We are all like sheep—intelligent, but prone to scattering when we don’t listen to our shepherd. Like sheep, we are meant to stay with the flock, and follow Jesus, our shepherd. If you listen, you will hear the shepherd calling!

Vicar Meagan McLaughlin
     The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 16, year B
        texts: Jeremiah 23:1-6, Psalm 23, Ephesians 2:11-22, Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

There are a lot of sheep in our readings for today. And a lot of shepherds. And for Jesus’ listeners, shepherds and sheep were very familiar, because if they were not shepherds themselves, they knew or worked with people who were. Encounters with sheep were common experiences, so when Jesus compared his listeners to sheep, as he does several times in the Gospels, or when they heard references to sheep and shepherds from the Hebrew scriptures, our Old Testament, they probably had a pretty easy time understanding what that meant.

Most of us today don’t have the same advantage when it comes to sheep images. Of course, we know some things about sheep. We know they live in flocks. We know they give us wool. We know they smell. And of course, we know they “baaaa!” But all of these things that we know about sheep from our limited experience are very little help when it comes to understanding what it means for us to be like sheep. After all, we may live in flocks, sort of, but we don’t shed wool, we hopefully don’t stink as badly as sheep do most of the time, and we don’t typically “baaaa,” except of course when we are singing Old MacDonald Had a Farm, or having fun with Biblical sheep imagery!

No, our limited experience with sheep is not very helpful at all. We might have better luck explaining rotary phones or pilot lights to someone under 18! But in spite of the challenge to our 21st century minds, sheep and shepherds are really major themes in the Bible, and given today’s texts, it is worth spending a little time thinking about what it means for us to be like sheep, with God as our shepherd.

Sheep often get a bad rap for being “stupid,” and it is true that they have been known to walk off the edge of a cliff, one following another, with no hesitation. Sheep stick together as a group for safety and companionship, and if a lead sheep heads off in a bad direction, it is likely that others will follow. The truth is, however, contrary to popular opinion, sheep are actually very intelligent, and they are good at solving problems. While they may get misled, sheep can also find their way back home. And, they can go to lengths, even working together, to get into fields of juicier grasses!

Does that sound familiar? We human beings, like sheep, are intelligent, and are very good at working together to solve problems or achieve our goals. We also find safety in numbers. And, we have been known to trust and follow leaders who made bad decisions, not fully aware of what we were doing. Think of the last time you were in a car caravan when the lead car got lost. How long did it take—how many minutes, or miles, or turns, or silent thoughts that maybe this wasn’t right—before someone actually decided to question the leader?

The results of our human flocking tendencies can be harmless, and even humorous. Taken to an extreme, our sheep-like behavior can lead to nothing short of tragedy. Dylan followed false shepherds and other sheep whose ideas were not only misguided, but simply evil, and it led him straight into the Wednesday night Bible study at Emanuel AME for the purpose of taking the lives of nine innocent people.

I think perhaps Jeremiah could have been talking about this when he said, “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the Lord.” Those spreading overt messages of hatred and division and supremacy and bias are certainly responsible. But so are all of us who remain silent in the face of subtle jokes or comments that demean whole groups of our fellows, or remain unaware of our own biases. We are following and encouraging others on a path allowing racism, and other forms of discrimination and oppression, to go unchallenged.

We who don’t respond and share our abundance with those lacking basic needs have gone astray. We have forgotten that our well-being, and the well-being of all creation, is not dependent upon individual success or safety. Our lives are inextricably intertwined with all of our fellow sheep and this world in which we live. When we forget that, like sheep without a shepherd, we are scattered and separated from one another.

We have been scattered, driven apart. We are all responsible to look to the shepherd who can lead us home.

In Jeremiah, God promises to raise up a new shepherd, and call his people back from where they have been scattered. We as Christians understand Jesus to be God our shepherd, the one who prepares a table for us, protects us, leads us along the right path. Paul assures the Ephesians that Jesus, our shepherd, has called us together, with all of our differences. Jesus has compassion on the people who seek him, because they are like sheep without a shepherd, and he teaches them. Jesus becomes their shepherd. And Jesus is our shepherd, the one who brings all of us sheep-like humans together as one flock.

We, like sheep, can be confused and led astray when we are not listening to our shepherd. But non-human sheep can recognize each other, and even distinguish one human being from another. This means that sheep can identify who their shepherd is! They know their shepherd’s voice, they know their shepherd’s face.

The crowds followed Jesus, ran ahead of him to wherever he was going, because intuitively, they knew who he was.

And so do we. We hear the voice of our shepherd all the time, if we listen for it. We hear it in the scriptures. We hear the shepherd calling in the voice of loved ones and mentors who know us well, and can help us find our way when we are lost. We even hear that voice, I daresay, in the voice of the preacher telling us hard truths on Sunday morning. And when we hear the voice of the shepherd, we know it, the same way we know the voice of our parents, our children, our spouses or partners. We can’t explain how we know, we just know.

Our shepherd is with us, always, no matter how lost or scattered we may become. Native legend tells us that humanity will not be whole and healed of brokenness until all of us—all colors, ethnicities, traditions, backgrounds—come together and share equal voice in the circle. Our shepherd is calling!

We humans are like sheep, even if we don’t “baaa” . . . . we are intelligent, we know our shepherd’s voice when we hear it, and at our best, we tend to follow our shepherd and stay with the flock for safety and companionship. Our lives and our well-being are dependent on realizing that we are not meant to be scattered or divided along any lines, and only our shepherd can keep us from getting lost. Come together, little sheep! And listen to the voice of Jesus our shepherd in scriptures, pastors, trusted companions. We are all like sheep. And—listen, do you hear it?—our shepherd is calling!

Thanks be to God!

We are all like sheep—intelligent, but prone to scattering when we don’t listen to our shepherd. Like sheep, we are meant to stay with the flock, and follow Jesus, our shepherd. If you listen, you will hear the shepherd calling!

Vicar Meagan McLaughlin
     The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 16, year B
        texts: Jeremiah 23:1-6, Psalm 23, Ephesians 2:11-22, Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

There are a lot of sheep in our readings for today. And a lot of shepherds. And for Jesus’ listeners, shepherds and sheep were very familiar, because if they were not shepherds themselves, they knew or worked with people who were. Encounters with sheep were common experiences, so when Jesus compared his listeners to sheep, as he does several times in the Gospels, or when they heard references to sheep and shepherds from the Hebrew scriptures, our Old Testament, they probably had a pretty easy time understanding what that meant.

Most of us today don’t have the same advantage when it comes to sheep images. Of course, we know some things about sheep. We know they live in flocks. We know they give us wool. We know they smell. And of course, we know they “baaaa!” But all of these things that we know about sheep from our limited experience are very little help when it comes to understanding what it means for us to be like sheep. After all, we may live in flocks, sort of, but we don’t shed wool, we hopefully don’t stink as badly as sheep do most of the time, and we don’t typically “baaaa,” except of course when we are singing Old MacDonald Had a Farm, or having fun with Biblical sheep imagery!

No, our limited experience with sheep is not very helpful at all. We might have better luck explaining rotary phones or pilot lights to someone under 18! But in spite of the challenge to our 21st century minds, sheep and shepherds are really major themes in the Bible, and given today’s texts, it is worth spending a little time thinking about what it means for us to be like sheep, with God as our shepherd.

Sheep often get a bad rap for being “stupid,” and it is true that they have been known to walk off the edge of a cliff, one following another, with no hesitation. Sheep stick together as a group for safety and companionship, and if a lead sheep heads off in a bad direction, it is likely that others will follow. The truth is, however, contrary to popular opinion, sheep are actually very intelligent, and they are good at solving problems. While they may get misled, sheep can also find their way back home. And, they can go to lengths, even working together, to get into fields of juicier grasses!

Does that sound familiar? We human beings, like sheep, are intelligent, and are very good at working together to solve problems or achieve our goals. We also find safety in numbers. And, we have been known to trust and follow leaders who made bad decisions, not fully aware of what we were doing. Think of the last time you were in a car caravan when the lead car got lost. How long did it take—how many minutes, or miles, or turns, or silent thoughts that maybe this wasn’t right—before someone actually decided to question the leader?

The results of our human flocking tendencies can be harmless, and even humorous. Taken to an extreme, our sheep-like behavior can lead to nothing short of tragedy. Dylan followed false shepherds and other sheep whose ideas were not only misguided, but simply evil, and it led him straight into the Wednesday night Bible study at Emanuel AME for the purpose of taking the lives of nine innocent people.

I think perhaps Jeremiah could have been talking about this when he said, “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the Lord.” Those spreading overt messages of hatred and division and supremacy and bias are certainly responsible. But so are all of us who remain silent in the face of subtle jokes or comments that demean whole groups of our fellows, or remain unaware of our own biases. We are following and encouraging others on a path allowing racism, and other forms of discrimination and oppression, to go unchallenged.

We who don’t respond and share our abundance with those lacking basic needs have gone astray. We have forgotten that our well-being, and the well-being of all creation, is not dependent upon individual success or safety. Our lives are inextricably intertwined with all of our fellow sheep and this world in which we live. When we forget that, like sheep without a shepherd, we are scattered and separated from one another.

We have been scattered, driven apart. We are all responsible to look to the shepherd who can lead us home.

In Jeremiah, God promises to raise up a new shepherd, and call his people back from where they have been scattered. We as Christians understand Jesus to be God our shepherd, the one who prepares a table for us, protects us, leads us along the right path. Paul assures the Ephesians that Jesus, our shepherd, has called us together, with all of our differences. Jesus has compassion on the people who seek him, because they are like sheep without a shepherd, and he teaches them. Jesus becomes their shepherd. And Jesus is our shepherd, the one who brings all of us sheep-like humans together as one flock.

We, like sheep, can be confused and led astray when we are not listening to our shepherd. But non-human sheep can recognize each other, and even distinguish one human being from another. This means that sheep can identify who their shepherd is! They know their shepherd’s voice, they know their shepherd’s face.

The crowds followed Jesus, ran ahead of him to wherever he was going, because intuitively, they knew who he was.

And so do we. We hear the voice of our shepherd all the time, if we listen for it. We hear it in the scriptures. We hear the shepherd calling in the voice of loved ones and mentors who know us well, and can help us find our way when we are lost. We even hear that voice, I daresay, in the voice of the preacher telling us hard truths on Sunday morning. And when we hear the voice of the shepherd, we know it, the same way we know the voice of our parents, our children, our spouses or partners. We can’t explain how we know, we just know.

Our shepherd is with us, always, no matter how lost or scattered we may become. Native legend tells us that humanity will not be whole and healed of brokenness until all of us—all colors, ethnicities, traditions, backgrounds—come together and share equal voice in the circle. Our shepherd is calling!

We humans are like sheep, even if we don’t “baaa” . . . . we are intelligent, we know our shepherd’s voice when we hear it, and at our best, we tend to follow our shepherd and stay with the flock for safety and companionship. Our lives and our well-being are dependent on realizing that we are not meant to be scattered or divided along any lines, and only our shepherd can keep us from getting lost. Come together, little sheep! And listen to the voice of Jesus our shepherd in scriptures, pastors, trusted companions. We are all like sheep. And—listen, do you hear it?—our shepherd is calling!

Thanks be to God!

Today, as we reflect on the 400 year history of racism, we are called to mourn and repent. As we go out from here, let us courageously share the good news. There is enough for all.

Vicar Meagan McLaughlin
     The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 13, year B
        texts: Lamentations 3:22-33, Psalm 30, 2 Corinthians 8:7-15, Mark 5:21-43

Last Wednesday evening, there was an act of domestic terrorism driven by racism and white privilege at the historic Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. Nine people—Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Reverend Clementa Pinckney, Cynthia Hurd, Tywanza Sanders, Myra Thompson, Ethel Lee Lance, Daniel L. Simmons, Rev. Depayne Middleton-Doctor, and Susie Jackson—were shot to death by a young man who believed their lives had no value, and that their existence threatened his own, not because of anything that they had done, but because of the color of their skin.

Already today, the story about the horrific act itself has fallen a step back in the media. Already, we are beginning to return to “normal,” whatever that is. But for the sake of the nine people who died, their families, and our Black brothers and sisters, and for ourselves, we cannot go back to normal so quickly.

There are many ways we can distance ourselves from the shooting, lessen the horror, isolate it from our day-to-day lives. We can argue that this is the work of one crazy person, and not a sign of an ongoing pattern of systemic racism in our country. But there is a chilling parallel between the violence of last week, and the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church that killed four black girls in 1963. Both churches held central places in the effort to end segregation and bring justice for our black brothers and sisters. Both were places of worship, where by all rights people should feel a sense of safety and belonging. And in both places, people died violent deaths for no other reason than their blackness. That something so unthinkable in 1963 could happen again in 2015 should be enough to wake us up to the reality: what happened at Emanuel AME Church last week is not an isolated event, but the latest in a 400-year history of the violence, intimidation, and disenfranchisement that is systemic racism.

We can try to exonerate ourselves of this brokenness, but today we are called to see truth. The truth of the brokenness of the communities we live in, and the truth of our own complicity in this brokenness. I don’t think that any one of us here consciously believes, as Dylan did, that the lives of black people have no value. And there are those among us here is this sanctuary who have themselves experienced oppression on the basis of gender, sexual orientation, abilities. Today we are called to recognize that those of us who are white are all, whether consciously aware of it or not, bound in the web of sin that is systemic racism, white privilege, and we all benefit from it. As Lamentations says, we need to sit in silence, when the Lord has imposed it. We need to listen, and hear the truth.

We can say that we are not responsible for this act, that Dylan Roof was not one of us. The truth is that Dylan was raised and confirmed at St. Paul’s church of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America in Charleston. His pastor, Reverend Tony Metze, and Reverend Clementa were colleagues, friends, who supported each other’s ministries. Dylan is, as Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton claimed in her letter of last week, one of our own. Today, we join other ELCA congregations throughout the country in honoring Bishop Eaton’s call to mourn and repent.

I never worry, when my nephew goes to school, or to camp, or to soccer, that he might be beat up or blamed for a crime he did not commit because of the color of his skin. I am not routinely followed by store security when I shop. Virtually all of my teachers, church leaders, and other role models in my life have been white. Almost no one I know has been to prison. And I take all of this for granted, most of the time blissfully unaware that I am living a very different life from the majority of my black brothers and sisters. And although I hate to admit it and wish it weren’t the case, my automatic response when I pass a black man on the sidewalk who is not wearing what I think of as professional dress is fear or suspicion.

We who are white in this world are all bound, and pretending that we are not only strengthens the bonds of systemic racism, both for us and for our African American brothers and sisters. If there is ever a time for us to listen, to bear the yoke of God’s conviction for our participation in sin and oppression, this is it. If there is a time for us to put our faces to the ground and ask for God’s forgiveness, today is the day.

This, my brothers and sisters, is the truth. We are captive to sin, and cannot free ourselves, as we confessed at the beginning of our worship today. That is, in good old fashioned Lutheran terms, the law. The gospel comes in the words of forgiveness proclaimed to us this morning. We have sinned. God, in his compassion and faithfulness, has forgiven our sins. God’s grace is abundant! And we must not receive this incredible gift as a free pass to return to life as normal, to go back to life as we have always lived it. The realization of our brokenness, and the grace of forgiveness, should change us. But, how? What do we do now?

Paul speaks words to the Corinthians that I believe speak to us, too. Paul speaks to a people living in abundance and privilege, a people who, like us at Mount Olive, want to share that abundance. Paul is speaking to a people who, perhaps like those of us today who have privilege, seem to have gotten stuck or stalled somewhere along the way. It seems that all forms of oppression are based on fear, and on a fundamental sense that resources are limited, there is not enough for everyone, and that ultimately someone will have to go without. And our society seems to hardwire us to think of what we have as ours, and ours alone. If we are not defending it against people of another ethnicity, we will defend it against people of other religions, or nations, or sexual orientations. We go on the defensive, always defining an “us” and a “them,” and so long as this continues, the struggle will never end.

Over time, our well-being comes to depend on another person’s lack. Paul addresses this head on, and reminds the Corinthians of the Mannah provided for the Israelites in the desert, one measure for each person, neither too little, nor too much. Everyone gathered what they could, and everyone had what they needed. Paul encourages the Corinthians to see that their abundance is meant to meet another person’s need. And to trust that another person’s abundance will meet their needs.

Mark’s healing story today is a beautiful example of the abundance of our God. Jesus is called to heal the daughter of Jairus the synagogue leader, a person of privilege among his people, and Jesus is interrupted on his way. A woman who has been bleeding for 12 years, an outcast, sees Jesus, and in desperation and faith, reaches out and touches his cloak. She is healed, not only physically, but also emotionally and socially, as Jesus proclaims her whole, and calls her daughter. Then Jesus finds out that, because of this delay, he is too late to save Jairus’ daughter. Except, he is not too late. The abundance of God is enough for all, and the little girl is healed, raised from the dead. There is enough for all.

There is enough for all. There is room at God’s table for everyone. And out of this day of mourning and repentance, we can act to be a voice for change, a voice for justice.

Last week, African American theologian and minister Crystal St. Marie Lewis wrote: “I understand, my religious friends and colleagues, how desperately you desire to pray, given the tragic nature of last night’s events. However, I have run out of prayers and only desire to ask you: Will you instead talk face-to-face with someone about white supremacy and racism? Are you willing to start a conversation about what the world needs in order to move forward in peace? Is it possible that our prayers for God to somehow “fix” the world seem unheard because we don’t yet see ourselves as the answers to those prayers? And if so, how do we change our faulty perspective?”

What if we began to see our abundance, our privilege, as being for another person’s need? What if, instead of “us” and “them,” we all began to see ourselves as “we”? What if we were willing to take a stand against racism when we see it, at risk of disagreement or even anger? What if we were to commit ourselves to ensure that everyone, not just those like us, has a place at the table?

Today is a day of mourning and repentance, a day to recognize how we have participated and benefited from systems that oppress children of God simply because of the color of their skin. As we go out from here, let us courageously share the truth of our brokenness, and the grace of the good news. No one needs to go without. There is room at the table, for everyone. There is enough for all.

Today, as we reflect on the 400 year history of racism, we are called to mourn and repent. As we go out from here, let us courageously share the good news. There is enough for all.

Vicar Meagan McLaughlin
     The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 13, year B
        texts: Lamentations 3:22-33, Psalm 30, 2 Corinthians 8:7-15, Mark 5:21-43

Last Wednesday evening, there was an act of domestic terrorism driven by racism and white privilege at the historic Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. Nine people—Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Reverend Clementa Pinckney, Cynthia Hurd, Tywanza Sanders, Myra Thompson, Ethel Lee Lance, Daniel L. Simmons, Rev. Depayne Middleton-Doctor, and Susie Jackson—were shot to death by a young man who believed their lives had no value, and that their existence threatened his own, not because of anything that they had done, but because of the color of their skin.

Already today, the story about the horrific act itself has fallen a step back in the media. Already, we are beginning to return to “normal,” whatever that is. But for the sake of the nine people who died, their families, and our Black brothers and sisters, and for ourselves, we cannot go back to normal so quickly.

There are many ways we can distance ourselves from the shooting, lessen the horror, isolate it from our day-to-day lives. We can argue that this is the work of one crazy person, and not a sign of an ongoing pattern of systemic racism in our country. But there is a chilling parallel between the violence of last week, and the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church that killed four black girls in 1963. Both churches held central places in the effort to end segregation and bring justice for our black brothers and sisters. Both were places of worship, where by all rights people should feel a sense of safety and belonging. And in both places, people died violent deaths for no other reason than their blackness. That something so unthinkable in 1963 could happen again in 2015 should be enough to wake us up to the reality: what happened at Emanuel AME Church last week is not an isolated event, but the latest in a 400-year history of the violence, intimidation, and disenfranchisement that is systemic racism.

We can try to exonerate ourselves of this brokenness, but today we are called to see truth. The truth of the brokenness of the communities we live in, and the truth of our own complicity in this brokenness. I don’t think that any one of us here consciously believes, as Dylan did, that the lives of black people have no value. And there are those among us here is this sanctuary who have themselves experienced oppression on the basis of gender, sexual orientation, abilities. Today we are called to recognize that those of us who are white are all, whether consciously aware of it or not, bound in the web of sin that is systemic racism, white privilege, and we all benefit from it. As Lamentations says, we need to sit in silence, when the Lord has imposed it. We need to listen, and hear the truth.

We can say that we are not responsible for this act, that Dylan Roof was not one of us. The truth is that Dylan was raised and confirmed at St. Paul’s church of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America in Charleston. His pastor, Reverend Tony Metze, and Reverend Clementa were colleagues, friends, who supported each other’s ministries. Dylan is, as Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton claimed in her letter of last week, one of our own. Today, we join other ELCA congregations throughout the country in honoring Bishop Eaton’s call to mourn and repent.

I never worry, when my nephew goes to school, or to camp, or to soccer, that he might be beat up or blamed for a crime he did not commit because of the color of his skin. I am not routinely followed by store security when I shop. Virtually all of my teachers, church leaders, and other role models in my life have been white. Almost no one I know has been to prison. And I take all of this for granted, most of the time blissfully unaware that I am living a very different life from the majority of my black brothers and sisters. And although I hate to admit it and wish it weren’t the case, my automatic response when I pass a black man on the sidewalk who is not wearing what I think of as professional dress is fear or suspicion.

We who are white in this world are all bound, and pretending that we are not only strengthens the bonds of systemic racism, both for us and for our African American brothers and sisters. If there is ever a time for us to listen, to bear the yoke of God’s conviction for our participation in sin and oppression, this is it. If there is a time for us to put our faces to the ground and ask for God’s forgiveness, today is the day.

This, my brothers and sisters, is the truth. We are captive to sin, and cannot free ourselves, as we confessed at the beginning of our worship today. That is, in good old fashioned Lutheran terms, the law. The gospel comes in the words of forgiveness proclaimed to us this morning. We have sinned. God, in his compassion and faithfulness, has forgiven our sins. God’s grace is abundant! And we must not receive this incredible gift as a free pass to return to life as normal, to go back to life as we have always lived it. The realization of our brokenness, and the grace of forgiveness, should change us. But, how? What do we do now?

Paul speaks words to the Corinthians that I believe speak to us, too. Paul speaks to a people living in abundance and privilege, a people who, like us at Mount Olive, want to share that abundance. Paul is speaking to a people who, perhaps like those of us today who have privilege, seem to have gotten stuck or stalled somewhere along the way. It seems that all forms of oppression are based on fear, and on a fundamental sense that resources are limited, there is not enough for everyone, and that ultimately someone will have to go without. And our society seems to hardwire us to think of what we have as ours, and ours alone. If we are not defending it against people of another ethnicity, we will defend it against people of other religions, or nations, or sexual orientations. We go on the defensive, always defining an “us” and a “them,” and so long as this continues, the struggle will never end.

Over time, our well-being comes to depend on another person’s lack. Paul addresses this head on, and reminds the Corinthians of the Mannah provided for the Israelites in the desert, one measure for each person, neither too little, nor too much. Everyone gathered what they could, and everyone had what they needed. Paul encourages the Corinthians to see that their abundance is meant to meet another person’s need. And to trust that another person’s abundance will meet their needs.

Mark’s healing story today is a beautiful example of the abundance of our God. Jesus is called to heal the daughter of Jairus the synagogue leader, a person of privilege among his people, and Jesus is interrupted on his way. A woman who has been bleeding for 12 years, an outcast, sees Jesus, and in desperation and faith, reaches out and touches his cloak. She is healed, not only physically, but also emotionally and socially, as Jesus proclaims her whole, and calls her daughter. Then Jesus finds out that, because of this delay, he is too late to save Jairus’ daughter. Except, he is not too late. The abundance of God is enough for all, and the little girl is healed, raised from the dead. There is enough for all.

There is enough for all. There is room at God’s table for everyone. And out of this day of mourning and repentance, we can act to be a voice for change, a voice for justice.

Last week, African American theologian and minister Crystal St. Marie Lewis wrote: “I understand, my religious friends and colleagues, how desperately you desire to pray, given the tragic nature of last night’s events. However, I have run out of prayers and only desire to ask you: Will you instead talk face-to-face with someone about white supremacy and racism? Are you willing to start a conversation about what the world needs in order to move forward in peace? Is it possible that our prayers for God to somehow “fix” the world seem unheard because we don’t yet see ourselves as the answers to those prayers? And if so, how do we change our faulty perspective?”

What if we began to see our abundance, our privilege, as being for another person’s need? What if, instead of “us” and “them,” we all began to see ourselves as “we”? What if we were willing to take a stand against racism when we see it, at risk of disagreement or even anger? What if we were to commit ourselves to ensure that everyone, not just those like us, has a place at the table?

Today is a day of mourning and repentance, a day to recognize how we have participated and benefited from systems that oppress children of God simply because of the color of their skin. As we go out from here, let us courageously share the truth of our brokenness, and the grace of the good news. No one needs to go without. There is room at the table, for everyone. There is enough for all.

For centuries, Christians have been wrestling with the idea of the Trinity, but in the end we have a God who cannot be contained.

Vicar Meagan McLaughlin
     The Holy Trinity, year B
        texts: Isaiah 6:1-8, Psalm 29, Romans 8:12-17, John 3:1-17

The love and joy of the Triune God be with you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today being Trinity Sunday, I should stand before you and eloquently explain the doctrine of the Trinity, perhaps even using a three-leafed clover metaphor, as St. Patrick did centuries ago. On the surface, the idea of the Trinity seems pretty straightforward—three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, one God. Simple enough, right?

The reality is that battles have been fought, and people have died, because of differences in understanding this core element of our faith. There are many heresies defined by particular ways of describing the Trinity, and the eastern and western churches are still divided in part by nuances in this doctrine. And yet the Trinity stands, and we confess it here at Mount Olive each week in the creeds. “We believe in one God, the Father the Almighty . . . . We believe in Jesus Christ, his only son our Lord . . . . We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life . . . .”

I am sure you will be relieved to hear that I will not attempt today to sort out the two millennia of conversations, and arguments, and councils that have wrestled with the question of the Trinity. Far more important for us here today, I believe, is what does the Trinity mean for us? Why does it matter?

Although the word “trinity” never appears in scriptures, the images in our readings for today reveal a lot about the Triune God. In Isaiah and the psalm, we hear about God called Lord, seated on a throne, surrounded by seraphs singing “Holy, holy, holy!” Isaiah is surrounded by the majesty of God, and feels completely inadequate. This is God, Lord of the Universe, deserving of glory, before whom none of us, truth be told, are quite ready to stand. The full majesty of God makes us quake in our boots, at least a little bit.

The power of God revealed in waves crashing on the ocean, in the flashes and crashes of powerful storms, in the silent formidable presence of enormous trees centuries old. God’s majesty surrounds us, overwhelms us, and although it touches us, we can’t quite bear to touch it. It is no wonder that Isaiah’s first response is, “Woe is me! I am unclean, and yet I have seen the Lord!” And it is a miracle of grace that prepares Isaiah, so that he cries “Here am I. Send me!” And God invites not just Isaiah, but us, you and me, to go out for him, to witness to his glory!

Jesus tells Nicodemus about God-in-flesh, God who comes to us in human form so that we can have life, be saved. God loves us enough to give us God’s very self, to be in relationship with us, on our terms. And in that relationship, because of the death and resurrection of Jesus, our brokenness is redeemed, and our joy is made complete.

God enters fully into our suffering, as well as our joy. God-in-flesh embraces our grief at the death of a loved one, and shows us through the resurrection that death will not be the final word. God enters our joy at the birth of a child, revels with us in the beauty of creation. God sits with us, eats with us, laughs with us, cries with us. Because God revealed Godself to us in Jesus, we know that God is not only majesty and splendor and power, but intimately involved in our everyday life. Because God became fully human, we know we are never alone. We have a God who understands what it is to be human!

The Spirit is perhaps the most difficult aspect of the Trinity for us to understand. It’s like trying to capture . . . well, the wind! “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.” The Spirit empowers us to recognize who we are as children of God, and it is only through the Spirit that we call God Abba, Father. The Spirit in breath brings life to dry bones in the desert, anoints and calls the apostles in fire at Pentecost, calls Jews and Gentiles alike to baptism in the days of the early church. “The wind blows where it chooses . . .”

Revealed in the Trinity, our God is all these things for us—majesty and power, a fellow traveler intimately acquainted with our human experience, one who tells us who we are and empowers us to witness to the world. There are three persons in our one God. And when these persons come together in the one God, something happens that goes far beyond division of labor, each person filling their appointed role. It cannot be adequately captured in any one metaphor, although I am sure you can imagine that doesn’t stop me from trying!

In Quest for the Living God, Catholic feminist theologian Elizabeth Johnson describes the Trinity as three persons in a dance that never ends. “The three circling around in a mutual dynamic movement of love, God is not a static being, but a plentitude of self-giving love, a saving mystery that overflows into the world of sin and death to heal, redeem, and liberate.”

Johnson presents an image of God in relationship with Godself, equal, fully grounded in love. This is the motivation for creation—God did not create the world to follow law or to do God’s will, but to be in loving relationship with God and the rest of creation. And the Triune God is a God of constant movement, changing, circling, over-flowing. As hard as we may try to neatly define the persons in the Trinity and understand it, God will not be contained.

Paul tells us that we have been given a Spirit of adoption. We are not slaves, but adopted as children of God. The Triune God who is constantly creating, moving, loving, healing, inspiring, transforming. We have been adopted not just as children of God the Father, and not just as brother of Jesus, but adopted into this creative, moving, loving, healing, inspiring, transforming Trinity. We are adopted into the love that overflows into our broken world.

Jesus tells Nicodemus, “The wind blows where it chooses . . . and so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” We are adopted into the Trinity, and we are called to follow the Spirit where it chooses. Not to understand, not to define, certainly not to limit—for ours is a God who will not be so easily contained. We are children of the Triune God, and we follow the wind.

Thanks be to God.

Elizabeth A. Johnson, Quest for the Living God: Mapping Frontiers in the Theology of God (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2007), 213-214.