 By The Rev. Ted Thornton All three readings today remind us that if we want to call ourselves Christians, we cannot do so in isolation from one another, only together with one another, and, as the first letter of Peter reminds us, one with another even in the sufferings we endure in this life. In Acts 1 verse 11, as Jesus ascends into heaven we heard, two men (angels, maybe?), say, ‘Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?’” This is as much to say, “Why are you staring vertically upward when what you should be doing instead is looking horizontally at one another? That’s where you’re going to be seeing Jesus from now on, not up there, but over there: in the face, in the eyes of the person next to you, that’s where you’ll see Jesus, not up in an endless blue sky.” That this is what Jesus intends for his followers is made clear in our reading from the Gospel of John. In chapter 17 verse 11, part of what is generally known as the High Priestly Prayer of Jesus, we heard Jesus pray “And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world and I am coming to you, [God]. Protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we - you and I, [God], are one.” The period following Jesus’ ascension into heaven was a time of existential crisis in the lives of his followers. How will those early followers of Jesus, men and women, fill the void in their lives after Jesus has taken leave of them? What’s the key to turning their grief into joy and into the oneness Jesus prays for in John? Some of them, plunging wildly into denial, think this is the moment when the angel army in heaven will finally descend once and for all, to destroy political tyranny and hand the world back to God. But, after the foolishness of that expectation sinks in, denial stops working, and the pain of grief sets in. This is the point where genuine healing begins. It’s at this point, that the real grief work of the apostles begins.They do stop looking upward and begin to fix their gaze upon one another instead. They begin to permit Jesus’ priestly prayer to start working in their lives. It’s the beginning of agape, the beginning of the call to selfless, compassionate, self-sacrificing love for one another. It’s the birthing moment of the church. It’s now and only now that the apostles are ready to accept the gift of spirit, the gift of Pentecost. Recently, an expert in the field of grief counseling wrote, “Grief is a story of love looking for a place to go.” ‘Looking for a place to go after the loved one has left them behind. The place to go to find the “story of love” for those early followers of Jesus was with each other, and that togetherness, that community becomes the church. This community that we will eventually call the church is a community defined by the practice of agape (ἀγάπη): a place where our needs for contiguity and continuity one with another and with God are met, imperfectly for sure, but in my experience better than anywhere else in this world. The roots of the Greek word agape are obscure, but the central meaning of the word is connectedness to others including the practice of affection for others and the drive to protect and care for others. Perhaps more than anything else, what we human beings long for is connectedness: connectedness with others in the physical space that we call the world (that’s what I mean by “contiguity”) and connectedness with one another in time (that’s what I mean by continuity). When we lose contiguity and continuity with someone we love, we enter into one of the gravest crises a person can face. Healing happens when we find a place for our love to go. Psychologists call the sudden loss of a loved one “abandonment trauma,” and, as we know, it really hurts. It hurts a lot. And, those apostles were hurting a lot. Yes, it’s a physical and a psychological loss. But, it’s a religious and theological loss as well. The late theologian Huston Smith, used to say we all have those times in our lives when we catch the spiritual flu, those times when life just doesn’t feel very good, times when we realize we can’t live every moment of our lives “blissed out,” times such as this one - when looking up at the sky as Jesus ascends to heaven doesn’t work for the apostles. At first they probably sat around in a circle perhaps in that same upper room in Jerusalem staring at the empty space where Jesus blessed their last supper together, wondering if they would ever be happy again. We’re at the point where Jesus is gone and Pentecost hasn’t happened yet. It’s a time of the absence of spirit. It’s the spiritual flu. And yet we know that more is going on than apostolic grief-stricken sadness. The apostles pray, and they conduct business. They need a replacement for the traitor Judas Iscariot. We’re told later on in Acts 1 that this is the point where Peter steps in to lead apostolic business meetings, and at one of those first organizational meetings, Matthias is appointed as apostle number twelve. These important indicators of apostolic activity - the appointment of Matthias and the devotion to prayer - both begin with that gentle prod from the two men: “Apostles, why are you looking up into the sky?” How about less tearful looking up in the sky from now on, less sad, nostalgic hand wringing, and more looking at each other and getting down to business. It’s likely none of them recognized it yet, but - yes - this was the birthing moment of the church. This is agape. And agape isn’t confined to what we do weekly within the walls of this beautiful church. It can happen anywhere anytime, and often when we aren’t expecting it. It happened to the English poet W. H. Auden when he was least expecting it, and in a part of his life when he did not consider himself very religious. As a young man, he was teaching at an English boarding school for boys. It was a custom in the early 1930s for the thirty or so senior boys nearing graduation to sleep out in the orchard under the stars. Sometimes there was a rain shower, but they pulled a tarpaulin over their heads and went to sleep again. Auden decided he would join them, and with help, he dragged his iron bedstead with its mountain of blankets down the stairs into the garden of the Lodge, the bachelor masters’ house. Here he slept for several weeks, putting up an umbrella if it rained. Sometimes a group of geese came to share the shelter of its umbrella. He had never been happier. This set the stage for a life-changing experience one June evening. He published an account of it thirty years later, telling the story this way. “‘One fine summer night in June, 1933, I was sitting on a lawn after dinner with three colleagues, two women and one man. We liked each other well enough but we were certainly not intimate friends, nor had any one of us had a sexual interest in another. Incidentally, we had not drunk any alcohol. “We were talking casually about everyday matters when, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, something happened. I felt myself invaded by a power which, though I consented to it, was irresistible and certainly not mine. For the first time in my life I knew exactly – because, thanks to the power, I was doing it – what it means to love one’s neighbor as oneself. I was also certain, though the conversation continued to be perfectly ordinary, that my three colleagues were having the same experience. (In the case of one of them, I was able to confirm this.) My personal feelings towards them were unchanged – they were still colleagues, not intimate friends – but I felt their existence as themselves was infinite and I rejoiced in it.” “I recalled with shame the many occasions on which I had been spiteful, snobbish, selfish, but the immediate joy was greater than the shame, for I knew that, so long as I was possessed by this spirit, it would be literally impossible for me to deliberately injure another human being. I also knew that the power would, of course, be withdrawn sooner or later and that, when it did, my greeds and self-regard would return. The experience lasted at its full intensity for about two hours when we said good-night to each other and went to bed. When I awoke the next morning, it was still present, though weaker, and it did not vanish completely for two days or so. “The memory of the experience has not prevented me from making use of others, grossly and often, but it has made it much more difficult for me to deceive myself about what I am up to when I do.” Auden did not immediately return to religion, the Anglican Church of his youth. But he did immediately seek an opportunity of putting into print his understanding of agape, the selfless love of one’s neighbor. And, eventually Auden did return to the Anglican Communion. In 1940, he became a member of the Episcopal Church of St. Mark’s in the Bowery in New York City where he remained until his death in 1973. Where in your life is your love trying to find a place to go? A family member with whom you’ve fallen out? A friend? Your church? Try sending your love even more to others and especially at those times when abandonment trauma claims you or your brothers and sisters in agape as a victim and you must then find a place for that loving grief to go. Amen
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 By The Rev. Dr. Molly Scherm
There are so many ways in which the times we’re living in are troubling. I don’t need to list them for you, and I assume that all of us are here this morning for the same reasons – in these difficult times we’re looking to renew what grounds us and balances us and helps us to stay connected in our relationships with God and with one another. We’re looking to experience what our new bishop, Miguelina, has introduced as a new diocesan watch word: “We’re in this together”. And that’s one of the issues. One of the problems in today’s world, and particularly in our own nation, is the deep divide and mistrust between people of different perspectives, assumptions, and priorities. As we know, this often comes down to a division between political parties, and we are living with a government impacted by partisan politics that almost completely prevent it from getting things done. “Trash talk” these days goes beyond the realm of sports: our public life is dominated by divisive language that would never have been acceptable in earlier times. So why do I bring up this unpleasant topic? It is because Paul and Peter and Jesus have some advice for us, in this morning’s readings, on how to be in relationship with people whose perspectives differ from our own. We began with Luke’s account of Paul’s visit to Athens. Following Paul’s conversion to following Christ, in the days when the movement of Christ’s followers was just getting underway, he set out to preach, teach, and baptize both Jews and Greeks throughout Asia Minor. In Athens, he spoke with Jews in the synagogue and philosophers in the marketplace. The Athenians were interested: in the verse just preceding today’s passage Luke tells us that “..all the Athenians … would spend their time in nothing but telling or hearing something new.” So Paul went to address the local administrative council, the Areopagus. He was concerned about the idols he had observed throughout the city, and in particular by an altar inscribed “to an unknown god.” Paul is a master of diplomacy in his approach to the council, however. He is brief and respectful. Even as he proclaims to them the God “in whom we live and move and have our being”, “who made the world and everything in it”, he commends the Athenians for the spirit of search that he has found throughout the city and connects his own message to theirs by quoting and affirming their own poets. If only our own politicians took heed of Paul’s model; it turned out to be effective. In the final verse of chapter 17 of Acts we learn that “When they heard of the resurrection of the dead some scoffed; but others said “We will hear you again about this”. And some became believers. In Peter’s first letter to followers of Christ in Asia Minor, he advocated the same spirit of respect while still standing one’s ground. At that time the Jesus movement was a new religion and significant tensions existed between its followers and the larger Greco-Roman culture. Just as Jesus himself been viewed as a danger to the religious and political order, the first Christians were viewed with fear and mistrust, as a potential threat to social stability. Peter’s advice is clear: “Do not fear what they fear, and do not be intimidated, but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord. Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence.” Peter doesn’t deny that even respectful gentleness and reverence may not succeed in averting conflict. Those who stand for the Gospel may well suffer. They will at least do so with a good conscience, and he implies that they will serve as an example to those who witness their testimony. Our gospel this morning is a very brief excerpt from John’s account of Jesus’ farewell discourses to the disciples. In recent weeks’ readings we have been hearing stories of love and reassurance: Christ’s acknowledgement of Mary in the garden on the third day, the visitation to the disciples locked in the upper room and the acceptance of Thomas’ need for direct evidence, the appearance to the disciples on the road to Emmaus, and Jesus’ likening himself to the shepherd who cares for the sheep. In last week’s gospel, today’s, and next week’s, we return to John’s accounts of Jesus’ words to his friends at the Last Supper in which he prepares them for his departure, and for the life they are called to lead when he is no longer with them. This morning’s message is simple – keep my commandments, the primary commandment being to love one another. The command is accompanied by promise: we will send you an Advocate to be with you forever… I will not leave you orphaned… the Spirit of truth will abide with you. It is trust in God’s grace, in God’s presence with us in the most difficult of times, that can enable us to meet the hostility that the world sometimes offers, with quiet faith. In a world where angry response and retaliation seem to be the norm, we are reminded that there is another way, and that we are called to it. Certainly there is a place and a need for respectful dissent. We are called, as Peter’s letter reminds us, to stand for the Gospel of Love, to be firm in speaking against injustice and to serving as advocates for the needs of the vulnerable. Confrontation is unavoidable where deep differences exist, but we have models of respectful opposition that we can look to, not only from Paul in Athens, but in our own time as well. I’m sure many of you are familiar with the words of Marion Budde, Bishop of Washington, in the sermon she preached on the day of President Trump’s inauguration in 2025, and with the dustup that followed. In her sermon Bishop Budde offered the hope of unity despite difference, “ the kind of unity that fosters community across diversity and division, a unity that serves the common good.” She identified three “foundations for unity”: “honoring the inherent dignity of every human being, which is, as all faiths represented here affirm, the birthright of all people as children of the One God.” “honesty in both private conversation and public discourse.” “humility, which we all need, because we are all fallible human beings.” The Bishop then went on to reflect on the humanity that easily undergirds our conflicts: “We say and do things that we regret. We have our blind spots and biases, and we are perhaps the most dangerous to ourselves and others when we are persuaded, without a doubt, that we are absolutely right and someone else is absolutely wrong. Because then we are just a few steps away from labeling ourselves as the good people, versus the bad people.” Bishop Budde then went on to speak directly to the President, asking that he might govern with mercy. I’m sure you’ll recall that there was considerable backlash against the Bishop following the sermon, and denunciations of her person and her words as “disrespectful”, “nasty”, and “boring”. Peter correctly anticipated how standing up for the Gospel could go. In another recent example, we have also been witness to the prophetic and measured statements by the new American Pope, Leo XIV, speaking out against the war in Iran. In these days of deep divisions and seemingly intractable conflicts, we are so very fortunate to have the models and leadership of faith leaders who are committed to the wisdom of scripture and to the Way of Love. May we give thanks for them, and lets please continue to pray for them. As we go forward - May we follow their leads, and enter conversations with respect and humility. May we listen even when we disagree, have the discipline to pause to consider, when we need to, and quiet the impulse to judge. May God’s gift, the Spirit of truth, guide our hearts.  If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.
by lay preacher, Will Harron One of the things that I most appreciate about the Bible - our scripture - is the riches that can be teased from the passages and stories we sit with when we engage the text with our lives. This isn’t a feature unique to the Bible - for many of us various key books, films, or pieces of music, affect us all the more deeply because of how they intersect with our lives. Our commitment to the Bible in our worship and devotion as a key part of our life in church means that we have the opportunity to come back to it across days, weeks, and years. This week’s gospel passage, like many, contains ambiguities and challenges that make it worthwhile to return to again and again; to read from various modes of analysis. When reading the Bible, whether our weekly lectionary text, or daily devotional reading, or other encounters with this library of stories and traditions, poems and songs, we can find ourselves closer to God through the gifts of our life experiences alongside the blessing of the context added by centuries of previous readers and interpreters. God’s Holy Spirit is with us as we read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the Bible, just as she accompanies us through the most joyful and the toughest times in our life. And so, our Gospel passage today takes us from our festive fifth Sunday of Easter, back in time to Jesus’s last evening with his disciples - the night before his crucifixion. Jesus has washed his disciples’ feet, and told told them of his upcoming betrayal, and Judas has left to carry out that betrayal. Jesus is aware that his time with his disciples is limited, and he gives them a message of strength and courage. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Courage, the word, means heart, and it strengthens my own heart to hear Jesus comfort his dear friends. It is a similar admonition to that given by angels throughout the bible - do not be afraid. Jesus then says that in his Father’s house there are many dwelling place, and that he is going to prepare a place for his disciples. The Common English Bible translates this in a way that touches my heart. In that translation, Jesus says “my Father’s house has room to spare”. The welcome, the care, and the love that Jesus invites his disciples - us - into is into the welcome, care, and love of a family. Just as a parent cares for a child; just as God the Father has provided for Jesus with welcome, care and love, we are also to be provided for through Jesus. Family can be complicated. Not all families are welcoming, not all families are caring, not all families are safe. Families can be “all of the above” - and navigating those ambiguities can make the metaphor of families challenging at times. Similarly, the concept of home can be complicated. Whether or not our family is safe, the home we are in also may or may not be - and in a world shaped by capitalism, racism, sexism, and other forces of oppression, keeping a home that is safe and welcoming is not always possible. “In my father’s house there are many dwelling places, many rooms, room to spare, room to be at home.” The notion of home, just like family, can be challenging. Home has certainly been a challenging notion at times in my own life. Soon after I turned 18, during the same summer I moved to Massachusetts to start college, my home life in Delaware disintegrated. My mother and brother ended up in California, my sister spent most of her senior year of high school living with friends in Delaware before joining my mom and brother in California, and my father ended up with my grandmother in Texas, and then in New Jersey. When asked by friends at college, “where is home,” my answer would be “I grew up in Delaware” - an answer to a different question, because the answer to the question I was asked was so much harder to articulate. Was my home the foreclosed house in Delaware? Was my home my college dorm room, changing every year and stored in bins in a dorm basement during the summer? Was my home in California, in the home mom was creating with my siblings while I was away? Was my home with dad? With my grandmother? There were many rooms I could point to… but none were truly home. Much easier to say, “I grew up in Delaware,” and hope that my redaction of the question wasn’t noticed or commented on. And when “home” or “family” was used in a metaphorical sense - as something that could only ever be simple, good, and easily to relate to, I would bristle. My sense of home and family were not simple, good, or easy. And so, I empathize with the disciples who want a little more specificity from Jesus. “You say that you are leaving us tonight - and that you are going to the Father and preparing a home for us,” wonders Thomas, and so he asks “We don’t know where that is. How do we know the way?” Thomas does not want to be separated from Jesus, no matter what happens. Thomas has found a home with Jesus and does not want to lose that safety. Jesus’s answer here is relayed in the enigmatic style that I think of as a hallmark of John’s gospel: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” These are huge claims Jesus is making, about his relationship with God the Father, and about our relationship to Jesus and God the Father. And they complicate the passage. God the Father is has a spacious home for those in the family…and the only way to join the family is through Jesus. Half of this passage could be read to support the broadest of universalisms, and the other half seems to imply the opposite: a single narrow path of truth. What does that mean? Philip pushes against this ambiguity.“Can you just show us the Father? Then we will be satisfied.” Jesus respond “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?” Jesus explains, if you have seen him, you have seen his father. And Jesus goes on: if you can’t believe that, believe the works. If you don’t believe that the power of Jesus and the power of God the Father are intertwined, believe in the good works of Jesus - healing, casting out of spirits, feeding, raising the dead. All of these works of love can only come from the Father. That is enough. And this further complicates the message of the text. God has a spacious home prepared for the family - and one joins the family only through Jesus. And if one can’t believe in Jesus, if they can believe in the goodness of the works of Jesus that is sufficient to be included. Boy, family can be complicated! But the final line of our Gospel text helps me to navigate my way through the ambiguity. “If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.” Through college and the five years after, both my mom and I put together homes under various trying circumstances. I moved into and out of a series of temporary housing situations across Massachusetts, North Carolina, and upstate New York as I worked my way through a succession of temporary and seasonal jobs. I found ways to distill “home” into a few cherished possessions that travelled with me, a few cartons of books and clothes, and the web of relationships I carried into a new place and that I built while I was there. My mom built a sense of home for my siblings (and for me, when visiting during holidays) in a series of apartments while figuring out how to support our family on a single income while living with severe disabilities. California was never “home” to me… and yet, I also knew that no matter the circumstances, my mom’s love both followed me wherever I went, and would make a place for me with her when I needed it. A letter with money to help me through a lean season would arrive unasked for; a gift from my Amazon wish list would appear unexpectedly in the middle of the year. I knew that if I ever asked my mom for anything, no matter how hard it would be, no matter how bad I was at returning phone calls or staying in regular touch, she would find a way to make it so for me, even across three thousand miles of distance, even as she was doing the same for my brother and sister. And so, when I read Jesus tell his disciples that, “If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it,” I have a context from which to imagine and interpret that unconditional love. And that unconditional love, that resolution to find a way to make a home, to make a family, to invite wholeness, helps me to understand the fuller passage. When Jesus says, “If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it,” I think of the love my mom showed in those hard years. And if that sort of love is at all reflective of God’s love for us, then I think that God’s love in making a home, and inviting us into family and safety and wholeness in that home, is a love where God will stop at nothing to make us welcome; that the works of that love are more important than understanding what it means for Jesus and the Father to be one; that the movement of God’s love is towards bringing us together into wholeness. This isn’t the only way I might approach the Gospel passage; in a different season I might find new meaning through different lenses; I could read it instead from the sense of home I built when my life found stability in Boston, or when Lindsay and I moved out to Western Massachusetts. If I had read it alongside our Acts passage or our Epistle from Peter I might find different answers to questions raised by the text. But that is the joy of our scriptures - that this library prepared for us by our forebears in faith can be returned to again and again; we can apply the tools of various fields of study to them, and we can find our lives reflected in these stories, and through it all we can find God’s love reflected back to us in our lives. Jesus tells his disciples, do not let your hearts be troubled. Have courage. When I can connect my experience of love to God’s love through our scriptures, I find that courage all the easier.  Acts 2:42-47
By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector Yesterday was a beautiful day in the life of the Church. We gathered at Christ Church Cathedral in Springfield for the consecration and ordination of our tenth bishop - the Rt. Rev. Miguelina Howell. Drawing a record 51 bishops, and hundreds of clergy and lay leaders across our diocese and the wider Church. Bishop Howell is truly so many firsts for our diocese. The first female bishop. The first mother raising young children. The first afro-latina. The first native Spanish speaker, born in the Dominican Republic. These are all important parts of who she is, and the perspective she will bring. Yet what has made her an exceptional leader, and some of the core reasons the Spirit guided us to elect her as our new bishop are her gifts for strategic mission; her wisdom; her relational nature; and most importantly, her profound faith and love of Jesus Christ. Bishop Howell embodies her faith and love for Christ in the way she prays. Whether it be in a liturgy, one on one, or any number of times during the day pausing to turn to God for wisdom and clarity. When someone tries to offer her praise, she’ll often say - to God be the glory. Redirecting those she is with back towards God. Her approach to faith lives into what we see in Acts of the Apostles. She devotes herself, and the flock she now shepherds, “...to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (2:42). As the Church, we are called to devote ourselves to these same tasks, to keep learning and growing in faith; to come together as a community, sharing our lives; to break bread together in shared meals and in the eucharist; and to nurture a life of prayer. The passage in Acts goes on to describe the fruits of such devotion: “Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home, and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved” (2:46-47). When we devote ourselves to a life of faith, to a greater good, there is abundance. Not just enough to get by, but abundance. While it's easy to fall into worrying, this passage reminds us what is possible. When we get out of our heads and live into our faith in body, mind, and spirit the Spirit will move and God will provide in abundance. Our call is to lean into that faith with trust, confidence, joy, and hope. As I meditated on this passage earlier this week, an image arose. In my childhood home, in my mother’s room, there was a rocker next to a book shelf that she and my father had stained. There rested a Forward Movement Day by Day reflection booklet. These little booklets feature a verse from scripture and a daily reflection written by a wide variety of folks across the Episocpal Church. It is a tool meant to help the Church of today, emulate the values of the early Church with daily prayer, reflection, and scripture study - knowing others are doing the same each day across the Church. Alongside my mother’s Day by Day booklet, there were items clearly in regular use: her prayerbook, a card with the serenity prayer, rosaries, seashells, photos, and a candle. Whenever I had cause to be in her room, I was drawn to this little corner. There was a specific kind of energy there, and I knew it was a space set apart. Looking back, I can see that energy was the result of hours of prayer. Prayer offered in devotion, and when seeking strength and renewal. She was a single parent, and if you haven’t noticed, I can be a lot. If anyone had reason to seek peace, quiet and prayer - it was her! Yet in this little prayer corner, she would read to soothe her nerves, she would regularly turn to God in prayer, deepening the roots of her faith. It is this regular practice of deepening and strengthening the roots of our faith that lets us face whatever the day has in store, and trusting the challenges we face into God’s care at day’s end. Over the years I found myself creating a similar prayer corner in our home, as well as prayer on the go tools. Signs and symbols that remind me to tend and care for the roots of my faith. Because if we are going to be the Church, we need to keep growing in our faith by deepening our prayer life. The world is hungry for hope, and we have hope to offer in Christ, and the dream and knowledge of a better way, a Way of Love. We are best able to share that hope when we live into what the early Church embodies in today’s epistle. Day by day. Inch by inch. The repetition of our commitment to learning and growing in faith; of gathering together in community while serving our neighbors; of breaking bread and praying together brings abundance. Our call is to:
When we pray, we root ourselves in God’s Love, and we become agents of God’s healing love in the world. This week I invite us to reflect on the role of prayer in our lives.
Let us pray Almighty and eternal God, so draw our hearts to you, so guide our minds, so fill our imaginations, so control our wills, that we may be wholly yours, utterly dedicated unto you; and then use us, we pray you, as you will, and always to your glory and the welfare of your creation; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. (BCP, p. 831-832, adapted) |
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We believe God is calling us to cultivate a community of love, joy, hope, and healing. Jesus is our model for a life of faith, compassion, hospitality, and service. We strive to be affirming and accessible, welcoming and inclusive; we seek to promote reconciliation, exercise responsible stewardship, and embrace ancient traditions for modern lives.
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