Tag: God

Pardon Our Dust

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Sermon, Uncategorized1 Comment

Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost.

Click here for the biblical readings.

If you’ve been at the church building at all for the past couple of weeks, you’ve probably noticed that things have been a little different: You can see the scaffolding and the workers walking around on top of it. You can hear the sound of hammers and machinery. I’ve received multiple phone calls from people asking where to park or which entrance to use. There is no getting around the fact that this roof restoration process has been disruptive to our normal routines, as a church.

And yet… it’s absolutely necessary. Our building is more than just a lovely addition to the downtown historic district; this building is a tool that God has lent our church, so that we can do the work of ministry: Loving and serving our Coldwater neighbors in the name of Christ. Restoring the roof is practicing good stewardship over that which we have borrowed from God, just like we might take extra good care of a car or a book that we had borrowed from a friend.

Nevertheless, the process of caretaking has been especially disruptive to our normal routines for these past few weeks…

People tend to not like disruption in their daily routines. It’s inconvenient (we are creatures of habit, after all). It gets in the way of our plans (although, as they used to say, “If you want to give God a good laugh, tell him your plans”).

Disruption can come to our lives in many forms: the loss of a job, the breakup of a relationship, accidents, illness, or death. Sometimes, it’s even a happy occasion, like getting married, having a baby, graduation, or retirement. It’s good stuff, but it’s still disruptive to our regular routines.

As creatures of habit, we tend to see disruption as a problem and peace as a solution, but Jesus (in today’s gospel, at least) seems to see it the opposite way.

Jesus asks his disciples, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?” And then, he answers his own question, “No, I tell you, but rather division!”

Now, this is where we might say, if we were present at this conversation, “Now wait just a minute, Jesus! Aren’t you supposed to be the Prince of Peace? At Christmastime, aren’t we supposed to say, ‘Peace on Earth and goodwill to all’?”

And Jesus would respond, “Yes, but what exactly do you mean by ‘Peace’?”

Peace is a good thing, but it is often misunderstood by those who would rather settle for normalcy than challenge the status quo. We sometimes try to “keep the peace” by avoiding uncomfortable conversations, inconvenient truths, and important decisions. That kind of “peace” is no peace at all, according to Jesus. That kind of (so-called) peace is toxic.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said that peace, “is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice.” Justice, as Dr. King meant it, is fair and harmonious relationships between people. It has less to do with punishment and more to do with what St. Paul meant by the word “righteousness” in his epistle to the Romans. Peace, as Jesus meant it, is what happens when people address old patterns of behavior, become aware of unconscious habits of thinking, and seek to make amends for the mistakes of the past. Peace upends our lives and refuses to leave us as it found us. Peace asks something of us. Peace, as Jesus Christ intends it, is disruptive.

That’s why Jesus says, in today’s gospel, that he has not “come to bring peace to the earth… but rather division.” Jesus disrupts our false illusions of peace in order to bring us closer to true peace, which can be found in right relationships between God, our neighbors, and ourselves. Sometimes, disruption is necessary in order to bring us into the good life that God intends for us.

Here’s the thing I want us to carry away from this sermon today:

When Jesus stirs up the dust in our lives, it’s not to tear us down; it’s to make us stronger, so we can join him in building something even better.

The mess in our lives, just like the mess in our church building this week, is not a sign of failure; it is a sign of God at work.

I have found this principle to be true in my own life:

When I was a kid, my Uncle Hutch was a spiritual leader in our family. He was a United States Army chaplain who served in the first Gulf War and later as a commercial chaplain for truck drivers in South Carolina. He is a very tall, wise, and kind-hearted man who I have always looked up to, both literally and figuratively.

Whenever we would gather at his house for Thanksgiving dinner, Uncle Hutch would lead the prayer. Whenever someone in the family was getting married, Uncle Hutch would officiate the service. Whenever one of us needed spiritual counsel, we would call Uncle Hutch.

In recent years, Uncle Hutch’s health has begun to decline. Now in his eighties, his spirit is stronger than ever, but his physical body is showing the inevitable signs of age. As this has happened, without anyone making an official proclamation, I have noticed the family roles that were previously assigned to Uncle Hutch now gradually falling to me.

I have to admit that this prospect is daunting. First of all, I am keenly aware that my personal views on various matters differ somewhat from those of my family. Lastly, and far more significantly, how could I possibly fill the shoes of a man of God that I have admired since the day I was born?

The task seems impossible to me.

When I called my Aunt Faith to ask permission to share this story today, she told me that none of us can ever “fill the shoes” of another person. The best we can do is to “follow in their footsteps” in our own particular way, even if our way differs somewhat from the way in which the original person would walk it.

The shift in family roles has certainly been disruptive, to say the least, but I must also admit that it has led to some of the most deep and honest conversations with my family that I have ever had. Whenever significant events happen, good or bad, I have become the one that my family members call to seek comfort and advice. I still don’t feel up to the challenge, but I try my best to meet it to the best of my limited ability. I can only trust God’s Holy Spirit to fill in the blanks where my personal wisdom is most definitely lacking.

It is in moments like these that I ask the age-old question, “What would Jesus do,” or, secondarily, “What would Uncle Hutch do,” to respond to the problems that are presented to me.

The shift in family roles has most definitely been disruptive to my felt sense of peace, but I can also see how it has been part of God’s work in the life of my family.

Kindred in Christ, I put it to you today that the disruptions in our lives are not problems, but the very solutions that we have been seeking to the questions that beset us. The God we believe in, revealed through the person of Jesus Christ, is a God who asks tough questions and leads us through the desert of conflict, in order to bring us to the true peace that consists of right relationship between God, our neighbors, and ourselves.

Let us not shy away from tough questions and gravitate toward easy answers, but sit in the tension that leads to “the peace that passeth all understanding.” Let us hang upon our hearts a sign that says, “Pardon our dust” while we wait in the confidence that God is not done with us yet, but is still working to bring us to the fullness of peace in Christ Jesus our Lord.

As a tangible sign of our faith in God’s work in our lives, I would like to invite to the front of the church Mr. Mike Woodhouse, manager of Sheriff Goslin Roofing Company, and any members of his crew who are present with us today.

These people have been hard at work on the roof of this historic building. I would like to introduce them to you so that you can thank them and join me in a special blessing over their work, as well as a prayer for their safety while they lovingly restore the roof of this building.

Let us pray.

Loving God, you have gifted these workers with the skill and the will to work for the restoration of this church building, which you have lent to us for the purpose of continuing the work of Jesus Christ on this Earth, by loving you with our whole heart, soul, mind, and strength, and loving our neighbors as ourselves. In Christ’s most holy Name, we bless the labors of these workers and pray for their safety from dangers seen and unseen, that the goodness they create with their hands may be matched by the sincerity of our hearts. We ask these things and bless these workers in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Kindred in Christ, these workers are a symbol to us of the good work that God is doing in each of our lives. May each and every one of us come to acknowledge this work and bless the disruptions, not as a problem to be solved, but as the means through which God is bringing each of us, in our own time, to the fullness of peace that can be found in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

The Scandalous Gospel of Grace (Rooted & Rising, Week 3 of 4)

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Sermon, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Sermon for the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 12, Year C)

Service BulletinDownload

A man walks into his doctor’s office and says, “Doc, I’ve got a terrible, piercing headache that just won’t go away. Can you help me?”

The doctor says, “Sure. Let me ask a few questions, just to get a medical history. Do you smoke?”

“No way,” the man says, “That’s a disgusting habit!”

“Ok,” says the doctor, “How many drinks of alcohol would you say you have in a week?”

“Zero,” the man says, “I’m a teetotaler, always have been!”

“Ok,” says the doctor, “Do you eat a lot of junk food?”

“None,” the man says, “Fresh vegetables are all I eat.”

“Ok,” says the doctor, “Do you watch a lot of TV?”

“No sir,” the man says, “The only thing I do for entertainment is sit at home and read my Bible.”

“Ok,” says the doctor, “I think I see the problem here. My prescription for you is a large pizza, a good movie, and Extra Strength Tylenol because, if I was as uptight as you are, my head would hurt too!”

I borrowed this story from songwriter Rich Mullins, who borrowed it from author Brennan Manning.

In one of his more famous books, Brennan wrote:

 “The trouble with our ideals is that if we live up to all of them, we become impossible to live with.”

Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel, p. 74

Many people have never heard of Brennan Manning. He’s one of those spiritual authors who has a very niche market. He’s not an academic scholar. He’s a little too “Jesusy” for liberal and secular types, but he’s also too broad-minded for conservative and religious types. In short, Brennan Manning’s writing has something to offend everyone. If I were to sum up Brennan’s writing in a single phrase, it would be: “The Scandalous Gospel of Grace.” And scandalous it most certainly is…

Brennan got his start in ministry as a Roman Catholic priest. After several years, he burned out and sought treatment for alcoholism. In sobriety, he left the priesthood and got married. For the rest of his life, he traveled, wrote, and spoke about the unconditional love of God for sinners and “ragamuffins,” as he liked to call them.

I first encountered Brennan’s writing in college, when I was at the peak of my own religious zealotry. If you asked those who knew me, they would tell you that I was “on fire for Jesus.” But if you asked one of the few people who knew me well, they could tell you that I was a young man who struggled to believe in the gospel that he preached. I gave lip-service to belief in a loving God, but secretly worried that this same God was gleefully waiting to punish me for every sinful thought, word, and deed, no matter how small. It was during this time of my life that I first read the books of Brennan Manning.

At first, I scoffed at what he had to say, but I also couldn’t bring myself to throw his books away. I read them again and again, sensing that there was something important for me to hear in these words, but not knowing what it was. As it turns out, what I needed to hear was the kind of truth that could only be spoken by someone who had been knocked flat on his butt by failure, and could only be heard by someone else who had also been knocked flat on his butt by failure.

Today is not the day when I will get into the details of my particular story, but stay tuned: I’m sure you’ll hear it eventually. The reason why I’m telling you this much today is to emphasize the fact that this is not a story about me or Brennan Manning, but a story about the scandalous grace of God. The truth that Brennan Manning preached is the scandalous truth that each and every one of us is loved and accepted unconditionally, regardless of whether or not we deserve it.

To those who have not experienced abject failure, the scandalous gospel of grace sounds like a bunch of hippy-dippy, flower-child, peace and love crap. But to those who have reached the end of their rope, those whose “cheese is sliding off their cracker,” as Brennan used to say, the scandalous gospel of grace is the final lifeline between broken people and the bottomless pit of despair.

Don’t just take my word for it; ask any recovering alcoholic or addict. There are several of these saints living among us today. If you don’t want to do that, just ask St. Paul and his followers, who wrote the epistle reading we heard this morning.

Today is the third in our four-week sermon series on the New Testament book of Colossians. In the first week, we looked at the opening of the letter, where the author, writing in Paul’s name, gives thanks for the ways in which the virtues of faith, hope, and love counter the forces of cynicism, fear, and indifference. Last week, we talked about Christ as the invisible network that connects us all. Today, we are getting into the nitty-gritty of life in the real world, where we are constantly bombarded by messages that we are not good enough. These lying messages tell us that we had better get on-board with their program, which promises success and happiness, so long as we follow the author’s instructions to the letter.

What I love most about today’s reading from Colossians is how it calls out those false promises for the malarkey that they are.

Colossians says, “See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ.”

What the author was talking about in this verse was two opposing controversies that were plaguing the Church at Colossae in the time when this letter was written. On one side was a group of very traditional religious people who said, “Jesus was Jewish, and all his apostles were Jewish, therefore any non-Jewish converts to Christianity must first convert to Judaism and follow the laws of the Torah.” On the other side were the non-Jewish converts to Christianity, who were influenced by the teachings of the Greek philosopher Plato, who said that salvation from corrupt physical existence comes from learning the secret knowledge of the spiritual realm, which is diametrically opposed to the realm of physical existence.

The people of the Church in Colossae wanted the author of this epistle to settle the argument and tell them which side was right. As it turns out, the correct answer was: “Neither.” Neither side was right in the culture war that afflicted the Colossian Christians.

The truth of Christ was based, not on the pious observance of traditionally religious people, nor on the esoteric philosophy of educated people, but on the unconditional love of Jesus, which reaches all people who call out from the depths of despair.

Colossians says, “Do not let anyone disqualify you,” and I really like that. Do not let anyone disqualify you, not the liberal philosophers, not the conservative clergy, not even yourself. Do not let anyone disqualify you, because you have already been qualified by the scandalous grace of God, who has welcomed everyone in the embrace of unconditional love.

At the beginning of this reading, the author of Colossians says, “As you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”

Pay special attention to the first and last words of that sentence: “As you have received,” and, “abounding in thanksgiving.”

The key word in the first part is, “received.” Note that it specifically does not say, “achieved.” An achievement is something we earn by effort, like an academic diploma. By contrast, a gift is something that we receive, like a Christmas present. The proper response to a free gift is gratitude, which is why the sentence ends, “abounding in thanksgiving.”

There is nothing that we Christians did to earn our salvation, therefore there is nothing we can do to lose it. Our only role is to receive it with thanksgiving. As the Protestant reformers are so fond of saying, we are “saved by grace alone.” Our faith and our works are nothing but a grateful response to the amazing grace that has been so lavishly bestowed upon us by God.

In a way, every single one of us is an “illegal immigrant” in the kingdom of God, insofar as we have been brought into God’s good graces “outside of the law,” by the unconditional love of Jesus Christ, who proved his love for us “while we were still sinners” by dying for us, as the Scriptures say in Romans 5:8.

Kindred in Christ, we are saved by grace, not because of our spiritual knowledge or religious observance, but because each and every one of us is loved, unconditionally, by the God who made us. God’s love transcends every category that divides us, whether that be race, gender identity, ethnicity, nationality, sexual orientation, political affiliation, economic status, or religion. God’s grace is universal.

You are loved. Full stop. No addendum. No provisos. No “quid pro quo.”

You are loved. This is the scandalous gospel of grace. There is nothing you did to earn God’s grace, therefore there is nothing you can do to lose it.

God loves you. This is the foundational truth of the Christian religion, and it is the ditch in which I am willing to die. If you have a problem with that, take it up with God, not me.

Amen.

Jesus & the Wood Wide Web (Rooted & Rising Series, Week 2 of 4)

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 11, Year C)

Rooted & Rising series, Week 2

he proper 11 c 2025Download

In 1919, just after the end of the first World War, the Irish poet W.B. Yeats penned the following lines:

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world…
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.”

W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming

Yeats was lamenting the spirit of his own time, when crowns, creeds, and customs seemed to be drowning in the rising tide of modern advancement. Yeats expressed concern about what new thing would rise to take the place of traditional social values. As it turned out, his concern was justified.

The years following the composition of this poem saw the rise of Communism in Russia, where the Soviets overthrew one iron-fisted regime, only to replace it with another that was just as oppressive. In Germany and Italy, fascist dictators seized power and manipulated their citizens into committing unspeakable acts of genocide. Even W.B. Yeats himself flirted with similar authoritarian movements in his own native Ireland.

When things seem to be falling apart, it is only natural to want to grab onto some source of comfort that promises to maintain a sense of normalcy. The temptation to watch out for in such moments is the temptation to force solutions through the exercise of raw power.

Strongmen take that opportunity to exert their will over the people by scapegoating those who dissent or differ from familiar norms. They claim that, by electing their party to office, impeaching the president, deporting immigrants, and somehow stopping people from being gay or trans, they can lead the country back into some imaginary golden age that never really existed.

The Stalinist purges of Soviet Russia and the book burnings of Nazi Germany have this faith in common. Hitler came to power by promising to protect Germany from the threat of Communism. Stalin came to power by claiming to save Russia from Fascism. This should tell us that the problem is not “right vs. left” and the solution will not be some kind of Satanic compromise between Hitler and Stalin. The problem is much deeper and simpler than that.

What these dangerous ideologies have in common is a shared faith in the power of power itself. They both claim that the solution to the problem of social disintegration is more control over people. The epistle to the Colossians disagrees with that conclusion.

Today’s epistle reading forms the theological core of the book of Colossians. Biblical scholars sometimes refer to this passage as “The Hymn of the Cosmic Christ.” In this passage, the author is talking about Jesus, but not the carpenter from Nazareth who started a grassroots movement on the back roads of Galilee. The Jesus that this passage talks about is Jesus as the early Church began to see him in the years after his death. In the eyes of these first Christians, Jesus was more than just a man who started a movement; he was an icon of the meaning of life itself.

The text says:

“[Jesus Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers, all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”

Colossians 1:15-17

The Jesuit priest and paleontologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, one of my personal heroes, takes this passage very seriously. He says that Christ, when looked at through the lens of faith, is the Ground, Guide, and Goal of the entire universe. In the New Testament book of Revelation, the Cosmic Christ says, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end” (Revelation 21:6). Therefore, the solution to the problem of disintegration is not an increase of control, but an increase of connection. This flies in the face of every partisan ideology that human beings have thus far conceived. In continuity with the historical Jesus of Nazareth, the Cosmic Christ says that the answer is not to “get rid of those people,” but to “love your neighbor as yourself.”

So, I’ll say it again: the solution is not more control, but more connection.

To illustrate this solution, I’d like to take you into the forest, beneath the apparently separate existence of individual trees. Underneath the surface, scientists have discovered something that stretches between the root systems of these individual trees. It’s called the mycelium.

The mycelium is a vast communication network of fungus that connects the trees to one another. Through it, trees are able to share information and resources with one another. Older trees send nutrients to younger trees through the mycelium. Trees infected by parasites send warnings to their neighbors about the infection. What’s even more amazing is that this network is even able to send messages between trees of different species. For this reason, scientists have begun referring to the mycelium as the “Wood Wide Web.”

If you go walking in the forest today, you probably won’t be able to see it with your eyes. It lives beneath the surface of the ground. The most you might be able to see is the fruit of the Wood Wide Web, which takes the form of mushrooms, but these are not the web itself; they are but the fruit of it.

In the same way, humans cannot directly see the Cosmic Christ “in whom all things hold together,” but we can see the fruit of the Spirit, which is “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Galatians 5:22-23). Millennia before the invention of computers, these moral principles kept human beings connected to each other around the world. It’s amazing to realize that modern technology is still trying to catch up to what the Holy Spirit revealed centuries ago.

The Cosmic Christ has always existed. Today’s epistle reading calls the Christ, “the firstborn of all creation,” that existed, “before all things.” Spiritual author Richard Rohr writes, “Christ is not Jesus’ last name.” He describes “Christ” as “another name for every thing.”

Christianity is not the first or the only spiritual tradition to recognize this all-pervasive presence in the universe. Greek philosophers talked about the Logos as the organizing principle of the cosmos (in fact, that’s where we get the word logic from). Similarly, Chinese philosophers spoke of the Tao as the un-nameable flow of nature. Hindus and Buddhists refer to this mystery as Dharma. For our Jewish neighbors, the Torah is not just the first books of the Hebrew Bible, but the divine Teaching that has been woven into the very fabric of creation.

Logos, Tao, Dharma, Torah, Christ. One song, with different lyrics, but the same music.

For Christians, the ineffable mystery of the Cosmic Christ is revealed through the historical Jesus of Nazareth and the traditions that rose up around him. Most notably, we encounter the presence of Christ in the Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist. In this mystery, the fruits of the Earth, which have been shaped by human labor into bread and wine, are received by the priest, consecrated as the Body and Blood of Christ, and then given back to the people, who receive the Body of Christ into their own bodies. It’s like the dieticians are always fond of telling us: “You are what you eat!” In this case, you are the Body of Christ.

The grace of this Sacrament has profound implications for how we are to live our common life, as members of the Body of Christ in this fragmented world, where things so often fall apart. To us is given the faith that “all things hold together” in Christ, not by the force of human will, but by the grace of God’s all-inclusive love.

When you, the members of the Church, come down the center aisle to receive Communion each Sunday, I know the particular struggles that many of you bring with you. Most of the time, they are questions to which I don’t know the answer and problems to which I don’t have the solution, but I choose to believe that the moment I look you in the eye and place the Body of Christ into your hand is an important starting point, from which we can begin to form those answers and solutions together.

W.B. Yeats wrote, “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold,” but we, the members of Christ’s Body, dare to defy Mr. Yeats by proclaiming that the center does hold. The center holds, not by forcing control, but by receiving Communion with God and each other. We need not rely on the empty promises of self-proclaimed saviors of any political party because the truth is that we already have a Savior who has promised to give us all things necessary as we “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:33).

Kindred in Christ, our Communion is our connection. Beginning with the Sacrament, it extends outward to small and large acts of mutual aid between ourselves and our neighbors.

The offer of free childcare to a single mother, the ride to the doctor for a cancer patient, the quick phone call to check in with an elderly shut-in, and the shoulder to cry on for a grieving widow are all powerful acts of love that have the power to change the world. Not all at once, but slowly and surely.

These things don’t make for good television or headlines. They won’t win elections or solve the big problems of the world, but they still matter. They matter in the eyes of God. And I know, for a fact, that they also matter in the eyes of those for whom you care.

Last week, I made reference to the words of Samwise Gamgee from the Lord of the Rings films, based on the books by J.R.R. Tolkien. Today, I would like to do the same thing again, quoting this time from the wizard Gandalf. Once again, this line comes from the movies, but does not actually appear in the books.

Gandalf says, “Some believe it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. It is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.”

Friends, I invite you to go out into the world this week, looking not for self-proclaimed saviors from the right or the left, who promise in vain to exert their control over the world and hold it together by force, but looking for the already-present Christ, in whom everything holds together by the gentle power of love.

As Christians, we do not place our faith in the empty promises of any politician, party, or platform; we accept Jesus Christ as our only Lord and Savior, and it is to Christ that we will be faithful unto death and beyond.

Amen.

From Cynic to Samwise (Rooted & Rising Series, Week 1 of 4)

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the fifth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 10, Year C)

Click here for the service BulletinDownload

Back in the 1990s, we used to have a famous TV show called Seinfeld. On that show, there was a character named George Costanza, played by Jason Alexander. If you’ve never seen the show, all you need to know is that George was a miserable and selfish little man.

One day, during a child’s birthday party, George noticed that a small fire had broken out in the kitchen. Rather than reach for a fire extinguisher, George screamed at the top of his lungs, “Fire! There’s a fire!” Naturally, the whole room of kids erupted into chaos at that moment. And George, rather than calmly directing people to the nearest exit, proceeded to shove the kids to the ground and step over them as he ran out of the apartment.

Later, when the parents of those children confronted George about his selfish behavior, George proceeded to defend his actions and twist the facts, claiming that he was not a coward, but a hero and a leader. George was cynical, fearful, and completely indifferent to the needs of other people.

After his pathetic attempt at self-justification, a firefighter stepped up and asked George, “How do you live with yourself?”

George replied, “It ain’t easy.”

If you’ve seen the show, or even if you only know George through the story I’ve just told, you’re probably shaking your head in disgust right now. But the truth is that there is a little bit of George Costanza in each of us. In the very least, I am absolutely sure there is in me.

When I turn on the daily news, I often feel terrified at what this world is becoming. In a vain attempt at self-protection, I take up the shield of sarcasm and fasten the breastplate of cynicism over my heart. And then, when I am thoroughly suited up, I turn a blind eye and an apathetic heart to the suffering of those around me. I pretend that, if I can’t feel it, it isn’t real.

Fear, cynicism, and indifference claim to be the defenders of human life, but in reality, are the enemies of the human spirit. Thankfully, there is a better way to defend both our lives and our souls from the onslaught of danger that the world sends our way.

Scientists have recently discovered that biological evolution is far less random and competitive than they previously thought. To be sure, random mutation and competition still play a role, but they are not the only factors that matter. As it turns out, evolution seems to be moving in a direction: toward greater and greater complexity of life. Single-celled bacteria gave rise to multi-cellular organisms. These multi-cellular organisms formed complex ecosystems and organized societies, which leads to the second stunning realization: That cooperation is at least as important to the progress of life as competition. We previously thought that evolution was only about “survival of the fittest,” but it turns out that it is also about “survival of the friendliest.” A single Neanderthal hunter cannot bring down a wooly mammoth by himself, but a cooperative hunting party can! It’s like they say: Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day; teach a man to fish and he’ll eat for a lifetime; teach a community to fish and everybody eats! We can do more together than any of us can separately.

This is not just a biological fact; it’s also a biblical truth.

Today’s epistle reading, from the New Testament book of Colossians, shows us how to counter the negativity of cynicism, fear, and indifference with the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love.

To begin with, we need to look at the context in which the book of Colossians was written. The author claims to be St. Paul the Apostle, but was probably just a student of his, writing in his name. This was a common practice in the ancient world.

In today’s world, we would call that forgery, but the ancient Greco-Roman world called it respect. It was common for a student to write in their teacher’s name as a way of saying, “Anything I know, I owe to my teachers, so I give all credit to them.” The great Greek philosopher Plato did the very same thing in relation to his teacher, Socrates. Modern historians have a hard time distinguishing between the sayings of Socrates and the sayings of Plato because the student wanted to give all honor and respect to the teacher who taught him everything he knows. It’s a beautiful sentiment, but one that also creates problems for modern historians who value accuracy over honor. Unfortunately, the ancient world does not play by modern rules, so we have to work with what we have. The author of the epistle to the Colossians was probably a student of St. Paul who loved their teacher very much and wanted to preserve his legacy for future generations.

The letter itself was probably written sometime after the year 80 CE, about 20 years after St. Paul is thought to have died. St. Paul himself wrote as if he was expecting Jesus to return and the world to end sometime before next Tuesday, so he didn’t bother too much with setting up sustainable systems of church government that could last for several generations. The author of Colossians, on the other hand, writes as if they expect to be here on this earth for a while, so they’d better figure out a way to live that is consistent with their Christian values, but also realistic for the world they have to live in.

It’s kind of like those times when you’re going out to dinner with your kids, and they want to bring their iPad into the restaurant, but you know that you’re about to be seated, so you tell them to leave it in the car. But then, after you check in with the greeter, you learn that there is a thirty-minute wait to be seated, so you begin to consider letting the kids get their iPads from the car. That’s what the author of Colossians is thinking about.

Thankfully, the author of Colossians is wise and knows how to compromise with reality without sacrificing the core ideals of their faith. They don’t start by complaining about what’s wrong, but by pointing to what’s right.

The author, writing in Paul’s name, says, “In our prayers for you we always thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, for we have heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and of the love that you have for all the saints, because of the hope laid up for you in heaven.”

The author starts with thanksgiving for what is already there. Namely: faith, hope, and love. These three moral values are the antitheses of cynicism, fear, and indifference. Taken together, they form the polar opposite of everything that George Costanza stands for in Seinfeld. The author is not trying to instill these values in the Colossians, but giving thanks that they are already present.

What the author does pray for is an increase in wisdom, patience, and joy for the Colossians, so that they might remain faithful to what they already believe to be true.

Throughout this passage, the author repeatedly returns to the agricultural image of “bearing fruit.” They envision the spiritual life as a tree that is both rooted in love and rising to bear the fruit of love in the world.

Over the next three weeks, we are going to stick with this agricultural metaphor of being “Rooted and Rising in Love,” as we explore the epistle to the Colossians and consider what these ancient writings might mean for us today.

For now, I would like to invite you to consider the negative example of George Costanza from Seinfeld, as a person who is consumed by cynicism, fear, and indifference and acts accordingly in relation to his fellow creatures in the world.

On the other hand, I would also like to invite you to consider the positive example of another fictional character from literature: Samwise Gamgee from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. Samwise, or Sam (as he is known to his friends), is the exact opposite of George Costanza in many ways. You need not have read The Lord of the Rings novels or seen the movies to understand what Sam is like. Unlike George Costanza, Sam is not concerned with his own self-preservation, but wants only to support his friend, Frodo the Ring Bearer. When his friend is in danger, Sam rises to protect him. When his friend is hurting, Sam rises to comfort him. When his friend falters in the task that has been given to him, Sam rises to carry him toward its completion.

In all things, Sam is Rooted and Rising in Love. He embodies the wisdom, patience, and joy that the author of Colossians prays for in the readers of this epistle.

In the film version of The Lord of the Rings, Frodo declares, “I can’t do this, Sam,”

And Sam then says to his friend:

“I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened. But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something… That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.”

Kindred in Christ, that’s the message that the author of Colossians means for us to hear today. Over the next few weeks, we will unpack that message in greater detail.

Until then, I want to encourage you to hold on to these words from Samwise Gamgee. Hold onto them when you read the news headlines and are tempted to give in to the demons of cynicism, fear, and despair. Hold onto them in those moments when George Costanza seems wiser than Sam Gamgee. Hold onto them because the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ trumps the sinful despair of this world.

Hold onto what the author of Colossians knew, what Sam Gamgee knew, and what you know to be true. Don’t be deceived by the lies of this world, which is passing away. Hold onto the truth that is eternal, the truth that holds you in the strong arms of love itself. Hold onto the truth of Jesus in the midst of the lies of this world, so that you too might be “rooted and rising in love.” Hold onto it because it is already holding onto you with a love that will not let you go.

Amen.

You Are Loved, Now Act Like It!

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Sermon2 Comments

Sermon for the fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 9, Year C)

Click here to read the biblical texts.

When I was in the seventh grade, I used to get picked on a lot. And I mean a lot. It was a hard time for me. Like many teenagers, I was lanky, awkward, and definitely didn’t have much in the way of social skills. Eventually, things got so bad that the vice principal of my school sat down with my parents and gently suggested that I take karate lessons for self-defense.

So I did. I signed up for a local dojo, and it turned out to be a great experience. I got active, I made a few friends, and I really liked my teacher: Shihan Jessie Bowen. He was a fifth-degree black belt and the founder of the school. On the dojo wall was a picture of him shaking hands with action movie star Chuck Norris. For a twelve-year-old boy, that’s about as cool as it gets!

I, on the other hand, was very much not Chuck Norris. I was barely good enough to show up to beginner-level sparring class. So you can imagine how much anxiety I felt when, one night at the end of class, Shihan Bowen called me up to fight him—one-on-one—in front of the entire group.

It was a five-point sparring match. We danced around each other. He threw a kick; I dodged. I lunged; he parried. Somehow, by sheer grace or fate or dumb luck, I managed to land the final point. I had beaten Shihan Bowen—Grand Master and founder of the school—by one point!

I couldn’t believe it. For the first time in my life, I felt powerful. I was used to being the one getting pushed around in hallways. But now, something I did made an impact on the world around me. I wasn’t invisible. I wasn’t powerless. I was victorious.

It wasn’t until almost fifteen years later that the truth of the situation finally dawned on me: Shihan Bowen was a grown man—a martial arts master. I was a twelve-year-old novice. Obviously: He let me win.

But here’s the thing: it still mattered. That moment changed something inside me. I stood a little taller after that match. I walked a little differently in the world. For the first time, I had tasted what empowerment felt like. And even though it was a gift, it was a gift that stayed with me.

Shihan Jessie Bowen
Image Source: LinkedIn.com

This week’s gospel reading from Luke is all about that kind of empowerment. Jesus sends out seventy of his followers in pairs—no supplies, no money, no backup plan—just each other and a blessing of peace. He tells them to cure the sick, cast out demons, and proclaim the nearness of God’s kingdom.

This isn’t the first time Jesus does this. Back in the previous chapter of Luke’s gospel, he sent out twelve disciples with a similar mission. But here, the number is bigger. And in Scripture, numbers always mean something. The number twelve symbolized the twelve tribes of Israel—Jesus sending out the Twelve was like saying, “This mission I’m on? It’s not just about me. It’s for all of God’s chosen people.”

The number seventy, on the other hand, is the number of nations named in Genesis, chapter 10. In the ancient Jewish imagination, it represented the whole world. So when Jesus sends out the Seventy, it’s not just an expansion in logistics—it’s a cosmic statement: “This isn’t just about me, and it’s not just for Israel. It’s for everyone. Every nation. Every people. Every one of you.”

This is Jesus deputizing the Body of Christ.

He empowers them. Just like Shihan Bowen empowered me. They go out, they do the things he told them to do, and they come back ecstatic, saying, “Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name!”

You can almost hear the excitement: “We did it! We really did it! It worked!”

But then Jesus does something surprising. He doesn’t throw a party. He doesn’t say, “Great job, team!” Instead, he says, “Do not rejoice in this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

It’s kind of a buzzkill, isn’t it? It’s like scoring the winning goal and having your coach say, “That’s fine, but it’s not the point.”

But actually—it’s a beautiful moment of truth. By saying, “Your names are written in heaven,” Jesus is reminding them, and us, that their worth does not lie in their victories or their usefulness. Their worth lies in their belovedness.

Jesus is saying, “Do not rejoice in what you can do for God. Rejoice in who you are in God.”

That’s the heart of the gospel. Everything else flows from that.

You see, we live in a world that constantly tells us our value depends on what we accomplish. Your job title, your productivity, your bank account, your social media following—those are the metrics that define worth in our culture.

But the gospel tells us otherwise.

You are not the sum of your successes. On the other hand: You are also not the sum of your failures. You are not defined by the worst thing you’ve ever done. You are not your resume. You are not your criminal record. You are a beloved child of God, cleverly disguised as an accountant, or a teacher, or a retiree, or a sleep-deprived parent, or a seventh grader in a sparring match.

Your name is already written in heaven. That’s not just a metaphor for some far-off afterlife. It’s a present-tense truth about your identity right now.

What you can do flows out naturally from who you are. Empowerment comes from belonging. Jesus doesn’t say, “Go do this so that God will love you.” He says, “You are already loved. Now go act like it.”

Your identity—the deep, unshakeable truth that you are loved—is what empowers you to go out into the world and do the work of healing, reconciling, casting out the demons of hatred and despair, proclaiming peace, and planting flags of hope in a broken world.

In psychological terms, we might call this “self-efficacy”—the belief that you can take meaningful action, that your choices matter, that you are not powerless in the face of overwhelming odds.

That belief doesn’t just come from inside your head. It comes from the heart of God. You are internally anchored and outwardly faithful. Your power comes from your belovedness.

That’s why this passage ends not with fireworks but with a steady, grounding reminder. It’s not about demons submitting. It’s about walking through the world knowing your name is already written in love.

And from that place, you go.

You go to meet whatever lies ahead—not because you have to prove your worth, but because you carry it with you.

In 1955, a seamstress named Rosa Parks decided not to give up her seat on a segregated bus. A young pastor—only 26 at the time—named Martin Luther King Jr. joined the cause. Together, they sparked the Montgomery Bus Boycott, one of the early fires in the movement for civil rights.

At the end of that long protest, someone asked an elderly woman if she was tired after walking instead of riding the bus for over a year. She famously said, “My feets is tired, but my soul is rested.”

That’s what it looks like to be loved and to act like it. Tired feet. Rested soul. Internally anchored. Outwardly faithful.

Not everyone is called to make history. But all of us are called to make peace. To bear one another’s burdens. To plant a flag of love in our corner of the world.

So where is Jesus sending you?

You might not be called to march in Montgomery or cast out demons on command. But there is still injustice to confront. Still healing to offer. Still Good News to proclaim.

You might be called to speak peace in a family dispute.
To walk gently with someone in grief.
To show up for someone who thinks they don’t matter.
To bring your quiet presence to a place aching for hope.
To speak your “yes” or your “no” with courage and clarity.

And maybe most of all: to believe again that your life matters, and that your presence, however small it seems, makes a difference in the unfolding of the kingdom of God.

You don’t have to be dramatic. You don’t have to win.

You just have to show up.

Show up with your name written in heaven. Show up with nothing but love in your pocket. Show up knowing that even when the demons don’t flee and the healing doesn’t come, even when the sermon flops and the email goes unanswered, you are still loved.

That’s your true power.
That’s your unshakeable dignity.
That’s how you make a difference in the world.

One act of faithful presence at a time.

Amen.

Is Ketchup a Smoothie? A Sermon on (Not) Understanding the Holy Trinity

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for Trinity Sunday

Service Bulletin:

sermon and liturgy trinity c 2025Download

There are several different kinds of knowledge.

First, there’s book smarts, like knowing that tomatoes are a fruit and not a vegetable.

Then there’s practical wisdom, like knowing that it’s not a good idea to put tomatoes in a fruit salad.

And then there’s philosophy, like wondering whether that means ketchup is technically a smoothie.

Today, we’re going to be talking about that third kind.

Today, we celebrate Trinity Sunday, conventionally known in the Episcopal Church as “associate rector appreciation Sunday” because this is the week that senior rector’s most often take as their vacation. They would much rather leave the explanation of complicated and abstract concepts to those younger clergy who have more up-to-date seminary training. Since we don’t have an associate rector in our parish, and I failed to accurately calculate the week of my vacation, this enviable task has now fallen to me.

So, instead of building up to a conclusion, I’m going to cut straight to the chase. Here’s the main thing I’m going to say about the mystery of the Trinity:

If you think you understand the mystery of the Trinity, you do not understand the mystery of the Trinity; if you do not understand the mystery of the Trinity, you understand the mystery of the Trinity.

Got it? Good. Amen. Let’s all get out of here before the Methodists get the good lunch tables at the diner.

Of course, the problem is that this little riddle leaves us right back where we started, so we end up going around and around until our heads fall off… and that’s the point of the whole thing.

The mystery of the Holy Trinity is the primary Christian concept of God. According to the historical documents of the Anglican theological tradition, “we worship one God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity, neither confounding the Persons, nor diving the Substance” (The Creed of St. Athanasius, BCP 864). The three Persons of the Godhead are “of one substance, power, and eternity” (Articles of Religion, BCP 867). Don’t worry, I can hear all of you mentally checking out, as we speak.

This is why I started with my main statement: If you think you understand it, you don’t understand it; if you don’t understand it, you understand it. It’s like wondering whether ketchup is a smoothie. The question itself supposed to break your brain, not to break it down, but to break it open and leave you slack-jawed in awestruck wonder at the unknowable mystery of ultimate reality.

The doctrine of the Trinity is not explicitly outlined in the Bible. It gradually came together, over the course of several centuries, as the greatest minds of the early Church contemplated their experience of God. Beginning with the monotheism of the Jewish tradition, the earliest followers of Jesus realized that they were, in some way that they couldn’t understand, experiencing the very presence of the God of their ancestors through this individual human being. How was that even possible? They had no idea; they just experienced it to be true. And then, just as mysterious, they continued to experience this Jesus as a living presence in the midst of their community after his death. How was that even possible? They had no idea; they just experienced it to be true. Their knowing had neither the categorical certainty of book smarts nor the effectiveness of practical wisdom. Their knowing was a knowledge of the heart: more like falling in love than solving a math problem. As the philosopher Blaise Pascal famously said, “The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.”

After almost three hundred years of contemplation, the bishops of the early Church finally settled on the mystery of the Trinity as their non-answer to a question that, by its very nature, can never be answered. Whenever some innovative theologian claimed to have solved the mystery, the bishops of the Church were quick to stand up and pronounce that answer as a heresy, not because they thought that they had a monopoly on the truth, but because they believed that the main thing is to keep the question open.

If you think you understand the Trinity, you do not understand the Trinity; if you do not understand the Trinity, you understand the Trinity.

I love this central commitment of our faith tradition. We don’t claim to have the answers to ultimate questions. We sit in awestruck wonder before the mystery of reality. This is why I like to say that I couldn’t be a Christian, if I wasn’t also an agnostic.

The ultimate unknowability of the mystery of God affords Christians a certain playfulness, when it comes to expressing that mystery in various ways. The language of our tradition tends to default to language that is very personal, very masculine, and very hierarchical. Most of our prayers use words like “Father” and “Lord” to describe the mystery of God, but the witness of our sacred Scriptures point to a wide array of metaphors for expressing our faith in God.

In addition to the exclusively masculine language of Father, the Bible also describes God as a “Mother” (Isaiah 66:3). In addition to the hierarchical language of Lord, the Bible also describes God as a “Servant” (Luke 22:27). In addition to the numerous personal metaphors for God, the Bible also describes God as a “Mighty Rock” (Psalm 62:7), “Living Water” (John 7:38), “Rushing Wind” (Acts 2:2), and “Consuming Fire” (Hebrews 12:29). As I mentioned in a previous sermon, Jesus even compares himself to a chicken in Matthew 23:37.

Therefore, kindred in Christ, since the Bible itself gives us such a wide array of metaphors for the Divine, and since the bishops of the early Church were so doggedly committed to keeping open the question of God’s unknowable nature, we too ought to remain open to exploring a wide variety of metaphors for God.

God is with us always and in all things. Therefore, let us also look for her, for him, for them, for it, always and in all things. How is God like a cloud or a tree? How is God like a chair or a bookshelf?

Jesus, in his parables, often pointed to agricultural metaphors that were common to the everyday experience of ordinary people, when describing the realm of the divine. For Jesus, the realm of the divine was like a woman baking bread (Matthew 13:33), like crops growing in a field (Mark 4:26-29), like a merchant trading in the marketplace (Matthew 13:45-46), like a small seed growing into a great tree (Matthew 13:31-32). This is not an exhaustive list, by any means.

I want to encourage you today to be playful in the many ways that you imagine God to be present in your life. The language we use about God matters, not because we have to be careful to get it right, but because we cannot get it wrong. Everything is potentially a symbol of God, yet nothing fully encapsulates the mystery. Whenever we try to put God in a box, whether that box is Pope-shaped, Bible-shaped, Church-shaped, man-shaped, or colored white, we commit the sin of idolatry and close ourselves off to the great mystery of the divine.

God is with us always, and in all things, therefore let us keep open the question of what God truly is. Let each of us remain humble in our own conceptions of God and tolerant of the expressions of others. As brothers, sisters, and siblings, let us stand side-by-side, following the example of the Bible and the early Church, and maintain a posture of awestruck wonder before the divine mystery that is beyond our understanding.

A Prayer for Universal Oneness

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the seventh Sunday of Easter.

Click here for the biblical readings.

Today’s sermon is going to be a little bit different.

Rather than teach you about the spiritual principles that connect to our gospel reading, I am going to guide you into a meditative experience of those principles in action. If all goes well, you won’t have to have anyone explain these truths for you because you will know them yourself, in the very fiber of your being.

First, a little bit of setup:

Today’s gospel reading forms a kind of climax to the gospel according to St. John. The whole book has been building to this point. It begins with a series of poignant hints that Jesus drops about his true identity. The words he says, the things he does, and the people he meets all gesture toward some mysterious truth that will be revealed later on.

In the next section, Jesus starts to speak more openly about what this truth might be. Most people still don’t get it, but enough of them are scratching their heads enough to stick around and find out.

After that, Jesus begins a very confusing speech on the night before he dies. He seems to be talking in circles about metaphysical ideas that make no sense, even to his closest disciples.

Finally, he stops talking to his disciples altogether and speaks only to God, while the disciples listen in on the conversation.

That is the part of the story where our gospel reading picks up today. Jesus is talking to God and the disciples are listening in. What he says seems to go in circles and makes little sense to the rational mind.

In many ways, this is intentional. The story of John’s gospel starts with a wide view of Jesus and the people who knew him, but then gradually zooms in to Jesus and his disciples, Jesus himself, and finally inside the mind of Jesus to his personal relationship with God, like Father and Son.

Jesus’ words in this passage are mysterious and circular. If you feel dizzy when reading them, that’s good! It means you are paying attention. The mind of Jesus is a baffling place.

What we see, inside the mind of Jesus, is the interconnected web of all existence, going back to the beginning of time itself. He prays, “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us,” and then, “the glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one.”

It’s meant to be confusing stuff. It’s supposed to leave us reaching for the bottle of Advil because we can’t fit the vastness of divine truth inside our tiny human brains. Any God that we could fully comprehend would not be worthy of name “God” and certainly not worthy of our worship.

So, instead of explaining himself to us, Jesus gives us the briefest of glimpses into his mind, so that we can experience the reality of sacred interconnectedness for ourselves.

The concept of sacred interconnectedness is not unique to Christianity or even to the subject of religion. Our neighbors who practice in the Hindu spiritual tradition believe that the Atman, the individual soul, is essentially one with Brahman, the ultimate reality. In the scientific field of quantum physics, subatomic particles are not separate bits of matter, but fluctuations of energy in a common field. What Jesus realized, along with spiritual masters and brilliant scientists of every time and place, is the truth that separateness is an illusion. What lies at heart of reality is an inexplicable and inexpressible unity. This is why he prays to his Father, in today’s gospel, “that they may be one, as we are one.”

The most fundamental spiritual truth of all reality is not that there is a God up in heaven, but that God can be found here and now, in the space between you and me. That is the truth that we get to glimpse in today’s gospel, and that is the truth that I hope you take away from today’s sermon.

If you are willing, I would like to invite you to join me on this journey into awareness of our fundamental oneness. This is a very personal journey that no one must undertake. The reality of it will remain true, whether you choose to join me or not, whether you choose to use the word “God” or not. This will be a journey of facts, not beliefs, so even those who do not identify as Christian can undertake it.

I invite you to begin by closing your eyes or letting them gently drop to a space right in front of you, if that is more comfortable to you…

Pay attention to the rhythm of your breathing. In and out, in and out…

Feel the weight of your body, sitting in the pew or chair where you are…

Notice the feeling of your feet on the floor, your back on the pew, and any other sensations that appear in your body…

If there are any little twitches or pains, just let them be for now…

Notice any thoughts that pop into your mind and then let them go…

Even if your thought is, “This is stupid,” that’s okay. Just let them come and go…

The goal is not to stop your mind from thinking, but to not be attached to these thoughts, as they come and go…

If you have a thought, just notice it and let it go, like a helium balloon floating off into the sky, and then gently return your attention to the rhythm of your breathing…

Recall the sum total of the events of your life that led you to this moment, where you are sitting in a pew…

Maybe you came here out of longstanding tradition or habit, or maybe you came because you are searching for something deeper in your life and are wondering whether this worship service might contain the answer to what you are searching for…

Consider the processes taking place within your own body at the cellular level…

Consider the millions of micro-organisms that exist in your gut and on the surface of your skin…

Consider the fact that there are more bacterial cells in your body than human cells…

Consider the words of the poet Walt Whitman: “I contain multitudes”…

Without opening your eyes or looking around, imagine the people around you in this room, all of them your fellow worshippers, on a common human journey to understand who we are, where we came from, and where we are going…

Each person’s journey is as unique as your own; no two are alike…

If you are comfortable with it, expand your awareness to the people who are not in this room…

Their life journeys, like ours, are utterly unique, but they share many of the same hopes, fears, and questions…

Now, if you are comfortable with it, consider the ground beneath the floor of this church…

Consider the many life forms that live there…

Imagine their connection to the trees, roots, and grass of the plants outside…

Think about the bodies of those plants absorbing moisture and nutrients from the soil and light energy from the sun…

Think about the flowers and fruits that grow from those plants…

Consider the animals that feed off those flowers and fruits…

Bees, squirrels, and other creatures…

Think about the carnivorous animals that feed on those animals, distributing the sun’s energy into the never-ending circle of life…

Consider what happens when those animals die, how their bodies return to the earth and fertilize the plants, thus beginning the cycle of life again…

Now, if you are comfortable, remember that all life on earth is carbon-based…

In all the universe, there is only one place where a carbon atom can be made: In the heart of a star…

All the carbon in your body once resided inside a star that went supernova, scattering the elements of life into the universe, where they were gathered again on the surface of this planet, and now take the shape that bears your name. This is why we can say, without exaggeration, that you are literally made of stardust…

Some worry that evolution means we are related to monkeys, but I say, “Don’t worry; evolution means that your ancestors are the stars themselves…”

Feel the truth of this scientific fact deep down in your bones, where it is literally true…

Feel the vast network of stars and galaxies that stretches out beyond the bounds of your imagination, reaching light years to the edge of the observable universe (and perhaps beyond), encompassing all of creation at distances that you could not begin to fathom…

Imagine each of those subatomic particles bursting into existence at the moment of the Big Bang, 13.8 billion years ago…

There are parts of your body that are as old as the universe itself…

When time itself began, you were there…

When the atoms of your body were formed in the heart of a star, you were there…

When the asteroid fell that wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million years ago, you were there…

The very same air molecules that you are currently breathing in may have also been inhaled by Abraham Lincoln, the Buddha, or Jesus of Nazareth…

As Martin Luther King, Jr. famously said, “We are all caught up in an inescapable network of mutuality; what affects one directly, affects all indirectly…”

Keeping the cosmic scope of this meditation exercise in mind, I invite you to reconsider the words that Jesus prayed to his Father in today’s gospel:

“[I ask] that they may be one, as we are one.”

Do you get it?

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for the sixth Sunday of Easter

Click here for the biblical readings

It’s always annoying when someone walks into a movie late and asks, “What’d I miss?”

My wife and I share equal blame for this particular crime against convenience. Not wanting to be a burden, one of us will say, on our way to the kitchen, “You don’t have to pause it; this will just take a second!”

Inevitably, the all-important snack retrieval process will take longer than expected and the kitchen-goer will miss some pivotal moment in the plot, leaving the other person with the unenviable task of rewinding the video or explaining what just happened. It would have been easier to just pause it, but we will probably never learn.

Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but that’s exactly what has happened to us in today’s gospel. The editors of the Revised Common Lectionary (i.e. the three-year cycle of biblical readings that our church follows in its Sunday worship) decided to cut out the beginning of the scene that we read this morning. In this scene, Jesus is answering a question posed by one of his disciples, but we never get to hear what the question is!

So, for the sake of clarity, I would like to pause the movie and explain what happened while we were out of the room. (If anyone needs to go to the kitchen for a snack, now would be a good time.)

So, the verses we read this morning come from a section of John’s gospel called “The Farewell Discourse.” It takes place on the night before Jesus dies, just after he washes the disciples’ feet at the Last Supper.

In the Farewell Discourse, Jesus answers three questions from three of his disciples: Thomas, Philip, and Judas. The passage we heard today is from Jesus’ response to the third disciple, Judas. The author of John’s gospel goes out of the way to let us know that this Judas is not the infamous Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus, but another disciple of the same name.

Jesus had just finished explaining, “In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me” (John 14:19). Judas asked in reply, “Lord, how is it that you will reveal yourself to us, and not to the world” (John 14:22)?

Today’s gospel picks up with Jesus’ response to this question:

“Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. Whoever does not love me does not keep my words; and the word that you hear is not mine, but is from the Father who sent me” (John 14:23-24).

The context of Judas’ question is important for understanding Jesus’ response.

For centuries, many have wondered: Why do some people seem to “get it” when it comes to matters of faith, and others don’t?

Many potential answers to this question have been suggested. Some say that those who “get it” are those who are able to suspend their faculties of critical thinking and “just believe” without question. I can understand the appeal of this approach for those who aren’t constitutionally inclined toward philosophical discourse, but for those who are, this is a violation of their intellectual integrity. Belief without evidence, for such people, would be like asking any of us to betray our core moral convictions. If faith requires suspension of our moral reasoning, then faith is evil. I can understand why intelligent people of good conscience would reject faith on these grounds.

Others have suggested that the inability of some people to believe in Christ is due to the fact that God chooses some people to be saved and others to be damned. The so-called “elect” are predestined for salvation while the “reprobate” are doomed, no matter what they do, say, or believe. This was the view taken by John Calvin, who inspired the Reformed and Presbyterian traditions of Protestant Christianity. I don’t mean to be too harsh against our brother Calvin (or the Reformed/Presbyterian churches), because they too are our kindred in Christ, but I must protest (pun intended) that such a reliance on the sovereignty of God does violence to the loving character of God, who “desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (1 Timothy 2:4).

The final answer to the objection that some seem to “get it,” when it comes to faith in Christ, while others don’t, comes from the atheists, who say that it is the atheists who fully realize the fact that there is no God, therefore those who believe in God are victims of a mass deception, designed to imprison credulous believers in a jail of their own imagination.

I deeply respect the commitment of said nonbelievers to their intellectual integrity, but I also question whether they have placed too much faith in their lack of faith. True skepticism must become skeptical of itself, if it is to remain true to its core belief in the power of open inquiry. The “maybe not” of the skeptic must also be the “maybe so” of the agnostic, if the principle of free thought is to be maintained.

It should come as no surprise that I reject all three of these explanations, though I can see the individual merits of each. The answer that Jesus gives, in response to Judas’ question in John 14, does little to address the doubts and conclusions of any of these groups.

The answer that Jesus gives is rooted, not in philosophical arguments, but in the principle of love. Jesus says, “Those who love me will keep my word.” Jesus’ word is his command. What is his command? He answers in chapter 15, verse 12: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” Love for one another is his commandment.

What is the result of his commandment? He says so in today’s gospel: “Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them” (John 14:23).

To love our neighbor is to love Christ, and to love Christ is to love God, therefore the only way to love God is by loving one another. The New Testament makes this even more plain later on, when it says, in 1 John 4:20, “those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen.”

Therefore, kindred in Christ, the answer to Judas’ question is not knowledge but love. We may never know, with any certainty, whether the basic tenets of the Christian faith are literally true, but we can prove the efficacy of our faith in the way that we treat each other, our neighbors, and even our enemies. I can’t prove to you the fact that Jesus is the Son of God, but I can hopefully demonstrate, in the way that I live my life, the truth that the meaning of life can be found in loving one another the way that Jesus loves us, without condition or proviso.

I dare to proclaim to you this morning that the meaning of life is love itself, and I have come to experience the ultimate expression of love through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord. I pray that my actions toward you will be a testimony to this love, and I pray furthermore, that your actions in this life will be a similar testimony to the living love of the risen Christ, who continues to love this world through you.

There is no proof I can offer of the truth of Christ, except the evidence of a life lived in love. I pray that you and I will be faithful in our living witness to the love of Christ. If I am right, then a life lived in love, in the name of Christ, will be all the proof we need.

Amen.

What is this world coming to?

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Sermon1 Comment

Sermon for the fifth Sunday of Easter

Click here to read the biblical texts.

Breakdowns lead to breakthroughs.

That is a tenet of faith in which I wholeheartedly believe. I believe it because I have lived through it on multiple occasions.

One such occasion occurred when I was about thirty years old and still serving as a pastor in my previous denomination. A local news station in upstate New York, where I lived at the time, wanted to interview me on their morning show because they had heard that I was a clergyman who supported equal marriage rights for couples of the same gender. I gladly did the interview and went home.

Later that night, the hate comments started to appear on the internet. All kinds of people were calling me a “heretic” and a “false prophet.” Some said I should be stripped of my ministry credentials. A rescue mission, where I had been a regular guest preacher for years, called to inform me that I had been banned from speaking in their chapel ever again.

I realized in that moment, as I was hearing so many angry voices shout Bible verses at me, that my understanding of the Bible had shifted dramatically from the perspective I had been raised with. I had come to appreciate the Bible as a collection of voices, reporting on their spiritual experiences, and pointing our way to God, but I no longer “believed in the Bible” as the absolute and infallible authority on historical and doctrinal matters. The people lobbing these hateful comments in my direction believed the Bible to be something fundamentally different from what I believe it to be. Therefore, I could no longer consider myself to be a member of their ideological tribe.

This realization threw me into a mental tailspin. If I no longer believed the Bible to be the literal “word of God,” then what did I believe? Could I still call myself a Christian? Did I even believe in God? Was my faith dying because I had sold out to secular fads, instead of clinging to spiritual truths? These were questions that kept me up at night.

Thankfully, I had a wise spiritual director who guided me through my crisis of faith by listening without judgment and recommending good books like The Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross. Through my director’s companionship, I came to realize that my faith was not dying, but evolving. I was eventually able to say, “Yes, I am still a Christian, and yes, I believe in God,” even though I now understand both of those things in very different ways than I had before.

That was one of my many breakdowns that later led to a breakthrough. Your personal breakdown might be similar, but then again, it might be very different. I think particularly of my many friends in recovery from addiction who had to “hit rock bottom” before they finally got sober. I think of those who have lost jobs, relationships, or health, through no fault of their own, but simply because life doesn’t always turn out as planned.

In moments like these, it’s very normal and understandable for struggling people to look at life and see only the chaos of disaster and tragedy. Even if the chaos isn’t impacting you personally, it’s easy to simply watch the evening news and wonder, “What is this world coming to?”

I think that’s a great question to ask, so long as we don’t presume the answer before we’ve even finished asking the question: “What is this world coming to?”

Scientists have the beginning of an answer to that question. Many of them have noticed that the universe, over the course of its 13.8 billion year history, seems to be moving in the direction of increased complexity and cooperation. In the beginning, there was only physics. Immediately after the Big Bang, there were lots of elementary particles, which later formed into atoms. Atoms bonded together to form molecules, giving rise to the science of chemistry. On this planet (at least), chemical reactions gave rise to the emergence of biological life in the form of single-celled organisms. Life then evolved to the point of more complex organisms, that had brains. Brains evolved to the point of developing consciousness. Human consciousness developed to the point of organizing itself into small groups. Those small groups organized themselves into large, complex societies with laws, technology, medicine, and artistic expression.

It is, of course, undeniable that the course of history has often been meandering, with many fits, false starts, and backsliding along the way, but if we take a step back to look at the big picture of the universe, we can see objects and organisms organizing themselves into increasingly complex patterns of cooperation. Cosmologist Brian Swimme says, “Four billion years ago, the earth was molten rock; now it sings opera.”

Scientists, by virtue of their profession, do not claim to know for certain whether this evolution of complexity, from atoms to opera, is the result of random chance or intentional design. Their job is just to describe what they see, but humans can’t seem to stop themselves from asking the question. Our brains are neurologically hardwired to search for patterns of cause and effect. When that search for a cause takes us past the limits of pure reason, we naturally begin to engage our imaginations and speak the language of the heart.

About a hundred years ago, there was a paleontologist named Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, who studied the evolution of life in great detail. It just so happens that Teilhard was also a Jesuit priest. He undertook his own search for truth with the head of scientist and the heart of a mystic.

When science could not answer Teilhard’s burning questions about life’s origin and destiny, he found himself meditating on Revelation 21:6, which we heard this morning in our second reading, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.”

It seemed clear to Teilhard that “Alpha,” the first letter in the Greek alphabet, was meant to refer to God as the creator of the cosmos. But what did the text mean by saying that God is also the “Omega,” which is the last letter in the Greek alphabet?

Meditating on this question through the lens of his Catholic faith, Teilhard came to believe that, just as the universal Church comprised members from “every tribe, language, people and nation,” so the entire universe itself was being drawn toward eventual unity in the cosmic Body of Christ.

We naturally ask the question in chaotic times, “What is this world coming to?” For Teilhard, with his scientific mind and mystical heart, the answer was, “Christ.” The Church, in his mind, is only the beginning of the unity that will eventually incorporate the entirety of human society, planet Earth, and even the cosmos itself. This, for Teilhard, is what it means to believe that God is both “the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.”

For us, as people of faith and people of science, it is no small task to trust that the universe is headed in this direction. As we have already noted, there are setbacks and disasters that threaten to overwhelm us with chaos. Moreover, the entire project is so huge that we cannot possibly complete it under our own power.

Today’s reading from the Revelation to St. John paints a picture of the end of history as a beautiful garden city where all things are made new and death is forever swallowed up by life. Our psalm this morning develops that idea even further, envisioning a symphony of praise that incorporates, not only all people, but plants, animals, and cosmic forces as well.

Do we dare to believe in this utopian vision? If so, then how on earth do we get there?

Obviously, the task is too big for us to complete ourselves. We human beings cannot do much to affect the progress of distant stars and galaxies. After all, we even feel helpless to resolve the problems that beset us on this “tiny blue dot” called planet Earth.

So, what can we do and how do we do it? There’s more than one answer to that question, but I think Jesus starts us down the right path when he says in today’s gospel, “Just as I have loved you, you also ought to love one another” (John 13:34).

Obviously, this is a very general statement, even vague, if we leave it undeveloped at the level of pious words and sentimental feelings. But love, as those know who have tried to do it, is always simple but never easy. Love only exists at the level of concrete action. As finite beings, we cannot adequately love the entire universe, but we can make a difference at the local level in the way we treat ourselves, one another, and our fellow creatures on earth. Through our acts of love toward one another, our love for the universe and God takes on flesh and becomes a concrete reality. In short, we love God through our neighbors.

This is the secret to transforming breakdowns into breakthroughs that inch the universe closer to its final destiny of unification in the Body of Christ, as Teilhard understood it.

This love asks much of us. It continually takes us outside of our comfort zones and challenges our previously-held assumptions. We can see the early Christians doing just this in today’s first reading, taken from the Acts of the Apostles. In this passage of Scripture, St. Peter is being called on the carpet by his fellow leaders in the early Church. Up to that point, Christianity had been an entirely Jewish movement. But now, a group of Romans, led by Cornelius the Centurion, had become interested in following the way of Jesus and even began to have mystical visions and other kinds of spiritual experiences. St. Peter saw this happening and decided to go ahead and baptize these non-Jews into the Church, even though that had not first converted to Judaism. It was a controversial decision on St. Peter’s part that almost split the church. After much discussion and debate, the Church decided to extend the boundaries of love to include all people, no matter what their culture or ethnicity of origin. I imagine the council’s eyes going wide with wonder after they heard Peter’s story and said, “Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life” (Acts 11:18). They had realized, in a flash of spiritual insight, that God’s arms are big enough to embrace the whole world.

Kindred in Christ, we live in a world that often seems to be on the brink of tearing itself apart. I don’t want to minimize the pain that comes with the question, “What is this world coming to?” But I do want to encourage you with the faith that trusts that this universe is indeed going somewhere good. In the language of science, it is proceeding toward patterns of ever-increasing complexity and cooperation. In the language of our faith, the whole creation is being drawn to unity in the cosmic Body of Christ. We cannot get there on our own, but each of us can do our part to love one another as Jesus loves us, and so build up a new world from the ashes of the old.

Amen.

My Sheep Hear My Voice

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Sermon1 Comment

Sermon for the fourth Sunday of Easter (Good Shepherd Sunday)

Click here for the biblical readings.

Some of you may have seen the classic comedy film Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which came out exactly 50 years ago last month. There is a scene in this movie where King Arthur and his knights have to correctly answer three questions before they will be allowed to cross a bridge. Sir Lancelot the Brave goes first. The gate keeper asks him: “What is your name? (Sir Lancelot.) What is your quest? (To seek the Grail.) What is your favorite color? (Blue.)” After answering correctly, he is sent on his way. Next comes Sir Robin the Not-quite-so-brave-as-Sir-Lancelot. The gatekeeper asks him: “What is your name? (Sir Robin.) What is your quest? (To seek the Grail.) What is the capital of Assyria?” When Sir Robin responds, “I don’t know that,” he is immediately yeeted into the ravine. 

Obviously, having quick, clear, and certain answers was beneficial to King Arthur and his knights in this situation. There are times in life when the same is true for us, as well. Sometimes, it’s just convenient (What’s 5 times 2?). Sometimes, it’s important for solving an immediate problem in a crisis (When your clothes catch fire, what do you do? Stop, drop, and roll). But then there are some questions which simply do not lend themselves to quick, clear, and certain answers. 

For example, let’s consider a philosophical question about the nature of good and evil. The Bible clearly says, “Thou shalt not murder.” Did God command this because murder is wrong, or is murder wrong because God commanded it? (The philosopher Plato explored this question in his dialogue Euthyphro.)

If we say that God forbade murder because it is wrong, then we must admit that there is a force in the universe that is more powerful than God, because God cannot go against what is right. Therefore, God is not almighty. 

But if we then turn around and say that murder is wrong because God commanded it, then God’s will is arbitrary. God could have just as easily commanded, “Thou shalt murder,” and we would be morally obliged to obey it. Therefore, God is not good. 

I won’t get us bogged down in this philosophical question because it’s not the point of this sermon. I only mention it to point out the fact that there are some big questions that do not lend themselves to quick, clear, and certain answers.

Today’s gospel presents us with just such a question. 

The religious authorities come to Jesus and ask, “”How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” This is a very big and complicated question.

The concept of a Messiah was actually a fairly recent development in Judaism at the time of Jesus. The word itself simply means “Anointed” and could refer to any prophet, priest, or king who was chosen by God. It was only in the years leading up to Jesus that the title of the Anointed came to refer to a coming leader who would liberate the Jewish people from foreign occupation.

It made sense that the religious leaders of Judea would be wondering about the Anointed in this passage because the text tells us that this conversation takes place during “the festival of the Dedication.” The word “Dedication,” in Hebrew, is “Hanukkah.” 

So, this conversation is happening during the holiday season. [By the way: This fact is worth remembering the next time you hear a fellow Christian getting upset that not everyone says “Merry Christmas” in December. You can tell them that, in John 10:22, Jesus Christ himself celebrates Hanukkah, so we Christians should gladly say “Happy Hanukkah” to our Jewish neighbors.]

The festival of Hanukkah celebrates a time when God raised up the Maccabee brothers to liberate the Jewish people from oppression and genocide. That’s why it makes sense that the religious leaders of Jesus’ time were pressing him to tell them plainly whether he was the Messiah. 

In response to their question, Jesus says, “I’ve already been telling you, but you haven’t been listening.” He goes on to say, “Look at the things I do; my actions speak for themselves.” After that, Jesus says, “My sheep hear my voice.”

We have to unpack that sentence a little bit. First of all, the word “sheep” is a bit of a loaded term these days. Jesus uses the term “sheep” to describe his “flock,” which is the community of believers. There are some ornery people on the internet these days, a few of them claiming to be Christians, who use the word “sheep” to describe docile people who lack critical thinking skills. Given Jesus’ use of the term, I think “sheep” is an inappropriate insult for Christians to use. Also, and much more importantly, I think that insults are an inappropriate thing for Christians to use. So, maybe let’s not do that.

Second of all, there’s the issue of what Jesus meant by, “hear my voice.” 

Obviously, the people physically standing around Jesus in that moment could understand the words that were coming out of his mouth. They could “hear his voice,” in the literal sense, but I think Jesus was talking about a different kind of hearing. 

The kind of hearing that Jesus was talking about is a hearing with the ears of the heart. When we listen closely to someone that we know well, we can sometimes hear the deeper meaning of what’s not being said. My wife can sometimes communicate with me by simply giving me a particular look. I can sometimes figure out when my kids are lying to me, just by looking at their faces. That’s the kind of communication that can happen when two people know each other intimately, and that’s the kind of “hearing” that I think Jesus is talking about in this passage.

Hearing the voice of Jesus is a complicated thing. Some of us imagine that it happens like it does in the movies, when the clouds part, a beam of light shines down from heaven, and a booming voice tells the main character exactly what they’re supposed to do.

The truth is much more subtle that that. Allow me to give a personal example of a time when I think that I may have heard the voice of Jesus.

It happened several years ago, when I was working at a job that I did not particularly enjoy, and to which I was not particularly suited. The voice came, not as a direct command, but as a question.

I kept at the job, day after day, because I thought that I, as a husband and a father, needed to be a provider for my family. One day, as I pulled back into the parking lot after my lunch break, I was trying to steel myself up to back into the office. I kept repeating to myself, like a mantra, “I have to provide for my family! I have to provide for my family!”

It was in that moment, as I sat in my car with my forehead on the steering wheel, that I heard an imaginary voice pop up in the back of my head. I was still repeating, “I have to provide for my family,” and the voice said, “Provide what, exactly?”

That was a really good question. My job was providing a paycheck to my family, but it was also robbing them of my presence and my peace. 

To make a long story short, I decided to leave that job before I had found another. The financial cost was certainly significant to my family, but the fact is that, for the next year when I was out of work, my wife and kids got the best of me. That year changed the way I parent. I went from being an authoritarian rule-maker to the kind of father who listens to the emotional needs of his children. I learned how to cook and clean around the house. My wife began to grow, personally and spiritually, in ways that led to us saying that we are now “in our second marriage to the same person.” 

By the end of that year, I had run a half-marathon, been confirmed as a member of the Episcopal Church, and enrolled in a chaplain training program that shaped my career for the next six years. It was not at all easy, but it was worth it.

The voice I heard was just a simple question in the back of my mind, but the effect was life-transforming. Looking back, I truly believe that I heard the voice of Jesus speaking to me as I rested my head on the steering wheel of my car that day.

The voice of Jesus is not merely contained to the recorded words of a man who lived two thousand years ago. The voice of Jesus is the voice of our risen and living Lord, who continues to speak to us by the power of the Holy Spirit. As the old Sunday School hymn says: 

“He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today! 
He walks with me and talks with me, along life’s narrow way. 
He lives! He lives, salvation to impart. 
You ask me how I know he lives? 
He lives within my heart!”

Kindred in Christ, I want you to know today that Christ Jesus lives today, within your heart. He walks with you and talks with you. The risen Christ is always with us and is always speaking. The only question is: Are we listening? Truly listening with the ears of our hearts?

There is no formula for how to listen to the voice of Jesus with ears of your heart. Each person’s relationship with the risen Christ is deeply personal, therefore it takes as many different forms as there are people in the world. Nevertheless, there are some tips that many have found helpful across the ages, and I would like to share them with you today.

First and foremost, I want to encourage you all to read your Bible and pray every day. There is no better way to grow in your faith, as a Christian. In the Episcopal Church, we have a wonderful resource for doing this well: in the Daily Office of Morning and Evening Prayer, as it is found in the Book of Common Prayer. This systematic way of praying touches on all the major points of the faith and leads you through most of the Bible, once every two years. If you don’t have a Bible or prayer book, please come to see me and I will get you one for free. There are also many online apps and podcasts that do the heavy lifting for you, so all you have to do is press play and listen. 

The Daily Office is a most excellent way to grow in your ability to hear the voice of Jesus, but it isn’t the only one. There are a number of other devotional guides, like Forward Day by Day for example, that provide a way for us to slow down and focus on what matters most. If you have found another source of insight that speaks to you, then by all means, use that. 

There are also several meditation techniques, like mindfulness practices or centering prayer, that can help us to slow down, quiet our racing thoughts,and pay attention to what is happening within us and around us.

Keeping a journal can be a way for us to sort through the scattered events of our days, organizing our thoughts and feelings into a coherent whole. Recording our dreams can provide insight into what is happening in our subconscious mind.

Mutual support groups, like Twelve Step recovery programs, book groups, or Bible studies, can provide us with the opportunity to hear God speaking to us through other people. Likewise, a trusted therapist, spiritual director, mentor, or clergyperson can be a vessel for God to speak truth into your life.

All of these are just suggestions and ideas. The way that God speaks to you will not be exactly like the way God speaks to anyone else. The main thing is that you trust that God is indeed speaking to you, and that you do the best you can to listen to that voice. 

You will never do it perfectly; I promise you that you will mess it up on a daily basis, just as I do, but I also want to encourage you to keep trying. In time, you will learn to hear God’s voice more and more clearly, which will remind you of the promise of Jesus, who said, “My sheep hear my voice,” and “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”