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.
One of the great epic tales begins with the simple line, “Call me Ishmael.” It is Moby Dick by Herman Melville. In the opening paragraph, he writes, “Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos [his melancholia] get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off-then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”
As I read that, I’m thankful that my strong moral principles also prevent me from going out into the street and knocking people’s hats off… or even knocking a few blocks off. However, I do confess that there are days when I would not place a bet on those moral principles. At those times, something else helps me keep my peace and my sanity.
Last week, we talked about the Kingdom of Heaven: what it is like and where it is located. We concluded that it is glorious and beyond description, and that its location lies just beyond a thin veil, as near to us as our skin. Just on the other side of the veil is the very throne room of our God, our Savior, the Saints, and the holy angels. However, we cannot cross the veil or even see through it, so how can we participate in the Kingdom of our God?
You are familiar with the Venn Diagram, even if you may not know it by name. It uses overlapping labeled circles to compare groups, showing both what makes each group distinct and what they share in common in the overlapping sections. For example, there are three circles: one labeled “Killing Machine,” the second “Cuteness,” and the third “Eternal Sleep.” In the overlapping section between “Killing Machine” and “Eternal Sleep” is “Vampire.” The center, where all three—“Killing Machine,” “Cuteness,” “Eternal Sleep”—overlap, is “Cat.” I’m thinking of one in particular. Within our life with God, there is something similar.
If there is a Venn diagram of this life with God, God and the Kingdom of Heaven are in one circle, and we are in the other. There is also a point where the two circles overlap—where the veil is pulled back. What can we find there? The best answer is the Sacraments, and the Holy Eucharist makes this most evident.
The Eucharist begins with things that are entirely of Earth and made by us—bread and wine. The circle with God and the Kingdom of Heaven includes the Person of Jesus Christ. When these two circles overlap—Bread and wine with Jesus—when the veil is momentarily pulled back through the Sacrament and the words of institution, the result is the Body and Blood of Christ. Heaven and Earth share space and produce the blessing. However, this is one-sided. Everything is directed and given to us. Yes, we give God our praise and thanks, but God wants more of us. He says clearly, “I am a jealous God,” so He wants to participate wholly in our lives, and He wants us to participate wholly in His—remember Jesus’ great priestly prayer: “I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one.” (John 17:23) So, how is this accomplished? The answer lies in more fully understanding the Holy Trinity, and the first part of that understanding is knowing why three, and not just one or many.
We know that God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—is outside of time. God has always been and is uncreated. God is. Period. The one definitive statement we can make about God is, “God is love.” This love is perfect. However, for it to be perfect, it can’t be held within one person; it must be directed at another, but not just any other. God’s perfect love must be directed at one who can receive and return the same perfect love. Therefore, we have the Father and the Son. They can both give and receive each other’s perfect love. However, for this perfect love to be complete, a third is required who can share and participate in a community.
Richard of St. Victor, in his study De Trinitate, writes, “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.”
We say in the Nicene Creed that the Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son. In a way, and don’t take this too far or we’ll all burn at the stake for heresy, the Father and the Son are like a husband and wife who have a child. The husband and wife love one another, and the child receives their shared love and returns it. It is in the love of these three that love is perfected and completed. But then God did something funny, something that really makes no sense whatsoever—God created us, but not because He was bored and needed a plaything. God created us so that He might love us with the same love shared within the Holy Trinity, and so that we might love Him to the best of our abilities. Yet, in order for that to happen, a part of Who He is must become part of who we are. God had to create a means —a conduit that goes both ways: Heaven to Earth and Earth to Heaven. As above, so below. The placement of this conduit came in two steps. First, God sent His Son, Jesus, and “to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.” (John 1:12-13)
Second, having become children of God, as we have been saying in the Eucharistic Prayer, “That we might live no longer for ourselves, but for him who died and rose for us, 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.” (BCP 374) Through the giving of the Son and the sending of the Holy Spirit, the pathway from Heaven and Earth was established.
This pathway, which is the Holy Spirit, then allows us to participate in the love and life of the Triune God. It is the Holy Spirit who bears witness to our spirit, assuring us that we are indeed God’s children. It is the Holy Spirit who speaks to our spirit, enabling us to hear and receive the Word of God and to speak to God even when our own words fail us. It is the Holy Spirit who passes freely through the veil, both coming and going, so that God might dwell in us—so that the Kingdom of God is not only in our midst but within us as well. And it is the same Holy Spirit who holds us eternally to God, giving St. Paul the knowledge to say, “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39)
All this and more is the work of the Holy Spirit, including preventing me from going out into the street and knocking people’s hats off.
In a commentary on John, Saint Cyril of Alexandria summarized this work of the Spirit for us: “As long as Christ was with [the disciples] in the flesh, it must have seemed to believers that they possessed every blessing in him; but when the time came for him to ascend to his heavenly Father, it was necessary for him to be united through his Spirit to those who worshipped him, and to dwell in our hearts through faith. Only by his own presence within us in this way could he give us confidence to cry out, Abba, Father, make it easy for us to grow in holiness and, through our possession of the all-powerful Spirit, fortify us invincibly against the wiles of the devil and the assaults of men.”
Today, we celebrate the fire of the Spirit descending and lighting upon all God’s people, but this is not a one-time event. It is ongoing, a continuous giving and receiving of Heaven, of God working from within the soul of every believer.
On this Pentecost, give thanks for God’s presence in your life through the giving of His greatest gift, the Holy Spirit.
Let us pray:
O King of glory, send us the Promise of the Father, the Spirit of Truth. May the Counselor Who proceeds from You enlighten us and infuse all truth in us, as You have promised. Amen.
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.
When I travel, especially by myself, I don’t always have a set agenda. There are places I want to see, but I’m not rushing from one to the next just to tick them off a list, and I don’t try to fill every moment. For me, that makes things more relaxing and leaves time to fit in the unexpected. I learned about one unexpected place while taking a cab from the airport in Luxembourg to my hotel (I quickly learn to use public transportation because it’s much less expensive, but when I’m schlepping bags, it’s just easier to take the cab).
When the cab driver learned I was an American, he said, “You know, your General Patton is buried here.” I didn’t know that, so I added it to my list of possibilities. A few days later, when one of the places I wanted to visit was closed, I decided to take the trip out to the Luxembourg American Cemetery. General Patton is there, set apart from the others, but he is only one of many, and his grave marker is the same as all the others.
What I never expect when entering places like this is the emotional response. Even before you walk through the main gates, it starts to hit you, so I was intentional about not looking up until my heart was ready… and then I did.
There is General Patton’s cross, and then there are 4,958 other crosses for known individuals, 371 crosses for the unknown, and 119 Stars of David. Of those buried there, you will also find 22 sets of brothers. It is a sea of white markers for those who died near that place.
At one point, I was the only person in the entire cemetery. As I slowly passed among the markers, I read the names, but I was specifically looking for anyone from Oklahoma. I found Roy W Roe, Private First Class, 319th Infantry, 80th Division. He died on March 15, 1945. Based on what I’ve learned so far, he was twenty-four years old and married to Marion.
As I stood looking at his marker, I said to him, “Today, I see you.” For me, that meant, “I see you as a person, as a young man who had a life ahead of him but died so far from home, and as someone so very young. I see you, not as a memory or a marker, but as a person.”
As I continued to walk among them, I read their names and told each of them, “I see you.” I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone, but it did to me. It was the only way I had to honor them and the sacrifice they made.
In truth, all of us like to be seen, maybe not in the spotlight, but acknowledged. Being seen validates who we are as human beings and affirms that our existence counts for something, even if only to a very few. However, knowing that we will be seen raises an important question: When someone sees us, who or what do they see? There, I saw brave men and one woman who gave so much, but what do others see when they see me? What do others see when they see you?
A lot of time and money goes into appearance—clothes, hair, fitness, etc.—but that is like the cover of a book. You can look like a million bucks and still be a Cruella De Vil. Yet when we are truly seen, who or what do people see? This is a question that relates to one of the many lessons in today’s Gospel reading.
Philip said to Jesus, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” You can hear the exasperation in Jesus’ voice as he responds, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me?”
Jesus’ answer provides part of the foundation for our understanding of the Holy Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. If you see Jesus, you see the Father. If you witness the works of the Holy Spirit, you witness the works of God, and so on.
In part of Jesus’ great priestly prayer on the night before He was crucified, He prays, “As you, Father, are in me, and I in you” (John 17:21). There are the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and although separate, they are one. See one, and you see the others. So, what about us? What about you? If I pass you on the street and say to you, “I see you,” who or what do I see? Who or what do you want me to see?
St. Paul says to us in his letter to the Galatians, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). If we are alive to Christ, we have died to ourselves; therefore, when I say, “I see you,” I should see Jesus. Question: Do I?
At the east end of the Sistine Chapel, on the altar wall, is Michelangelo’s great painting of the Last Judgment. At the top is the figure of Christ. With His right hand, He is calling the righteous up to the Kingdom of God, while with His left He is casting out the wicked. The righteous are escorted by angels, and the wicked are greeted by demons.
Since the painting’s unveiling in 1541, there has been high demand for copies and similar works. One of those who created a similar work was Raphaël Coxie (COKE-see). In his painting, the figures are near life size, so the painting is large, approximately ten feet by twelve feet. It hangs in the museum in Ghent, Belgium. However, as with many similar paintings of judgment, it originally hung in a courtroom as a reminder to the criminally inclined of the consequences should they continue down such a path.
Given the size and subject matter, it really caught my attention, but it was so large that it was difficult to focus on one thing. Still, after studying it, my eye fell on the figure on the cover of your bulletin. She is located at the bottom center of the painting—the woman with her jeweled tiara. Yet it wasn’t so much her as what she is holding. I looked at it for a good long while, then realized she was holding up a mirror and that there is a face in the mirror. However, unlike the other images in the painting, the image in the mirror is vague. It was then that I thought I understood. Coxie kept the image in the mirror vague because he wanted us to see ourselves.
Imagine you are on trial and you see this painting. You are reminded that some are called to Heaven while others are cast down into hell, and here is this woman, saying to you with her eyes, her expression, and her gesture, “Look in the mirror and judge yourself. Which one will you be? Called up or cast down?”
If we are alive in Christ, we have died to ourselves. When people see us, they should see Jesus. Do they? Well, answer this: When you look in Coxie’s mirror, who or what do you see? Do you see Jesus? Do you see someone being called up or someone being cast down?
Philip said to Jesus, “Show us the Father,” and Jesus replied, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” If someone said to you, “Show us Jesus,” would you even in the smallest way be able to say, “If you have seen me, you have seen something of Jesus”? The scary part is that we should be able to say that. If that is not true, why did Jesus go on to say to Philip, “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father”? If we are to do the same work Jesus did, we should look like Him. Right? When we look in Coxie’s mirror, we should see something of the Imago Dei, the Image of God. It won’t be perfect; only One was perfect, but Jesus should be recognizable in each of us.
When we look in a regular mirror, we look for all sorts of things—do I have something caught in my teeth, is my hair combed, am I getting old, etc.? I would challenge you to look in Coxie’s mirror and ask, “Do I look like Jesus? Will I be called up or will I be cast down?”
In seeing Jesus, we can see the Father. In seeing you, others should be able to see Jesus. Perhaps it is only as one sees in a mirror dimly, but there should be something of Jesus that is visible.
You are seen by others. Who or what do they see?
Let us pray: God, our Father, You redeemed us and made us Your children in Christ. Through Him, You have saved us from death and given us Your Divine life of grace. By becoming more like Jesus on earth, may we come to share His glory in Heaven. Give us the peace of Your kingdom, which this world does not give. By Your loving care, protect the good You have given us. Open our eyes to the wonders of Your Love that we may serve You with a willing heart. Amen.
Saint Catherine of Siena by Franceschini Baldassare, 17th century
Catherine of Siena was born in 1347, the twenty-fourth of her parents’ twenty-five children. At the age of seven, she vowed her life to Christ. At the age of fifteen, she cut her hair in defiance of her parents, who were pressing her to marry. At the age of eighteen, she joined the Dominicans. At the age of twenty-one, she had a mystical experience in which she became spiritually espoused to Christ. Those events alone are enough, but through her work, particularly her writings, she became a force in her community and beyond, even with Popes.
In her letters and her Dialogue, perhaps the greatest of her writings, she recounts a soul’s journey through the mystical experience of God. There is much to discuss in her writings, so I’ll focus on one idea: she writes a prayer to Christ, speaking to Him about His great love for God’s people and asking what could drive the Creator of all to pursue His creation so recklessly.
“O priceless Love! You showed your flamed desire when you ran like a blind and drunk man to the opprobrium [the disgrace] of the cross. A blind man can’t see, and neither can a drunk man when he is fast drunk. And thus he [Christ], almost like someone dead, blind and drunk, lost himself for our salvation.” Continuing this theme of drunkenness in her Dialogue, she says, “O mad lover! Why then are you so mad? Because you have fallen in love with what you have made! You are pleased and delighted over her within yourself, as if you were drunk for her salvation. She runs away from you, and you go looking for her. She strays, and you draw closer to her. You clothed yourself in our humanity, and nearer than that you could not have come.”
Continuing elsewhere, she writes, “O unutterable love, even though you saw all the evils that all your creatures would commit against your infinite goodness, you acted as if you did not see and set your eye only on the beauty of your creature, with whom you fell in love, like one drunk and crazy with love. And in love you drew us out of yourself, giving us being.”
I am certain that we’ve all been in love before, or at least thought we were, and in that state, I feel certain we’ve all done some pretty stupid things. I’m also fairly certain that most have overindulged in some intoxicating beverage and done some rather stupid things then as well. If you have had the fortune (or misfortune) of being both in love and intoxicated, the level of stupidity can reach even higher levels. That is how Catherine says that Jesus loves us, as though He were drunk and in stupid love with us. That may sound crazy and, to some, irreverent if not blasphemous, but how would you describe a love that lays down his life for you? Logic can’t explain it. Duty doesn’t come close. I suppose we could just say He was crazy, but if we have faith, if we believe that it is the Father’s desire that all should be saved even if we are wicked, then we must at least consider that Catherine was onto something: a love that appears to be a drunken insanity, but which is in fact pure and true.
You don’t have to agree with Catherine’s images of God’s love for us, but take some time to reflect on that love. Jesus was not intoxicated by wine, but how would you describe and explain His actions? You might just discover that a crazy, drunken lover is the best you can do.
This is the night. Although this night has traditionally been the night to bring new members into the Body of Christ, it now seems to be mainly a night for the Church. So, since I believe you are “all on the team,” I’ll speak openly and dare to tell you what I don’t like about the Church these days. Simply put, we have set aside the authority of God, the Scriptures, and the Church and replaced that authority with being “nice” and always trying to do “nice” things. When I say “nice,” don’t confuse this with being kind or polite. That is not what I mean. Instead, when I say “nice,” think soft and squishy.
For example, we might say that it’s enough for me to be a good person, which we often interpret as not hurting others, being accepting of everyone, helping out when I can, and similar actions. All these things are good. There’s no issue with them, but they also fall into the category of being nice. So, why are they a problem? Jesus never said, “Be nice as your Heavenly Father is nice.” Jesus said, “Be holy as your Heavenly Father is holy,” and there’s a vast difference between being nice and being holy. For starters, I can be nice and polite all day long, and it won’t cost me a single thing. But if I’m going to be holy, it will cost me. I will have to sacrifice myself. I will need to set aside who I am, my wants, my desires, my ego… all of it, and do so for the good of the other. Don’t believe me? Ask Jesus as He hung upon the Cross.
Being a nice church and nice Christians means we do not talk about sin, repentance, or judgment. Being kind suggests that as long as you feel good about yourself, then there’s no need for you to be changed or transformed. However, Scripture says, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). St. Paul says, “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6), and to the Romans, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Romans 12:2). These are calls, not to remain stagnant, but to set aside the old self and take on the new. To be crucified with Christ and rise in glory.
Furthermore, a nice Christianity has attempted to soften Jesus, making Him something warm and cuddly, because warm and cuddly can be controlled, but that was never Jesus and never will be. Do you remember the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis? There are two children, Susan and Lucy, who ask Mr. and Mrs. Beaver to describe Aslan, the Christ figure in the story. They ask if Aslan is a man. Mr. Beaver replies, “Aslan a man? Certainly not. I tell you, he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion—the Lion, the great Lion.” “Ooh!” said Susan. “I’d thought he was a man. Is he—quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” “That you will, dearie, and make no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver, “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.” “Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy. “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about being safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”
Jesus is many things, but warm, cuddly, and controllable are definitely not part of His nature. He is good, but He is far from safe. As Paul tells us, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God” (Hebrews 10:31).
There is more, but you understand. This is the night, the night we hear of God’s saving history—how He waged war against our enemies and gave us a mighty victory. However, He did these things not so we could be “nice” little Christians. Instead, He did them so that we might be “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that [we] may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called [us] out of darkness into His marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9).
Stop making excuses for sin in the world or your life. Don’t refuse to be transformed because it’s easier to remain who you are. Don’t try to tame the Lion. Stop being nice. Come into the presence of your unsafe but good King and be holy.
Candle in a Cave 