Our oneness with the Triune God is known and seen in the love of the Triune God that we bear in the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventh Sunday of Easter, year C
Texts: Acts 16:16-34 (also including Acts 16:11-15 from last week); John 17:20-26

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

The Roman jailer in Philippi asks a critical question: “What must I do to be saved?”

Paul and Silas have been stirring up Philippi for a bit now, as we heard last week and now today. Meeting people at the river and baptizing them, casting out a spirit from a slave that ended up causing financial stress for her owner and got them beaten and put in jail. And now singing hymns and praying in their prison cell.

That’s where the jailer enters. Ready to end his life because he’s sure everyone’s escaped in the earthquake, he finds these two prisoners who kept all the rest together. And whose first words are care for his well being: “Don’t harm yourself, we’re all here.” And the jailer asks, “Can I have what you have?”

But what did Paul and Silas have? What did the jailer see?

They were illegally beaten and jailed without a trial, against their rights as Roman citizens. But Paul and Silas don’t protest or complain. They sit in their cell, bloodied, and pray. They sing hymns to God, and the other prisoners start to listen. These disciples embody the love of God. Their peaceful worship in an unjust and painful situation, their concern for the jailer’s well-being proves that.

Paul and Silas aren’t preaching to the prisoners or the jailer. The prisoners see them for who they are and don’t try to escape. The jailer sees who they are, how they are, how they handle this terrible situation, and wants that. He wants salvation the way Paul and Silas live it, not how they preach it. A peace of mind and heart in any circumstance, a love for others that flows from them. They saved his life with their love. And so he’s baptized, along with his entire family.

And this opens up the story of Lydia from last week.

We heard that Paul and Silas and the others went to the riverside to a group of women who gathered there to pray, including non-Jewish women who believed in the God of Israel. Like Lydia. Luke says God opened Lydia’s heart to listen to them. And then Luke says Lydia and her household were baptized.

Maybe their preaching was just so good it drew in Lydia and the others. But these are the two who will soon be singing hymns and praying in their prison cell, who will love a Roman jailer into God’s reign. The Spirit used their words to open up the love of God to these riverside women. Enough that Lydia returned their love and invited them to stay in her home.

What we see in Philippi is exactly what Jesus is hoping for when he prays.

This so-called “high priestly prayer” of Jesus on the night of his betrayal is hard to track by listening. Lots of twisting phrases about Jesus being one with the Father, and we’re one with the Father and the Son. It’s beautiful, but it’s complicated grammar.

Here’s the simple heart of the prayer:

Jesus claims he, as God’s Son, is one with the one he calls Father, and that the Spirit is also one with them. His prayer is that all who learn to trust in God’s love in Christ might also share that oneness that the Trinity knows within their own life together.

And that oneness has just one center, one focus: love. As Jesus says today, the point of the Trinity making us and all humanity one with God is so that the love that is the life-blood of the tender heart of the Trinity may be in us, too.

In other words, our oneness with the Triune God will be known to the world when we love as the Triune God. When God’s vulnerable love shapes us and flows from us and is unmistakeable in us.

And look at what the love of God in Paul and Silas created.

It’s clear from Acts 16 that this is the birth of the Philippian congregation. It’s highly likely that they worshipped in Lydia’s house, that she hosted and led the Christian congregation that also included a Roman jailer and his family.

And Paul’s letters suggest this Philippian church was the community most beloved to Paul, whose support he always felt, whose love held him in his imprisonment. This amazing community of faith started with the love of God Paul and Silas bore among them.

Maybe you and I won’t found any Christian communities when we’re one in the Triune God’s love, when we bear it. But that’s not the point. That was their job. Who knows how God’s love in us will make a difference? The point is that when we are one with God in God’s love, are shaped and live by that self-giving, sacrificial love that we first knew from God, it will bless the world.

And maybe this is how the two different commissions Jesus gives are the same.

In Matthew and Luke, Jesus commissions the disciples as witnesses to the ends of the earth, as we heard last Thursday when we celebrated the Ascension. To make disciples. But in John it’s different. Three times the risen Christ says to Peter if you love me, care for my sheep. That’s the commission: if you love Jesus, care for the ones Jesus cares for.

But maybe it’s the same commission. Paul and Silas, bearing God’s love, caring for the ones the Triune God cares for, was the witness. Love drew people toward the reign of God, toward Christ.

It’s not our carefully articulated doctrines, our points of argument, that witness. It’s the vulnerable love of God we bear. A love that just might lead someone to ask you the jailer’s question: “Can I have that, too?”

And when you answer that question with love, you’ll change the world. Just as Jesus hoped and prayed.

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

 

Don’t look up hoping you’ll find Jesus in the last place you saw him. Look around, out, and in to the Holy Spirit sending you out to be Jesus in the world

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Day of Ascension
Text: Act 1:1-11; Psalm 47; Ephesians 1:15-23; Luke 24:44-53

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” 

That’s what the angels ask the apostles as they look toward heaven, staring at the place they last saw Jesus before he disappeared into a cloud. And it’s a jarring question. Jesus just… left. Their beloved friend and teacher, the one who turned their lives upside-down, who healed and welcomed sinners, the one they just saw die and rise was gone… AGAIN! What else could they do but bend their necks and strain their eyes to catch a final look at their risen and ascending friend? 

And it’s easy to understand why–because, if we’re honest, we look up, too. 

We look up, to find Jesus where we last saw him. We look up, searching for that same feeling, that same comfort, that same certainty, that same closeness we once did. We look up, wishing for our faith to feel easy and joyful again. We look up, hoping that maybe it’ll make the pain, the confusion, and the doubt go away. And maybe if we could find Jesus where we last saw him, life wouldn’t be so hard.

And even though we know that because of the ascension, Jesus fills everything and everyone and sends us out, even though we know that Pentacost is coming, even though we’ve heard stories of saints who stayed faithful to God despite all odds, and even though we’ve maybe even felt God’s presence in our own lives, we all still look up.

And if anyone knows about looking up, it’s me.

In the summer before my senior year, I felt broken. My junior year was full of heartache in my relationships and in my faith. I arrived at a Christian summer camp that I had worked at the summer before in serious need of Jesus. I was desperate for a faith that felt simple and easily joyful like it was the summer before. But instead my faith was easily breakable. I was easily breakable.

I kept looking up asking “where are you Jesus? Why do I feel so empty?” And one day I sat with the camp nurse and told her everything, and she just held me, cried with me, and prayed with me. She didn’t make the pain go away, but Jesus showed up in her arms as they held me, in the tears we cried together, and in prayers she prayed over me.

She showed me that Jesus was not up in the clouds, buried deep in my happy memories and my shallow hopes. No–Jesus is present, active, and responsive even in the hardest moments. And Jesus is never leaving.

And her love for me felt a lot like what the angels say to the apostles, “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” which, to me, sounds a lot like: “Don’t look up. He’s not there anymore.”

And that’s an invitation to you and to me
To get your head of the clouds and back onto earth
To see and join into where Jesus is now

And just like the apostles, who could no longer rely on Jesus’ audible voice to answer their questions or give them comfort
Just like they had to figure out where Jesus was now and how to be Jesus in the world,
We can’t rely on where Jesus was to see where Jesus is now.
We need to be brave and curious to look for Jesus in new ways.

Because, on Ascension Day, Jesus wasn’t gone. Jesus didn’t ascend into heaven and go somewhere we could never find him. Jesus ascended to heaven so he could be more present than ever. Jesus is no longer confined to a person, place, time, or memory. Jesus fills the world and walks beside you and beside me every step of our journeys. The risen and ascended Christ is the one in whom we live and move and have our being, as Paul says later in Acts. That means wherever you are, you’re known, you’re loved, you’re held by the one who holds all things together. And no matter where you go, Jesus is there–in your tears and your joy, in your questioning and your confidence, and in the voice of someone who says, “I see you. You’re not alone in this.”

And at the ascension, you and I and people all over the world throughout history are sent out to be the fullness of Christ’s presence in the world right now.  It’s how someone offering you a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen can feel like the presence of Jesus–because it is. And it’s how you become Jesus for someone else when you do the same, because the ascended Christ fills you and reigns within your heart. It’s the same spirit, but through your hands, your feet, your voice. It’s how in every meal we share, in every hand we hold out to someone in need, in every table we widen, in every cry of the oppressed, in this community gathered to worship, in the bread and the cup given for us, in our tears, and in our doubts, in you, and in me, whenever we act in love, Jesus is still teaching and revealing new things, still healing, still calling, still sending. It’s how we become Jesus’ ministry of hope and healing, and then we become the ones gently whispering to those around us “don’t look up. Jesus isn’t there. Jesus is here.”

So beloved, on this Ascension Day, hear this:

Don’t look up…Instead,

Look out–to the world that Christ sends you into. Look out for the places where Christ is still healing and feeding and teaching.

Look in–for the Holy Spirit who lives in you and fills you.

Look around–to the community of believers who remind you, like the angels remind the apostles, that Jesus is still here.

And maybe that’s why the apostles left the Mount of Olives in joy, praising God that day–

Because they had confidence that Jesus isn’t just in some heavenly realm far away, Jesus isn’t just in our memories. Jesus is right here, reigning in our hearts, sending the holy spirit to fill us and sending friends to remind us to look out, in, and around, not up. Sending us to be the healing presence of the risen and ascended Christ.

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