Father Carlton Kelley is the Rector of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Grayslake, IL.
This sermon is based on the Gospel of St. John 14:15-21; to read the passage, please click here.
ALLELUIA. CHRIST IS RISEN! THE LORD IS RISEN, INDEED. ALLELUIA!
We are, obviously— though perhaps not as obvious as it should be because of our odd circumstances— in the Easter season, the season of Resurrection, the season of new life and new hope for what is and will be.
We are all being challenged in this time that seems curiously out-of-time, to believe that Christ has risen victorious from the grave and has defeated, once and for all, the last great enemy— death, even though, just now, we are surrounded by its presence.
We are living in what is, liturgically, called a liminal time, or a 'thin' place where the boundaries of earth and heaven are more porous than we usually believe. It may be that, because for so many of us our lives have been significantly disrupted, we have the spiritual and emotional energy to better appreciate the things of eternity, the possibilities that our Lord's resurrection brings. We are living on the very threshold of hope, and, for many of us, this apprehension is palpable, though we may not be able to name its reality.
We are realizing, perhaps as never before, what it means to be a people full of faith, hope, and love, because for some those are the very spiritual states that bar the door to disease and death, or, hopefully, simply lessen the fear we have of those twin realities. We are now being called to live as deeply as it is possible into the essence of the Christian message, though it is often one that we try to avoid with all our might. Our current set of circumstances which no one welcomed may, nonetheless, be a gateway to a fuller appreciation of Christ.
The uncomfortable, though ultimately completely fulfilling message of Jesus is, as it has always been, that the way of the Cross is the only way to the fullest possible and unimaginably beautiful life, a life firmly anchored in God through Jesus Christ our Lord.
It is difficult to believe even now, more than 2000 years after the events of the resurrection of Jesus, that death does lead to life. We have yet to fully embrace the idea that there really is, at the bottom of all this inscrutable business of living, at the bottom of all our suffering and doubt, no need to fear. There is, and always has been, every reason to love because it is love that brings hope, it is love that brings faith, and, it must be said, it is only love that brings love.
Living in this pandemic has challenged many of us to behave in ways that may perhaps seem contrary to our natures, particularly for those of us who gain our energy from our interactions with others, and may take the direct action of an infusion of God's grace to make it possible to live, in the midst of social deprivation, as though we are fully alive. For others, this is a time to grow more deeply into gifts we already possess, the gifts of quietly full solitude and rich silence where we may be still and know that God is God, and then to use those gifts for the good of others. Yet, like all authentic challenges, this time is a gift to be embraced for our growth.
We are being called to live fully into a particular moment as Christians always are— and not into another one we wish would be. This is so because all times are God's time and, therefore, all times are full of the grace and the presence and the richness of God— if we but open our eyes and hearts to see. Behold and see the goodness of the Lord— as Psalm 27 tells us.
In today's Gospel of this Easter season, yet in a moment that takes place before his Crucifixion, Jesus seems to be saying his good-byes to his disciples. This may be a necessary, though painful, liturgical way of reminding us that even with the joyful knowledge of the Resurrection of our Lord, in this life we remain captive in so many ways to death— as we now plainly know— even though it has been fully and finally defeated by God's mighty hand.
In Jesus' leave-taking before he goes to his death, he says the most marvelous and daring thing, perhaps made so in part because it is so very unexpected. Contrary to what we might be doing in similar circumstances, Jesus is not obsessed with his impending death— though he has every right to be. He knows what is coming and he knows the brutality and the terror it holds. He has seen crucifixions aplenty because that was the Roman way of dealing with politically dangerous criminals. Jesus was many things, but the thing that really caught the attention of the authorities was that Jesus was a politically dangerous criminal because he dared to challenge the oppressive social order. He spoke and acted loudly and clearly that God was calling the world to a better way; that "still more excellent way," as St. Paul tells us.
Even though his death was now imminent, he gives the message he has always given in so many ways: "If you love me, you will keep my commandments." If you love. . . . If you love, you will behave in a certain way. And, if you behave in that way, it will change the world. To be sure, there will be struggle and heartbreak, but your love will change the world. If you love. . . .
He is saying to us that if we love him, we will keep his commandments of loving God and neighbor even in the face of the most seemingly insurmountable difficulties, difficulties like pandemics. We will love in order to give faith and not doubt. We will love in order to give hope and not despair. We will love in order to give love which seems, in some quarters, to be in very short supply. We will love in order to unite and not divide because the great purpose of love is to make one. But surely our love will not be a love of simple and simplistic uniformity, but a love of the most marvelous and joyous diversity, the love that recognizes and delights in the dignity and worth of every human being, and so is willing to sacrifice for the good of every human being.
One may well ask why Jesus gives a commandment to love. We know that love is an attitude and a behavior that resists commands. I cannot command anyone to like or love me— or anyone else— because love is a state of being that arises, seemingly spontaneously, within each of us as it chooses. As we are told, the Spirit blows where it wills. Yet, like all emotions, love can be trained in the ways of, well, love, so the Spirit will have ample room to blow within us and around us. As Christians, those ways of love are God's ways of justice and righteousness, mercy and peace. Like any skill, basic or complex, those ways must be practiced daily if we are to become proficient in them. The skills of love must be renewed daily if they are to grow and flourish. Just as we must eat and breathe to live, so to truly live we must love. We must command ourselves to do that which we might not wish to do. "If you love me, you will keep my commandments."
This, this loving, often seems to be an impossible task. There are so many circumstances and people that conspire to convince us that love isn't possible, that the only thing that matters in this life is personal and economic gain, and that people are no more than parts of a vast machine controlled by sinister forces who only "love" the ruthless and selfish exercise of power. Yet our circumstances are not substantially different than the world's circumstances have always been. These self-same circumstances took Jesus to the Cross over 2000 years ago and would do so today. Love chose to die. Hate can only choose to kill.
Later in this passage from John, Jesus promises his disciples that he will send the gift of the Holy Spirit to make this commandment of love a living possibility instead of a dead and useless hope. It is this same Holy Spirit that is alive in us today because of our baptism into Christ's death and resurrection, and it is this Holy Spirit that makes Christian living possible. Though it is true that the Holy Spirit blows where it wills, alighting on the most unlikely of candidates, we must, individually and collectively as a Church, become that garden where the things of God will grow and flourish. We must read Holy Scripture. We must pray without ceasing. We must worship even now, when collective worship is impossible because of the merciful demands of love. Our worship will be in recognizing the presence of God in everyone we encounter, in performing acts of mercy and kindness; in short, being good neighbors so that we "may love our neighbors as ourselves" and fulfill Jesus' commandment to love one another.
If you are not yet doing so, I invite you to pray daily for an end of this pandemic, for an end to the suffering and death it brings, and for an end to the selfishness and greed which will only prolong its grip on the world. Please pray for a spirit of wisdom and compassion on all who minister to the sick and for those who formulate our policies in response to this pandemic. May we, in all things, be guided and directed by Him who is Love, Jesus Christ our Lord.
St. Peter's Basilica, Rome
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