Author: Rosemary Lovelace

4th Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 7A – Mark S. Winward

Jesus said, “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” – Matthew 10:39

The Cost of Discipleship

In the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Wow, tough Gospel reading this morning—perhaps the hardest of Jesus’ teachings. But seriously, when there is a selection in the cycle of readings that is difficult to understand, hard to swallow, or seemingly harsh, that is probably the exact place a preacher should focus. So, I feel responsible to explore this very hard set of sayings of Jesus in today’s Gospel. Why was Jesus so harsh?

For one thing, he knew the sacrifices his followers would make to spread the Good News of his kingdom – and it was indeed costly. The great second-century Church father, Tertullian, famously wrote, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” Especially in the first three centuries of the Church, Christians would be beaten, tortured, and killed in ways limited only by the imagination of their persecutors. And it was their refusal to deny Jesus as Lord that inspired millions to embrace a faith ironically represented by a Roman symbol of execution: the cross. Martin Luther famously wrote, “A religion that gives nothing, costs nothing, and suffers nothing, is worth nothing.” Jesus knew his disciples, like him, would be called upon to suffer for his Good News of hope, salvation, and reconciliation. 

Perhaps the most convincing evidence of Jesus’ resurrection is the fate of those twelve: Andrew died on a cross; Simon was crucified; Bartholomew was flayed alive; James (son of Zebedee) was beheaded; the other James (son of Alphaeus) was beaten to death; Thomas was run through with a lance; Matthias was stoned and then beheaded; Matthew was slain by the sword; Peter was crucified upside down; Thaddeus was shot to death with arrows; and Philip was hanged. Only John made it through alive, but he was exiled to a small island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.

Radical Discipleship Versus Tame Faith

The demands that Jesus makes upon those who would follow him are pretty extreme. I have to admit, I am completely perplexed by how many preachers take away the sharp edge from lectionary readings like this one. If we practice our faith the way Jesus exhorts us to, Christianity can’t just be a tame Sunday School faith, confined once a week to the four walls of a church. The faith to which Jesus called his disciples is nothing less than hungering after God to the point of laying down our lives for his sake. Such radical discipleship shakes our foundations, topples our priorities, and at times pits us against friend and family, making us strangers in this world.

Perhaps the most demanding of Jesus’ teachings is found in today’s Gospel reading in Matthew. Matthew, by the way, records Jesus as specifically addressing his disciples, while Luke records the same words as part of his teaching to the crowds. In either case, the impact is equally challenging: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.“

That must have gotten their attention—and it was designed to. Now, people followed Jesus for a number of different reasons. Some followed him because they saw Jesus feed a multitude of people and were waiting to be fed again. Some followed him because they heard of Jesus’ ability to heal and were waiting for an opportunity to approach him and be healed. Still others followed him simply for the excitement. But it is safe to say that only a few were truly committed to this traveling preacher’s teaching.

Understanding Jesus’ Shocking Language

If we think about it, Jesus no more taught hating our family in the Gospels than he taught us to hate life. Indeed, four chapters later, Jesus preached to the teachers of the law, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus knew exactly how to draw a crowd in—he used shocking language to shake them out of their complacency. But once these Jewish crowds got over the initial shock, they might have realized Jesus wasn’t telling them anything at all new. They might have remembered that this principle was graphically acted out in Genesis 22. That story recounts God commanding Abraham to take his son, Isaac, to Mt. Moriah to be sacrificed. Intent on obeying God, at the last moment, an angel of the Lord prevents Abraham from carrying out this horrific act.

Now, this is not a story about child abuse; rather, it is a story about faithfulness. Here, a simple nomad demonstrates he is willing to perform a sacrifice which was common to the primitive religions. But God no more meant Abraham to sacrifice Isaac than Jesus is suggesting for us to hate our family. Rather, God meant to test Abraham’s priorities. And because of Abraham’s faithfulness, God issues one of the most famous promises in the Bible: “Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore.” This story was near and dear to Jesus’ Jewish audience, and if they thought about it, they would have realized Jesus was sharing with them exactly the same principle: namely, God demands nothing less than to be the central priority in our lives.

The Radical Reorientation of Faith

This demand for total priority is exactly what Paul is describing in today’s reading from Romans. Paul describes the radical reordering of one’s life represented in baptism. Here, the old life for Self is set aside, and a new life oriented for, in, and around Christ is embraced. Such a life embraces the author of life and, in doing so, seeks God’s purposes. The point is that a life given over to God—dead to self—naturally seeks God’s will. That is why baptism and repentance are so closely tied. Repentance literally means “turning around 180 degrees.” Such a 180 degree reorientation represents a turning away from our own wills and towards God.

Most people will tell you that what it takes to get to heaven is just to be a good person. In other words, we get God to accept us by being good—a kind of quid pro quo. You’re good, so God does what you want. The Gospel turns this thinking on its ear. When a radical spiritual reorientation occurs, we naturally point towards God’s will rather than our own.

The Weight of Objective Truth

That is a pretty costly proposition if our faith isn’t, in some fundamental way, true. It’s popular to believe now a days that it really doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you are sincere. Of course, it is quite possible to be very sincere and have all the best intentions, and to be sincerely wrong. If faith is anything more than a way to help us feel good about ourselves, it must either be objectively true or objectively false. Woven throughout Scripture is the simple proposition that God revealed Himself miraculously to the people of Israel, and then directly in Jesus Christ. At the end of the day, if our faith has any substance, that proposition is either objectively true or false. We are either sincerely wrong, or it is the most important Truth one can possibly know in the world. And if Christ—as he claims to be—is the very definition of Truth, that revelation demands we build our lives around it and follow in His footsteps. But count the cost. Jesus tells us, “Whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

Heroic Faith

Such sacrifice is nothing less than heroic. We see it in inner city ministry, in world missions, and in organizations like Doctors Without Borders. Heroic faith is the difference between a contribution and a sacrifice. Following Jesus Christ can never be only a polite Sunday morning faith. It demands walking in the footsteps of Christ along the way of the cross. It demands being prepared to face ridicule and rejection for our faith. And it demands laying everything we possess and all that we are at the foot of the cross. It demands we yield before Jesus Christ as the Lord of our lives—with Him as our central priority and focus.

The irony of the cross, though, is that it hardly represents just sorrow and sacrifice. Rather, just as it did when Christ first walked the Via De La Rosa, the way of the cross leads to resurrection. And rather than throwing our lives into chaos, putting all we have and are under God’s control—under the Lordship of Jesus Christ—begins to put things in order. And finally, we know Peace. In losing our lives, we gain them. Surely, then, we will discover for ourselves the converse of Martin Luther’s words that I began with: a faith that gives everything, costs everything, and suffers everything is most certainly worth everything.

3rd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 6A – Mark S. Winward

Introduction: The Rhythm of Spiritual Breath

Just for a moment, please close your eyes, relax, and become aware of your breathing. Sense the rhythm of your breath – in and out, in and out – not forced or controlled, but as a natural expression of the rhythm of your life. Take in air to sustain your life, and return it. Without both, it is impossible for each of us to live or flourish. 

Far too often, we Christians slip into the temptation of attempting to live on a single breath: either spiritually inhaling or spiritually exhaling. At times we may retreat into a comfortable spirituality that asks little of us beyond our own growth; at other times, we may rush into reaching out to the world without remaining rooted in prayer. Whether as individuals or congregations, without a balance between an inward and an outward faith, we cannot truly know what it is to spiritually flourish.

The Breath of God

Scripture connects breath with the very life of God. The Hebrew word ruach and the Greek word pneuma both can be translated spirit, wind, or breath. The Hebrew scriptures tell us the breath of God was breathed into Adam at creation. The New Testament recalls the Holy Spirit being breathed upon the disciples by the risen Christ. So when we speak about spiritual breath, we understand it as life sustained by the Spirit of God. But the temptation is to focus on two extremes: either spiritually only inhaling or exhaling.

Only Breathing In or Out

Some Christians may perpetually inhale – taking in the breath of the Holy Spirit while enjoying the beauty of God’s holiness. Such a faith basks in a personal relationship with Christ, individual salvation, and the comfort that brings. But although this vertical relationship with God is deeply embraced, a faith that fails to move beyond it risks losing its horizontal impact outside the church doors. Some forms of Christianity may become so focused on personal faith and spiritual growth that engagement with the surrounding world gradually fades into the background, offering little comfort to the lonely, the broken, or the marginalized in their surrounding communities. Such a faith inhales… and inhales… and inhales – suffocating on its own comfort.

At the other extreme is a Christianity that perpetually exhales – a faith of action that rightly takes our baptismal covenant seriously to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.” Such a faith celebrates on social activism, political mobilization, or outreach to the marginalized. Churches may devote tremendous energy to feeding programs, advocacy efforts, and community outreach – all of which have a significant, positive effect on their community. But somehow, in the urgent appeal for action, the connection with the Source is sometimes lost. In the rush to do the work of God, there may be little time left for prayer, for deepening a relationship with Christ, or for personal transformation. Such a faith exhales… and exhales… and exhales – running on sheer human grit and moral duty, until it runs out of air from a lack of the Spirit’s breath.

A Holistic Faith: Understanding Grace

A holistic faith, in contrast, breathes deeply of the grace of God and breathes out that grace to a broken world – a world that is itself suffocating from a lack of the love, mercy, and charity.

At its most basic level, grace is unearned mercy. God loves us and forgives us not because we have earned it, but simply because grace is at the heart of who God is. The grace you and I stand in this morning is entirely, beautifully, radically unearned! Today’s collect beautifully captures this balance between receiving God’s grace and sharing it: “Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness, and minister your justice with compassion…” 

In other words, we receive God’s grace to share it with others – in both word and deed. That order matters. We do not earn God’s favor through our service; rather, our service is the natural overflow of grace we have already received from God. We breathe out grace to others because God has first breathed his grace into us. In such a balanced internal and external life, the outreach we extend to the world is the inevitable, necessary echo of the unearned grace God has already extended to us.

Balancing Grace and Action

Today’s St. Paul’s Letter to Romans puts it beautifully: “Since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ…” We breathe in God’s unmerited mercy by holding it in our hearts in faith, and the result is life – what the Gospels call “life more abundantly.” Such a life takes on a whole new meaning, even in the midst of suffering. Paul continues: ”…suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope…”When we recognize that God accepts us out of sheer, unmerited mercy, it changes everything! We begin to see that none of us is any better than anyone else, because we all find ourselves in the same fix: sinners in need of Christ’s redeeming. And when we begin to comprehend that profound truth of our redemption, we become so overwhelmed by God’s grace that we simply cannot contain it, and are compelled to breathe out that grace to others. Sometimes that takes dramatic forms, but more often it happens in ordinary ways: visiting a lonely neighbor, preparing a meal for someone in crisis, forgiving a person who has wounded us, mentoring a child, or simply offering compassion to someone carrying an unseen burden. Grace received, naturally, seeks to be grace shared.

Having received God’s grace, then what do we do with it? The key to this is found in today’s Gospel when Jesus concludes: “Proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.” Other translations put it even more starkly: “Freely you have received; freely give.” God has bestowed unearned mercy on us; therefore, we share his amazing grace with others. Notice that sharing the Gospel is two-fold – proclaiming the Kingdom of God and extending healing to others. Word and deed.

Conclusion: Our Charge

And there it is. We cannot isolate ourselves from the world and only bask in God’s grace; nor can we reach out to those in need relying solely on our own empathy. Instead, we see the needs of the world around us and respond, “God has been so jaw-droppingly merciful to me, how can I possibly withhold that mercy from others?”

The Father has loved us, the Son has redeemed us, and the Holy Spirit has empowered us for service. The Christian life is nothing less than participating in that divine life and allowing it to flow through us into the world. Our spiritual vitality – both individually and as a believing community – is sustained by breathing in God’s unearned grace and breathing it out to a wounded world. We simply cannot receive the grace of God and remain indifferent to those outside our doors. Likewise, we cannot effectively attend to the wounds of the world without being sustained by the breath of God. My prayer is that we grow deeper in God’s amazing grace, and continue to boldly step out into the world, proclaiming the risen Christ, and sharing His justice and compassion.

Freely we have received. Now, go forth from here and freely give.

Amen.

2nd Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 5A – Mark S. Winword

“Thus says the Lord… ‘For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.’”  –  Hosea 6:6

Ordinary Time, Extraordinary Calling

Today marks the beginning of the season of Pentecost, also known as Ordinary Time. In the rhythm of this church year, we have awaited the coming of the Messiah in Advent, celebrated his arrival in Christmas and Epiphany, confronted our need for redemption in Lent, walked the way of the Cross during Holy Week, remembered Jesus’ death for our sins on Good Friday, celebrated his glorious Resurrection and Ascension at Easter and Ascension Day, and rejoiced in the coming of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. Now we enter a season in which we live all of that out in the ordinary course of daily life.

We mark our lives by significant events: births, deaths, marriages, baptisms, graduations, and birthdays. Yet most of life is lived in the spaces between those milestones. During the season of Pentecost, we reflect on our day-to-day discipleship – what it means to embrace our faith, receive God’s grace, and go forth rejoicing in the power of the Spirit.

That’s why I’ve asked the Altar Guild to leave the doves up throughout the season of Pentecost. If Pentecost celebrates the gift of the Holy Spirit that we receive in baptism, then the season of Pentecost is the rest of the story: what we do with that gift. So, when you see these doves throughout the season, remember that you are surrounded by people empowered by the Holy Spirit to bring healing to a world desperately in need of Christ’s touch.

We enter today’s Gospel at a moment when Jesus’ messianic mission is unfolding very differently from what many expected. Rather than overthrowing the occupying Romans, catering to the religious elite, and establishing Israel as the dominant power in the world, Jesus heals those they rejected – breaking down political, purity, and gender barriers to the Kingdom of God. As a result, resistance to Jesus and his challenge to the established order begins to emerge.

Matthew: Called from the Margins

It starts with a tax collector named Matthew. Tax collectors, drawn from the local population, were required to collect a certain amount of revenue for the Roman authorities and were permitted to keep whatever they collected beyond that amount – which they usually ensured was quite generous for themselves. Having enriched themselves through Roman occupation, they were regarded by their fellow Jews as traitors.

Still, ignoring all of this, Jesus simply says to Matthew, “Follow me,” and Matthew rises and does exactly that. It sounds simple, but for Matthew, discipleship meant abandoning service to the Roman governor and walking away from a lucrative livelihood. While fishermen could always return to fishing, there was no going back for Matthew. He was all in. His response to Jesus’ call represented nothing short of a miraculous transformation.

The Pharisees, priding themselves on being strict adherents of the Law and guardians of the religious establishment, wanted no part of it. They seized the opportunity to attack Jesus, accusing him of eating with tax collectors and sinners. In the ancient world, sharing a meal carried enormous social and religious significance. It defined who belonged – who was in and who was out: and tax collectors were definitely “out.” Socially and politically, the Pharisees saw tax collectors as traitors. Religiously, their constant contact with Gentiles and their exploitation of the people rendered them ritually unclean and spiritually suspect. Yet Jesus ignores these boundaries and continues to share table fellowship with them. The irony is that the Pharisees are so consumed by their own righteousness that they fail to recognize their hard-heartedness, elevating ritual above love of God and neighbor.

The Woman and the Ruler: Faith and Healing

The Gospel then shifts to Jesus being begged to visit the home of a ruler, identified in Mark and Luke as Jairus. Before he arrives, however, he is interrupted by a woman who has suffered for twelve years from menorrhagia, a chronic menstrual hemorrhaging condition. Like the tax collectors, she too is socially isolated and ritually unclean. Despite this, trusting in the power of God, she ventures into the crowd and touches the edge of Jesus’ cloak. Ignoring her social rejection and ritual impurity, Jesus responds, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” Not through a magical garment, but through faith in the power of God revealed in Jesus, she reaches the place where healing becomes possible.

Finally, Jesus arrives at Jairus’ home, walking into the chaos that follows the death of a child. The cries of mourners rise and fall as family and friends grieve. When Jesus suggests that the girl is only asleep, they ridicule him. Nevertheless, he enters the house, takes the hand of the ritually unclean body, and, as the other Gospels record, commands her to arise. The girl immediately rises, restored to life.

The Miracle Beneath the Miracles

So what does this mean for us?

In each of these encounters, the deepest need lies beneath the surface. The hemorrhaging woman and the grieving father certainly faced urgent and painful circumstances. Yet Matthew and his companions, the Pharisees, the afflicted woman, and Jairus all shared a condition that ran deeper than their outward situations. Matthew, the woman, and Jairus recognized their need and embraced the healing Christ offered. The Pharisees, sadly, did not.

To the astonishment of his contemporaries – and even many people today – Jesus did not come primarily to perform miracles. Had that been his mission alone, he wouldn’t have been especially successful during his brief three years of ministry among a people whose lives were, in Thomas Hobbes’s memorable phrase, “poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” Poverty, famine, disease, and suffering were widespread to a degree difficult for us to imagine.

The crowds sought wonders. Jesus offered something far greater.

From the beginning of his ministry, the arrival of the Kingdom brought about the greatest miracle while often being the least noticed. It addressed a malady before which all other illnesses pale in comparison – a condition that only the Great Physician can heal. It lies at the root of the pain, suffering, and brokenness of the human condition. Our greatest need is not physical, political, or social. It is the deepest need of all, found within every human heart: it is our estrangement from God.

The Pharisees just couldn’t see it. They were so focused on outward actions that they neglected the inward condition of their own souls. Jesus called a tax collector to be his disciple, dined with sinners, healed an unclean woman, and raised the dead – all to demonstrate that no one is beyond the reach of God’s grace – except those who refuse it. Without that message, his miracles would have been little more than temporary remedies applied over a far deeper spiritual wound.

Steadfast Love, Not Sacrifice

And that brings us back to Hosea’s words: “I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” The miracles in today’s Gospel are not merely displays of divine power. They are signs pointing to God’s deepest desire: to restore broken people into relationship with himself. Matthew found that restoration. The hemorrhaging woman found it. Jairus found it. The tragedy of the Pharisees is that they stood face to face with the Savior and couldn’t recognize their own need for him.

As we embark on this long season of Pentecost, let’s make this an opportunity to look deep in our hearts. Are we content with outward religion, or are we seeking the knowledge of God? Are we relying on our own righteousness, or are we trusting in his grace? The same Christ who called Matthew, healed the woman, and raised Jairus’ daughter calls us. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, he continues his work of healing, restoring, and reconciling. And when we recognize our deepest need and entrust ourselves to him, we discover that the greatest miracle isn’t merely that God can change our circumstances, but that God can change our hearts – and through changed hearts, transform the world. Amen.

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.