Pip: There's a sermon out there that opens with Henry Ford, pivots through a Ridley Scott film, and lands at a baptismal font — and somehow the logic holds the whole way through.
Mara: That's Fr. John's recent work at Candle in a Cave — a sermon on what baptism actually does to a person, and why the answer is more than symbolic.
Pip: Let's start with the knights of Jerusalem and what they have to do with a sacrament.
What Baptism Actually Does
Mara: The sermon opens with a question that sounds almost dismissive — does water make someone a child of God any more than a sword makes someone a knight?
Pip: And the film Kingdom of Heaven is doing real theological work here. Balian of Ibelin knights common farmers and blacksmiths before a siege, and the bishop asks whether the ceremony changes anything. Balian's answer is one word.
Mara: The sermon quotes it directly: "Does making a man a knight make him a better fighter?" — and Balian looks the bishop square in the eye and says, "Yes."
Pip: That yes carries weight because medieval knighthood wasn't ceremonial decoration. It conferred land, status, religious standing, and — crucially — a new interior sense of self.
Mara: Exactly the point. The sermon draws the parallel plainly: baptism isn't merely about water, just as knighthood isn't merely about a sword. Both are about, in the sermon's own words, "a new allegiance, a new identity, and a new life."
Pip: The Ford story at the opening earns its place here — a machinist returns stolen tools the morning after his baptism. Something actually shifted.
Mara: The sermon lists what that shift includes: forgiveness of sins, participation in Christ's death and resurrection, renunciation of evil, and entry into the community of faith. Then it names the seal — chrismation with oil blessed by the bishop, and the words spoken at the sign of the cross.
Pip: "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ's own for ever." That's the line that closes the ceremony, and the sermon treats it as the thing that makes the rest of it stick.
Mara: Nine baptisms on the day this sermon was preached. The closing line echoes Ford: dam up the Cimarron and baptize everyone.
Pip: A bishop, a machinist, and Balian of Ibelin walk into a font — and the sermon makes the case that all three are asking the same question.
Mara: What holds this together is a single claim — that identity conferred by ritual is real identity, not performance.
Pip: Which means the next time someone asks what water does, the answer is still yes.
According to Christian ministry lore, a machinist at the Ford Motor Company found religion and was baptized. Before his conversion, the man had frequently stolen parts and tools from the Ford factory.
Moved by his newfound faith, the employee returned all the stolen goods to his boss the very next morning, explained his baptism, and asked for forgiveness. Dumbfounded by this unprecedented response, the manager sent a telegram to Henry Ford (who was traveling in Europe at the time) asking how to handle the situation. Ford reportedly wired back his enthusiastic approval with the now-famous reply: “Dam up the Detroit River, and baptize the entire city!”
When I get home on Thursday nights—my Friday—my brain is only up for a glass of wine and a movie. Since most new movies disappoint, I’ll usually rewatch an old favorite. A couple of Thursdays ago, I settled in with Kingdom of Heaven, best described as historical fiction about the defense and fall of Jerusalem to Saladin in 1187.
This movie centers on Balian of Ibelin. In the movie, his personal life is entirely fictional; however, his role in the defense of Jerusalem is quite accurate, down to a powerful scene as the final battle approaches.
The problem: too few knights remain to defend the city. Most have died or fled. The Patriarch of Jerusalem points this out to Balian. Accepting his words, Balian gives a rousing speech and commands, “Every man-at-arms or capable of bearing them, kneel.” All comply. Approaching a young man, Balian recites his father’s words: “Be without fear in the face of your enemies. Be brave and upright, that God may love thee. Speak the truth even if it leads to your death. Safeguard the helpless. That is your oath.” To the young man’s surprise, Balian slaps him and says, “And that’s so you remember it.” Balian then steps back, addressing the assembly, and says, “Rise, a knight.”
The bishop, who has witnessed all this, is not impressed and says to Balian, “Does making a man a knight make him a better fighter?” Balian looks the bishop square in the eye and says, “Yes.”
That actually happened, but for us today, we might be inclined to think like the bishop—putting lipstick on a pig doesn’t make a pig a beauty queen. However, that’s us today. Back then, being made a knight made you something new.
Being made a knight gave you land and privileges. It offered chances for advancement, political influence, and access to goods and services a commoner would never have. It meant entry into the aristocracy and more. But perhaps more importantly, a shift took place within. You actually became someone. People looked up to you; they called you “Sir.” Your sense of self-worth increased dramatically.
There was also a religious aspect, especially in Jerusalem. There, you became a true defender of the faith. For many, you were a Christian hero. The Pope essentially stated that serving as a knight in Jerusalem counted toward all penances you owed.
When the bishop asked, “Does making a man a knight make him a better fighter?” Balian’s “Yes” carried all this weight, and those who took the knee believed it. No longer were they blacksmiths, farmers, peasants, or even slaves. They were now great defenders of the faith, and for those who truly believed, it would have meant a great deal and, in fact, made them knights and better fighters.
And if you have figured out by now that I’m not talking about the knights of Jerusalem but about those to be baptized into the Christian faith, give yourself a gold star.
Today, we have ____ who will be baptized into Christ’s one holy catholic and apostolic Church. Yet some might ask, “Does water make someone a child of God any more than a sword makes someone a knight?” The answer: Yes! Because neither baptism nor knighthood is merely about water or swords. Both are about a new allegiance, a new identity, and a new life.
Behind that, yes, lie forgiveness of sins, participation in Christ’s death and resurrection, the renunciation of Satan and evil forces of this world, the desire to fight sin and injustice, and true loyalty to Christ Jesus as Lord and Savior. Baptism also opens participation in the community of faith in thought, word, and deed, the call to commend the faith that is in you, and more. Through baptism, you become a citizen of the Kingdom of God and take on all the benefits and duties of a child of God, as has been practiced throughout the Church’s history.
Finally, I won’t be slapping anyone to make them remember it, but we will chrismate all those baptized with the oil blessed and set aside by the bishop. As the sign of the cross is made on the forehead, the words are spoken: “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever.” This sealing in the Holy Spirit helps us remember all that has been done for us and all that we have vowed to do ourselves.
Given all this sacrament of baptism accomplishes in a person, I say, “Dam up the Cimarron and let’s baptize everyone.” Or, according to the Book of Common Prayer on page 301, “The candidates for Holy Baptism will now be presented.”
Jesus said, “Every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”
“Every scribe.” We heard this reading just a few Wednesdays ago when we studied Alcuin, who was a librarian of sorts. It also appears when we celebrate the great historian, the Venerable Bede; the theologian, Thomas Aquinas; and a more contemporary writer we studied at length, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. We hear this reading and understand that our Saint’s gift involved the Church’s writings. Ephrem of Edessa, whom we celebrate today, is no different.
Early on, he served in the household of Bishop Jacob of Nisbis, and it is likely that he attended the Council of Nicaea (where the Nicene Creed was composed) with the Bishop in 325. Following the Bishop’s death, Ephrem remained in service to Jacob’s successors but was eventually forced to flee following the Persian invasion. He then settled in a cave, where he lived out the remainder of his life.
Although he lived an austere life, he remained active in preaching and writing and was ordained a deacon. Of his writings, he not only wrote the hymn we read but also over 400 others used to teach the orthodox faith, which is how he became known as “The Harp of the Holy Spirit.” He died in 373 from exhaustion while caring for the sick.
There is much for Ephrem to be remembered for, but his role as “scribe” stands out most. For some, his writings are a bit too flowery, but many others find great beauty and comfort in them. In one particular hymn, he addresses the Upper Room where the Last Supper was held: “O blessed spot! No one has seen or shall see the things which you have seen. In you the Lord himself became true altar, priest, and bread and chalice of salvation. He alone suffices for all, yet none suffices for him. He is Altar and Lamb, victim and sacrifice, priest as well as food.”
In the Gospels, Jesus is never pleased with the scribes. He sees them, along with the Sadducees and Pharisees, as placing stumbling blocks before the people, at one point saying, “But woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you lock people out of the kingdom of heaven. For you do not go in yourselves, and when others are going in, you stop them.” Yet Jesus says that what is needed to be a faithful scribe is one “who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.” It is one who understands the writings of those who have gone before and recognizes that those writings speak of and point to the Savior.
Jesus said, “For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.” Ephrem was one who, through his writings, gave us a “cup of water to drink,” and therefore has received his reward. We give thanks for him and all those who have passed on such knowledge, which leads to salvation through Jesus.
Groucho Marx said, “If you find it hard to laugh at yourself, I would be happy to do it for you.” And the Tunisian Prime Minister, Habib Bourguiba, wrote, “Happy is the person who can laugh at himself. He will never cease to be amused.” We know that laughing at ourselves, or self-deprecating humor, can have a healthy side, but it can also become detrimental. We say something about ourselves that makes others laugh, but on the inside, we actually believe it. Example: “My romantic strategy is simple: I just wait for someone to make a terrible mistake and fall in love with me.” In addition, most of the time, we don’t need to laugh at ourselves, because the world can pour it on just fine. That is not only true of who we are, but also of our faith. In fact, the world has been great at ridiculing and laughing at those who act in faith.
There’s Noah. He’s an easy one. Can you imagine the grief they must have put him through? According to Scripture, it took him 50-100 years to build the Ark. All the while, everyone was watching, and I’m certain they were laughing. When he started gathering the animals, think of the ridicule. How stupid could a person be?
Then there was Abram, who became Abraham, whom we read about today. Can you imagine: Abram starts packing up his house. The neighbors stop by and ask, “Hey, Abe, what are you doing?” His response, “The Lord spoke to me and said, ‘Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.’” Can you imagine the ridicule and laughter? “You can’t even pack your camel correctly, and the Lord is going to make a nation out of you? Please.”
When David was just a boy, he went up against the giant Goliath. His brother saw him coming and berated him. The King, Saul, said, “You’re just a boy. You’ve got no chance” (cf. 1 Samuel 17:33). Then, Goliath laughed and sneered. “Am I a dog, that you come to me with sticks?… Come to me, and I will give your flesh to the birds of the air and to the beasts of the field.” (1 Samuel 17:43) All of them rebuked him and, I’m certain, laughed at him, not only the Philistines but his own people. “You’re nothing but a child. Go home to mama.” But what St. Paul would later write to the Corinthians was just as applicable to these: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.” (1 Corinthians 1:27–29)
Noah, his family, and the animals were saved from the flood, while the world perished around them. Abraham walked the earth 4,000 years ago, and we are part of the great nation established through him, which continues to grow and expand. David struck down Goliath with a single small stone and became the greatest King Israel has ever known, and his lineage produced Jesus. God chose the weak, the despised, the lowly, and the ridiculed to accomplish His work, so that it was clear to all that the victory was God’s alone.
If these three were the only examples in Scripture, we could say, “Everybody gets lucky on occasion,” but in truth, it is the way of God. And the pattern continues. Gideon’s 300 defeated an army. Esther saved her people. A young girl named Mary said yes to God and bore the Savior of the world.”
Again and again, God works through the foolish, the weak, and the ridiculed, overturning the expectations of the powerful.
In our Gospel reading, we find two more examples. First is the calling of Matthew. Jesus said, “Follow me,” and Matthew did. That evening, Jesus had dinner at Matthew’s house, and many other sinners were present. Seeing this, the Pharisees said, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” They ridiculed Jesus and, I imagine, laughed at his foolishness. I suspect their comments were like those of the Pharisee who invited Jesus to dinner. You’ll recall that the “sinful woman” came and washed Jesus’ feet with her tears, dried them with her hair, and then anointed them. The Pharisee thought, “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him, for she is a sinner.” (Luke 7:39) I can hear them saying the same thing about Matthew and his companions.
The second incident in the Gospel involves Jesus. The little girl has died, yet through her, Jesus intends to demonstrate the power of God. He says to the crowd, “‘Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping.’ And they laughed at him.” They believed that only God has power over life and death, and, in their understanding, Jesus was merely a man.
Remember how Jesus’ hometown ridiculed him? They said, “Where did this man get this wisdom and these mighty works? Is not this the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother called Mary? And are not his brothers James and Joseph and Simon and Judas? And are not all his sisters with us? Where then did this man get all these things?” (Matthew 13:54-56) “We know this kid. Who does he think he is? He’s Joe’s boy. He’s nothing.”
When Jesus said to those gathered around the dead little girl that she was only sleeping, they laughed at Him. They knew she was dead and that only God could raise the dead. They were saying, “Who do you think you are? You’re nothing.”
However, you would think that after witnessing all the miracles the people would have believed, but even then there was still ridicule and disbelief. “‘He is possessed by Beelzebul,’ and ‘by the prince of demons he casts out the demons.’” (Mark 3:22)
Writing in the second century, the philosopher Celsus spoke sarcastically about Christianity and those who followed Jesus. He described Christians as “the most uneducated and vulgar persons” and “like a swarm of bats–or ants creeping out of their nests–or frogs holding a symposium round a swamp–or worms in a conventicle in a corner of mud.” Not what I would call high praise, but it is what many thought of Christianity and Christians. 2,000 years later, not much has changed. Should we be surprised? No. Jesus said, “A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master…. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household.” (Matthew 10:24-25)
Throughout history, God’s people have been ridiculed and laughed at for their faith. Yet no word or sneer from the outside has stopped us from moving forward. Yet, there is ridicule and laughter that can and does bring everything to a halt—when we attack ourselves. When we laugh or sneer at the faith that is in us. What does that look like?
“I’m not good enough. My sins are too great for God to hear me.” “God is too busy to be bothered with the likes of me and my little problems.” “What I want to say or ask just isn’t all that important, so I shouldn’t bother God with it.” “I’m too weak. I’m too foolish. I’m laughable in my relationship with God.” These and all the other “reasons” we come up with are simply ways of degrading and ridiculing who we are in God and in our faith. We’re laughing at ourselves, but not in a healthy way, and it is detrimental to our life with God.
Jesus says, “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.” (John 15:7) There are no qualifiers in that statement like, “Ask whatever you want, as long as you’re as holy as me, and it better be important.” Jesus says, “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” (Luke 12:32) It is the Father’s pleasure to hear from us and to fulfill those things in accordance with His ways.
St. Paul says it so clearly: “Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession… Let us then with confidence—let us boldly—draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” (Hebrews 4:12, 16)
There are plenty in the world who will gladly ridicule and laugh at your faith. And you know… so what. They’ve been doing it since the beginning. Wish them a nice day and keep moving. As St. Josemaria Escriva says, “Don’t waste your time and your energy — which belong to God — throwing stones at the dogs that bark at you on your way. Ignore them.” (The Way) But also don’t do their job for them. Don’t undermine your own faith through self-condemnation and self-abuse. Instead, come before God’s throne of grace with boldness and confidence, come as His beloved children, and lay your heart before Him. It is His good pleasure to hear you.
Let us pray: “Loving and Merciful Father, we come before You knowing that You are ever present and attentive to the voice of our prayers. In the quiet of our hearts, we trust that You hear every petition, joy, and sorrow we lay before You. We place our anxieties and needs into Your compassionate hands, confident that Your steadfast love endures forever. Strengthen our faith, Lord, and grant us the grace to always accept Your holy will. Amen.”
A man has been visiting a therapist because he has been afraid of monsters living under his bed. He has been seeing this doctor for months. Every time he came in, the doctor would ask, “Have you made any progress?” Every time, the man would say, “No.” The man decided to see another doctor. When he went back to his other doctor and the doctor asked, “Have you made any progress?” he said, “Yes, I am feeling all better now.” The doctor asked, “What happened?” The man said, “I went to another doctor, and he cured me in one session.” The doctor asked, “What did he tell you?” The man said, “He just told me to cut the legs off my bed.”
My friend Stephen King, in his book Danse Macabre, discusses the three types of fear and later, in a social media post, sums them up. There is the Gross Out, the slimy stuff slapping you in the face; the Horror, things like giant spiders and the walking dead; and his favorite, the Terror. He describes it as, “when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It’s when the lights go out, and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there’s nothing there…” The monster under the bed is a terror.
For me, I can go with a little gross-out, but if it becomes too predictable or gratuitous, I’ll turn it off; however, it is wildly popular. Just consider the number of ways Jason killed off some witless teenager in the Friday the 13th movies. The Horror, I can go either way. For example, Sharknado should have won an Oscar, but when it gets into giant spiders or magical creatures, not so much. However, give me a good (or even bad) zombie movie, and I’ll buy tickets for everyone. Yet, the Terror, the slow burn, I’m sucked into every time. I’m more than happy to have a movie or book mess with my head.
There are many who live for the good scare, but even for those who don’t, fear is an exceptional motivator. Those who have figured this out down to a science are the ones trying to sell us something.
Using Mr. King’s scale, the marketing people use the Gross Out by making us afraid of a fungus that can turn our toenails yellow. They appeal to the Horror by reminding us that each and every morning, our breath is so bad that we scare the cat. And they attempt to create the Terror by telling us that our current insurance company won’t really help us following the inevitable and ever-present disaster. Politicians are particularly adept at the Terror—a vote for me can save you from world domination under my opponent (and if they call or text me one more time, I’m going to pray they are visited in the middle of the night by some fantastic Gross Out Terror).
What is curious is that—based on how and why these fears are employed—they often motivate us to action. I’ve got a yellow toenail; I’d better tell my doctor I need that medicine. I may have cat-scaring breath; I’d better buy that mouthwash. I’m afraid of world domination; I’d better vote for that candidate. We do these things, yet they are all equivalent to saying, “I’m going to saw the legs off the bed because of the monster under there.”
Fear motivates, and if there is one organization that learned this very early on, it is the Church. We are very good at it. The book we are reading now for book club, The Sinner’s Guide, has a tremendous chapter on it. Speaking of those who will suffer the torments of damnation, the author writes, “What will they say when they will find themselves stretched upon a bed of fire, surrounded by sulfurous flames, not for one short summer night, but for all eternity?” “If one of these unhappy souls, says a Doctor of the Church, were to shed one tear every thousand years, and if these tears accumulated to such a flood as to inundate the world, he would still be as far as ever from the end of his sufferings. Eternity would only be at its beginning.” (p.76) That’s a good motivator right there. However, last week I was reading one of several short devotionals by St. Alphonsus Liguori, and he wrote, “Although no punishment awaited those who love Thee not, I would never leave off loving Thee, and I would do all I could to please Thee.” (The Love of Jesus Crucified, p.172) That really made me stop and think.
What if there were no punishment—no hell? Don’t misunderstand. There is a hell, and I firmly believe it will be far worse than anything we can imagine, but, momentarily setting Scripture and Doctrine aside, what if there wasn’t? What if it were like the monster under the bed, something we’re told as little kids to make us behave, but that everyone really knows isn’t real? What if you were free to choose God or not, with no painful consequences for not choosing?
If you choose God, you receive eternal life and all that Jesus offers. If you don’t, well, maybe you just blink out or something. No pain, no punishment, none of that. You are free to do whatever pleases you. If that were the case, would you still be here today? Would you still try to follow Jesus’ commandments? If that were the case, would your relationship with God mean anything to you?
For some, the answer is, “Heck, no. I’m out of here.” For them, their relationship is based solely on fear. For that person, if there is nothing to fear, there is no reason to be here at all, because that relationship is master and slave, yet instead of God being the Master, fear is. Dispense with the fear, and the slave does whatever he or she wants. It is a purely transactional relationship—I’ll do what you say, and you keep me out of hell.
For others, when asked why they are here, they might answer, “I don’t know that I would be here, but I would certainly hope so. I want what Jesus offers.” This person has begun to understand that fear may have brought them here and into the relationship in the first place, but they’re beginning to sense that there is something more they are being drawn to. A shift has begun to take place, and that shift marks the beginning of transformation.
Finally, the third group answers in a way that brings us back to what Liguori said, “Although no punishment awaited those who love Thee not, I would never leave off loving Thee, and I would do all I could to please Thee.” For them, it is not about fear or even hope. It is a declarative statement that says, “I desire nothing but to be with my God, so if I have to renounce everything of this world and all it has to offer, I will do it. I will seek God alone.” This goes beyond transformation and marks the beginning of transfiguration—living into the fullness of the image of God within, the Image we were created in. As we read,
“God created humankind in His image, in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them.” (Genesis 1:27)
It is a desire to walk with God as Adam and Eve did in the beginning.
So, back to the original question: why are you here? Fear? Hope? Desire? For me, a truthful answer is: it depends on the day. Ask me today, and I will tell you that I am 98% here out of desire and 2% because, well… I am a priest. However, if you had asked me earlier in the week, when my stomach wasn’t behaving, my air conditioner hadn’t been working for over a week, I couldn’t sleep at night because it was hot, and the repair folks were being unresponsive… Let’s just say that it is a good thing I believe in hell, otherwise I would have called down the same Gross Out Terror on them that I want to visit the politicians.
I suspect the same is true for all of us. The prayer is that the trajectory always seeks the higher place, always desiring God above all else—diminishing fear, then transformation, and finally transfiguration. This is what we should desire because it is what God desires for us. Is that true?
Today is Trinity Sunday, the day we celebrate our Triune God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Speaking on behalf of the Trinity, Jesus said, “I no longer call you slaves… I call you friends.” (John 15:15) Jesus also said, “Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.” (John 14:23) Jesus desires that we be friends, and the Holy Trinity desires to take up residence within our souls. God calls each of us to desire Him as much as He desires us. If we can do so, only a fraction as much as He desires us, it is a very good beginning.
If you are here because you fear the alternative, you have begun. If you are here because you hope for Heaven, your hope will never be in vain. And if you are here because you desire God, fan the flames of that desire to an even greater degree.
Gregory of Nyssa wrote, “The one who climbs never stops going from beginning to beginning, through beginnings that have no end.” Regardless of where you are, never stop climbing and always increase your desire for a deeper relationship with God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Let us pray: (a prayer of Saint Anselm) O Lord, my God, teach us to seek you, for we cannot seek you unless you teach us, or find you unless you show yourself to us. Let us seek you in our desire; let us desire you in our seeking. Let us find you by loving you; let us love you when we find you. Amen.
Pip: There are days when only a strong moral principle stands between you and knocking someone’s hat off in the street. Fr. John opens with Melville, and somehow ends up at the Holy Trinity.
Mara: This episode follows that journey — from Moby Dick to Pentecost, from the veil between Heaven and Earth to what the Holy Spirit actually does inside a human soul. Let’s start with the gift itself.
Sermon: Pentecost and the Gift of the Holy Spirit
Mara: The central question here is one most people quietly carry: if the Kingdom of Heaven is real but unreachable, how do we actually touch it? That’s the tension this sermon sets out to resolve.
Pip: The setup is a Venn diagram — God and the Kingdom in one circle, us in the other — and the sermon asks what lives in the overlap. The anchor quote comes from Richard of St. Victor’s De Trinitate: “Love not only tends to another person, but also tends to sharing love. When two persons mutually love each other, they can love and be loved and communicate their riches, but they cannot share their love. For that, still another person is required, a companion of love. Thus, love can be realized by a duality of persons, but it can only be completed by a trinity of persons.”
Mara: So the Trinity isn’t an abstract theological puzzle — it’s the structural requirement for love to be complete. The Father and Son need the Spirit the way a shared joy needs someone to share it with.
Pip: And that architecture has a practical consequence. God didn’t create us because He needed a hobby. The sermon is clear: He created us to love us with the same love that moves within the Trinity, which means a conduit had to be built — something that runs both directions, Heaven to Earth and back.
Mara: That conduit arrives in two steps. First, the Son. Then, as the Eucharistic Prayer puts it, “he sent the Holy Spirit, his own first gift for those who believe, to complete his work in the world, and to bring to fulfillment the sanctification of all.”
Pip: The phrase “first gift” does a lot of work there. Not a consolation prize for the ascension — the intended completion of it.
Mara: Saint Cyril of Alexandria makes that explicit: the Spirit doesn’t substitute for Christ’s presence, it is his presence, dwelling inwardly where the incarnate Christ could only stand alongside. The sermon calls this ongoing — not a single Pentecost flame but a continuous exchange between the soul and God.
Pip: Which loops back to Melville. The Holy Spirit is, among its many offices, what keeps a person from methodically knocking people’s hats off. Useful work.
Mara: The sermon closes on Romans 8 — nothing in creation can separate us from the love of God — and frames Pentecost not as anniversary but as present tense. That inward, unbreakable connection is the gift being celebrated.
Pip: And if the Spirit is the conduit that holds Heaven and Earth together, the next question is what that looks like when we try to live it outward.
Mara: The thread running through all of this is proximity — the Kingdom closer than it looks, the Spirit already inside the veil.
Pip: The soul of God’s children, each one of us, is the address where the gift, the Holy Spirit, gets delivered.
For many, the idea of Heaven or a paradise after death is just a child’s fantasy. Something we tell ourselves so life has some purpose beyond mere survival. For others, Heaven is the reason for life itself, and they have given it a great deal of thought. Although not one who put much credibility in the faith, Mark Twain did, at times, share his views on Heaven, and, as you can imagine, they came with a side of humor.
“Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in. – Mark Twain, a Biography
“I don’t like to commit myself about Heaven and Hell, you see, I have friends in both places.”
Dying man couldn’t make up his mind which place to go to — both have their advantages, “heaven for climate, hell for company!” – Mark Twain’s Speechs, 1910 edition, p. 117.
When I reflect upon the number of disagreeable people who I know have gone to a better world, I am moved to lead a different life. – Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar
It seems to me that for many, even if they believe in Heaven, their thoughts don’t go much further than wondering whether they’ll get in and how large their mansion will be. So today, I thought we would begin by taking a deeper look at Heaven.
First, what is it like? Throughout scripture, there are vivid visions and descriptions of Heaven. Daniel tells us,
“As I looked,
thrones were placed, and the Ancient of Days took his seat; his clothing was white as snow, and the hair of his head like pure wool; his throne was fiery flames; its wheels were burning fire.
A stream of fire issued and came out from before him; a thousand thousands served him, and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him; the court sat in judgment, and the books were opened.” (Daniel 7:9-10)
That sounds exciting, but John, in his Revelation, surpasses them all. There is the throne room with a throne of jasper and carnelian, the sea of glass, and the four living creatures. Then, toward the end, John tells us he saw Heaven descending. It has twelve gates, each made of a single large pearl, streets of gold, and so many other amazing features.
Once past the description, we wonder where it might be located. Given all that we read in scripture, we know the general direction is up. In the Old Testament, we read how Elijah was carried up in a fiery chariot (2 Kings 2:11), and Jacob dreamed of a ladder upon which the angels of God ascended and descended (Genesis 28:10-19). Both of these lead us to believe Heaven is up.
The New Testament also points upward. Jesus said, “For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will but the will of him who sent me” (John 6:38). And, as we read today, “a cloud took [Jesus] out of [the disciples’] sight.” Later, Paul, referring to himself, says, “I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows. And I know that this man was caught up into paradise” (2 Corinthians 12:2-3a). John also indicates this in his Revelation (Revelation 4:1).
So, we have this glorious description and a general location—up—but then Jesus comes along and says something that muddies the water. A Pharisee had asked Him about the coming of the Kingdom of God, and Jesus answered, “‘The kingdom of God is not coming in ways that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There!’ for behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you.” (Luke 17:20-21) To complicate matters further, the phrase “in the midst of you” can also be translated “within you” and “among you.” I suspect that if you asked Jesus which it is—in the midst of, within, or among—He would answer, “Yes.”
There is no solid consensus among the Church Fathers on the topic of Heaven, but most would agree that there is a location, though it isn’t the most important aspect. For them, the place is only the setting. The important part is that God is there and that we will have communion with Him, and this communion is not limited by time or space.
So, where does this leave us? Theologian J.I. Packer sums up our knowledge nicely: “We know very little about heaven,” he said, “but I once heard a theologian describe [Heaven] as ‘an unknown region with a well-known inhabitant,’ and there is not a better way to think of it than that. Richard Baxter expresses the thought in these lines…
‘My knowledge of that life is small, The eye of faith is dim, But it’s enough that Christ knows all, And I shall be with him.’”
Further, if you need one of our own for confirmation, N.T. Wright wrote, “‘Heaven’ is, in fact, one of the most misused religious words around today, with the possible exception of the word ‘God’ itself.” (Source)
Do you remember what God said when Moses asked, “If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” God said to Moses, ‘I am who I am.’ And he said, ‘Say this to the people of Israel: ‘I am has sent me to you.’” (Exodus 3:14-15) The Name “I AM” is beyond explanation. Say whatever you will, you will fail to describe God. I believe the same is true of Heaven. If we ask God, “What is Heaven?” He will answer, “It is.”
“What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him.” (1 Corinthians 2:9)
Heaven is a mystery, yet it is much closer than you think.
Why all this talk of Heaven? Today we celebrate the Ascension of Our Lord. We read about it in the Acts of the Apostles, and it is affirmed in the Nicene Creed:
“We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ… He suffered death and was buried. On the third day He rose again in accordance with the Scriptures; He ascended into Heaven And is seated at the right hand of the Father.”
Forty days after Easter, Jesus ascended into Heaven. This is the exaltation of humankind, for now Heaven is not only the home of God and the angels but also home to one of our own—a flesh-and-blood human being. The significance of this cannot be overstated.
As Jesus ascended into Heaven in His body, He took us—the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve—with Him, for He is the Head and we are His body. Yet just as we are with Him there, He is with us here. A longer passage from N.T. Wright helps explain. “Heaven is God’s space, which intersects with our space but transcends it. It is, if you like, a further dimension of our world, not a place far removed at one extreme of our world… and the God who lives there is present to us, present with us, sharing our joys and our sorrows, longing as we are longing for the day when his whole creation, heaven and earth together, will perfectly reflect his love, his wisdom, his justice, and his peace.” (Source)
I’m not sure I like the word “dimension” in this context. Perhaps I’ve heard the opening credits of The Twilight Zone one too many times. Instead, I understand it as a veil that separates us from Heaven. This aligns with the Church Fathers. The veil is as near to us as our skin, yet we cannot see or pass through it in this lifetime. Still, just on the other side is our God and the Kingdom of Heaven.
Jesus prayed that we might be one with Him, the Father, and one another. He then prayed, “Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory that you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world.” (John 17:24) He prayed not only that we be where He is when we’re dead, but also that we might be with Him now. And we are, because He is as near to us as the skin on our bodies, just on the other side of the thin veil.
King David prayed,
“Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, who alone does wondrous things.
Blessed be his glorious name forever; may the whole earth be filled with his glory! Amen and Amen!” (Psalm 72:18-19)
The life of a Christian is to live in such recognition of and reliance on the nearness of Heaven and the Risen Lord, this oneness with Jesus, that others can see it and be drawn into it. In doing so, the Kingdom of God, Heaven itself, is expanded until it fills the whole Earth, and the prayer of David is fulfilled.
You have the ability to do this great work within you because you are not working alone. All of Heaven is by your side, and the Church works alongside you. Together, we work to bring to fulfillment another great prayer:
“Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, On Earth as it is in Heaven.”
At the Ascension, Jesus didn’t float away to some far-off place and now only looks down to see who has been naughty or nice. Instead, He is very near to us all, continuing the work He began in us until its final completion (cf. Philippians 1:6).
Let us pray: The light of God surrounds us, The love of God enfolds us, The power of God protects us, The presence of God watches over us, Wherever we are, God is, And where God is, all is well. Amen.
Today we are celebrating the Eve of the Ascension. In his preaching on the Ascension, St. Augustine of Hippo states: “Today our Lord Jesus Christ ascended into heaven; let our hearts ascend with him. Listen to the words of the Apostle: If you have risen with Christ, set your hearts on the things that are above where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God; seek the things that are above, not the things that are on earth. For just as he remained with us even after his ascension, so we too are already in heaven with him, even though what is promised us has not yet been fulfilled in our bodies.”
“Christ is now exalted above the heavens, but he still suffers on earth all the pain that we, the members of his body, have to bear. He showed this when he cried out from above: Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? and when he said: I was hungry and you gave me food. Why do we on earth not strive to find rest with him in heaven even now, through the faith, hope, and love that unites us to him?”
Augustine is teaching us about two ‘states’ of the Ascension as they relate to our union with Christ, and he bases this teaching on what we learn from St. Paul’s writings to the church in Corinth: “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ.” (1 Corinthians 12:12) What does this mean for us?
We are the Body of Christ, and Christ is the head of the Body. So no matter where he is, he is with us always unto the end of the age, because we are one. Through his death and resurrection, we become members of him. Therefore, since he has ascended into heaven, we too have ascended into heaven. If we are on earth and we suffer, he is on earth, suffering with us. We see Christ in everyone we meet, because he is in everyone we meet. We worship him as he sits at the right hand of the Father, because he is there as well.
Bottom line: the Ascension is a mystery. That said, this is probably some sort of heresy, so just forget it after I’ve said it. As I was thinking about this, I remembered Jacob and his ladder. You’ll recall that Jacob lay down, fell asleep, and had a dream: “There was a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven. And behold, the angels of God were ascending and descending on it! And behold, the Lord stood above it and said, “I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac.” He then speaks to Jacob about the land that is promised and then says, “Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land. For I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” When Jacob woke, he said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”
Jesus said, “I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. They will come in and go out, and find pasture.” Jesus also says, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.”
This is the possible heresy bit: it seems to me that the Ascension is the permanent placement and perfection of Jacob’s ladder, granting everyone access to the Gate of Heaven, to Jesus, after his departure. And it is through this ladder that we have access to the head of the Body, Jesus, and to the very throne room of God. Maybe something to think on… or maybe not.
A new priest came to town. On the first Sunday, he preached one of the best sermons folks had ever heard. Everyone was excited, believing things were looking up for their church. They all complimented him on his wonderful, inspiring words. The following Sunday, the new priest preached the exact same sermon, to the letter. Folks looked a bit bewildered, but since it was so good, they all thought it was worth hearing a second time, just not two Sundays in a row. However, since he was new, no one said anything other than that they enjoyed the sermon. The third Sunday, once again, the priest preached the exact same sermon. The Sr. Warden didn’t think they could take a fourth Sunday, so after everyone had exited the church, he had a word with the priest. “Father,” he said, “that’s a good sermon you preached.” “Thank you,” he replied. “However,” continued the Senior Warden, “you have preached the same sermon three times now. We’ve all heard it and were wondering when you were going to go on to a different subject.” “Sir,” he responded, “when you all start acting like you’ve heard it, I’ll preach something else.”
In the opening words of our Gospel lesson, Jesus said something curious: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” Earlier, He said, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished” (Matthew 5:17-18). What is curious is that we are also taught that we are no longer under the law or its commandments. St. Paul, in his letter to the Romans, said, “While we were living in the flesh, our sinful passions, aroused by the law, were at work in our members to bear fruit for death. But now we are released from the law, having died to that which held us captive” (Romans 7:5-6a).
So, what’s it going to be, law or no law? The answer, of course, is both, and the reason this sermon may sound like a repeat of so many others I’ve given is that the only way the answer can be both is if the solution is love. Therefore, I can stop preaching on love if we all start acting as if we’ve heard it. The problem is, one quick glance around the world today tells me I’ve got to continue preaching on the topic. So, with that, how is the answer “both”? How can we be under the law and not under the law? Jesus provides the answer when He was questioned by a lawyer who asked Him, “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?” Jesus’ answer, I hope you all know by heart: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets” (Matthew 22:36-40).
We understand this to mean that behind the law lies a single guiding principle: love. Love is also the defining mark of a Christian. Jesus said, “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:34-35). You know this as well. Together, these point back to the first line of our Gospel, “If you love me, if you are My disciples, then you will keep this summary of the law, which is to love God and to love one another.”
Here endeth the sermon. Go and love God and your neighbor. Amen? You should be so lucky. It would be that easy if we actually knew what it means to love like this, to love as Jesus loves us. But our idea of love often comes from a cherub named Cupid and a greeting card company with estimated revenues of about $5 billion, neither of which teaches us to love as Jesus loves. Let’s see if we can begin to sort it out. We’ll start by looking at a law: #10 of the top ten—“Thou shall not covet.”
To covet has two sides. The first is a lack of gratitude. When we covet, we are not satisfied or thankful for what we have. There is a constant need for more and more. Second, to covet is to become jealous of another for what they have and to want it for ourselves. To covet a thing or person is to desire it, and—whether we would define it as such—the things we desire are the things we love. Yet this love is disordered, because in it there is no love of God or of neighbor. In that disordered love, we become angry, anxious, and restless. Our souls are in turmoil over a desire, a love that cannot be fulfilled. Therefore, St. Augustine was correct when he wrote, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in God.”
To love instead of covet is to be thankful for the blessings and things God has provided us with, and to give thanks for the blessings others have. In your eyes, it may not seem fair that so-and-so has such-and-such, but that is not your concern. If they have sinned in order to gain what they have, that is between them and God. Don’t allow their sin to cause you to sin. If God, out of His goodness, has chosen to bless them, then be happy for them. You, you are to follow the commandment and love.
If that makes sense, then we understand that we don’t love as we should because our love is disordered. Our desire is elsewhere rather than on God, and this is sin in its most basic form. This disordered love has been with us since the very first day, when Adam and Eve desired a piece of forbidden fruit more than they loved God. It is also this disordered love that Jesus came to heal. The Lord said through the Prophet Ezekiel, “I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules” (Ezekiel 36:26-27). The healing that Jesus brings to our souls fulfills this great work. In doing so, Jesus gives us freedom from the law, because we are no longer trying and failing to obey a set of statutes. Instead, we are living a transformed life. No longer will we say, “I can’t do ____ or I’ll go to hell.” Instead, we say, “I want, I desire to do or not do this, because I love God and I love my neighbor.”
In John’s first epistle (John is the great preacher of love), he writes, “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God” (1 John 4:7). Preaching on this and the verses that followed, St. Augustine said some radical things: “Love, and do what you will: whether you hold your peace, through love hold your peace; whether you cry out, through love cry out; whether you correct, through love correct; whether you spare, through love do you spare: let the root of love be within, of this root can nothing spring but what is good” (Homily 7.8 on the First Epistle of John). “Love, and do what you will.” That sounds very permissive. “I loves you, baby, and I can do whatever I want.” No. That is not what Augustine is saying. He is saying, “If—and that is a mighty big ‘if’—if my love is rightly ordered, if I truly love God, and if I truly love my neighbor as Jesus has loved me, then I am free from the law, because in my heart I will desire to do the right thing—I will fulfill both the law and the commandments of Jesus.” No longer will I have to do something. I’ll want to do it out of my love of God and neighbor.
I will have to preach a variation of this sermon time and time again. Why? Because we’ve been trying since day one to get it right, and only One, only Jesus, has succeeded. However, in Him and through Him, we are learning. And with the help of the Holy Spirit, whom Jesus has sent, we will continue to do so.
Are you loving as Jesus loves? No? If you work on only one thing in your life, work on that. By doing so, you can’t help but walk closer with God.
Let us pray: Grant, almighty God, that we may celebrate with heartfelt devotion these days of joy, which we keep in honor of the risen Lord, and that what we relive in remembrance we may always hold to in what we do. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Candle in a Cave 