Sermon on John 14:8-17

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

Happy Birthday, Church!

Today is Pentecost Sunday, when we remember the gift of the Holy Spirit.

We heard the traditional Pentecost reading from Acts this morning, when the Holy Spirit arrived dramatically with wind and fire and a plethora of languages.

But until that point, the disciples were kind of hanging around, trying to figure out what was next. Jesus had died, risen again, and then ascended, leaving his disciples earth-bound and confused. Now what were they supposed to do?

This morning, we also heard yet again from Jesus’ Farewell Discourse in the Gospel of John: part of his final teachings to his disciples the night before he was arrested and executed.

Jesus was about to die. The disciples didn’t really understand what was about to happen, and Philip was like, “Just show us the Father, and we’ll know we’ll be okay. We’ll finally get it and be content.”

And Jesus was like, “Are you kidding me right now? What do you think I’ve been showing you for the past three years? You’re telling me now that you don’t get what I’ve been doing all this time?”

Okay, he didn’t say any of that.

But his life with the disciples wasn’t ever going to be the same after that night. He wouldn’t be with them physically in the same way he had been. And his disciples were obviously confused and having a hard time.

What were they supposed to do now?

Instead of saying, “Are you kidding me right now?”, Jesus promised to send them another Advocate or Comforter or Intercessor (depending on the translation), the Holy Spirit who would provide some of the same functions as Jesus had been doing for them: supporting them, defending them, praying for them, directing them toward ways of being that express God’s love.

The arrival of the Holy Spirit is different in the Gospel of John than in the book of Acts, and even in the book of Acts there are numerous accounts of the Holy Spirit being poured out on different groups of people.

Every year, we read about the arrival of the Holy Spirit in the Gospel of John on the Sunday after Easter. We often focus on Thomas’s part in that story, but at the beginning it talks about the disciples having locked themselves away because they were afraid of being arrested and executed too. Jesus appeared to them in that locked room, said “Peace be with you,” and then breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

We’re often so focused on the risen Jesus (understandably) that we completely overlook the Holy Spirit’s role in that story. It’s more subtle, wrapped in the mystery of the resurrection.

Whether the Holy Spirit practically blows the door down and lights people on fire or is invited in with a gentle breath and a word of peace, Jesus’ followers would never be alone, never be apart from God’s presence.

Jesus’ promise to them was fulfilled. He wouldn’t be physically there with them in the same way, but the Holy Spirit would dwell in them, guiding them, teaching them, encouraging them, and defending them as Jesus had done for them during his ministry.

Through the Holy Spirit, they would continue Jesus’ mission to share God’s love with the world.

And the Church is still doing that today.

Though, as we talked about last week, we Christians aren’t always very unified or loving.

You don’t have to spend much time studying history to find some pretty horrifying things Christians have done in the name of God.

And it doesn’t take long reading the news or scrolling through social media to find some pretty unpleasant portrayals of Christianity, and often they’re justified.

Sometimes, my first reaction to someone finding out I’m a Christian is to want to say, “No! Not like that! I’m not that kind of Christian.”[Insert whatever unflattering, small-minded, unloving stereotype I’m afraid they’re imagining.]

And then sometimes this little voice starts whispering, “You know, you’re not that great of a Christian yourself:

·       Remember that person on the side of the road that you passed without a second glance?

·       Remember when you thought such mean things about that person who drives you crazy?

·       Remember the jealousy you felt about your friend’s new home remodel?

·       Remember those questions you have about God?

·       A real Christian wouldn’t have those feelings or those kinds of doubts. You’re a fraud, and everyone’s going to find out soon.”

That voice of imposter syndrome, doubt, or self-deprecationmakes it easy to be embarrassed about one’s identity as a Christian, to stay quiet when people make assumptions about Christians, to turn inward and become small.

But that’s not what we’re called to.

Whether the Holy Spirit showed up in our readingsdramatically or quietly, the disciples were sent.Jesus sent the disciples out of the locked room where they were hiding, and after the tongues of flame appeared on people’s foreheads, the Holy Spirit moved Peter to tell stories of Jesus so that the people who heard their own languages spoken wanted to be baptized. And the movement of Jesus followers grew, and right after this we get that beautiful image of the early Church’s cooperation and abundance:

“Awe came upon everyone because many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.”[1]

As beautiful as this image is, it probably didn’t last very long. Groups of humans aren’t great at staying unified and selflessly cooperative for very long.

But God knows this and still sent the early Jesus followers, with all their flaws and failings, out into the world to share their stories of Jesus and God’s love.

And God sends us, too. God knows our flaws and failings. God knows our doubts, which I see as a sign that we’re thinking deeply about important questions. God knows our heartaches, the ways we wish we could be better, the things we beat ourselves up over, and God loves us entirely.

And God sends us out, just as we are, to share that love with others.

We don’t have to have all the answers—in fact, people tend to be suspicious of people who act like they know all the answers.

You don’t have to pretend you don’t have doubts or questions—they make you human and genuine. And the world needs more of that: people who are honest and sincere. Who wants to be around someone who thinks they’re perfect anyway?

Give me someone who’s real about their questions and quirks any time.

Give me someone who’s passionate about things. I saw a lot of passion in the Project Pacifica group discussions two weeks ago. You care about this congregation—its mission to feed people body and soul, and our future together sharing God’s love with our community.

We’re not perfect, because no one is. But we can be genuine and generous, honest and honoring of God and our neighbors.

Anytime you start hearing that sneaky little imposter syndrome whisper, tell it, “I am a child of God. God loves me, and that’s enough.”

Because, you, children of God, are exactly what the Holy Spirit has in mind for this place and this time.

[1] Acts 2:43-47a

Sermon on John 17:20-26

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

On this last Sunday of the Easter season, we’re reading the last of Jesus’ Farewell Discourse, his final teachings to his disciples before being arrested and executed.

He exhorted them to love one another, bestowed his peace on them, and closed by praying for them. Today’s reading is the end of this prayer, and he prayed for unity.

Jesus was about to die. He would not be physically present with his disciples forever to hold together the budding movement.

If, as so often happens with groups of humans, the movement splintered because of disagreements and egos and misunderstandings, what would happen to his teachings? What would be the legacy of the Jesus movement? Would people recognize them by their love for one another as Jesus taught? Would they be known for washing feet as Jesus had done for them that night?

Our reading from Acts gives us a glimpse a little into the future of the Jesus movement. We see an interesting contrast between the enslavers of the woman with the spirit of divination and the Jesus followers Paul and Silas.

The enslavers became enraged once they could no longer profit off of the enslaved woman. It says, they “saw that their hope of making money was gone,” and they “dragged” Paul and Silas in front of the authorities, accusing them of disturbing the peace and advocating unlawful customs.

What Paul and Silas had done was challenge systems that allowed humans to profit off of each other, and they were beaten and imprisoned for it.

Then, when divine provision allowed them to escape, they could have left without risking being recaptured. They would have benefited from another’s suffering, because the jailer was ready to die by suicide rather than face the consequences of having let the prisoners escape. But instead, they admitted they were still there, leaving open the possibility of recapture. And the jailer and his whole household joined the family of God.Theyshowed hospitality to Paul and Silas, and they all bonded over baptism and hospitality.

What a contrast: people who profited off others versus inclusion and communion.

That’s what the Beloved Community looks like.

The jailer and his household recognized God’s love in Paul and Silas for their integrity and respect for his humanity even at personal risk. The rewards were beautiful.

In this story, we see the realization of what Jesus was praying for: that his future followers would be united in their mission to share God’s love with others.

And also, not all the stories of Jesus followers are that positive. Christians are not always known for our love for one another.

Even in Acts, we see great conflict between Peter and Paul and the challenges facing the early Church.

Throughout Church history, Christians have fought wars with each other and against others, have enacted genocide, and have oppressed countless people, just for a few examples.

We’re not very unified, and we’re often not very loving to each other.

The professor of my History of World Christianity class in undergrad framed the course as a constant back and forth between unity and purity. Should Christians stay unified as a movement or choose the purity of theirideals, doctrines, and values?

Throughout the class,I pretty much always found myself rooting for unity and found myself frustrated by many of the things Christians have cut ties with each other over.

But as the years have gone by, I’ve seen some schisms in our own denomination and others. It’s easy for me to judge our ancestors in faith for the disagreements that caused permanent rifts among them, but it’s a lot harder when faced with the controversial conversations of our time.

It’s easy for me to root for unity when it’s not my belonging that’s being questioned.

For example, I was in college and out of my Lutheran bubble in 2009, when the ELCA voted to ordain LGBTQ folks and bless LGBTQ relationships (this was, of course, before marriages were legal).

I didn’t realize what I had missed until 2012, when I moved to the Denver area for a few months and joined a church there that had a gay pastor. It was hands down my favorite part of my life there.

The congregation also hosted a visit from the Reconciling in Christ organization. The representative was a trans woman who described how, early in her transition, she was so afraid, because people perceived her as a “man in a dress,” but church was the one place she felt safe and accepted.If only church were always like that. She’s since been ordained as an ELCA pastor, and our denomination is so much richer for it.

It was easy for me to root for unity when I didn’t see who was being excluded—the gifts we were missing out on.

Unity was impossible anyway. LGBTQ people were already in our congregations, already leaders, even if they so often didn’t get the titles that went with their leadership or had to stay closeted for their safety. “Unity” meant choosing to continue to oppress beloved siblings in Christ.

Sometimes, ironically, we have to choose between the so-called “unity” of the status quo and the expansiveness of Christ’s welcome and inclusion.

All this is to say that unity versus purity is much more complicated than I comprehended as an idealistic college student. The Christian movement has been wrestling with unity versus purity throughout its history, and it’s led to some ugly consequences.

We Christians aren’t very unified, and we’re often not very loving to one other.

Sometimes it seems like Jesus’ prayer was in vain.

And still, there are instances of unity.

The ELCA itself is a testament to branches of Christianity being reunited. Our denomination was born from Lutheran bodies merging, not splitting. Sure, there have been some splits since then, but it’s still encouraging that we have some history of cooperation.

On a larger scale, the ELCA and our Orthodox siblings are currently in conversation about the language in the Nicene Creed that caused the Church to split into Eastern and Western branches 971 years ago. This year is actually the 1700th anniversary of the Nicene Creed, so I’m putting together an educational series about our various creeds for later this year—stay tuned!One of the things we’ll talk about is the split between the Orthodox and Roman Catholic branches so many years ago and the current conversations.

As an example of interfaith cooperation, I had the great privilege of attending a Shabbat and Iftar dinner at Temple Beth Tikvah in Fullerton earlier this year, when they invited a Muslim congregation to break their fast with them one Friday evening during Ramadan. It was so beautiful to see people from the two traditions learning from one another and enjoying each other’s company.

This year, Ramadan and Passover fell pretty close to each other, and our observance of Easter coincided with our Orthodox siblings’. When there’s so much polarization and conflict in the world, those feel like encouraging signs that there’s still hope of cooperation and love in this world.

Jesus prayed for his disciples and followers to be united and for God’s love to be in us. He said this in a prayer, not as a command or exhortation. Love one another was an instruction, but being united was his prayer for us.

What if, as a sort of thank you note for that prayer, we prayed for unity, too?

Not a prayer for easy answers or false agreement or unity at the expense of those of us who are more marginalized, but a prayer for understanding, for deep dialogue, for appreciation of others’ humanity, and the humility to see things from others’ points of view even if we continue to disagree.

This is the final Sunday in Easter, but God’s resurrection power is still at work in the world, now and always. Jesus prayed for us to be unified and instructed us to love each other. We fall short of that all the time, but,

·       God still loves us (and those we disagree with),

·       Jesus is still praying for us,

·       And the Holy Spirit is still working among us to embrace the world with God’s unity and love.

Let’s pray now and let that be just the beginning of our thank you note prayer for Jesus’ prayer for us.

The Lord be with you. Let us pray.

Jesus, our crucified and risen Savior, thank you for praying for our ancestors in faith, for us, and for those who will come after us. Bring us your peace, fill us with your love, and may we be known for our love for one another and all your beloved children.Encourage us toward unity in challenging conversations, andlet us always see and value others’ humanity. Help us to love the world like you do.Bring us new life and true peace. Amen.

Sermon on John 10:22-30

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

As usual, Jesus was indirect with his answer in our Gospel reading today.

His healings and teachings and miracles had been creating quite a stir, and his critics (the religious authorities, not “the Jews” in general—as always, Jesus and his disciples were Jewish among mostly other Jewish people)—his critics were demanding a clear answer: was he the Messiah or not?

But Jesus wasn’t falling into their trap. He basically told them that if they had been paying attention to what he had been doing—how he had been caring for people, showing mercy and compassion to the most vulnerable, sharing God’s abundance—then they would have their answer already.

Louis Armstrong was once asked to define the rhythm of swing music, and he replied, “If you have to ask, you’ll never know.”

Jesus was essentially saying the same thing about his identity: if you have to ask if Jesus is the Messiah, then you’ll never see that he was answering that question every day of his ministry. It, like swing music, was something to be experienced, not defined.

And since, presumably, followers of Jesus were listening in on this conversation, Jesus was assuring them that they didn’t have to worry. Jesus was the Good Shepherd—he knew their names, and they would never be taken away from him.

Jesus was simultaneously comforting his followers and convicting his critics.

Throughout this passage and the longer teaching it’s a part of, known as the Good Shepherd discourse, Jesus references Ezekiel 34, which contrasts the false shepherds who were doing a poor job of leading God’s people with God, the True Shepherd.

God, through Ezekiel, calls out the “shepherds of Israel” for indulging themselves at the expense of the people they’re supposed to be caring for, for ignoring the needs of the most vulnerable, and for letting the “sheep” be scattered instead oftending to them.

God instead promises to seek them out, feed them well, let them rest, bind up their injuries, and strengthen the weak.

So, when Jesus describes himself as the Good Shepherd, he’s making those promises to those who are listening, especially the most marginalized.

They can trust him to fulfill the promises God made to God’s people. Jesus calls them by name, and they can never be snatched from his hand.

It’s tempting to be cynical about those promises today. It’s poetic and all, but the practicality of it is hard to see.It’s nice to talk of being part of a flock, but that kind of belonging is hard to come by these days.

Our world is constantly changing.

Churches aren’t the community centers they were decades ago.

Neighbors don’t necessarily know each other.

Technology allows us to stay in touch with people far away more easily, but it’s not the same as a hug.

Many of us spend more and more time online, where deep, beautiful connections can be made and where we can also sometimes get a superficial sense of being connected to other people that doesn’t ultimately satisfy our human need for community.

It can be hard to feel like we belong anywhere.

It can be hard to read our Gospel today and feel like we’re part of God’s flock.

In our anxiety about our disconnection and the state of the world, sometimes we seek easy answers, like the religious leaders in our story. “Tell us plainly, Jesus: are you who you’re rumored to be?”

Or maybe, “tell me plainly, Jesus, am I who you say I am? Am I your sheep? Will you care for me too? Will you look for me when I feel lost? What about the people I care about? Are your promises for them too? Or will you leave them behind?”

If there are two things I’ve learned about being a person of faith, it’s to value good questions and to be suspicious of easy answers. And those are good and important questions.

And in our Gospel reading, Jesus turns his audience away from easy answers.

Instead, he points them toward his actions.“Actions speak louder than words,” so they say.If you’re wondering about Jesus’ promises about caring for his flock, look at his actions.

He healed the sick, brought peace to the suffering, fed the hungry, and brought dignity to the marginalized.

If you’re wondering who’s part of his flock, look at his actions.

He gathered all kinds of people—from hated tax collectors to isolated people with leprosy to foreigners to women and children and people with disabilities who were second class citizens to people with bad reputations to pretty much anyone you can imagine. If Jesus is the Good Shepherd, he’s got a big and eclectic flock to tend.

We also see the variety of that flock in our reading from Revelation today. In it, there’s a vision of “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages” all gathered together in joy and celebration.

This multitude of people has “come through the great ordeal.” Since Revelation was written in a time of persecution of Jesus followers, this likely refers to people martyred for their beliefs.

And today, there’s warfare, violence, disease, oppression, malnutrition, poverty, hate crimes, natural disasters, and many other “great ordeals” that too many people made in the image of God are subjected to.

It’s so easy to ask why God lets these things happen, but instead of giving us an easy answer, God often turns the question back to us, asking why we let these things happen.

There are so many people who are doing good in this world, trying to make a difference, including this congregation, which feeds our neighbors week in and week out. And still, this world is not as it should be.

And God still promises to tend God’s flock. Revelation, in addition to giving us beautiful visions of the fulfillment of the Beloved Community, tells us this about those who have gone through the “great ordeal”:

“For this reason they are before the throne of God
  and worship him day and night within his temple,
  and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them.
 They will hunger no more and thirst no more;
  the sun will not strike them,
  nor any scorching heat,
 for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd,
  and he will guide them to springs of the water of life,
 and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

May it be so for every single person made in the image of God, which is every single person.

We may not get the easy answers we want, and there’s plenty to be anxious about in our world, but when we look at Jesus’ life and the themes throughout scripture, we see that God’s flock is expansive and inclusive. We see that God cares deeply for the most marginalized and vulnerable in society and calls us to care too.

God calls each of us by name and those we care about and even those we might be bothered by or have a hard time with. We are all God’s children, part of God’s flock, living in God’s creation.

God cares about our world too—not an inch in all of creation is forgotten or unloved. Martin Luther wrote that “God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on the trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars.” We can find the Good News of God’s Beloved Community in the natural world around us. We can see God’s care and abundance by looking at what God created and continues to nurture—it’s all around us.

God isn’t about easy answers, but we can look to Jesus’ actions and God’s handiwork in creation to find reassurance that God cares for us, tends us, and calls us by name.

As you go about your life loving your neighbors, neither you nor they will be snatched out of God’shand. We and all of creation are safe in the loving arms of our Good Shepherd forever.