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Sunday May 1, 2005 - Easter 6, Year A

It was the night before he died, the last night
of his ordinary, life here on earth. Jesus had gathered his disciples together
for a last shared meal. And a final conversation, last words of promise and hope and commandment, advice and warnings
to try to help his disciples
in the difficult times ahead.

And sometimes it seems
that when Jesus spoke to his disciples
that last night before he died
sometimes it seems
that he was speaking
directly to us.

Because in the words we read in the gospel, we see that Jesus is speaking to people just like us, and so his words
resonate through the centuries.
And the words we read today reveal that Jesus knew, Jesus knew all too well
the human capacity
to deceive ourselves. We tell ourselves one thing, when in fact the reality is very different. We allow ourselves to think we're indispensable, when in fact
we're valuable, but not irreplaceable. We allow ourselves to think we're worthless, when the truth is that we are loved, and gifted by God.
Jesus knew
that his disciples
would likely deceive themselves
when he was no longer around to keep tabs on them. He knew
that they would struggle to remember what he and taught them, and even more, that they would struggle to believe
in a God who continued to love them
even through everything seemed to have collapsed in disaster.
He knew
that once he was no longer around,
what they most likely would do
is go back to their ordinary lives, back to being fishermen and tax collectors and so on, as if their time with him
had never happened.
They would cling to the memories,
but forget all the things he had taught them, the thing that had changed
their lives.
Things about loving others — friends and enemies alike —; about caring for the poor and dispossessed, about being generous to God with your money, just as you gave to the government, about worship and prayer, and most importantly of all, about loving God first and foremost, above everything else.
Jesus knew
that the way of human nature
is to forget those sort of things, and replace them with a kind of nostalgia, a sweetened memory of how things used to be, a memory
that makes no demands
for life here and now.

And so he these last words, the last things he wanted to say to his disciples,
were to get them ready for life without him,
to get them ready
to carry on his gospel,
to live it out,
to share it
with the whole world.
To get ready
to be Christ's own hands and feet and voice
in the world.

And so Jesus makes his disciples
a promise. A promise
that they will not be abandoned. It might seem like they are; they might feel like orphans
when their beloved leader dies,
but they will not be abandoned. Because God
will send them
someone else.
The Spirit, the spirit of truth, the Holy Spirit. This Spirit
is something that the wider world doesn't know at all, and never will, because they are blind,
but anyone who knows Jesus
will know the Spirit. In fact, they already do.
Because this Spirit
already lives with them, and even in them. They can't see the Spirit, but it is there nevertheless, a sign that God
has not abandoned them.
And the proof that this is true
is that after Jesus leaves, that is, he dies, his disciples will see him again.
The resurrection
will be proof, Jesus says,
that the Spirit is in them,
and that they are not abandoned by God, but are dearly loved.
They are loved by Jesus, and they love him; and anyone who loves Christ
is loved by God.

That's the promise. But there's one more piece. If they love Jesus
they will do what he commands. Not just following him in the flesh, but following him
when he is no longer round
and all they have
is the Spirit
to remind them. There's no room for self deception here, no room for nostalgia. Jesus expects them
not to return to their old life and ways
but to continue to serve him, to continue to love him, to continue to spread the gospel in their loves and words.

And Jesus
might as well
have been speaking to us.
Because like the disciples
we don't get to see Jesus. His death, his resurrection, all that happened way in the past, and it's easy to forget it, centuries and generations
later.
And even in our own lifetimes, it's easy to forget
what originally drew us to Christ and the church. For some of us
it was a dramatic event, a conversion experience, when we suddenly knew beyond doubt
that this Christ was real, and we invited him into our lives. For others of us,
it was much less dramatic. We might have been introduced to Jesus
by our parents, and gradually, over the years, come to know Christ for ourselves. It might have been our children that led us here, or a personal crisis, or perhaps just had a growing sense that maybe all this God-stuff was real, that maybe we should give it a try.

But however it happened, all of us have made a decision, whether slowly or dramatically, at whatever level, to get involved with God. And it was great. It was exciting; we were enthusiastic; we tried in all sorts of ways
to follow Christ's commandments in the whole of our lives. And we knew
that we were loved by God, we knew
that we had the Spirit working in us.

But then as happens with all new enthusiasms, gradually the excitement wore off. Just like with diets, and going to the gym.

The immediacy, the enthusiasm, got lost. It got submerged in the busyness of our lives, or got pushed to the side as we struggled with crises, or simply faded away with time and disuse. And Christ's commandments
played a smaller and smaller part in our lives. We became less and less aware of the Spirit's presence. We stuck to the routine of church, more or less, and more often, less,
but it never seemed to satisfy us. All we could remember was that once it had seemed really important, really exciting,
but now it seemed just boring and kind of pointless.

That's the path
the disciples were heading down, it's the path
that we easily head down too. Faith, a living relationship with our Lord,
becomes just a bit of nostalgia. And if we regret it at all, we blame that sense of loss
on change.

"It was better when..."

The trap of nostalgia
is particularly easy
when you worship in a historical building like this one. We look around us,
at the beautiful architecture, the extensive cemetery, the history of it all, and imagine that things were better some time in the past. That there was some magical time
when churches were full,
and there was no shortage of money,
and people's faith was firm and sure.

But one of the things I've discovered in reading the records of Trinity over the years — we have them going back as far as 1713 — is that life here today is pretty much as it's always been. In the 1700s, they struggled to find the money to pay a full time priest. Back in those same early days, the congregation was admonished for their failure to show up regularly on Sundays. People came and went; sometimes there were divisions within the congregation, and other times it flourished. The reality is, there was no magical time.

Life in our parish had its ups and downs, but in the end not a whole lot has changed over the years. And even in the times of greatest strength,
things weren't a whole lot different.
And that's because
at the very heart of our life together
is one thing
that doesn't change. The love of God, through Jesus Christ,
who calls us to love and to love as his followers.

You see, whenever we get caught up in nostalgia, whenever we are tempted to imagine that things were better once upon a time, whenever we feel like our faith has dried up and we've lost our first enthusiasm,
Christ makes us
the very same promise he made his disciples
that night before he died. He promises us
that we are not orphaned, that we have not been abandoned.
God loves us.
And because God loves us,
because somewhere deep down inside
we love God,
the Spirit lives in us. Even when we we're not sure. That's the promise of Christ, and it's a promise we can rely on.

But like the disciples, we can't just leave it there. These promises make a difference. And so Christ calls us, as he called the first disciples,
to keep faith with God.
To love God. To serve God.
To reach out to others.
To let God be part of our lives, in what we say, in the things we do, in the choices we make.

It takes a decision, a decision on our part. Because conversion, the decision to follow Jesus, doesn't just happen once in a lifetime. It has to happen continuously, to be renewed day by day.

And that's what Jesus is inviting his disciples, is inviting us
to do.
To make the decision, once again, to invite him into our lives, and allow him to transform us, day by day.
Come, O Christ, be present with us, and help us to follow you. Amen.

 

Sermon ©Raewynne J. Whiteley 2005