Easter 7: Jesus’ prayer reminds us.

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Image by Zorro4 from Pixabay

As wonderful as it feels to be in love, most of us have also had the unpleasant experience of being dumped.  The first time it happened to me, I was an adult well on her way to professional success, but I felt as though the ground was falling away from beneath my feet. I felt awful:  unwanted, unworthy, adrift and alone.

My ex and I still moved in the same social circles, so we saw one another periodically. One time, I must must have looked especially bad because she took me aside and said, “You know you have everything you’re looking for, inside you.”

I thanked her and moved on. Even though I had NO IDEA what she was talking about, she seemed to know something I did not, and she cared enough about me to share it with me. I was still dumped, but I felt better.

Jesus’ prayer: “. . . I in them and you in me . . .”

The disciples had not been dumped, but they were without Jesus, and probably felt unworthy, adrift and alone, fearing that they had also lost not only Jesus, but themselves — the people they had become in Jesus’ company. With him, surely because of him, they had been changed for the better. How would they hold on to that newness of life without him?

When we are missing someone special, we can be paralyzed by the fear that we will also lose ourselves – the person we became when they were with us. But we don’t lose that. We can’t.  After all, we are the ones who turned to them in the first place. We are the ones who were irrevocably changed by knowing, following and loving them.

The newness of life which we found in their company and are now loathe to lose comes in large part from what has been inside of us from the beginning, from the first breath of God’s spirit into our being. What we seek was within us then. It is within us still.  Jesus’ prayer reminds us of that. It may make us feel a little better.

Easter 6: From WWJD to WWtCD.

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Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

Family members tell stories of sitting beside a loved one nearing death and hearing what sounds like a conversation he or she seems to be having with someone not in the room. We may recognize a name or phrase or rhythm of speech – but the rest, the specifics, the words, are beyond us. Our loved one is in a liminal space: in between, not quite here and not quite there. They are taking their leave of our world and we cannot call them back.  It is a sad and lonely moment.

The readings of the next two weeks evoke that liminal moment. We recognize familiar sounds – the teachings of Jesus and the biblical images of lambs and shepherds and light —  but the specifics are pretty jumbled and confusing.  Not to worry. Remember the Gardener talking to Mary outside the empty tomb: “do not hold on to me.” This is a liminal moment for Jesus and for us. We know that we need to let go.

This coming Thursday is Ascension Thursday. While not to be taken literally, the Ascension is a good way for us to “let go” so that we can get on with what comes next in our lives. If we have been sheep, it is time for us to be shepherds.  If we have been observers, it is time for us to become artists. If we have been disciples, it is time for us to become apostles. It is time for us to become, with the help of the Holy Spirit, the church.

Pentecost will be here in two weeks. In the era before Vatican II, some Protestant churches used to call the six months which began with Pentecost “The Year of the Church.” Today, many Protestant churches follow the Roman nomenclature and simply call the Sundays after Pentecost “Ordinary Time,” making the Sundays after Pentecost sound like a time when nothing special is happening*.

I prefer the old name — “The Year of the Church” — because in fact, with the arrival of Pentecost, something very special should be happening — nothing less than the Church being renewed, inspired, refreshed and redirected.

We are in a liminal space liturgically for the next two weeks – Easter 6 and 7. So we can all be thinking and praying together about what a Pentecostal, spirit-led church would do and be now. Not “What Would Jesus Do”, but now, in our world, “What would, could, should the church do?”


* The term “ordinary” was not originally meant to indicate Sundays which were insignificant or “unspecial.” The term meant that certain Sundays of the church year were identified by “ordinal” numbers.