Saying Alleluias and the spirit of the BCP

I’m still pretty new here at St. Paul’s Salt Lake City, especially in the grand scheme of things.  I’m learning the customs of the community, as well as figuring out how we will share in the leadership of the church.

St. Paul’s likes their Alleluias.  (Paul Higginson:  if you read this, enjoy the irony!)  They finish every service with them.  Their response to whatever form the dismissal takes (except during Lent) is always “Thanks be to God, Alleluia, Alleluia!!!”

The thing is, this is the EASTER season response.  The Book of Common Prayer says clearly:

From the Easter Vigil through the Day of Pentecost "Alleluia, alleluia" may be added to any of the dismissals. 

The People respond     Thanks be to God. Alleluia, Alleluia.

This is rather different then the rubric concerning the other “Alleluia”, at The Breaking of the Bread:

Then may be sung or said 

[Alleluia.] Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us;Therefore let us keep the feast. [Alleluia.] 

In Lent, Alleluia is omitted, and may be omitted at other times except during Easter Season.

Armed with the rubric (and "priestly authority”) it would have been easy to demand no Alleluia endings.  Instead, I offered a compromise.  I said during the announcements, after acknowledging the St. Paul’s custom and what the rubric says, this:

“The spirit of the Book of Common Prayer is to make the Easter Season especially festive.  But it would be silly to emphatically stop you all from saying “Alleluia!”  So to keep Easter a bit more festive, whoever’s doing the dismissal will use the Alleluia’s only during Easter and special occasions, but you all are welcome to keep responding with Alleluias!”

And then I added, to the laughter of the congregation.

“And for those of you who couldn’t care less about any of this, thanks for putting up with this announcement!!!”

I share this as a reminder to myself that we all have our religious custom things that we do.  Being kind, gracious, and understanding to authentic forms of faithful expression is a lot more important than an insisting your way is right, even if you do have a rubric on your side.

Explaining the Trinity? Good luck with that...

Trinity Sunday is one of the only days of the Church year named for a doctrine rather than a person or an event.  

The question for the preacher is how to approach it:  do I really think that I can explain the Trinity in 8 to 12 minutes of sermon?  Is that really enough time?

David and Jonathan Bennett,  brothers and Roman Catholics theologians, on their website called “ChurchYear.Net”, state that the common wisdom is that if you talk about the Trinity for longer than a few minutes you will slip into heresy because you are probing the depths of God too deeply.

So, in reality, 8 to 12 minutes might be too long!!!

ChurchYear.Net says:  “The Trinity is one of the most fascinating - and controversial - Christian dogmas. The Trinity is a mystery. By mystery the Church does not mean a riddle, but rather the Trinity is a reality above our human comprehension that we may begin to grasp, but ultimately must know through worship, symbol, and faith. It has been said that mystery is not a wall to run up against, but an ocean in which to swim."

They say that the best description (certainly, the safest description if avoiding heresy is your goal) is found in the Nicene Creed.   They write “essentially the Trinity is the belief that God is one in essence, but distinct in person. Don't let the word "person" fool you. The Greek word for person means "that which stands on its own," or "individual reality," and does not mean the persons of the Trinity are three human persons. Therefore we believe that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are somehow distinct from one another (not divided though), yet completely united in will and essence."

The funny thing:  their next words are “How can this be?” echoing Nicodemus in the Gospel reading.  How does one explain this?

Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s quote from the Krista Tippett interview that I used last week ended with the same idea:  "no faith, not even the Christian faith, can ever encompass God or even be able to communicate who God is. Only God can do that.”

The Trinity is a concept designed to describe the indescribable.  The nature of God and our relationship with God can not be explained by “how.”  Explaining the Trinity is like describing why looking at the mountains still invokes an overwhelming sense of beauty and amazement, no matter how long we live among them.  

So know from the outset:  explaining only leads to more questions, if not confusion.

Metaphor helps.  The ChurchYear.Net guys illustrate the Trinity as a musical chord. Think of a C-chord. The C, E, and G notes are all distinct notes, but joined together as one chord the sound is richer and more dynamic than had the notes been played individually. The notes (sic.) are all equally important in producing the rich sound, and the sound is lacking and thin if one of the notes is left out."

The key element of Trinity is relationship.  

The book, An Episcopal Dictionary of the Church (edited by Don Armentrout and Robert Boak Slocum), states that “The Trinity is a perfect relationship of love in which neither unity nor distinctness of the divine persons is compromised.  God’s life is understood to be dynamic, loving, and available to be shared in relationship with humanity for salvation.”

While ponding God’s being in Trinity further might be helpful, perhaps the best way to move forward is to give voice to our understandings of God in a way that invites the thoughtful reflections of others.

I believe that it is this type of sharing:  sharing our own personal experiences, and hearing the experiences of others, that leads to transformation of being born by water and Spirit that Jesus speaks of in the Gospel.  It’s not the explaining of how things are, or by the dictating of what we must do, but by seeing our life’s journey as an exploration of “the earthly things”:  the fabrics of our world, the meaning of our lives, and the mystery that is God’s love for all.

A significant part of this exploration, for us, happens in the church.  Michael Hopkins, an Episcopal priest, wrote this on his blog:

 

We are members of the Episcopal Church because of our calling to be a people at one with one another. It is because of the communion I experience in it, relationships, connectedness, that constantly give me a glimpse of relationship with God, in fact that are manifestations of that relationship itself. As Episcopalians, the church becomes our laboratory for human relationship, a body through whom God continues to choose to work in spite of its flaws. Put succinctly and personally, I am called to be a part of you and I cannot separate this call from my call to be one with God.  (From Glory Into Glory, Michael Hopkins)

 

We are intertwined with one another and with God.  We can’t really explain it…but we somehow know it’s true.

This morning’s Gospel reading was likely chosen by the Lectionary people because it contains all the elements of Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  However, it is this line that truly points to the mystery of Trinity:
 

“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. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”  (John 3:8)

We are in relationship with God, each other, and the whole world.  We will never be able to fully explain what that means, but our hearts, minds, and souls compel us towards fully living into the oneness offered to us by God.

Unbelieving Thomas

(a reworking of numerous Thomas sermons:  he remains one of my favorites to preach on)

We talk about the disciples fairly regularly here at church:  we see and hear them at their best and worst throughout the New Testament scriptures.

But one thing I find interesting about the disciples is that their traits and actions have not, for the most part, been incorporated into everyday sayings.

Take Peter, for example. He gets two known personas from the Gospels: he gets nicknamed “the rock” for his tendencies as a leader (perhaps also for saying things that are dense as a rock). Peter is also widely known for his denials of Jesus.

And yet, people don’t go around saying “your such a denying Peter.” And if someone calls you a rock: well, there’s all sorts of possibilities as to what they’re saying about you, but I’ve never actually heard anyone say “you’re such a rock like Peter.”

That’s pretty much true for all of the disciples. There are only two exceptions that I know of:

I have heard people be called “Judas”: usually in mock betrayal, and much less often with a real sense of betrayal. Thankfully, for obvious reasons, I think most of us are hesitant to really call someone a Judas.

The other exception is found in this morning’s Gospel: “Doubting Thomas” has made it into our vocabulary.

Being called a “Doubting Thomas” is seldom a good thing. The suggestion usually is that you are stuck in doubt that is misplaced, wrong and hurtful.

Thomas was wrong to doubt, says conventional wisdom.  And Jesus seems to call him out, saying that those who don't have to see to believe are blessed.

This leads many people to get the idea that doubt is something to be avoided...that we are not suppose to question things...and that when we question issues of faith, it must mean that our faith is weak.

In fact, it is often suggested that the opposite of faith is doubt.

Ironically, the Greek word for “doubt” is not found in this passage...anywhere. Yes, our NRSV Bible translates Jesus’ words to Thomas as “Do not doubt, but believe.” But that’s not really what the text says.

It’s more like: “And do not be unbelieving but believing.”

Now, you might say that “unbelieving” and “doubt” are about the same thing, but I want to challenge that notion. “Doubt” is questioning something. Doubt is honest searching for answers. Doubt is challenging one’s beliefs in order to understand. Doubt is about taking new discoveries, on both an individual and a world level, and then attempting to understand how it clarifies and challenges previous understandings.

Doubt is not a threat to faith. In reality the reverse is true: doubt and questions help us strengthen our faith...it allows our minds and our hearts to grow with new insights and understandings.

“Unbelieving” is different. “Unbelieving” suggests that Thomas is going through something other than doubting or questioning. And it is important that we understand what it is.

In one way, Thomas is just like the other disciples. They are all hiding away behind locked doors, out of fear of the authorities (not the Jews…I’ll say it yet again…everyone here is Jewish).  None of them really believed Mary Magdalene when she told them that she’s seen the Lord. It’s only after that they see Jesus that they believe.

So then the disciples go and tell Thomas “We’ve seen the Lord.” And, just like the others, Thomas doesn’t believe words. He even makes an outrageous request: “Unless I see the mark of nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

Now, Thomas is asking for some serious proof. The question, is why? What’s going on here? Why this extreme reaction?

I think the answer can be found in what we know about Thomas. Earlier in John’s Gospel, when Jesus decides to go to Bethany to heal Lazarus, Thomas says to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” (John 11:16)

It’s another extreme reaction, but an understandable one. There was grave danger to Jesus in Bethany: people were already trying to kill him. Thomas knew that there was a good chance that none of them would survive such a trip. Thomas is professing a willingness to follow Jesus into very real danger. This is not someone who lacks faith.

But what has happened since then? In the garden, Thomas nerves got the best of him. He, like the other disciples, was not strong enough to remain with Jesus when he was arrested. Thomas gives in to fear.

And then, in the midst of feeling ashamed of himself, Thomas witnesses the worst thing possible: Jesus’ crucifixion, and the end to all of the hopes and dreams that Jesus had inspired.

Thomas’ heart was broken.  There's a line of poetry that comes to mind, from Emily Dickerson...something that's hard to access when your heart is broken:

Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.

Can you imagine what Thomas was thinking as he walked through the streets? He must have been in pure agony. He must have hated himself right there and then. There was no way to go back: no way to change what he had done.

So consider what it must have sounded like to Thomas when the disciples came to him, saying that they had seen the Lord...

It was too much to hope for. It was too much to believe. It was like saying that all was forgiven, and Thomas was not in a place where he was able to even consider the possibility of being forgiven.

In this context, we can begin to understand his outrageous claims of touching hands, feet and side. It wasn’t about Thomas doubting. It was about Thomas fearing.

It is fear that is the opposite of faith. It is fear that keeps us from living the way God wants us to live.  As I said on Easter, Mark’s Gospel ends with the women saying nothing because they are afraid, but it’s not just that one moment where fear creeps in.  All of the events of Holy week are laced with fear.  Not only did fear cause Thomas and the other disciples to flee, but Peter’s denial, Judas’ betrayal, Caiaphas’ plotting, and the crowd’s anger:  they are all about fear. Even Jesus...at the table, in the garden, and on the cross...has to confront his own fears. Fear is a powerful, undeniable force in the world: whether we’re talking about 1st Century Palestine or 21st Century America.

But the miracle of Easter is that fear is not the end of the story. Jesus lives because he refused to give in to his fear: and brings us new life in faith, hope, and love.

This is what Jesus offers to Thomas, with the words “And do not be unbelieving but believing.” Jesus offers Thomas what he needs to find life after fear and despair: new life found in hope and love.

And it’s Thomas, in choosing faith instead of fear, who then makes the boldest statement found in the Gospel: “My Lord and my God.”

What would it take for us, today, to challenge the fear that presently dominates our world?

What outrageous proof would we require to make us believe that we could end poverty and have economic justice...that we could peacefully address our differences...that we could acknowledge our wrongs and heal our pains....that we could preserve and care for our environment...that we could truly love our neighbors as ourselves?

Our fears tell us that these things are just not possible.

The Gospels counter this by suggesting that God offers what we need to overcome fear.  Thomas receives exactly what he needs to move past his fears, and Jesus promises we have what we need as well.

The ending…“Blessed are those who have not seen yet believe”…becomes a mantra for John’s audience (who live in the faith without the firsthand experience of the risen Christ).  Rather than a putdown of Thomas’ disbelief, it is a statement for us all to stand fully in the hope of God.

Christians are called to be Easter people:  that means people marked by hope.  It is to permeate every aspect of our lives, and it is in hope that we work together to make God’s vision of love, peace, and justice come true.

Jesus tells us: “do not be unbelieving, but believing.”

Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.