Homily for Sunday, May 14
The Rev. Bill Harkins
The Cathedral of St. Philip
14 May 2006
5 Easter—2006—Year B
Acts 8:26-40; Psalm 22:24-30; 1 John 4:7-21; John 15:1-8
In the name of the God of Creation, who loves us all, Amen.
Welcome to The Cathedral of St. Philip on this 5th Sunday of Easter, and a very happy Mother’s Day to each of those for whom this appellation applies! It is good to be back among you for our penultimate Evensong service prior to its summer hiatus. In the past two weeks I have attended the national conference of the American Association of Pastoral Counselors in Louisville , and the Georgia Marriage and Family Therapy Association annual meeting, at St Simons Island. I don’t travel a great deal, life in the academy and the church being what it is. But when I do travel, I love to visit other churches. I suppose this is in part because when I am visiting, I have no liturgical duties and so I am able to experience worship from a different perspective. But this is not all. Truth told I am a connoisseur and collector of sacred space. In the past two weeks, for example, I visited Christ Church Cathedral in Louisville, and Christ Church St. Simons, the latter being the 3rd oldest Episcopal Church in the United States. It was founded by Charles and John Wesley while they served as de facto Chaplains at Fort Frederica , prior to their becoming strangely warmed and founding Methodism.
Among my favorite sacred spaces is Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco . When Vicky and I visited there 3 years ago, we were entranced by this remarkable place of worship high atop a hill overlooking the city. Inside, we explored its various chapels, a labyrinth, lovely murals depicting the history of the city, and stunningly beautiful stained-glass windows. One is invited one to enter this holy space, and to allow one’s spiritual imagination to come alive. The last available window space has recently been filled with an intriguing, lovely stained glass piece depicting a spiral nebula—a swirling multicolored galaxy much like our own milky way, spinning deep in outer space. I was reminded again of the words of our own Eucharistic Prayer C—“the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home.” Somehow the depth and expansiveness of the cathedral seemed to contain a hint of all that, and more—a kind of mysterious engagement with the holy, as if the Spirit blew gently, constantly, lovingly through the cool depths as the very soul of the building. After the celebration of the Eucharist we emerged into the brilliant northern California sunlight on a cool April morning. On a plaza just below the welcoming doors of the Cathedral is an outdoor labyrinth, encircled by Japanese Maples just having blossomed into full leaf, and luminous on this day, shimmering in the morning light. On the perimeter of the labyrinth a group of Buddhist nuns engaged in their morning ritual of Tai Chi, the lovely, synchronous form of worship, exercise, and meditation. We stood for a long while in the sunshine, enjoying the cool breeze from our liminal perch atop the steps, entranced by this rich, resonant juxtaposition of worship and culture: our own celebration of the Eucharist, this labyrinth of ancient Celtic origins, and the deeply moving ritual of Tai Chi, woven together in an colorful tapestry by the grace-filled welcoming Spirit of one of our own Cathedrals.
My primary feeling was that of gratitude—a deep, abiding appreciation for the moment of Kairos we experienced. A moment when the Spirit seemed so present, so close, so available. And that Spirit, that Kairos, points us to something that lies at the very heart and soul of who we are—what the world is, the very force that emanates from God and gives life to us all. But what is that force? How do we know it when we see it? This lovely Eastertide evening—in this light-filled space—we hear the remarkably poignant words from the Epistle, “Let us love one another, because love is from God…for God is love…and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.” Now, these words are not actually new. The invocation to love one another goes back much, much further than even Jesus. It is a theme cited over and over throughout the Old Testament. So what made Jesus’ invitation to his disciples from today’s Gospel that they “abide in him” so memorable, and so unique—that on this day we too are given new life by our hearing of it, by our reenactment of it at the altar? I think it has to do with the specificity of the Epistle’s qualifying phrase—“let us love one another.” Put simply, this incarnation of the ancient ideal was to become the pattern of how the disciples, and that includes us, were to love one another, the pattern, that is, of how we ought live our lives. St. Augustine once observed that Jesus loved each one he ever met as if there were no other in the entire worldto love. He radically individualized and made incarnate the affection he acted out toward others.
I am reminded of the little story about the boy who was trying to learn the Lord’s Prayer, and one night as he knelt by his bed, these words came out: Our Father, who are in heaven, How do you know my name? Of course, the nature of this deeply individual yet universal affection is and will always be a mystery to we mortals. And yet, as I was reminded on the steps of Grace Cathedral that morning, we are all made in the image of that extraordinary love—all of us. This is the other clue from St. Augustine . Jesus’ love for us was not just a radically incarnate, individual love. It was also a universal love, and it includes this planet earth, our island home, and everything in it. The eyes with which he looked upon the world were never filled with disdain or contempt. Even when Jesus spoke harshly, it was because of his love for those whom he addressed. We must never forget that the opposite of love is not anger, but rather indifference. Jesus loves each of us as if we were the only ones in the world, and he loved all as he loved each.
This reminds us of the wisdom of C.S. Lewis, who made a distinction between what he called “need love” and “gift love.” Need love, says Lewis, is always born of emptiness—a kind of possessive acquisitiveness that is the relational, spiritual equivalent of a vacuum, like a black hole in outer space, sucking everything into its dark center. Lewis acknowledges that many times when we humans say, “I love you,” what we really mean is “I need you, I want you…you have value to me that I desire to make my own, regardless of the consequences to you.” Over against this image, Lewis contends that another form of love is radically, ontologically different. It is what he calls “gift love.” Rather than being born of emptiness, or impoverishment, and the needs to which they point, this form of loving is one of fullness, and grace, and gratitude. Its goal is to enrich and enhance the beloved rather than extract value. Gift love moves out to bless and increase—to enliven, nurture, and sustain the other. It is more like an ever- flowing spring than a needful vacuum. Lewis concludes by saying that the uniqueness of the biblical vision of reality is that God’s love is “gift love,” not “need love.” He reminds us that, “we humans are made in the image of such everlasting and unconditional love,” we are created Imago Dei---in the image of God. Not only are we loved by God in this way, we can choose to live our lives this way. We are most likely to fall into “need love” when we are feeling scared, or vulnerable in some way—when faced with new situations or people who are different in one way or another, when we start making distinctions about who is in, and who is out—when we relegate the other to the category of “them’; when in our anxiety we create false and impoverishing categories for criteria of acceptance such as Greek or Jew, slave or free, male or female, gay or straight, and on and on they go until we ourselves are imprisoned by the very walls we create to keep others out. But even then, in the midst of our uncertainty, we can choose, with God’s grace, to grow into the wonder of “gift love.” Sometimes the examples of this come from places we might not expect—sources that catch us by surprise, origins that fill us with awareness of the fullness of that “gift love.”
On a summer day in 1998 more than 300 PBS stations across the nation aired a very special episode of Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood that featured KoKo, the sign-language using gorilla. Mr. Rogers’ visit to KoKo’s home at The Gorilla Foundation helped launch a week of programming entitled “You and I Together” which addressed the confusion and fears of young children when confronted with new situations or people who are different. The weeklong theme of “inclusion” featured KoKo and helpful talks about feeling included, no matter the nature of one’s disability, infirmity, skin color, race, gender, religion, or sexual orientation. Turned out that “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” was one of KoKo’s very favorite TV shows. And when this gentle pastor, beloved by so many and whose shows I still watch, entered KoKo’s room, she immediately embraced him in a gentle gorilla hug, and in sign language said, “Love you, neighbor, KoKo love.” KoKo then bent down to help Mr. Rogers remove his shoes, as she had seen him do every day, for so many years, on his show, from the TV in her room. Turns out, it was her favorite show. She then helped him remove his sweater. So my sisters and brothers, gift love is available to us all, and can come from unexpected sources. And with the grace of God we can choose to embrace that love, just as KoKo embraced Mr. Rogers.
The Spirit of that love infuses and energizes and enlivens. It was present in the Buddhist women doing Tai Chi—and no doubt they were there this morning, abiding. It was present in the seekers walking the labyrinth that day. No doubt they will be there again, abiding. It was present in those who gathered for the celebration of the Eucharist, 2000 years ago, and at Grace Cathedral and all such Holy, sacred places, and it is present for us, here and now, in this sacred space we have come to love. With the help of that Spirit, and God’s ever-present and unfailing grace, we can grow into the deep mystery of loving each one as if there is no other in the world; loving all, as we love each; abiding in Christ, as Christ abides in us, one and all. Amen.
Comments? Contact Bill Harkins at: Bharkins@stphilipscathedral.org