Shine in our hearts, Lord Jesus, and light us up so that you shine out of us as well. Amen
Readings Let's reflect a bit today on theophany – that's a word for things like what we just read, Moses seeing God face to face and the disciples seeing Jesus transfigured into light and talking to Moses and Elijah, and God's voice coming out of a cloud. Theophany is when God reveals himself in ways that we can't deny, when God shows up in ways that freak us out because they are so real, when something happens that moves us so deeply, we either say or do idiotic things trying to make some kind of response - or we don't' talk about it at all because we can't find any words that will work to really convey what happened. You may not often talk about those experiences, or maybe you only tell one other person or a couple of people you really trust, but there is no way you can ever forget what you saw or what you heard or what you felt in that moment. And there's no way you can go back to how it was not knowing that things like that are real. Even though later, you may question whether you dreamed it or imagined it, deep down you know you didn't make it up. And I think we hope that what we experience in moments like that is the true reality. We hope that what we see around us in mundane daily life is just a pale reflection of the way things really are, what life really is at the core. The difficulty in hope, though is it's a (seemingly) very fragile thing, and you hesitate to lay it out completely because you're not sure it could survive disappointment. Or maybe you know somehow deeply that if you completely hope for all you desire, there's no way you could stay in control – you'd be at the mercy of how God responds. And if you laid out your deepest hope to God, you couldn't stay aloof from him and safe from what you fear would happen if you found that God either doesn't want or isn't able to fulfill what you hope for – that your hope may in fact be foundationless. You think your hope is what keeps you alive, and you couldn't survive losing it. So you hedge your prayers, you pray for what seems reasonable, for what God couldn't refuse; you pray in ways that give God an "out" in case he doesn't answer or doesn't want to or maybe isn't actually able to – because maybe he doesn't actually exist … But why do you think we have hopes if there isn't actually a reality they're based on? Thomas Aquinas hashed this question out from both the theological and philosophical point of view, and he says we're right to hope - because God does exist and God is good – and he hasn't made a desire without its object. We have hope because there is such a thing as its fulfillment. Aquinas says that if we have a desire, not only does its object exist, but it's attainable and it's also good – in fact, it's intended. God isn't cruel – he hasn't made us so that we hope for things that don't exist or are bad for us or that he has no intention of giving us – so that we'll eternally be frustrated in our deepest desires. No, God is good, and he's given us good desires, and he's also put in us a desire for himself as the greatest good, so when moments of theophany happen, we are getting a glimpse, a taste of what is most deeply true about God's relationship to us and his love for us. So, if what we hope for is predicated on a real object, then its fulfillment is possible, and if in fact, this fulfillment was designed and intended by God and is in God's power to grant, then we should have no fear in asking for it – because it's already what God also wants: our wholeness, our integration. What you most deeply desire… already is – and is in God's power to give you. Are you willing to risk asking for it? And I mean hopes – those things you most deeply ache for, that you don't think are even reasonable, that you don't think you have any business asking God for because there's no way they could be accomplished. It would take a miracle… That's what I'm talking about –what kind of church is this if it's not about miraculous expectation? So I'll tell you what I've started doing as a result of this thought process: I've started asking God for what I hope for St. John's: for you as a community and you as individuals. I invite you to do the same… Hope everything you can imagine for us and ask God to do it. And don't hedge or make qualifications to "let God off the hook" in case it doesn't happen – that is your fear and attempt to control the situation so that you can't be disappointed. Instead, try risking disappointment on God. I'm praying that God starts to breathe on your hearts so that the little embers of hope in there start heating you up inside and even starting to hurt – some of the prophets have said God's word can feel like a fire in your bones. I'm hoping that what he desires for us begins to burn inside us also, until it starts to shine out in our faces and in what we say and what we do. What are y'all waiting for anyway? "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you'll return." An interesting thing about fire, which I've learned from the firefighters in Vidor, is that it doesn't even have to touch its fuel to ignite it. A fire in one spot can gradually heat an entire area, and anything that can be fuel, when it reaches its ignition temperature, will spontaneously combust at that point. So, in a room where there's a fire in one corner, when the entire room reaches a certain temperature, will completely erupt in flame everywhere.
It's called flashover. Here is another video showing fire behavior leading up to a rollover (burning across the ceiling) and then a flashover (everything erupting in flame). You know somebody's been burning churches in east Texas, and the interesting thing about that, I think, is they're confusing a symbol of God's power with the thing itself, as though a fire in a church building would destroy the Church. It's the same mistake people make when they try to kill Christians – when they tried to kill Christ. In our worship, fire represents to us God's presence with us in the Holy Spirit, and at Jayde's baptism last week, we lit a candle to symbolize the light of Christ in her heart. Fire is a symbol of God's presence because, like fire, God is not safe, not predictable. Talking about flashover, maybe Pentecost was something like that. My prayer is that during Lent, God will breathe on you and start a little fire in a corner of your heart, and we'll see what happens by Pentecost. Amen.
The story of Nicodemus is fascinating to me. I think it describes what often happens when a logical, analytical mind encounters spiritual truth. Nicodemus is trying to understand who Jesus is and where his power is coming from - because he figures it has to be from God, but how does that work, exactly? He's sincere - he really wants to understand, "What is this relationship between body and soul? - between God and man?" but when Jesus answers him, Nicodemus finds the reply very confusing. Jesus had said that, to see the kingdom of God, everyone needed to be 'born from above,' but that didn't make sense to Nicodemus. "How can anyone be born after having grown old?" Jesus tells him. "What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit..." That still didn't clarify it totally for Nicodemus, because his next comment is, "How can these things be?" I find this conversation encouraging, because I think Nicodemus is an intelligent person, so if he's confused, I feel reassured that, when I'm confused about faith questions, it's not that I'm not smart enough, it's just that the answers really are hard to understand. I also find it encouraging that, when Nicodemus says he's confused, Jesus works harder at explaining it. I'm grateful for people who have the courage and honesty to say when they don't understand something, even if it makes the teacher irritated, because usually then the teacher will say it again more clearly and maybe use some examples, and the result is that everybody understands better. Think how many people have come to understand God's purpose in sending Jesus to save humanity - which is what our faith hangs on - from the single verse of John 3:16 - part of Jesus' further clarification to Nicodemus. It's such a clear explanation. When I was little, we memorized it in Sunday school. You probably know it, too. "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life." We can partly thank Nicodemus for that excellent summary because he asked the question. Asking questions is, I think, an important foundation of scientific inquiry, and we've come up in a scientific, questioning age. Everything is being and has been questioned and examined, turned inside out, defined and re-defined - like we were trying to chart and re-map in specific details all the vagueness of the past, to take away the element of mystery that wrapped around everything in the medieval period. We don't want 'hocus pocus'; we want reality - something solid and definite to believe in. Here's an interesting little piece of linguistic information about that word 'hocus pocus,' the way we talk about words or rituals that seem silly and pointless. "Hocus pocus...abbra cadabra, and Viola! Here's a bunny!" But it's fake; it's a trick to make you think the magician has powers, but really he doesn't. He just knows how to make you look the other way at the right time. During the Protestant Reformation, people were beginning to question what the rituals in church were all about, really. The service was all in Latin, and so people didn't know what was being said and mostly didn't understand what was being done, but at some point, the priest would say a particular thing, a bell would ring, and everyone was supposed to look, because the priest would hold up the bread, and that was how you received communion - that's how you received grace. The people who attended the service didn't actually take communion by eating the bread or drinking the wine; they received it by seeing it. So, if you weren't paying attention then, you could miss the main part of the service and seemingly it wouldn't do you any good. But some people started to wonder whether any of those things, which they didn't understand, were actually doing them any good anyway. People had lost track of what all those things meant that the priest was doing and saying, and they started to question whether those things had any meaning at all. The words sounded like gibberish. When the priest held up the bread, he said (in Latin) "Hoc est corpus meum" - "This is my body." But most people didn't know Latin. So it's not suprising, really that when the priest said "Hoc est corpus meum" - and maybe the bells would drown out the 'meum' part, leaving just "Hoc est corpus..", it's understandible that what people heard was 'Hocus pocus,' - - and that came to have a meaning of its own related to how they felt about what they saw and heard in church. Maybe all these rituals and unintelligible words don't really have a meaning. It's just 'hocus pocus...' People became dissatisfied with accepting things they didn't understand; they wanted reasons and answers. Religion has reacted in different ways to this cultural shift of wanting to question everything - in many instances defensively, making it wrong to question issues of faith, which put a lot of people in the predicament of feeling they had to choose between thinking or believing. Some people were executed because of dilemmas like this. And some fought back, carrying out executions of their own and breaking all the things that smacked of mystery and 'hocus pocus' to get back to a 'true religion' based on reason and not meaningless movements and unintelligible words. But just because someone doesn't know the meaning or understand the words doesn't mean they don't have meaning - we have to be careful to balance our capacity for reason and desire for explanations with respect for what we don't understand. As Fr. John and Fr. Jack discussed in the Lenten series class Wednesday night, "faith vs. reason" is a false dichotomy - that's just not how it is - God made us with the ability to reason. It's only right that we should use it - and the faithful use of gifts God gave us will not lead us away from God but toward God, even if the path seems to wind around. And it has wound around quite a bit - even in the past 10-20 years, not to mention the past 100. Our culture has changed a lot in this questioning and exploration. One thing I think we're learning from this process is that we're not likely to ever understand it all. For every new thing we've learned this century, we've discovered whole areas of things we never dreamed about before - and each new thing is more beautiful, and complicated and amazing than we imagined. Remember what whole new worlds, literally, were opened up to our imaginations by the invention of the telescope and the microscope, for example, and more recently with quantum physics, genetics, and multi-dimensional math. As we look for answers to our questions about life and the world, as we try to understand, God shows us new things, and each thing we understand is more amazing than we had imagined before... until I think eventually, more than answers to our questions about life and the world, we begin to want to know the God who made this world and gave us life. In our class Wednesday night, talking about how the world began and why we're here, we had a big discussion about this relationship between faith and science. George Kondos made a comment about Einstein saying that science was trying to understand the mind of God. Einstein represents to many people the pinnacle of modern scientific thought - one of the most brilliant minds of all time - and his conclusion is that science is essentially a search to know God. Isn't that really theology? I love theology, and I think it's the highest of all fields to study, but I think even that is not where the journey of faith is leading. One of the most brilliant theologians of all time - St. Thomas Aquinas - after he had written tomes of material constituting a complex and beautiful systematic theology, one day completely stopped writing. Because, he said, something had happened while he was celebrating the Eucharist one day, and whatever that experience was, it made everything he ever wrote seem like 'so much straw.' Compared to what he'd been trying to describe in his theological writings, the reality was so much more amazing - so the thing to do then was worship, not write about it. Our ability to reason and our desire to understand may be things God created in us, but they're tools, things to help us get to where we understand enough to worship, and at that point, the rest of it, as amazing and complicated and beautiful as it is, won't even be able to hold a candle to the one who made it. This may partly explain the stories why some people who meet Jesus just stop whatever they were doing to follow Him - even though not everybody does it immediately when they meet him, like some of the disciples did. As I mentioned at the beginning, I love the story of Nicodemus, because it took him a while to work it out. Today's gospel reading is not the only place he shows up. Here, in this passage, we see the beginning of his journey - questioning, trying to understand who Jesus is and how he has access to God's power. Later, he comes up at Jesus' trial, trying to offer a voice of reason in Jesus' defense. Then, still later, he is one of those who come to take Jesus' body down from the cross, "bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes.." - kind of like those wise men from the East, whose scientific inquiries led them to follow a star. Nicodemus, a Pharisee who was diligently trying to observe and follow the law, started from a different place. While the magi started from science, Nicodemus started from religion, but they all found themselves on a journey of faith that ultimately led them to worship the God who made it all, who created the star, and who gave the law, and who sent his Son to show us how much God wants us to know him and be with him, because he made us and loves us, brains, questions, and all. ------------------------------------ Given to St. John's, Silsbee Feb. 17, 2008
