Posted on May 10, 2010  by admin  No comments

Sermons

Sermon preached by the Reverend Cindy Stravers
St. Paul’s on the Green, Norwalk, Connecticut
The Sixth Sunday of Easter – May 9, 2010

This week’s gospel lesson – like last week’s comes from what is often referred to as Jesus’ farewell discourse – the last conversations Jesus had with his closet friends before he died.  Last week we heard Jesus identify a new commandment for his followers.  They were to love each other and we spent some time thinking about what that might mean for us as followers of Jesus today – living here in Connecticut, worshiping together here at St. Paul’s.  We acknowledged that to love one another means more than a casual acceptance of each other – to love means more even than the radical welcome we hope to extend to each other.  We were challenged as individuals and as a community to go deeper, to push ourselves farther – remembering that our behavior toward one another carries some weight; indeed, according to Jesus, it is the evidence of our own standing with God.   Love.  It’s a big word.

In today’s Gospel lesson, we run smack into another big word: peace.  Like love, the idea – the concept – of peace is rife with meaning – meaning given it by politicians, advertisers, card companies and religious leaders.

But what might Jesus have meant when he said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you?”  What is it?  Why would Jesus give this gift – and what does it have to do with our lives?

Without trying to pin down a tight definition of peace, I decided to think about what kinds of things get in the way of peace – what kinds of things are barriers to our ability to experience peace.  Some are pretty obvious. 

Conflict comes to mind:  conflict on both large and small scales – conflict between nations, races, political parties, conflict between individuals.   There are all kinds of interpersonal conflicts that are barriers to an experience of peace.

Then there are internal barriers to peace – emotions that keep peace at bay.  The guilt we feel when we miss the mark – when we do things we know are wrong or when we neglect to do those things we know we ought to do.  Guilt gets in the way of peace.

Then there’s shame – the emotion that takes its toll by stripping us of our sense of worth – keeping us from knowing the goodness that lies within us – and the resulting abuse of self that keeps us from experiencing peace.

Fear is another barrier to peace, it seems to me.  Fear of the unknown and fear of the inevitable eats away at our sense of safety – leaving gaping holes that can affect every single part of our lives.

Anger, resentment, bitterness, cynicism, greed, even sarcasm can all be bricks that create ever-thickening walls that get in the way of our own peace – and they are bricks that can be thrown in the direction of another – damaging, if not destroying their peace.

The list could go on and on… and one begins to wonder whether or not Jesus was making some kind of cruel joke at worst – or working some kind of magic at best.

It’s pretty clear from other stories in the Bible that Jesus’ friends experienced the same kinds of barriers to peace that we experience and it’s also pretty clear that Jesus wanted his friends to know about and really experience a new kind of peace – not just the absence of conflict – but a deeper, inside kind of peace – that was his desire – giving the gift of peace was his choice.

Furthermore, Jesus had the right to make that decision – and had the authority to declare it boldly.  His whole life, after all, is what makes true peace possible.   The mystery of God’s love demonstrated most clearly in the Incarnation – God’s love is what makes God’s peace. 

After my oldest daughter, Nelleke, graduated from college with a degree in dance, she decided to move to New York.  I remember the day we packed her stuff in the back of a friend’s van and off they drove.  She didn’t have a job, she didn’t have a place to live, and she had very little money.  Though I never told her, I was scared.  But it was her decision – and off she went.

It didn’t take long for them to find an apartment in Brooklyn and within two weeks she had landed a job teaching in Hoboken, waiting tables in the East Village and doing some Choreography for the United Nations School.  Her days were long – as was the commute. She’d get on the MTA in the morning into Manhattan – then switch to the PATH train on her way to New Jersey.  The juncture of the two lines was under the World Trade Center.

On the morning of September 11, I was sitting in a staff meeting when we were interrupted by the news of the attack.  I ran to my office to find the number of the school where she taught.  After several failed attempts to get through, there was an answer.  I was talking to the school’s secretary who was clearly upset.  Breathless, she admitted there was no way to tell me if Nelleke had made it in.  She couldn’t remember seeing her – but then again, she wasn’t sure she hadn’t.  The phone went dead and stayed dead.

As the news unfolded and the images on the television played over and over – something very strange happened inside of me.  The cold terror, the icy fear began to melt.  I couldn’t put words to it; there were no words for a long time.  

But gradually, I understood that whatever happened to Nelleke – she was, in the deepest and most important sense, safe.  Whether caught in the inferno – or safely through the river – she was ultimately safe.  The God who created her knew her and loved her and that was all that seemed to matter.  That understanding changed my life.  It changed how I looked at the world – it changed how I looked at the people I loved and it changed how I looked at those I did not love.  It changed how I understood my own life.   I knew God’s peace for the first time.

I saw that same peace in Loren, our deacon, three weeks ago, just five days before her death.  As she lay in her hospital bed and reached her hand out to me and whispered, “Cindy, it could be so much worse.”  Loren knew she was safe – she knew she was known by God and she knew she was loved by God.

I don’t know if you have experienced this kind of peace – but I believe that is exactly what God desires for us.  It’s a peace that can’t be separated from love – love that accepts us as we are – declaring us worthy – destroying the power of shame.  It’s a love that envelopes all people so that anger, resentment and greed just don’t make much sense.   And perhaps most importantly, it’s a love that forgives.  It is this divine love that makes divine peace possible.

In a few minutes, we’re going to get to that part of our liturgy known as “the Peace.”   You know the drill – we turn and greet our neighbors – using words that have been provided.   We’ve been blessed with the form – the structure for sharing God’s peace, but perhaps there is a way that we can give it more meaning – allow our greeting to be more than a social experience. 

Perhaps we can share the peace with more intention – allowing our words – which we may want to change up once in a while – n., I wish God’s peace for you today – allowing our words to be informed by the knowledge that the peace we share is, in fact, God’s peace – conceived and born out of God’s love. 

Perhaps the radical welcome we’ve come to expect around here will continue to grow into radical love and that radical love will blossom into radical peace – and our lives will be changed – forever. 

This week’s gospel lesson – like last week’s comes from what is often referred to as Jesus’ farewell discourse – the last conversations Jesus had with his closet friends before he died.  Last week we heard Jesus identify a new commandment for his followers.  They were to love each other and we spent some time thinking about what that might mean for us as followers of Jesus today – living here in Connecticut, worshiping together here at St. Paul’s.  We acknowledged that to love one another means more than a casual acceptance of each other – to love means more even than the radical welcome we hope to extend to each other.  We were challenged as individuals and as a community to go deeper, to push ourselves farther – remembering that our behavior toward one another carries some weight; indeed, according to Jesus, it is the evidence of our own standing with God.   Love.  It’s a big word.

 

In today’s Gospel lesson, we run smack into another big word: peace.  Like love, the idea – the concept – of peace is rife with meaning – meaning given it by politicians, advertisers, card companies and religious leaders.

 

But what might Jesus have meant when he said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you?”  What is it?  Why would Jesus give this gift – and what does it have to do with our lives?

 

Without trying to pin down a tight definition of peace, I decided to think about what kinds of things get in the way of peace – what kinds of things are barriers to our ability to experience peace.  Some are pretty obvious. 

 

Conflict comes to mind:  conflict on both large and small scales – conflict between nations, races, political parties, conflict between individuals.   There are all kinds of interpersonal conflicts that are barriers to an experience of peace.

 

Then there are internal barriers to peace – emotions that keep peace at bay.  The guilt we feel when we miss the mark – when we do things we know are wrong or when we neglect to do those things we know we ought to do.  Guilt gets in the way of peace.

 

Then there’s shame – the emotion that takes its toll by stripping us of our sense of worth – keeping us from knowing the goodness that lies within us – and the resulting abuse of self that keeps us from experiencing peace.

 

Fear is another barrier to peace, it seems to me.  Fear of the unknown and fear of the inevitable eats away at our sense of safety – leaving gaping holes that can affect every single part of our lives.

 

Anger, resentment, bitterness, cynicism, greed, even sarcasm can all be bricks that create ever-thickening walls that get in the way of our own peace – and they are bricks that can be thrown in the direction of another – damaging, if not destroying their peace.

 

The list could go on and on… and one begins to wonder whether or not Jesus was making some kind of cruel joke at worst – or working some kind of magic at best.

 

It’s pretty clear from other stories in the Bible that Jesus’ friends experienced the same kinds of barriers to peace that we experience and it’s also pretty clear that Jesus wanted his friends to know about and really experience a new kind of peace – not just the absence of conflict – but a deeper, inside kind of peace – that was his desire – giving the gift of peace was his choice.

 

Furthermore, Jesus had the right to make that decision – and had the authority to declare it boldly.  His whole life, after all, is what makes true peace possible.   The mystery of God’s love demonstrated most clearly in the Incarnation – God’s love is what makes God’s peace. 

 

After my oldest daughter, Nelleke, graduated from college with a degree in dance, she decided to move to New York.  I remember the day we packed her stuff in the back of a friend’s van and off they drove.  She didn’t have a job, she didn’t have a place to live, and she had very little money.  Though I never told her, I was scared.  But it was her decision – and off she went.

 

It didn’t take long for them to find an apartment in Brooklyn and within two weeks she had landed a job teaching in Hoboken, waiting tables in the East Village and doing some Choreography for the United Nations School.  Her days were long – as was the commute. She’d get on the MTA in the morning into Manhattan – then switch to the PATH train on her way to New Jersey.  The juncture of the two lines was under the World Trade Center.

 

On the morning of September 11, I was sitting in a staff meeting when we were interrupted by the news of the attack.  I ran to my office to find the number of the school where she taught.  After several failed attempts to get through, there was an answer.  I was talking to the school’s secretary who was clearly upset.  Breathless, she admitted there was no way to tell me if Nelleke had made it in.  She couldn’t remember seeing her – but then again, she wasn’t sure she hadn’t.  The phone went dead and stayed dead.

 

As the news unfolded and the images on the television played over and over – something very strange happened inside of me.  The cold terror, the icy fear began to melt.  I couldn’t put words to it; there were no words for a long time.  

 

But gradually, I understood that whatever happened to Nelleke – she was, in the deepest and most important sense, safe.  Whether caught in the inferno – or safely through the river – she was ultimately safe.  The God who created her knew her and loved her and that was all that seemed to matter.  That understanding changed my life.  It changed how I looked at the world – it changed how I looked at the people I loved and it changed how I looked at those I did not love.  It changed how I understood my own life.   I knew God’s peace for the first time.

 

I saw that same peace in Loren, our deacon, three weeks ago, just five days before her death.  As she lay in her hospital bed and reached her hand out to me and whispered, “Cindy, it could be so much worse.”  Loren knew she was safe – she knew she was known by God and she knew she was loved by God.

 

I don’t know if you have experienced this kind of peace – but I believe that is exactly what God desires for us.  It’s a peace that can’t be separated from love – love that accepts us as we are – declaring us worthy – destroying the power of shame.  It’s a love that envelopes all people so that anger, resentment and greed just don’t make much sense.   And perhaps most importantly, it’s a love that forgives.  It is this divine love that makes divine peace possible.

 

In a few minutes, we’re going to get to that part of our liturgy known as “the Peace.”   You know the drill – we turn and greet our neighbors – using words that have been provided.   We’ve been blessed with the form – the structure for sharing God’s peace, but perhaps there is a way that we can give it more meaning – allow our greeting to be more than a social experience. 

 

Perhaps we can share the peace with more intention – allowing our words – which we may want to change up once in a while – n., I wish God’s peace for you today – allowing our words to be informed by the knowledge that the peace we share is, in fact, God’s peace – conceived and born out of God’s love. 

 

Perhaps the radical welcome we’ve come to expect around here will continue to grow into radical love and that radical love will blossom into radical peace – and our lives will be changed – forever.