A Terrifying Leap of Faith

Zip-lining at Loterie Farm in St. Maarten.

I am terrified of heights, a phobia I trace back to the first grade, when I fell off the monkey bars on the playground and landed on my head. Since then, I have largely avoided high places. On occasion, however, I have tried to set aside this fear and taken a leap of faith. I have climbed to the top of Cologne Cathedral on a rickety, rusty ladder in the dead of winter; I have stood 1,353 feet above Chicago on the Sears Tower's clear, plexiglass Ledge; and even now, I live rather counter-intuitively on the fifty-second floor of an urban high-rise. The view from my living room still makes me a bit woozy. No experience, however, has been more terrifying for me than extreme ziplining in St. Maarten this past New Year's Day.

Working my way to the next platform.

The group of tourists and I piled into the back of a pick-up
truck, which clambered up the side of the mountain through virgin rainforest. The most extreme zipline, we were told, was 930 feet long and a dizzying 120 feet above the ground. The view was spectacular, to be sure, but as we climbed higher and higher into the rainforest's canopy, I felt my anxiety rise, too. After some initial instruction on how to use the harness and navigate safely from platform to platform, I clumsily made my first attempt, whizzing diffidently to the next platform. Interestingly, the zipping itself was pretty effortless, once I had gotten the hang of it. What terrified me was the movement between the platforms, which got higher and higher. Most of them were connected by reasonably sturdy bridges made of rope and wooden planks, although I worried that my foot might inadvertently slip between the rungs. At one point, however, I faced--incredulous--nothing more than a thin, steel wire between two platforms--essentially a tight-rope. My only lifeline was a wire above me to which I could attach my harness, and two thin wires on either side to guide me forward. There was no turning back. I had to either walk the tight-rope or be airlifted out.

At the end of the course, bathed in terror-sweat.

In a moment of supreme self-mastery, I mustered up the courage to tread carefully over the wire, slowly guiding myself meticulously step by step over the wire, while I struggled desperately not to focus on the fact that I was hovering a hundred feet above the ground. I slid my hands over the wires in a death-grip as I plodded carefully forward, placing my feet precisely on the wire. After I got about half-way, I began to believe that I might just make it without slipping from the wire and dangling perilously over the rainforest floor. When my foot made the final step onto the platform, I noticed that my hands were raw and pink where the wires had peeled off layers of skin. I also realized that I was bathed in sweat, my t-shirt sticking heavily to my body. This was not ordinary sweat from exertion or the hot, humid weather, I joked. This was terror-sweat.

Ordained leaders discuss congregations in transition.

Last week, I attended a three-day conference for interim rectors and other transition ministers, like me. Although Episcopalians predominated, there were ordained leaders from several Christian denominations. We studied systems theory, reviewed congregational case studies, and debated a variety of complex issues, ranging from appreciative inquiry and learning styles to the dynamics of congregation size and parish life-cycles. We talked a lot about grief and anxiety in parishes going through transition. One of the most valuable insights of this conference was that congregations, once they have reached a stage of maturity, tend to think that decline is the result of programmatic problems, that if they just developed more and better programs, they would begin to thrive again. George Bullard, however, has noted in his congregational development work that the problem is not usually with programs, but with vision.

As congregations, we often cannot imagine our way forward along a path that seems unsteady, leading to a destination so far away to be almost imperceptible. This path is marked with anxiety, even terror, because we fear that life as we know it may end. Instead of focusing on our strengths, we lose confidence in our ability to adapt to new situations and anticipate the worst-case scenario, fearful that we might slip off of the tight-rope we're walking and plummet to our death. A key to successful transitions, then, is to be visionary, to accept uncertainty as a creative space, as a place to explore a congregation's values, to let go of old dreams, and come up with new ones. The way forward may push us out of our comfort zone for a time, but if we can learn to live with a little anxiety--perhaps even some terror-sweat--we may be surprised by what we're able to achieve.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

All Religion is Local

Vie de Jesus Mafa, The Transfiguration

If "all politics are local," as the old adage goes, it's probably equally true that "all religion is local." Or at least we tend to behave as if that were true.  The day-in and day-out of parish life persuades us that the way we do things in our parish is normative for others in our tribe, such as the Episcopal Church.  The way we worship, the language we use, the hymns and music we sing, the way we run our meetings.  Now, even if we don't assent intellectually to this idea, we can often act unconsciously as if OUR way is THE way. We assume quite innocently that this is just how Episcopalians (or Lutherans, or Baptists) do things.  But religion is, at its heart, deeply contextual.

Bishop Lee installs the new vicar.  Photo from Br. Ron Fox.

Which is why I'm really grateful to gather on occasion with other Episcopalians to be reminded that I am part of a community much larger than what I know and do.  Over the last four days, I've been to three different Episcopal congregations to either lead or participate in worship. What is remarkable to me is the way that each of these communities of faith--as unique as they are--embodies the concept of the Church, with a capital "C."  As member congregations of the Diocese of Chicago, all three are firmly rooted in the Anglican/Episcopal tradition, despite the great variety and diversity of worship styles and cultural contexts.  It can be a wonderful experience to be thrown off kilter, pushed out of our comfort zones, and be invited into something unexpected.

On Thursday evening, I participated in the installation of my dear friend, Fr. Robert Cristobal, as vicar of St. George and St. Matthias Episcopal Church, an historically African American and Afro-Caribbean congregation on the south side of Chicago.  Much of the music was unfamiliar to me, and I noticed several visitors surprised by the exuberant engagement of the congregation with the preacher during his sermon.  And yet, here was the fullness of the Anglican tradition: the bishop, the Eucharist, the Book of Common Prayer, clergy and people of the Diocese worshipping together as one.  It was beautiful and joyous, compelling and powerful.

Chicago Chapter-in-Formation of the Society of Catholic Priests

On Saturday morning, I gathered with other members of the Chicago Chapter-in-Formation of the Society of Catholic Priests at the Church of the Atonement, Chicago for a Mass of the Blessed Virgin Mary, followed by the chapter meeting.  The service was a solid Rite II Eucharist from the Book of Common Prayer with the usual Atonement embellishments. We shared our latest news over brown-bag lunches, talked about the contributions we could make to the life of the Diocese, and engaged in a theological reflection based on the words of the new Presiding Bishop-Elect, Michael Curry.  On Sunday, I drove out into rural/suburban Kane County to celebrate Mass with St. James Episcopal Church in West Dundee, IL, which, as a rural parish, was preparing for its upcoming Rogation celebration.  It had been several years since I had done a Rite I Eucharist, and so I tripped over the King James English, which had at one time been so familiar.  Of course, their customs for celebrating the Eucharist differed a bit from mine, and we laughed over the imperfections and miscommunications we committed, such as when the server failed to do the ablutions after communion, and I forgot to return to the chancel following the dismissal for the announcements. We are all a product of our patterns, our routines, our contexts.

St. James window in West Dundee

I picture for myself the scene at Jesus's Transfiguration.  Matthew 17 records that right after Jesus appears transfigured in dazzling white, flanked by Moses and Elijah, "Peter said to Jesus, ‘Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’"  One cannot help but wonder what Peter would have come up with if he had been allowed to build those dwellings.  Would they have all been identical?  Would Jesus, Moses, or Elijah have had any say in what their dwellings looked liked, how they were laid out, or how they were decorated?  Would James and John have been included in the design and building?  Would the three apostles have divided up the work and each taken responsibility for one of these dwellings?  Would they have fought for creative control or would they have collaborated harmoniously?

As it happens, each of them is credited with building a version of the Church in various places, all of which look very different from each other.  These apostles too understood that the Church is contextual, shaped by the unique identities, experiences and situations of the people in a particular time and place.  The lesson for us is to embrace the possibility that the Church can look and behave differently than we are used to, and yet we can find a place for ourselves in this new and unfamiliar incarnation of the Body of Christ.

Peace and blessings,
Fr. Ethan.+



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If Jesus Rode the El Train

"Christ Among the Wild Beasts" by Moretto da Brescia

Today's Daily Office readings include the story from the Gospel of Mark about Jesus's preaching tour in Galilee.  In classic Jesus fashion, Our Lord goes out very early into the wilderness to pray--to find a few minutes of peace and quiet before tending to the needs of his demanding band of followers.  Simon (aka Peter) and the other disciples notice he is missing and go in search of him.  The Gospel records that, "When they found him, they said to him, ‘Everyone is searching for you.’ He answered, ‘Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.’ And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons."

The urgency conveyed by the disciples' report, "everyone is searching for you," is matched by the urgency of Jesus's command to go into the neighboring towns to preach the Good News there also. Call and response. The people call to Jesus, and he goes out to meet them where they are with the message of new life.  This story is a powerful illustration of the missionary zeal that characterized both Jesus's ministry and the fledgling Church in its early years.  I sometimes wonder if we in the twenty-first century can really understand the immediacy and intensity of Jesus's hands-on contact with the average person, particularly the suffering and marginalized.   And then I find Jesus in some unexpected place, continuing to preach the Gospel message and cast out demons.

Like I did today.  This afternoon I took the Red Line downtown to meet a parishioner for coffee.  A
young homeless woman walked up and down the subway car asking commuters for spare change.  I took out my wallet, which was empty, and apologized for not being able to help her.  While many travelers pretended not to hear or see her, the man seated next to me greeted her and told her where she could find work.  He told her that a security company on the south side was hiring, and that if she applied, she would likely be hired.  She thanked him for the information, and then scoured the inside of her backpack for a pen.  I offered her the pink highlighter I was using to underline passages in the book I was reading, and she asked him for a phone number.  The man replied that he couldn't remember, but proceeded to give her detailed directions about how to get to the company, while I tried to look up the phone number on my iPhone.  The young lady hurriedly wrote down his directions, returned my highlighter, and then got off the train at the next stop.

As the train pulled away from the station, I thanked the man for his kindness, who had clearly represented Jesus in this encounter as well as (or perhaps better than) a person in a clerical collar.  He looked down at the floor and said, he knew how rough it could be, and how people sometimes just needed a little help.  I was moved by his sincere compassion and solidarity.  He engaged the woman as a peer, with dignity and respect.  No pity, no condescension, just Good News.  It was a simple, and yet exemplary, model of Christian witness.  As Jesus's hands and feet in the world, average people have the the power to heal the sick and cast out demons, to represent Jesus in places where he may be sought, even the unexpected and unconventional ones.

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Rivers in the Desert

"I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

I will make a way in the wilderness

   and rivers in the desert."

Isaiah 43:19

I spent this past Fourth of July weekend in New York City playing the tourist, scarfing dollar pizza and Papaya King hot dogs on the run, and visiting a number of sites I hadn't seen before.  Among these were two magnificent structures, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine and One World Trade Center. These buildings struck me as signs of the almost inexhaustible human aspiration for rebirth and renewal.  As the quote above from the prophet Isaiah suggests, God inspires human beings with a drive to turn a barren desert into an abundant land flowing with milk and honey.  This is God's work, and we participate in it.

The Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine

Among the largest cathedrals in the world, St.John the Divine is wedged into an already cramped piece of Manhattan.  In fact, new condo construction hugs the cathedral's north tower, presenting a jarring juxtaposition of Gothic and contemporary styles.  If the cathedral were a person, it would have very little elbow room, rather like the packed NYC subway. Yet unlike that other great Episcopal monument, Washington National Cathedral, you can't rely on distance to take in the cathedral's full effect.  You can't keep walking back and back and back to capture the whole edifice in one click of your camera.  There's simply no room.  You must satisfy yourself with taking it in, a piece at a time, which is all the more extraordinary, since the building has remained conspicuously unfinished.  But despite its unfinished status, and its heavily soiled facade, the interior is lustrous and peaceful.  As I walked through it, I perused an exhibition in honor of the Dalai Lama, sat in on a lunchtime mass in a side chapel, and marveled at the number of people at prayer.  

One World Trade Center

At another point in the trip, I visited One World Trade Center, which had recently opened its observation deck.  It offers an impressive 360-degree panorama of the city.  Most compelling, however, was the view directly down the side of the building.  From the staggeringly high elevation, one cannot help but be awed by the footprint of the absent twin towers. From the top of the new edifice, it looks like a scarred landscape, two stark holes in the earth where the World Trade Center used to be. Back on the ground, however, these holes are transformed into something simple and beautiful, hardly barren or scarred. Two fountains with gushing water draw you in, as if to say, "there is still life here," even as you stand reading the names of the dead encircling the monument.  A new thing has definitely sprung forth, a way in the wilderness, a river in the desert.

Both of these places serve to ground people in the best attributes of human nature: strength, resilience, hope, peace.  They pull us out of a frenetic world and remind us to pray--whether we're religious or not--for deliverance from sin, suffering and death, and to seek a future of abundant life.

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

A Ministry of Interruptions

St. Peter's on Chicago Pride Sunday, 2015

For the last month, I've been serving as supply priest at St. Peter's Episcopal Church in the Lakeview neighborhood of Chicago.  We began June with the Feast of Corpus Christi, complete with incense and Our Lord exposed in a monstrance at the Mary Shrine; and we concluded it with Chicago's annual Pride celebration.  It is deeply joyful for me as a priest to witness a congregation understand and embody the connection between these two events.  God really present in the bread and wine, and God really present in the midst of humanity. When I preached on yesterday's Gospel, I explained that the clumsy combination of the stories of the healing of Jairus's daughter and the healing of the hemorrhaging woman reflected how real ministry often works.  Instead of a tidy, seamless narrative that satisfies our need for immediate gratification, we are offered one story that meanders and is interrupted by another story before reaching its end.  Ministry is punctuated by numerous and frequent interruptions.

Ministry is also unpredictable and messy, a bit like Sunday's Gospel reading. Sometimes, we have to improvise and think on our feet. After an early mass, we gathered outside the church and claimed our spots to watch the festivities, while people began to line the parade route.  Some came extravagantly arrayed in rainbow tutus, face paint, and Hawaiian leis,waving gay pride flags.  And there were, of course, those who were wearing very little at all, and others who had clearly had too much to drink.  As they walked by, I wished everyone a "Happy Pride," Most would smile and return the greeting.  Many seemed surprised, but pleased, to see the Church supportive of them.  Then, something happened I did not expect.  People began to ask to take their picture with the priest in his rainbow stole, and eventually young people mobbed the Church steps for selfies and pics for their Facebook, Twitter and Instagram feeds.  Some even shared very emotional testimonies of how moved they were to see the Church on their side.  Crowds of young people whisked by us cheering and offering us fist-bumps and high-fives as a thank you for just being present.  During the parade, people on floats blew us kisses and gave us a thumbs-up.

This was, of course, a joyful and uplifting experience, but it also reinforced for me that the Church is still viewed as a largely absent and oppressive institution by many.  That the Church, or I, as a priest, should be such a novelty at an LGBTQI festival speaks to the many ways we have failed to engage and embrace large groups of God's people.  The day was beautiful, and yet, sobering.  It served as a cautionary reminder to us as Christians to work arduously to correct and repent of our past failings by working for justice and inclusion in both the Church and society.  What a wonderful world it would be if people just expected a congregation or its priest to be present for celebrations like the Pride parade, as if it were just a ho-hum, matter-of-course, routine part of the Church's life and witness.  Not radical at all, just a relevant, integral part of who we are and how we live.  If we take away one message from the day, it is this: the church has a place in society, and society wants us to claim it.

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

#TractSwarm: Anglican Comprehensiveness and Prayer Book Revision

In preparation for the 78th General Convention of the Episcopal Church, the Society of Catholic Priests has launched the third in its TractSwarm series, this one on the revision of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer.  Let me begin by stating quite clearly that I am in favor of revising the current Prayer Book to reflect the norm that has emerged in the last 35 years.  However, Prayer Book revision is a thorny and controversial process that requires careful thinking and consensus building, where the Devil is truly in the details.  As I struggled with how to approach this daunting topic, I drew up a list of fundamental questions with some examples as a starting point for my own thinking.

• What's lacking/problematic in the current Prayer Book? Lack of expansive/inclusive language; need for supplemental resources, such as Enriching Our Worship; worshippers' lack of familiarity with how to use the Book of Common Prayer; dated language and metaphors.
• What are the potential areas of discord and controversy? Revision of the marriage rite; altered theology; removal of Rite I liturgies; elimination of BCP Sunday lectionary.
• What could a revised Prayer Book make possible? Greater variety of liturgical resources; more flexibility within the rubrics; enhancements to the Daily Office.
• What would be potentially lost in a new revision? The rich Anglican heritage of Rite I; theological comprehensiveness/orthodoxy/tidiness; prominence of the Daily Office.
• Given the increased use of supplementary, unofficial, ecumenical, and optional resources, has "common prayer" become a myth? Many parishes are already using non-approved resources and rites (Anglo-Catholic devotions and feasts, non-Anglican eucharistic prayers, non-traditional creeds/professions of faith).  
• What would be the financial and environmental implications of printing and supplying new prayer books to congregations for worship?  In the digital age, are more sustainable models of dissemination possible? Elimination of print BCPs, and production of digital resources for worship bulletins, mobile devices, etc.

Each of these questions could be the subject of a long and painfully boring expostulation.  My principal concern, however, is how to preserve the principle of Anglican comprehensiveness in any revision process.  For me, our "broad-tent" ethos--embracing evangelicals, Broad Church, Anglo-Catholics, emergent Christians, and others--is a noteworthy strength of Anglicanism, and must be preserved.  During the revision of the 1928 Prayer Book, the process was often characterized by a winner/loser mentality that was deeply divisive.  This adversarial dynamic has also been present in recent controversies over the consecration of gay and lesbian bishops and same-sex unions, which causes me to wonder whether we as a Church are relationally strong enough to enter another fray at this time.  Think about how passionate we can be about the distinctive Sabon font in which the Prayer Book is printed, and you'll get what I mean!  To say that we have very strong opinions is an understatement.  Yes, we LOVE the Prayer Book, every jot and tittle.

But, of course, we are not just people of routine attached to familiar things like fonts and the wording of eucharistic prayers.  The Book of Common Prayer is the vessel that holds our unique theology and identity as Episcopalians.  Are our bonds of trust and affection robust enough to love and include one another as we differ passionately over fundamentals?  Can we come to consensus without imposing our agenda or marginalizing some minority group within the Church?  I am not suggesting that we shy away from the challenge, but rather to be honest about what we are taking on.  If ever the Episcopal Church needed to have a fierce conversation, to use the framework developed by Susan Scott, the Prayer Book would be it.  If, as she says, the conversation is the relationship, then we need to learn to do a better job of communicating with each other while we refine the book that articulates who we are as a community of faith.

Celebration of Rogationtide.

My proposal is this: we approach Prayer Book revision much like we have the sanctoral calendar by being expansive and permissive, essentially a hub-and-spoke model. We begin by devising a Prayer Book (the hub) that provides a mainstream core for the entire Church complemented by authorized  additional resources (the spokes) for local or optional use that respects the comprehensiveness of Anglicanism. This does not mean a Prayer Book that comprises a "lowest common denominator," but rather provides a solid and normative foundation to which other resources might be connected.  With the creation of the 1979 Prayer Book, the liturgical fullness of the Sacred Triduum was restored.  It would be similarly useful, for example, to authorize propers for Corpus Christi or Feasts of Our Lady for parishes that have long celebrated those feasts, whether in Enriching Our Worship, the Book of Occasional Services, or another resource.  Or perhaps we rely deeply on our Native American/First Nation communities for resources to mainstream the Church's observation of the Rogation liturgies.  The possibilities are practically limitless, much like the mystery of God.

The blessing of chalk at Epiphany.

In my own ministry, I have drawn from an abundant store of supplemental resources designed to make worship richer and speak to a wider range of contexts, theological priorities, and pieties.  These include the New Zealand Prayer Book, the St. Augustine's Prayer Book (both the original and revision), the Manual for Priests, the English Missal, and Enriching Our Worship.  They even include liturgical material developed and used by priest colleagues for unusual situations for which the Episcopal Church has not developed materials, such as the blessing of chalk at Epiphany.  Liturgy requires a certain amount of flexibility, creativity, and improvisation to respond authentically and pastorally to the needs of a congregation. A Prayer Book that offers a common foundation, and yet encourages the use of a wider range of authorized, supplemental resources seems to me to be an approach that is both postmodern, as well as grounded in tradition and longstanding practice.  The Episcopal Church has prided itself on fostering unity without uniformity, of delegating some discretionary authority to its bishops, clergy, and other leaders on liturgical matters.  If we're honest, we haven't believed in a "one-size-fits-all" approach for a long time, and this has made us stronger, diverse, and more inclusive as a Church.  After all, we are the Church that has commended belief in the Real Presence without prescribing how exactly this mystery is to be defined.  We are the Church that has declared to the faithful, "all may, some should, none must." This is the great legacy of Anglicanism and the Book of Common Prayer.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan +

<a href=”http://www.thescp.org/tracts/” target=”_blank”><img border=”0″ src=”http://www.thescp.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/tractswarm.jpg” width=”100%” /></a>

Sermon for Easter 5: "How Can I, Unless Someone Guides Me?"

[Several people have asked me for a copy of this and previous sermons, so I am going to begin posting them online for everyone's convenience.]  Here is a link to the audio:

Philip asked, “Do you understand what you are reading?” the eunuch replied, “How can I, unless someone guides me?” And he invited Philip to get in and sit beside him.

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

The news cycle this past week has been robust, and perhaps like me, you are numb and bewildered.  On Tuesday, I listened to the two+ hours of oral arguments before the US Supreme Court on marriage equality, followed by Nina Totenberg’s analysis on National Public Radio.  News reports have dissected the earthquake and relief efforts in Nepal, the sentencing of Boston Marathon bomber, Dzokhar Tsarnaev, and of course, the terrible rioting in Baltimore in the wake of Freddie Gray’s funeral.  These reports have been accompanied by countless opinions, commentaries, and diatribes that appear all over social media, including my Facebook feed.  It is overwhelming.  Like the Ethiopian eunuch, it is easy to be perplexed by what we read and hear.  So, to answer Philip’s question, “no, I do not often understand what I’m reading.  How can I, unless someone guides me?” 

The challenge for all of us, whether we are Christians or not, is to become aware of the various lenses through which we view people and events.  On one level, attributes like socioeconomic status, race, gender, sexuality, generation, and political affiliation inform our perspectives and our prejudices.  On another, the framing of media, both the professional media and less-official social media, influences how we perceive the world.  Please understand, I am not naively advocating the shedding of all ideological lenses and agendas, but rather the development of an awareness of what these lenses and agendas are, and to weigh them with a critical eye.

We also use theological lenses to shape our perception of the world, and I think this is a very good thing.  Once upon a time, Christian denominations, and people of faith generally, exerted a formidable moral authority in the public sphere, where ideas and events were debated and decisions were made.  In an increasingly secular society, this authority has waned, but I would argue that it is still “meet, right, and our bounden duty,” to quote the Prayer Book, for Christians to lend their voices and feet to debates on public issues.  I believe that is what today’s Scripture readings are calling us to do.  “Little children,” the First Letter of John declares, “let us love, not in word and speech, but in truth and action.”  This is gutsy and evangelistic talk that calls for more than empty words; it exhorts us to live out the good news of the Gospel.

Although this week’s events largely focus on pain and tragedy, I speak from a hopeful, Eastertide frame-of-mind.  There is ample evidence, it is true, that we do not love each other, but there is also evidence that we do.  One of the most powerful images from this week’s events in Baltimore is a photo I encountered of an African American boy of elementary school age offering a bottle of water to a white policeman decked out in riot gear.  It was poignant to see this little child facing the long line of armed police with a gesture of civility and kindness.  And I would hope that there were civil and kind policemen, too.  The point is that this photo puts a different face on the event, offers another lens for us to use.  

Like Jesus before Pilate, we are faced with that fundamental question, “what is truth?”  Truth as an absolute is hard to come by, if we are honest about the slant of this or that media outlet or our own prejudicial perspectives.  If we are to believe the First Letter of John, one truth we can rely on is God’s love.  “We know love by this,” the writer states, “that [Jesus] laid down his life for us—and we ought to lay down our lives for one another.  How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?”

The truth of God’s love and his command for us to lay down our lives for each other—not to snatch each other’s lives away—is a theological lens through which we need to view the world’s events.  Our theology shapes what we see and hear, and how we interpret it.  The Gospel of John assures us repeatedly that God has given us the resources to deal with future challenges in our lives as people of faith.  Jesus tells us in this morning’s reading, “I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you,” by sending another Advocate, whom he calls the Spirit of truth.

Well, who is this Spirit and how does she work?  Is this Sophia, the Wisdom of this week’s Daily Office readings, of whom the author, reputedly Solomon, says “I preferred her to scepters and thrones, and I accounted wealth as nothing in comparison with her.  Neither did I liken to her any priceless gem, because all gold is but a little sand in her sight, and silver will be accounted as clay before her.  I loved her more than health and beauty, and I chose to have her rather than light, because her radiance never ceases.” It is the Spirit of wisdom, I would suggest, to whom the Ethiopian eunuch turns following his baptism.  The Acts of the Apostles attests that “when [Philip and the eunuch] came out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away; the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing.”  It is curious—no amazing—that the eunuch’s response to Philip’s sudden disappearance is rejoicing, rather than distress.  He was not orphaned.  The eunuch, like all the baptized, was set on a path toward life and abundance, guided by the power of the Spirit, the Spirit of truth and of wisdom, that same Spirit that moved over the inchoate waters of Creation and brought forth a miraculous, ordered universe.  This is a God who loves us and guides us through all our moments of struggle, joy, and yes, even tragedy.

The greatest wisdom the Spirit of God can impart is that we human beings are flawed in judgment and character, and we are lost without her guidance.  As God’s creation, we ARE very good indeed, and yet we see only a narrow piece of the whole picture.  Who we are as individuals limits our perspective and creates lenses though which we see only faintly, only dimly.  The wise thing to do, in such a situation, is to temper our tendency to pass judgment and assert certainty by seeking out people with different viewpoints, with a different frame of reference, with different lenses.  We may not change our minds, but at least, we may learn something in the process that nuances our understanding and makes us kinder, more forgiving, and more loving, as our reading from the First Letter of John encourages us to do.  Developing better theological lenses through collective discernment in community, engagement in debate in the public square, and individual spiritual growth are ways we cooperate with the Spirit in becoming better and wiser disciples of Jesus.

 Peace and justice may or may not prevail in our nation’s capital, in Baltimore, in Boston, or in Nepal, but I believe that that the Spirit of God, in the fullness of time, has a pretty good chance of guiding us there eventually.  And that is the Good News of the Easter Resurrection.  Alleluia, Christ is risen.  And may the people say:  The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia.