The Unbearable Truth

 

“I still have many things to say to you, 

but you cannot bear them now.”

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Georgetown, DE

and Facebook Live Sirach 26:10

Pentecost - May 23, 2021

 

There’s a story that gets told in learning circles for preachers about a group of clergy who were brought together to preach about the troubles that were besetting the world at that time.

 

As each preacher stepped into the pulpit, they seemed to cover not only all the problems but all the possible solutions to every problem, all in great detail and for great lengths of them. That was until it was the turn an old, bent-over monk, who took to the pulpit, looked over the by-then exhausted congregation and a deep hush fell over the crowd.

 

Just when the congregation was starting to get restless with anticipation and confusion, the monk cleared his throat and said, “Love.” And then he folded his hands and said, “Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.”

 

And then, he bowed and returned to his seat and sat down.

 

It is said that no one remembered what any of the other preachers said that day, but everyone remembered the message of the monk.

 

Every time I hear that story I say to myself, “Someday, I’m going to be as good a preacher as that monk.”

 

I’m not there yet, but as I look over all of the problems of the world today – the tenuous cease-fire between Israel and Palestine; the new stories of old racism in this country where Black men are beaten and shot to death; the increase of COVID deaths in India even as we celebrate the waning of COVID infections in this congregation this morning – I hear the words of Jesus in St. John’s Gospel come together in a new way with a new word.

 

Jesus says, “Istill have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will notspeak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to youthe things that are to come.”

 

Jesus was – IS – incarnate Love. Embodied love. Love in the flesh. Love eternal and divine. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.

 

That was really all we could bear to hear at the time. It still is, for some of us. Many of us cannot even begin to fathom the kind of Love that Jesus is or that Jesus has for us. We cannot get our brains wrapped around the idea of unconditional love. That no matter who you are, no matter who you think you are, no matter what you’ve done or haven’t done, no matter where you’ve been or where you think you’re going, God loves you.

 

God. Loves. You. Take 10 seconds to take that in. God. Loves. You. Unconditionally.

 

No, you didn’t do anything to deserve that. Can’t, as a matter of fact. God will simply love you more, if that’s even possible (And with God, all things are possible.) You can’t do anything to earn God’s love, or for that matter, God’s forgiveness. You simply have to ask for it and it’s yours.

 

That kind of love is beyond the wildest imagination of many of us.

So, it ought not to be a surprise that many of us cannot even get to the significance of the gift of the Feast of Pentecost which we celebrate today. Jesus has left us with the gift of the Spirit – the Spirit of Truth who will guide us into “all the truth”.

 

Truth is one of those words like Love. I’m reminded of that scene from The Princess Bride. You remember. Vizzini keeps saying, “Inconceivable”. And, Inigo Montoya says to him, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

 

What is this Love that is Jesus? What is it about that Love that Jesus was willing to die for? What is it about that Love which will lead us to “all the truth”? Not pieces of truth. All. The. Truth.

 

Jesuit priest, theologian and scientist, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, once wrote:

"Someday, after mastering the winds, the waves, the tides and gravity, we shall harness for God the energies of love, and then, for a second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire."

I think the man is onto something. 

 

What happens when we harness for God the energies of love? What might that look like? What might that feel like? 

I think Pentecost is one powerful image.

 

So here’s my word for today. You might have guessed it by the music I’ve chosen for today which come from all over the globe and the Pentecost scene from the Book of ACTS which we heard in several different languages and the Lord’s Prayer which we’ll say together later, as part of our Eucharistic prayer, in four different languages.

 

That word is ‘transformation’. Transformation. Transformation. Transformation. Transformation.

 

And now, if I were smart, I’d find my way back to my chair, sit down and shut my mouth.

 

But, I’m not that smart – not yet – so I won’t. Not yet.

 

Here’s the thing – here’s the essence of “all the truth” into which the Spirit will lead us: God’s love changes everything. God’s love changes people. God’s love is change and transformation.

 

We were talking in the Instructed Eucharist class on Thursday that everything changes when you walk into church. I love it that these beautiful windows which carry the sacred stories of our faith are considered ‘stained”.  The “stain” on the stained glass windows helps them to become vehicles of light that change and transform the light as it flows from the sun.

 

We walk into church and we walk the Way of the Cross in the shape of the aisles of the church (Do you see it?). We walk past the baptistery, the entrance rite into our faith, and head toward the altar where we will meet the true presence of Jesus in the breaking of the bread and the pouring out of wine. In the midst of the crossing here – between the ambo (or lectern) and the pulpit, where the Word of God is proclaimed and broken open so that we might be fed – we are “led into all the truth” by the Holy Spirit so that we might be changed and transformed.

 

I know. I know. No one likes change. We always want things to remain the same. Some churches even have that written on the walls of their churches: “Jesus, the same, yesterday, today and tomorrow.” 

 

Personally? I think Jesus reads that and does a face palm. Or, as Anne Lamott writes: It’s enough to make Jesus drink gin straight out of the cat dish.

 

How can we be surrounded by everything that points to change and transformation – the light in the church, the bread, the wine, even the music – and think that we will somehow escape?

 

This is not “all the truth” but it is a central part of what the Spirit has lead me to believe: At the heart of what we do and believe as Christians is transformation. It’s not conventional “same old, same old”. It’s not normal. It’s not just living life as it comes. It is transformation.

 

It’s the truth that love has – and will again and again – transform the world in which we live.

 

It’s the truth about a love that will not accept that we should have food banks in America – or that our shelters should be overflowing with people who don’t have a roof over their heads. Food banks are okay but it doesn't end there. That's just the beginning.

 

It’s the truth about a love that does not accept that young people should suffer from mental health issues and not be treated. Or, that people should hate themselves because they’re LGBTQ.

 

It’s the truth about a love that looks at what is wrong in this world and says we will not accept it – not because of what WE'VE done but Because. Of. Who. Jesus. Is.

 

It’s a transformation not of violence but of love. Not of hatred or politics or manipulation – but a transformation of embrace and inclusion and renewal and acceptance and yes, CHANGE.

 

It is a transformation that reaches to the people who are most lost and says “You’re found.” I was once lost and now I’m found. It’s amazing. It’s grace. It’s transformative love.

 

It’s a transformation that reaches to the people who are most angry and brings them peace – and to the people who are most fearful and brings them courage.

 

It’s a transformation in which Jesus Christ is not watching from a distance but is next to each one of us and says: “You are loved, you are called, come and be with me, and let us change the world.”

 

I think these are parts of “all the truth” which Jesus wanted to say before he left, but he knew we could not bear to hear them then. Some of us can’t bear to hear them now. 

 

And, some of you maybe sitting in your pew, thinking of me as Vizzini and you as Inigo Montoya, and you’re saying, “She keeps using this word ‘transformation’. I do not think it means what she thinks it means.”

 

Let me reassure you. I do. Ha! You should have known me before I met Jesus! And, I know it may not make me popular. I know I’m saying ‘transformation’ to a congregation that just wants to get back to some sense of ‘normal’ after 14 months of imposed lockdown. I know you simply want to get your bearings back and enjoy the stability of “the way things have always been.” Or, were.

 

And yes, that’s part of the truth about church. This is called a ‘sanctuary’ for a reason. It’s a place of safety and security SO THAT you might find the strength and courage to transform and change the world, beginning with our own hearts and minds.

 

This is what de Chardin meant when he talked about harnessing for God the energies of love and, for the second time in history, discovering fire. This is why we wear red on Pentecost. And why we sing songs from other lands and speak in tongues other than our own. We are reminding ourselves of the essence of the meaning of what happened in that ancient event we now call Pentecost.

 

“I still have many things to say to you,but you cannot bear them now.” If you don’t remember anything else I’ve said today, I hope you remember this: Transformation. Transformation. Transformation. Transformation.

 

If you can’t remember that, remember this: “Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.” If we can harness for God that love, for the second time in history, we will have discovered fire.

 

And now, I’ll find my way back to my seat, sit down, and shut up.

 

Amen.