when he says, “as we are one”, and he prays that the members of his Church would be bound together with that very same metaphysical unity.

It’s no wonder then that St. Paul would write about this unity in his letter to the Galatians:

“…in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

Galatians 3:26-28

As members of the Church, we express this unity each week as we gather in prayer to share our common joys and concerns. When one of us has reason to give thanks to God, we all give thanks to God. When one of us lifts a voice to God in pain, we all lift our voices. In prayer, we call upon that deep, divine oneness to work healing in our lives as individuals, as the Church, and as a society.

This prayer of faith puts us in touch with the deeper reality that Jesus talked about. We find in it the strength to stay calm through life’s storms without turning bitter or seeking escape. We are not alone in the storm, for we have each other, and through each other, we experience that deep, unifying mystery of Christ “which binds everything together in perfect harmony.”

Jesus Left His Heart In San Francisco

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Easter.

Click here to read the biblical text.

Audio recording available. Listen if you want to hear me sing:

I left my heart in San Francisco,
high on a hill, it calls to me:
To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars.
The morning fog may chill the air, I don’t care.
My love waits there, in San Francisco,
above the blue and windy sea.
When I come home to you, San Francisco,
your golden sun will shine for me.

Tony Bennett

Isn’t that a great song? Tony Bennett really knows how to make mefeel homesick (and I’m not even from San Francisco!).

Personally, the place on Earth that captured my heart in that way are the Blue Ridge Mountains in western North Carolina. Those ancient hills feel like old friends to me. They are tall enough to be humbling and gentle enough to be inviting. From the Beacon Heights summit, you can see for ten miles or more on a clear day, the landscape looking like a wrinkled blanket that stretches off to infinity. If I was to write this song, I would have to sing, “I left my heart on Grandfather Mountain.”

The beauty of this song is that Tony’s love for San Francisco makes you long for a place/person where you left your heart, even though your body has taken you far away. I want you to remember that feeling, as we turn to look at today’s gospel, because that’s what Jesus is talking about when he says, “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”

When we hear these words, we tend to think that Jesus is talking exclusively about his death on the cross. We hear “lays down his life” as the language of sacrifice, in the same way that a firefighter might “lay down her life” in the line of duty while saving people from a burning building. To be sure, this understanding is partially correct. Jesus’ death is a very important part of “laying down his life,” but it’s also much more than that.

In Greek, the word that the author of John’s gospel uses here for “lays down” is Tithemi, which literally means, “to put, place, set or establish.” Likewise, the Greek word for “life” used here is Psuche, which means “soul, as the seat of affections and will.” Psuche shares the same root as English words like, “Psyche” and “Psychology,” which have to do with the mind. So, if we were to re-translate the Greek words of John 10:11, we could say, “The good shepherd places his soul upon the sheep,” or, to borrow a phrase from Mr. Tony Bennett, “The good shepherd left his heart with the sheep.” The only difference is that Tony left his heart in San Francisco, but for Jesus, “San Francisco” isyou.

The people on Earth today who are best able to understand what this is like are parents. Good parents “leave their hearts” with their children on a daily basis. Essayist Elizabeth Stone wrote so profoundly about what this is like. She says,

“Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

Elizabeth Stone

Of course, parents are by no means the only people who understand this. Those who have given themselves fully to a place, person, cause, or vocation can understand what it feels like “to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

In fact, human beings aren’t even the only creatures in the universe that do this. Here is another neat example: When you look up at the Sun (while wearing protective lenses, of course), you can see a giant ball of hydrogen undergoing the process of nuclear fusion. Every second of every day, our Sun fuses approximately 700 million tons of hydrogen into 696 million tons of helium. The reason for that slight difference in mass, according to my physicist friend, is that a tiny amount of matter in each atom is converted into energy through nuclear fusion. When you add that up to the size of the Sun, which is about a million times as big as the Earth, you realize that the Sun is converting its own body into starlight at a rate of 4 million tons per second.

This light energy, as we know, then takes eight minutes to travel 93 million miles to Earth, where it hits the leaves of plants and drives the process of photosynthesis. Through the food chain, that energy is continually recycled around the planet as the fuel for life itself. The Sun is literally giving its heart to us at a rate of 4 million tons per second, all day, every day. We humans have no way of paying the Sun back for this gift of life, so we pay it forward instead. The best way to give thanks for this gift of life is to dedicate ourselves to the flourishing of all life on Earth. 

It is the same with Jesus, “the Good Shepherd” who “lays down his life for the sheep.” When we understand “lays down his life” as “places his soul” or “leaves his heart,” we can understand that Jesus was not only “laying down his life” for us on the cross, but in everything he ever said or did. In his teaching, healing, welcoming, forgiving, challenging, and calling, Jesus was continually “giving his heart” to the people around him. He asks for nothing in return. We can never “pay back” the gift of love that Jesus gave, so Jesus simply asks us to “pay it forward” instead. 

Jesus asks us to love one another in the same way that he loves us. Our calling, as followers of the Good Shepherd, is to “place our souls” with one another in the same way that the Good Shepherd has “placed his soul” with us. We are not to be like “the hired hands,” who run away from tough situations because there’s nothing in it for us. Instead, we are to give ourselves fully to the task of nurturing life on Earth.

So, I ask you this morning to consider: Where do you “place your soul?” What is that person, place, or cause to which you dedicate yourself so fully that you are willing to stake your life on it? How do you “pay forward” the gift of life that has been so freely given to you? What service do you render to the family, church, community, and causes where you “give your heart?” 

Answer this question for yourself, and you will be fulfilling the commandment of Jesus, who said,

“Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

Matthew 25:40

Jesus does not need our worship any more than the Sun needs our gratitude for the gift of light. All he asks of us is that we continue to “pay it forward” by loving one another as he loves us.

There Is More To Faith Than Having It

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the 3rd Sunday of Easter.

The text is Luke 24:36b-48

There is more to faith than having it.

When we talk about “having faith” we tend to talk about it like it’s an object, as if faith was a thing that we can possess in the same way that I “have a car” or “have a house.” But faith is not an object to be had. Faith is a process. It’s something we do.

I would like to look at this idea of faith as a process through the lens of today’s Gospel reading.

Today’s reading tells the story of Jesus’ biggest resurrection appearance to his disciples, up to this point, in Luke’s gospel. Previously, the women had been to the empty tomb and talked to the young man robed in white. Later on, two disciples on the road to Emmaus had walked and talked with a stranger all day without realizing who he was. And then, when they sat down to rest at the end of their day’s journey, the stranger broke the bread, blessed it, and gave it to them. And suddenly their eyes were opened, and they realized it had been Jesus with them all along. So, these stories were floating around, and the disciples didn’t really know what to make of them.

But then, all of a sudden, Jesus is standing there, in the midst of them, while they’re trying to figure it all out. And he says, “Peace be with you.”

Next, the text says, “They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost.”

In other words, they were afraid. This corresponds to the first phase of spiritual development: A time that we all go through as kids. One of the big concerns during that time is safety. Kids can’t really protect or provide for themselves, so they frequently live in a state of fear. Jesus here meets the disciples in the midst of their fear. What he offers them is his presence and reassurance.

Jesus says, “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”

Those of us who are parents or grandparents have probably experienced a kid waking up in the middle of the night saying, “I had a bad dream.” They come and crawl into bed with us, and we put our arms around them and say, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s all right. It was just a bad dream.” We are comforting them and calming their fears.

In this first stage of spiritual development, people (especially kids) are looking to simply be comforted. They need to know that we, the grown-ups in their lives, are there for them when they need us. Our job, when it comes to their spiritual lives, is simply to be with them and Tell the Story of our faith.

It would not make much sense if I, when teaching a first-grade Sunday school class, were to say, “All right now children: I want you to take this doctoral dissertation home and come back with a 10-page paper next week!” That’s not the level where our kids are at. When teaching Sunday school to kids, we’re just trying to tell the stories.

For example, in the story of Easter, we tell them how the stone was rolled away and Jesus rose from the dead. We tell them these stories again and again because the stories are how they’re getting exposed to the content of our faith. Later, when they get a little older, there comes a phase, usually around the time when they become teenagers and young adults, when they start to ask questions. If their parents and church family have faithfully given them love and reassurance, they will hopefully know that church is a safe place to explore those questions. This is what we see Jesus doing next with the disciples.

The text says, “While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering.”

There’s a lot of very understandable skepticism happening here. That’s why Jesus says to them, “‘Have you anything here to eat?’ They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.”

In the midst of their doubt, Jesus is giving them the freedom to explore the questions and examine the evidence. In the same way, our young people are going to ask us some pretty tough questions as they explore their faith and make it their own. They’re going to get us thinking about our own spiritual path in ways that we maybe haven’t before. That’s one of the gifts that God gives to our younger people: To keep us on our toes, so that we don’t get too complacent!

I would call this second stage “Exploring the tough questions.” Let’s go back to that example of the story of the resurrection:

In the first stage of spiritual development, we just told the story. Now, as we come into what scholars call “critical awareness,” we start to examine the evidence for the resurrection and find that it’s kind of ambiguous. We ask, on the one hand, “Do dead people come back to life?” Well, in terms of our own personal experience, most of us would have to say, “No.” So, the story of Easter raises a tough question: “How is this possible?” Our lived experience creates doubt about the story of the resurrection.

On the other hand, historians have uncovered some interesting pieces of evidence that actually point in favor of the resurrection.

First and foremost, historians know that there were several Messianic movements within Judaism, around the time of Jesus. Lots of people showed up claiming to be the Messiah, most often leading some kind of armed revolution. All of these movements, once their leader was either captured or killed, either fizzled out, dispersed, and ceased to be a thing. But that didn’t happen with Christianity. Something happened that kept us together as a movement: some kind of experience that made Christianity different from all these other Messianic movements. The unanimous report of the early Christians is that they kept going and stayed together because Jesus had risen from the dead.

Another interesting bit of evidence is the day on which we worship. Their experience of the resurrection caused the early Christians to shift their primary day of worship from Saturday, the Sabbath, to Sunday, the first day of the week. The day on which they claimed Jesus had risen. And this switch had already been established by the time the New Testament was written.

I like the fact that the evidence for the resurrection is ambiguous. It doesn’t prove or disprove anything. Therefore, we always have to make a leap of faith.

So then, the first stage of spiritual development is all about “Telling the story.” The second stage is about “Exploring the tough questions.” Both of these are critical stages of spiritual growth. We need to go through them, but it’s also important that we not get stuck in them. If we only ever tell the story, and never ask the tough questions, then we fall victim to fanaticism, denying any evidence that challenges our preconceived notions. On the other hand, if we move into asking the tough questions, but never move past that, we can get just as stuck in the stage of skepticism.

We’re left with a ditch on one side of the road and another ditch on the far side. Is there a third way, through the middle of the road? I think there is.

Let’s return to the gospel the story: The next thing the text tells us is that Jesus “opened their minds to understand the scriptures.” Something else needed to happen, some sort of “opening of the mind” into spiritual awareness.

I think this corresponds quite nicely to the difference between truth and fact. Facts can be verified or falsified. But some things can be true without being factual.

A great example is in the story of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. Romeo stands outside Juliet’s house and says, “What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!”

Now, do you think Romeo is trying to say that his girlfriend is a ball of hydrogen undergoing nuclear fusion? That would make no sense. He’s not making a factual statement; he’s speaking truthfully, saying, “The one I love is beautiful, like a sunrise.” If you have ever been in love, you’ve probably felt something similar. Personally, I think my wife’s got a smile like sunshine. I might be biased, but that doesn’t make me wrong! It is a true statement.

That’s the difference between truth and facts. That is what emerges as the gospel says, “Jesus opened their minds to understand the scriptures.” And that’s also what happens as we continue to move forward in our process of spiritual development. We go from telling the story, to asking tough questions, to seeing the truth that is deeper than the facts. I like to call this stage, “Embracing the mystery.”

By embracing the mystery, we acknowledge that there aren’t cut and dry answers to all of our questions. But, at the same time, our questions don’t invalidate our faith. We can hold onto our doubts and hold onto the beauty of the stories themselves, as we retell and re-hear them from a new perspective.

The beauty that comes out of this process is that we can hold two truths together at once. In the Episcopal Church, we do this in almost every aspect of our theology. We have multiple interpretations of our beliefs, some of which disagree with each other.

Let’s return again to the story of the resurrection: We’ve already told the story, explored the tough questions, and examined the evidence. As we embrace the mystery, we find that there are some among us who affirm, in no uncertain terms, that there was indeed an empty tomb on that first Easter Sunday. There are others who might say, “Well, I don’t know if there was an empty tomb or not, but maybe it’s a metaphor for the circle of life? As winter gives way to spring, it’s as if the whole earth is springing to life again. It’s a kind of resurrection.” Others might interpret the story of death and resurrection as a metaphor for our spiritual lives: We die to our selfish way of living and rise to a more God-centered or reality-centered way of living.

All of these different interpretations, if we’re embracing the mystery of the resurrection, can be true in their own way. There are faithful Episcopalians, and Christians of every denomination, who hold on to each of these interpretations. I think it’s really cool that we make room for all of them in this church.

A great example of this diversity of interpretations is The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions, a book written by Dr. Marcus J. Borg and Bishop N.T. Wright. Both are accomplished biblical scholars. Bishop Wright affirms the more traditional understanding of the resurrection, that there really was an empty tomb on Easter Sunday. Dr. Borg understands the resurrection as a metaphor, but with a deeply spiritual meaning. They’ve written this book together to present their different perspectives in dialogue with each other, as faithful Christians, fellow Anglicans, brilliant scholars, and good friends. (If anyone is looking for future options for the parish book club, The Meaning of Jesus by Wright and Borg would be a really good one.)

Here in the Anglican theological tradition, we see our theology as a dialogue between scripture, tradition, and reason. We see faith, not as something we have, but as a process.

What we see in this morning’s gospel is that Jesus loves his disciples through every stage of this process. He does not berate them or threaten them. He calms their fears, explores the questions, and opens their minds.

As it was with them, so it is with all of us. Wherever you find yourself in this process of faith, whether you’re telling the story, asking the tough questions, or embracing the mystery, I invite you to accept the fact of where you are today. Furthermore, I invite you to accept yourself. Finally, I invite you to accept that you are accepted, just the way you are, and exactly where you are in this journey. Just as Jesus was with his disciples, Jesus is also with you.

Wherever you are in your process of spiritual development: Keep going! Keep telling the story. Keep asking those tough questions. Keep embracing the mystery. The process never ends! And remember: Jesus is with you, loving you all the way.

Amen.