Author: Rosemary Lovelace

Trinity Sunday – Mark S. Winward

Beyond Our Two-Dimensional Thinking

One God

Today is Trinity Sunday, the only day on the Church calendar dedicated to celebrating a specific understanding of God—or, perhaps more accurately, a common misunderstanding of God. If you were to ask how many gods Christianity has, a lot of people would answer “three”: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. But this ignores the fact that the foundation of the Hebrew Scriptures is the Shema: “Shema Israel Adonai Elohinu, Adonai ehud”—Hear, O Israel, the Lord is God, the Lord is One. This profession of monotheism sets the Jews apart from all other ancient peoples, serving as the core of their identity.

The Mystery of the Plurality

Despite this emphasis on oneness, there are hints throughout the Hebrew Scriptures that something more complex is going on. In the Genesis creation story, God says, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness.” This is not just a quirk of translation; God speaks using plural language: “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness.” While Jewish scholars have understood this passage in different ways, Christians have long seen in it a hint that God’s nature may be more complex than a simple singularity. The Gospel of John explains this through the “Word” who was present with God before all time: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God… and the Word became flesh and lived among us.” We see this climax in today’s Gospel reading, where Jesus commissions His disciples to baptize all nations in the single name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Logic and Contradiction

To the casual observer, a God who is “One” yet described as “Three” might look like just another biblical contradiction. But centuries of Christians—including St. Paul, a Jew committed to monotheism—held these truths together in tension. In his blessing to the Corinthians, Paul invokes the grace of Jesus, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit. The Church eventually defined this as God being One in Three and Three in One – a tri-unity or Trinity.

If that defies your logic, let’s go back to your high school science class: modern physics describes light as both a wave and a particle. It is not a particle behaving like a wave or a wave behaving like a particle, but both. Physicists insist that if you think you truly grasp this, you probably don’t understand it at all. If we cannot fully grasp something as fundamental as light within creation, how can we possibly understand the Creator of light?

Lessons from the Shamrock

St. Patrick, the 4th century missionary to the Celts, offered a more “down-to-earth” explanation. Legend holds that Patrick famously used the three-leaved shamrock—a plant already sacred to the Druids—to illustrate the Trinity. Just as the shamrock is one leaf with three distinct parts, Patrick taught that God is one being in three persons.

In the 1880s, Edwin Abbott, an English mathematician, wrote a book which might help understand such apparent nonsense. In Flatland, Abbott describes a two-dimensional world where the inhabitants are confined to move on a horizontal plane and have no knowledge of anything outside that surface. This land is occupied by two-dimensional creatures—squares, circles, rectangles, and lines—who cannot comprehend (but perhaps imagine) a three-dimensional world. For the Flatlanders, a square is a solid object since they can only move around it. A house, for example, might be a pentagon with one side removed—the only entrance for a Flatlander.

Towards the end of the book, Abbott introduces a sphere from the three-dimensional world of Spaceland. The sphere fruitlessly tries to explain his identity to the skeptical Flatlanders. Finally, to demonstrate his true nature, the sphere passes vertically through the Flatland plane several times. Magically to the Flatlanders, they see first a point, followed by a small circle, a larger circle, then a smaller circle again before it disappears. The sphere then demonstrates that by moving above the Flatland plane, he can see into the Flatland houses, rooms, cupboards and even into the interiors of the Flatland beings themselves—all mysteriously without passing through doors or windows!

Let’s go a step further. Imagine an even more mysterious being appearing to the Flatlanders in the form of Patrick’s shamrock. Remember, the Flatlanders can only see whatever happens to intersect their two-dimensional world. If we slowly lowered a shamrock through the plane of Flatland tip-first, the Flatlanders would not see a shamrock at all. They would first see a single point appear from nowhere. The point would stretch into a line, then shrink and disappear. A moment later, two new points would appear, grow into two separate lines, merge into one larger line, then separate again before vanishing. To the Flatlanders, these would seem like entirely different objects appearing and disappearing for no apparent reason.

To make matters even stranger, imagine lowering the shamrock flat through the plane. The Flatlanders would first see three separate points appear. As more of the shamrock passed through their world, the points would grow into three distinct leaflets that gradually joined together at the center, revealing a single three-leaved shape. What appears to them as separate objects is, from our perspective, one unified shamrock.

If that is difficult for us to visualize, imagine how difficult it would be for the Flatlanders to believe our claim that all these strange appearances were actually manifestations of a single object existing in a dimension beyond their experience.

We tell the Flatlanders the petals of the shamrock are “distinct but not separable” – that you cannot rotate one petal of the shamrock without moving the entire object. This reflects the “perichoresis” of the Trinity—the idea that the Father, Son, and Spirit are so perfectly united that where one is, the others are also. You cannot “have” the Son without the Father.

We also try to explain to the Flatlanders that the shamrock retains equality of substance. Each petal of the shamrock is made of the same material (that is, plant material). One petal isn’t “more shamrock” than the other. This addresses Arianism (the idea that the Son is “lesser” than the Father). In the shamrock analogy, all three points are equally “The shamrock,” just as all three Persons are equally “God.”

Finally, we might try to explain to them the shamrock is not a fourth thing; it is the totality of the three petals joined at the center. Likewise, God is not a “fourth person” that sits behind the Father, Son, and Spirit. Rather, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are each fully God, sharing one divine being. Thus, Christianity affirms one God: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. A tri-unity or Trinity.

The Imagery of the Father

Now I appreciate the imagery of God as “Father” can be a stumbling block for many people. Too many of us carry the pain of fathers who were absent, inattentive, or abusive. For some, the word is like nails on a chalkboard, leading some churches to substitute terms like “Creator” or “Mother.” While God is not literally physically male, I believe moving away from the biblical metaphor of “Father” is a mistake.

First, Jesus referred to the first person of the Trinity as Father. Jesus, who’s portrayed as God become human, would talk to God as a distinct person. And when he did, he called Him “Father.” When Jesus talked about God, he wasn’t referring to an abstract force or energy; he was talking about a personal being that you can relate to. There’s a lot of personal images of God in the Bible—Ruler, Creator, Judge—but Jesus consistently referred to God as “my Father.” Jesus experienced God as a source of infinite love. He said, “The Father has loved me since before the creation of the world.” Apparently, Jesus knew the Father as an eternally other-centered, life-giving being.

Second, Jesus used the metaphor of God as Father to represent the ideal of fatherhood. Like a good father, God the Father teaches the difference between right and wrong, sets boundaries for the well-being of his children, and, most importantly, loves them more than himself.

But perhaps your wounds go deep from a father who was the antithesis of all a father should be. God can be that loving Father you never knew. For those who have never experienced such a father, God the Father invites us into a relationship as his beloved children. Rather than clinging to past trauma, such unconditional grace can be profoundly healing and empower us to reach out to a world so desperately in need of God’s love. So is the Trinity the final word on the mystery of the nature of God? When we get to heaven, I can’t imagine Jesus saying to us, “Yup, you nailed it.” But it brings us just a bit closer to understanding a transcendent God from our Flatlander perspective—and perhaps more fully embrace God as he has been revealed to us: One God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Memorial Day Address – Big Canoe Chapel – Mark S. Winward

Introduction

In preparing for this morning’s Memorial Day reflection, I went back through my files to see what I had said in the past. I found that I first shared such a reflection in my own church in Saco, Maine, in 2000. I told my congregation then that “it had been 25 years since America had lost large numbers of her men and women to battle. Long periods of peace and easy victories make us much more likely to trivialize war,” I concluded, “and reduce Memorial Day to nothing more than a bank holiday.”

Wow, what a different world we live in today!

The world became a very different place for most of us after the 9/11 attacks. Immediately following the attacks, I was recalled to Washington as a reserve chaplain. There, amidst recovery efforts at a still-smoking Pentagon, the Bishop of the Armed Forces took me aside and said, “Mark, I know you’ve been struggling with whether or not to come back on active duty. You bring a unique background to the Chaplain Corps as a former officer. Our nation is now at war, and we have a critical shortage of chaplains. If your decision was ever clear, I would think it would be now.”

How could I argue with that? My gut told me this whole affair would be messy. As a wartime chaplain, I knew servicemen and women would be called to serve in dark, seemingly godless places where they would sorely need witnesses to the Light of God’s presence. So, much to the surprise of my congregation, I requested to be permanently recalled to active duty.

Post-9/11

Thankfully, since 9/11, we have not experienced another foreign-directed attack on our homeland on that scale. But like so many other conflicts in our history, the price of peace is still paid in the precious blood of America’s youth.

After serving my first assignment as an active-duty chaplain at sea aboard the carrier USS CARL VINSON, my orders in 2004 sent my family and me to support elements of the 3rd Marine Air Wing based at Camp Pendleton near Oceanside, California. Because Marines typically serve on the tip of the spear, and because Camp Pendleton is synonymous with the Marine Corps, few communities were more personally affected by the war than Oceanside and its surrounding region.

When we first arrived, we could feel the community hold its breath every time the media announced a new Marine casualty. I later personally experienced this apprehension on my first casualty assistance call at Camp Pendleton. Whenever a Marine or Sailor dies, we don’t send a telegram or make a phone call like in the movies. Notification is always made by a non-commissioned or commissioned officer who, if at all possible, is accompanied by a chaplain.

The last thing any Marine spouse wants to see is a Marine in dress uniform accompanied by a chaplain in their neighborhood. I learned very quickly not to stand around outside homes in a dress uniform chatting with another officer dressed the same way. It was a sobering reminder of the sacrifices spouses make when we had to weave our way through a maze of apartments occupied mostly by military dependents. Peering through cracked doors and drawn blinds, I knew they were silently praying, “God, please don’t let them stop here.”

My sacred privilege was to support those spouses at THE worst moment of their lives.

Showing Up

Regrettably, I was quite right that this would be a messy affair. Along with the families left behind, every Soldier, Marine, Sailor, and Airman deploying to a warzone goes with the realization that some among them may return home wounded—and a few may never return at all.

I could certainly cite inspiring stories of fallen servicemen and women who charged into the jaws of the enemy to save the day. But at the end of the day, that fallen service member first demonstrated honor, courage, and commitment simply by showing up in the first place. My old seminary chaplain, Churchill Gibson, was fond of saying, “Half of life is just showin’ up.”

My point is that every service member serving in times of war or peace—along with every civilian police officer or firefighter—knows that “just showin’ up” for work may cost them the ultimate price. Courage starts with just showing up.

Reasons for Service

On Memorial Day, we honor our fallen as heroes who died for their country. The reality is that men and women join the military for a variety of reasons—many, sure, to serve their country or to experience the pride of accomplishment. But at 19 years old, when that young man or woman finds himself or herself in combat, it is not primarily patriotism or even love of the Corps that prompts that ordinary person to perform extraordinary feats of bravery.

Adversity has a way of building bonds stronger than death itself. Shakespeare’s Henry V called it “this band of brothers.” After trusting “this band of brothers” through the gates of hell itself, it is mainly for his or her buddies that a service member willingly gives his or her life.

The Cost of War

There are a couple of traps we can fall into on Memorial Day. The first is to glorify war itself. Whether through monuments, paintings, films, or heroic imagery, we can easily leave ourselves with the impression that war is somehow glorious. But as unpleasant as it may be to consider, there is nothing glorious about the image of a soldier lying face down in the mud, an airman consumed in a fireball, or a sailor consigned to the ocean’s deep.

Such images have been repeated more than a million times with men and women lost to war from the time of the Revolution to the Persian Gulf. 

War is a dirty, rotten, ugly business. And I am here to tell you as a veteran that there is nothing glorious about the human cost of sending our best and brightest into war. 

Multiply one fallen service member by a million, and you begin to grasp the staggering loss: not just of heroes, but of future parents, teachers, and neighbors who might have changed our world if they had only come home. 

Behind every name etched in stone is a potential father who never walked a daughter down the aisle, a brilliant mind that never got to solve a local problem, or a pair of hands that might have built a business right here in our community. When we lose these ‘ordinary’ men and women, we don’t just lose a service member; we lose a piece of our future. We lose the cumulative weight of all the good they would have done had they simply been allowed to grow old. That is the true ‘mass insanity’ of war—not just the loss of life, but the staggering loss of everything those lives were meant to become.”

After more than two decades of conflict following 9/11, we are less likely today to glorify war. Still, long periods of peace in our homeland make those who have not been touched personally by war much more likely to reduce Memorial Day to nothing more than a bank holiday. Far from being regal knights on white steeds, most of America’s soldiers, sailors, and airmen were ordinary people like you and me. Ordinary people—saints and sinners—in the midst of extraordinary circumstances.

For most, their heroism lies simply in allowing themselves to be put in harm’s way and, as a result, paying the ultimate price for the freedom and peace we enjoy this day. 

“Earn This”

One of the most riveting and realistic portrayals of war ever filmed is the epic motion picture Saving Private Ryan. This movie comes as close as Hollywood ever has to portraying the horrible reality of war.

The plot is based on the true story of three brothers lost in battle over the course of a single week during World War II. One brother of four is left somewhere in France following the fierce fighting of D-Day. The story unfolds through his recollection years later as he surveys the thousands of crosses overlooking Normandy Beach.

The plot centers on a platoon and their captain, played by Tom Hanks, whose mission is to find Private Ryan somewhere amid the chaos of millions of troops in hostile territory. As the dozen or so men are gradually picked off by sniper fire and enemy action, these ordinary men begin to wonder why so much sacrifice is required for one man.

Finally, with half their platoon lost, they find Private Ryan with only a couple of other men, holding a small bridge against the inevitable onslaught of the German army. When Allied air support finally arrives to destroy the German tanks, only another soldier and Private Ryan remain alive from the platoon, with the captain dying in Ryan’s arms. As Ryan gazes into the fallen captain’s eyes, his last raspy words are, “Earn this,” and he breathes his last.

The camera focuses on the young man’s blue eyes as they fade into those same eyes fifty years later, tearful as he kneels before the captain’s grave, surrounded by his wife, children, and grandchildren. “Every day I think about what you said to me on that bridge,” he says at the grave. “I’ve tried to live my life the best I could. I hope that was enough. I hope that, at least in your eyes, I have earned what all of you have done for me.”

Then he stands and looks at his wife. “Tell me I have led a good life. Tell me I’m a good man.”

The same question echoes from the fallen to us today: “Earn this.” Freedom is always costly. We are often reminded on this day that “All gave some; some gave all.” Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say, “All were prepared to give all.”

Conclusion

For that reason, all who have served our nation—as well as their families—deserve far more than your admiration. The people I served with, those who preceded me, and those who follow deserve your personal respect for the freedom they sacrificed for yours. They deserve your advocacy to retain what they have earned and thoughtful debate whenever our nation is called to war. And they deserve your practical support in terms of employment, rehabilitation, and volunteer services.

Closing Prayer

Since 2000, every Memorial Day our nation has paused to observe a National Moment of Remembrance. The idea for the Moment was born when children touring the Nation’s Capital were asked what Memorial Day means. They responded, “That’s the day the pool opens.”

A Gallup poll later revealed that only 28% of Americans knew the true meaning of Memorial Day. In response, Congress established the White House Commission to promote the values of Memorial Day through acts of remembrance throughout the year. At 3:00 p.m. on this Memorial Day—wherever you are—I challenge you to stop, and take just one minute, along with millions of others, to remember our servicemen and women who gave their last full measure to ensure your freedom.

At Army posts, on ships at sea, on Air Force bases, and over radio stations throughout the country, taps will be played, and we will pause for a moment to remember our fallen. Take just one minute today at 3:00 p.m. to recall their sacrifice and ask yourself how you can support those who have served and continue to serve our great nation.

Let us pray: Almighty God, today we give thanks for those who have served with courage and honor; for those who resist evil and preserve justice. Grant that all servicemen and women everywhere may serve with honor, pride, and compassion. Strengthen their families and keep them surrounded and guided by your love.

We thank you for those who place the welfare of others ahead of their own safety. Let us all be inspired by their self-sacrifice in service to those who need protection.

We give thanks for those who have made the ultimate sacrifice. Be with those in pain from their loss, and keep us mindful that you have promised to comfort those who mourn. Help us to be a comfort to them as well.

And by your grace, may we have the strength and courage to truly honor those who have served by working for peace. In your most holy Name we pray. Amen.

The Day of Pentecost – Mark S. Winward

The Significance of Pentecost

Although many Christians don’t recognize it, Pentecost is perhaps the most important Christian feast day for our corporate lives together as God’s people. If Christmas recalls the incarnation, Good Friday Christ’s sacrifice for our sins, Easter his victory over sin and death, and Ascension Day the commissioning of his representatives to share the Good News; then Pentecost frames the meaning of it all to us as God’s people. I want to suggest to you that Pentecost represents three revolutionary ideas.

The Universalization of the Covenant

First, Pentecost represents the universalization of the covenant. In other words, Pentecost opened the way of the God of Israel to all people. Most people don’t realize that the Gospel is, for the most part, a story about Jews. Jesus, all his disciples, and most of the major players in the unfolding of the gospel are Jews. When non-Jews are mentioned in the gospels, they are clearly presented as outsiders; that’s because until the day of Pentecost, non-Jews are outsiders. When Jesus’ followers gathered together in Jerusalem in the second chapter of Acts on the Day of Pentecost, they were actually celebrating a Jewish holy day. Pentecost is another name for Shavuot, or “the Feast of Weeks.” Shavuot celebrates the day God gave the Torah, or law, to the nation of Israel gathered at Mt. Sinai. While on Passover, the people of Israel were freed from the tyranny of Egyptian slavery, on Shavuot Israel was given the Torah and became a nation in a covenantal relationship to serve God.

The story of the Old Testament is the account of God’s mighty deeds among his people, Israel. God’s contract or covenant with the people of Israel was that if they obeyed God’s commandments: that he would be their God and they would be his people. The heart of the Jewish people, then, are the stone tablets of Moses’ Law—their contract with God received at Mt. Sinai. But Pentecost is the beginning of a new contract, a new covenant. At Pentecost, Ezekiel’s prophecy is fulfilled: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws” (Ezekiel 36:26-27). Note that Ezekiel doesn’t say “if you keep my laws, I will put my Spirit in you.” Rather, in God’s new contract, there’s a shift that most Christians still don’t get even to this day: God graciously bestows his Spirit on his people—and it’s because they already have his Spirit, they will keep his commandments. God’s people are no longer limited to a particular nation and by their strict observance of a law written in stone. Rather, God’s people are those whom God graciously chooses to bestow his Spirit regardless of race or nation. At Pentecost, the prophet Joel’s prophecy is fulfilled: “And afterwards, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions” (Joel 2:28).

The Empowerment of the Holy Spirit

Second, besides representing the universalization of the covenant, Pentecost represents the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. At Pentecost, the Spirit of God thus becomes available to all people who would open their hearts to Him, through Christ. In the Old Covenant, the Holy Spirit was reserved for prophets and sages on a special mission for God. We hear how the Spirit of the Lord came upon the likes of Moses, Samson, Samuel, and David, who performed mighty acts of God. In the Old Covenant, the Spirit of the Lord wasn’t for ordinary people but select people acting in extraordinary ways. At Pentecost, the Spirit of the Lord was poured out on all those with open hearts. And a shift takes place: no longer is our relationship with God defined by who we are or what we do; rather, it is defined by to whom we belong. And that’s no longer for a special few, but to all who open their hearts to God, God empowers ordinary people to do extraordinary things in His name.

Many people believe living in the power of the Spirit is reserved only for prophets and saints, but Pentecost changed that and opened the empowerment of the Holy Spirit up to ordinary people like you and me. This is what Jesus was talking about in last week’s gospel when he said, “I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49). Now we affirm at baptism that every Christian has been marked but the Holy Spirit, but not every Christian has experienced the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. Think of it as a pilot light on a stove; how much we dare opening the valve defines how bright that flame shines. But it is up to us how much we choose to open that valve.

The Birth of the Church

Finally, beside representing the universalization of God’s covenant and the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, Pentecost represents nothing less than the birth of the Church. God did not send the Holy Spirit at Pentecost only to comfort—rather, he sent it for us to be empowered to boldly share his message of hope, salvation, and transformation in word and deed, and to live a life experiencing the fullness of joy he meant for us. Like the prophets of old, Pentecost empowered God’s people to spread his Word—yet not just to Israel but to a world so desperately in need of Jesus Christ.

We see the culmination of this covenant, the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, and new as we baptize Barbara this morning. In the waters of baptism, we witness the same miracle that began at Pentecost: a person being grafted into this universal covenant and “clothed with power” from on high. Just as the Spirit descended upon the first believers to mark them as God’s own, today we celebrate that the same Spirit is still moving, still calling, and still adding to the family of God.

Employing God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit

This was revolutionary on the day of Pentecost and is revolutionary today. Pentecost is the one time of year we focus on the Holy Spirit—and all this talk about the Spirit may seem a bit strange and familiar. Now I recognize that this congregation is made of up people who grew up in a diversity of faith traditions. Each our Christian traditions tend to emphasize certain persons of the Trinity over others. It has been said mainline churches often practice a faith where the Father is fully employed, the Son is under-employed, and the Spirit is unemployed. Evangelicals can sometimes fall into a faith where the Father is unemployed, the Son is fully employed, and the Spirit is underemployed. Pentecostals can have a tendency towards a faith where the Father is unemployed, the Son is underemployed, and the Spirit is fully employed. I think all three strands of Christianity have the employment part right! The Biblical faith we recall in the Great Commission, remember today in the second chapter of Acts, and celebrate here on the Day of Pentecost calls us as a corporate people of God and in our daily life at home and at work to fully employ God the Father, fully employ God the Son, and fully employ God the Holy Spirit.

Pentecost is nothing less than the culmination of God’s salvation story in the Gospels. This day we celebrate God opening his way of salvation and hope to all people; God’s empowering ordinary people like you and me with the Holy Spirit to discern and do mighty works; and the mobilization of the Church to share that message of hope, healing, and redemption in word, deed to a broken world desperately in need of reconciliation with God and each other. 

So, as we leave this place today, let’s not leave the Spirit behind these doors and settle for a “pilot light” faith. Dare to open the valve. Go forth as a people fully employing the God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Be the evidence of Pentecost in our community – a people clothed in power, speaking the language of love, and living out the revolutionary hope found in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Alcuin of York – Mark S. Winward

Every Sunday morning, at the very beginning of our celebration of the Holy Eucharist, we pray a prayer so familiar that we could probably recite it in our sleep. We call it the Collect for Purity: “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name…”

This is one of the masterpieces of liturgical English, translated for us by Archbishop Thomas Cranmer in the sixteenth century. But Cranmer did not write it. To find who did, we have to go back twelve hundred years to a deacon from Northumbria, England named Alcuin of York.

Today, we celebrate the feast of Alcuin—a scholar, an abbot, a teacher, and a diplomat who died on May 19 in the year 804. Alcuin lived in the Early Middle Ages –what historians used to call the “Dark Ages” – and certainly was dark to those living through it. Western Europe was fractured patchwork of warring kingdoms. The Roman Empire had long since collapsed. Education had broken down; libraries were non-existent or neglected; and even the clergy were often illiterate, unable to read the scriptures they preached or understand the sacraments they administered. Ignorance, superstition, and political instability threatened to swallow the Christendom.

Born around 730 near York, Alcuin was educated at the York cathedral school under Archbishop Egbert, who had been a pupil of the renowned Doctor of the Church, the Venerable Bede. Immersed in this intellectual environment, Alcuin inherited the finest traditions of Anglo-Saxon scholarship. Alcuin came to learn that faith and education could compliment one another.

Then, while traveling in Italy in 781, Alcuin met Charles the Great—the Frankish king whom we know as Charlemagne. Charlemagne had a massive empire covering most of western and central Europe, but he realized that military power alone could not sustain a Christian society. 

Recognizing Alcuin’s gifts, Charlemagne invited this brilliant deacon from York to help rebuild the mind of Europe. Alcuin became Charlemagne’s minister of education, establishing the Palace School at Aachen and creating a network of schools and scriptoria—monastic writing rooms—across the continent.

If you have ever written a sentence in lowercase letters, used punctuation like a period or a question mark, or put spaces between your words, you can thank Alcuin of York. Before his time, Latin was written in scriptura continua—ALLCAPITALLETTERSMASHEDTOGETHERWITHOUTSPACES. It was incredibly difficult to read. Alcuin championed a new, beautiful, legible script called Carolingian Minuscule. He introduced standardized punctuation and spacing.

Alcuin understood that if you cannot read clearly, you cannot interpret Scripture accurately. If you cannot copy a text reliably, the Gospel becomes distorted over time. For Alcuin, clear writing and clear thinking were acts of holy devotion. By standardizing the written word, he and his scribes painstakingly preserved much of the classical and Christian texts of Western civilization. Without his scriptoria, a huge portion of the ancient world’s wisdom would have been lost to history.

Yet, despite his influence, Alcuin never had ambitions for high ecclesiastical office and remained a deacon for most of his life. In the early and medieval church, teaching, scholarship, and the preservation of books were understood specifically as a diaconal ministry. The deacon is called to bridge the gap between the church and the world, to serve the needy, and to rightly dispense the truth. Alcuin saw the intellectually impoverished as the poor who needed feeding. He fed them with the bread of wisdom.

Our Collect for today praises God for raising up Alcuin, praying: “Shine in our hearts, we pray, that we may also show forth your praise in our own generation, for you have called us out of darkness and into your marvelous light.” So what does it mean for us to show forth God’s praise in our generation?

We live in an age drowning in information but starving for wisdom. We are bombarded by endless streams of texts, tweets, and 24-hour news cycles. And like the early Middle Ages, our nation feels deeply fractured. Truth is often treated as subjective, and nuance is routinely sacrificed on the altar of outrage. It can feel like a new kind of darkness.

Alcuin did not retreat from the world into our political and cultural tribes, nor did he weaponize knowledge to defeat his enemies. Instead, he built institutions of grace. He focused on the slow, meticulous, faithful work of education, textual correction, and moral formation. He understood that the antidote to darkness is not to curse it, but to quietly and persistently light candles.

In our Gospel reading today from Matthew, Jesus tells the parable of the wheat and the tares. A man sows good seed, but an enemy sows weeds among it. When the servants ask if they should pull up the weeds, the master says, “No, lest in gathering the weeds you root up the wheat along with them. Let both grow together until the harvest.”

Alcuin lived out this parable. In Charlemagne’s court, politics could be brutal, and the culture was often harsh. Yet Alcuin worked within that messy field. He strived to sow the good seed of truth, virtue, and literacy, trusting that God would preserve the harvest. He wrote over three hundred letters to emperors, bishops, and friends, acting as a counselor, peacemaker, and gentle rebuker. In a letter to Charlemagne’s treasurer, Alcuin famously laid down a profound principle of grace, warning against forcing faith upon conquered peoples. He wrote that a person can be forced into baptism, but they cannot be forced into belief. Faith, he insisted, must be fostered through patient teaching, not coerced by political power.

Particularly in this age, I believe we are called to be people who care about truth, who use language to build up rather than tear down, and who refuse to let the rancor of our times to overwhelm the Gospel. Let us pray that the Holy Spirit would cleanse the thoughts of our hearts. Let us step out of the darkness of falsehood, cynicism, and fear, and step into the light of Jesus Christ—the source of all wisdom and truth. And may God give us the courage to pursue that high calling and the grace to accomplish it. Amen.

The Seventh Sunday of Easter – Mark S. Winward

The Strength of the In-Between

Jesus said, “…you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” – Acts 1:8

“But, but…and there goes.” Now what?

If you have ever been in an ongoing crisis or known the struggle of a terminal disease, you’re all too familiar with that “in-between” place. It is the space that lies between our current reality and the uncertainty of the future. During those times, the small things we used to worry about suddenly seem petty, and life takes on a whole new meaning. I want to suggest to you that character is generally not made in the heat of crisis; rather, it is in those in-between places that character is grown.

The Forge of the Mundane

We are often inspired by those who face crises with clarity, grace, or courage. We admire the person who bears a devastating illness with poise, the advocate who stands resolute against injustice, or the hero who risks their life for another. But before any of these individuals faced the moments that would define them, their character was forged in the mundane moments of life—the quiet hours spent waiting for a time of testing.

Alfred Hitchcock famously said that movies are “life with the dull bits cut out.” We tend to view our own lives like films, judging our journey by the peaks and valleys: births and deaths, weddings and divorces, successes and failures. But our character isn’t forged in the midst of the rapids so much as it is in the calm eddies between them. Crisis demonstrates our character, but the calm between crises is where we build it.

Complacency vs. Expectation

It is easy to become complacent in the quiet of the in-between. Complacency lulls us into a false sense of security, fosters malaise, and leaves us unprepared for the challenges ahead. Expectation, in contrast, prepares us for the trials of life. It encourages spiritual fitness and gives us confidence that, in the end, right will prevail.

This Sunday’s readings in Acts find the apostles suspended between Christ’s Ascension and the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. As they stared up at the sky, they were undoubtedly asking themselves, “So, what do we do now?”

Luke, the author of Acts, usually describes the faithful as returning home glorifying and praising God. But here, the tone is different. Things looked grim for Jesus’ followers. While Christ had conquered death and was risen, they were now alone without their teacher, dogged by the authorities, and short one disciple who had betrayed Jesus only to take his own life.

A Transformation of Character

Perhaps the greatest testament to the truth of the Resurrection is the fact that the Church survived at all. A dramatic change occurred in this ragtag band of peasants. They were transformed from men who abandoned and denied Jesus into an organized, determined force with a missionary zeal to change the world. Something changed their very character.

Character building is one of the greatest challenges we face in society. Character is defined by doing the right thing for the right reason, even when no one is looking. Unfortunately, character is preciously rare in a culture that demands results now, wants things its own way, and seeks self-interest regardless of the cost to others.

When I served in the military, entire curricula at the service academies were dedicated to character. It is the essence of our core. The challenge, however, is that we can teach people the right thing to do but we cannot teach people to actually do the right thing. That quality begins at home and in places like this. It is the foundation of a life reinforced by making the right choices daily. Eventually, making the right choice for the right reason becomes a habit. Character grows in those mundane daily choices so that, in the moment of crisis, it can be displayed.

The Legacy of the Apostles

The disciples hadn’t displayed much character up to this point. By any earthly measure, the likelihood of the Church’s survival was dim. Yet, the same cowering band of turncoats we see in the Gospels eventually went to their graves proclaiming, “Jesus Christ is Lord.” With the exception of John, every one of the apostles died a martyr’s death, refusing to deny their faith. As a result, by the close of the first century, Christianity was spreading throughout the Roman Empire like wildfire.

The only reasonable explanation is that their character—the very foundation of who they were—was transformed by an encounter with the risen Christ. Rather than falling into complacency, their lives became characterized by expectation. Day by day, despite the uncertainty and the odds, they remained focused on their mission. Their daily, faithful expectation that Christ’s Church would prevail created heroes whose courage still shines today.

Heroes Among Us

Heroes sometimes shine in a blaze of glory—but they don’t have to. There are heroes among us in this very parish: people whose faithfulness to God and our community is displayed in the quiet courage of their daily lives.

• They are the ones who volunteer with no expectation of recognition.
• They are the ones who silently endure hardship without complaint.
• They are the ones who suffer disability or grief with grace.

Whether heroism is displayed in a moment of glory or in silent faithfulness, these individuals all share a common thread: they do the right thing for the right reason when no one is looking. They keep on keeping on despite the odds. And they expect, in the end, that good will prevail. Look around this place, and you will see that there are heroes among us.

Ascension Day – Mark S. Winward

The Ascension: From Observers to Apostles

Today, we celebrate the glorious Ascension of our Lord. Although we confess Jesus’ Ascension every Sunday in the Nicene Creed—”He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father”—the event is often misunderstood. In truth, the Ascension is the capstone of Jesus’ incarnation, death, and resurrection. Without Christmas, there could be no incarnation. Without Easter, the cross would be a meaningless martyrdom. And without the Ascension, Easter would be a victory without its final note of triumph. At the Ascension—following Jesus’ fierce battle with death and his victorious resurrection—Christ the King takes his rightful throne to rule his people forever.

But things will never be the same for Jesus’ disciples, no matter how much they might long for things to go back to the way they were. Have you ever noticed that after this point, the disciples are called “apostles”? They are no longer merely followers of a teacher. The word apostle comes from the Greek apostolos, literally meaning “those sent out with a mission.” With Jesus no longer physically present among them, they are commissioned as ambassadors of the risen and enthroned Christ.

Still, it must have been a frightening time. Times of change always are. Their teacher of three years was gone, leaving them with a commission to share his message throughout the entire world. This band of poor, uneducated Jewish peasants was left with mouths agape, staring at the sky. If ever a group lacked the means to meet a task, it was this one. “Okay,” I can hear them saying as they gazed upward, “so now what do we do?” Like it or not, the “good old days” were over. Yet, the truth is this: had they stayed stuck in that mode of thinking, Jesus’ message would have died that day, and we would never have known the transforming power of Christ.

For these former followers, this uncertain moment—suspended between the joy of the resurrection and the empowerment of Pentecost—was the beginning of an adventure. In effect, Jesus said to them, “Stop looking into the heavens! Stop waiting around for what you think might happen—you have work to do! You are going to receive the power of the Holy Spirit, and then you will be my witnesses to every corner of the world. You will do yourselves what you could not hope to do before.”

Then, it must finally have dawned on them: in this “in-between time,” they were on the cusp of something wonderful. I suspect that for the first time, they entertained the thought that perhaps God was about to move among them in a way more marvelous than they could ever imagine.

When they finally caught this vision, the story ends with an outburst of worship: ”And they returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple blessing God.” Rather than being depressed that Jesus had left them with an uncertain future, the apostles were ecstatic. They realized that witness and worship belong together. Like a bud that will not bloom without water, the church’s mission to the world dries up without the joyous praise of worship. When we open ourselves to celebrate God’s presence in word, deed, liturgy, and song, we taste the promised power of the Holy Spirit. This is what enables us to celebrate his presence outside these doors. At the same time, worship apart from witness is hollow; it causes a community to turn inward, losing its very reason for being.

Like those apostles between Easter and Pentecost, I believe we as a church are on the cusp of something wonderful. Are we ready to consider that God may be doing a new and exciting thing among us? If we are, our best days remain before us, and the adventure is just beginning!

The Sixth Sunday of Easter – Mark S. Winward

Mother’s Day

In the name of God the Creator, God the Redeemer, and God who sanctifies our souls. Amen.

The Dilemma of Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day, ladies! You know, Mother’s Day is one of those occasions that leaves preachers in a quandary. First, with our still being in the Easter season, our focus remains rightly on the glorious resurrection of our Lord. Second, a service centered wholly on Mother’s Day runs the danger of sinking into a kind of sentimentalism that might ignore the very real wounds many of you may carry. For some, motherhood was an accident and not always a welcome one; for others, biological motherhood isn’t possible. For some, their mothers weren’t all that kind, and for others, even under the very best of circumstances, motherhood is still less than a bed of roses or a primrose path.

An Earthly Representation of Divine Love

So, with all those qualifications, why even bother with Mother’s Day? We do so because, in the words of poet Wilhelm Busch, “To become a mother is not so difficult; on the other hand, being a mother is very much so!” Mother’s Day celebrates a beautiful ideal. Amidst all its stumbling blocks, pitfalls, and broken dreams—amidst the soiled diapers, stained wallpaper, and spoiled plans—we see an earthly representation of God’s love and care for us. Like God’s love, motherhood is mixed with joy and pain. It is rejoicing in first steps and wiping a fevered forehead; it is the warm embrace of an infant and the sleepless nights of sacrifice. Motherhood hopes for all and prays for hope when hope is gone. Like God’s relationship with us, it is at the very heart of what it means to be human.

The Incarnation and the Mother’s Touch

Why do you think it is so important that Jesus was born and had a mother himself? It is often overlooked, but this is one of the strongest arguments that Jesus’ life and teachings were not just concocted. In ancient Roman mythology, gods frequently visited the earth and sometimes took earthly women as wives, but the product of their union was always inferior to the god himself—his deity diluted by humanity. No one before that time had ever imagined the Creator could come to this world as a man with neither divinity nor humanity diluted. This was so alien to ancient beliefs that it could not have been the choice of a storyteller weaving a yarn. Ancient philosophy missed the touch-point between humanity and divinity: love. For Jesus to be fully human, He had to know the love of a mother’s warm embrace and her wiping away of tears. To be fully human—not frail and fallen, but as God meant us to be—He had to know the healing power of an earthly love which values another supremely above itself.

Motherhood as an Icon of Love

Motherhood is much more than a matter of relation. In the age of in vitro fertilization, surrogate mothers, and genetic manipulation, our biological categories for motherhood have increasingly blurred. Yet motherhood is not about whose genes you carry; true motherhood is nothing less than an icon of love—an earthly image pointing to a deeper spiritual reality. In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul describes the characteristics of selfless love: it is patient, kind, and does not insist on its own way. True, redeemed, and godly motherhood is always rooted in this love. It is that first experience of love, or the lack of it, which models our ability to love as adults. A devoted mother can give her child no greater gift than her love.

Healing the Brokenness

Yet the reality is that we live in a world marred by sin, where love is not always devoted or selfless. For many, motherhood represents pain or hurt. For some, a mother’s love was absent due to neglect or loss; for others, they long to be mothers but never will be. For these people, motherhood is at the center of their brokenness. I believe the key to wholeness is love. Somehow, we all must find a way to feel loved and to love. Perhaps you did not experience a mother’s love, yet there is One who knew and loved you even before you were formed in your mother’s womb.

Before the foundations of the world, you were loved. You were loved before you breathed your first breath and before you had that first unkind thought or did that first unjust deed. You were loved so much that God sent His Son to demonstrate an unfathomable and perfect love such as the world had never seen. God loved you to death; yet that love was so profound, so pure, that nothing could overcome it. Throughout the ages, that love has waited for you—a gift to be opened, embraced, and shared. Once you know it, it will forever be yours and you will be whole. The amazingly good news is that, in response to that love, we are free to love—not so that God might love us, but because He already does.

A Call to Wholeness

There is nothing you can do to escape that love except ignore it. Jesus Christ is alive and longs for you to live with Him. Allow Him to be your daily companion and surrender to His love. As you approach the altar this morning to receive the body and blood of Christ, receive Him anew, and go forth from this place assured that you are loved and whole. Perhaps then we can truly leave to love and serve the Lord with gladness and singleness of heart—fully human: loved to love.

The Third Sunday of Easter – Mark S. Winward

When [Jesus] was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road…”

 – Luke 23:30-32

The Road to Emmaus

Have you ever been so caught up with your own problems that you missed what was happening right in front of you? I certainly have. It happens to all of us: we become so hyper-focused on a particular problem or task that we become oblivious to the world around us. Much of this stems from the fact that we simply don’t expect the unexpected. We look for what we assume will be there, and when something – or someone – extraordinary appears, our preoccupied minds fail to register it.

Jesus met his followers on the road to Emmaus in a completely unexpected way. For these travelers, the news of the empty tomb simply wasn’t enough. To them, the idea of a dead person coming back to life was as ridiculous as it is to us – perhaps even more so. In the ancient world, death was far more visible and visceral. There were no sanitized hospitals where people passed away quietly behind curtains; people saw life end in the streets and in the home. They watched women die in childbirth and saw the horrific trauma of a Roman execution. Having witnessed the torturous death of Jesus just days prior, only seeing him risen with their own eyes would be sufficient to bridge the gap between grief and belief.

This is what actually gives the story its “ring of truth.” Cleopas and his companion were so unwilling to believe that they were eventually “dressed down” by Jesus himself. If the early Church had been fabricating this story, it is highly unlikely they would include details that highlighted the followers’ lack of faith or stupidity. As the 19th-century legal scholar Simon Greenleaf noted, these accounts lack the polished signs of fabrication. A true witness is often artless and disdains calculated effects. This story has exactly that raw, unpolished tone.

The Mystery of Recognition

The Gospel writer describes their initial unbelief with a puzzling phrase: “…their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” For whatever reason, these two followers either couldn’t or wouldn’t see Jesus for who he was. Scholars have speculated on this for centuries. Perhaps the late afternoon sun was in their eyes, or perhaps Jesus wore a hood to conceal his face. Others suggest his resurrected body was dramatically different from his earthly one, while some believe God supernaturally clouded their vision, perhaps as he had once hardened the heart of Pharaoh.

The answer likely lies in a combination of these factors. God has a habit of expressing the extraordinary through the ordinary, and there’s no reason to believe he didn’t do the same here. It’s no accident that Jesus was finally revealed to them only when he sat down with them and broke bread. In the ancient world, the table was the ultimate place of fellowship – even more so than today. Throughout Luke’s Gospel, the table is where Jesus is heard and where people come to know him most personally.

The point is clear: Jesus reveals himself to us – he becomes most real to us – in the context of intimacy. This’s why faith is so important: we can’t truly know Christ unless we risk opening our hearts to him. The fact is: God doesn’t always arrive as lightning flashing across the sky. Instead, Luke suggests Jesus makes himself known in the basic, routine moments of life. He appears when we least expect him, making himself at home in the midst of our everyday chores and quiet walks. When we remain attentive to his presence throughout the day, we find that over the years, he becomes woven into the very fabric of our lives.

The Symbol of Breaking Bread

The act of breaking bread with Christ is a powerful symbol that we continue to celebrate in the Eucharist every week. Consider the feelings the smell of fresh bread evokes. If you grew up in a home where bread was baked in the kitchen, that scent is the smell of home itself. It’s why real estate agents often bake cookies before an open house; for those blessed with a nurturing upbringing, the aroma evokes peace, safety, and love.

You can’t miss the power of this symbol. Bread is the universal sign of “going home.” For the believer, it is also the symbol of Christ. In the bread, we see, touch, and taste something that tangibly and physically connects to Jesus. It is a holy, intimate moment where we connect with the divine through the mundane. And it serves as a physical reminder of our eventual heavenly home.

Conclusion

Jesus has a habit of showing up when he is least expected. He freely enters into a relationship with anyone who will welcome him, replacing their lingering fears with a burning hope. He is the master of revealing the extraordinary in the heart of the ordinary.

The catch, of course, is that you have to be looking – and you have to know who you are looking for. That leads to a vital question: Do you merely know about Christ, or do you truly know Christ? To know him is to walk with him, listen to his words, and enter into his fellowship.

As you leave this place today on your own road with our risen Lord, I pray each of you will catch the smell of the bread.

2nd Sunday of Easter – Byron Tindall

The reading for today from John’s Gospel takes place on the evening of that first Easter. John doesn’t say who all was there, just that Thomas wasn’t with them. The term “disciples” includes followers other than just the 11 or 10 without Thomas.

Regardless of the number of disciples present, I would love to have been the proverbial fly on the wall in order to eavesdrop on the conversation. I can just hear it now.

“What happened?” What’s going on?” “I heard some of the women said they’ve seen Him.” “I’m scared!” “It can’t be true that He isn’t dead, can it?” “I’m confused.” “Peter and the one Jesus loved saw the empty tomb.” I just wish John had recorded at least a little bit of the discussion.

At any rate, John wrote that Jesus suddenly, without fanfare, appeared in the midst of them. After giving His peace to them, Jesus gave them their marching orders and then he showed them his hands and his feet. He then bestows the Holy Spirit on them.

At this point, we need to ask the question, “Is this John’s version of the Christian Pentecost?” It is vastly different from Luke’s account as recorded in the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. The Day of Pentecost was the Greek term for the Jewish Feast of Weeks, so named because it fell on the 50^th day following the ceremony of the barley sheaf during the Passover celebration.

Maybe, just maybe, the gift of the Holy Spirit is given to individuals at various times. I think that is the way She acts. This has been going on throughout history. The gift wasn’t given just once to the disciples. Think about what is said at Baptisms and Ordinations. In one of the petitions in the Prayers for the Candidates at Baptism, and leader prays, “Fill them with your holy and life-giving Spirit.” During the service of Ordination, the bishop lays hands on the ordinand’s head and prays, “Therefore, Father, through Jesus Christ your Son, give your Holy Spirit to….”

Could it possibly be that all of us experience “mini” Pentecosts throughout our lives? I happen to think that we do.

The next portion of the lesson from John is one of the most debated statements in the New Testament. “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them….” Those who are not comfortable with this say that only God can forgive sins. A close look at the prayer in the Ash Wednesday liturgy sheds a little light on the subject.

“Almighty God…has given power and commandment to his ministers to declare and pronounce to his people, being penitent, the absolution and remission of their sins….” It’s not the bishop or priest who forgives the sin. The minister is assuring the penitent of God’s forgiveness. The minister has the right to do so through the power of the Holy Spirit received at ordination.

We have now arrived at the point in John’s narrative that really resonates with me, the report of Doubting Thomas. I can relate to Thomas wanting further proof that Christ had risen. He got his proof a week later. I, for one, would like to know what transpired during the time between the gatherings in the house. Oh well, St. John apparently didn’t think it was important enough to record, so I’ll never know in this life at least.

When Jesus appeared again to the assembled disciples, Thomas was present this time. After sharing  His peace with them, Jesus tells Thomas to feel his wounds. Jesus told Thomas, “Do not doubt but believe.” St. John does not say whether or not Thomas actually touched Jesus. It doesn’t make any difference. Thomas’s exclamation says it all. “My Lord and my God!”

Jesus then said to Thomas, not the entire gathering, according to St. John, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

To whom was Jesus referring when He said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe?

John concludes this portion of his Gospel with some very reassuring statements.

“Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in the book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

To whom did St. John direct his statement, “…these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah….”

I think that both Jesus and St. John were referring to all the saints throughout all generations down through the ages culminating with you and me.

And if that is so, when say we believe, we are to live our lives following the One who died and rose again for us.

At the conclusion of the lessons, our lectors say, “Hear what the Spirit is saying to God’s people.” We have to ask ourselves, “What is the Spirit saying to me?” “Where is He sending me?” 

Just as He sent forth his disciples, He sends us out to show God’s love for his creation. Our lives are to show the world what we believe.

 Alleluia, Christ has risen.