Spirit Speaks

Pentecost Sunday
by Elizabeth McCord, M.Div.

Two men remained in the camp, one named Eldad and the other named Medad, and the spirit rested on them…and so they prophesied in the camp. And a young man ran and told Moses, “Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp.” And Joshua son of Nun, assistant to Moses, one of his chosen men, said “My lord Moses, stop them!” But Moses said to him, “Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all God’s people were prophets, and that God would put God’s spirit on them!”
--Numbers 11:26-29

The day the Permanent Judicial Commission issued its ruling on Jane Adams Spahr v. Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) through the Presbytery of the Redwoods (Disciplinary Case 218-12), I downloaded the 11 page “Decision and Order” at the law office were I work. I skimmed the denomination’s judicial document, noticing its format. Visually, it took the shape of secular legal pleadings and court orders that sat on my desk. On page five I read, “Prophecy contains risk and uncertainty both for those who would speak and for those who would listen. The role of a prophet carries consequences. It is the burden of a church officer to accept the consequences of his or her actions that are the ecclesiastical equivalent of civil disobedience.”

I doubt anyone would deny that prophecy bears risk. Threat of negative consequence, small or great, is an inherent part of speaking Truth, of speaking out of the Spirit’s calling on one’s own life. In the case of Eldad and Medad, their ecstatic expressions were met with a plea to the powers that be for silencing. Joshua, Moses’ right-hand man, insisted the two unauthorized prophets be stopped. This “chosen man” of leadership argued as a prosecutor, anxiously defending the authority structure which had guided this rabble of wilderness wanderers. Perhaps, given the fact that Joshua had not known his people to always make wise decisions in the absence of their leader, this was a reasonable request.

Working in a law office has given me new perspective on my faith tradition. I watch our attorneys finger through law books, exegeting their content for the wellbeing of individuals and society. As a Christian, this makes me more aware of what it is to be a covenant people tied to the written word, and as a Presbyterian, it makes me understand more fully what it is to be a confessional church tied to the constitution. The confessions and Book of Order offer us common language and guidelines as we seek to communicate personal faith in a diverse community. I choose to be a Presbyterian because I value these documents and because, despite our ongoing failings, I value the idea of inclusive dialogue, which I believe is at the heart of our polity.

However, I can’t help but feel we betray our Heart when we respond to prophecy with disciplinary charges rather than open-minded conversation. Jealous and embittered is a church that attempts to squelch the unrelenting, insuppressible voice of the Spirit. Rigid and non-reforming is a church that masks its torn and bleeding wounds with orderly judicial papers mimicking the world of U.S. governance rather than the New Creation of Christ. And, hypocritical and lost is a church that gives lip service to ministry for marginalized people without claiming its own role as the marginalizor, or that fails to support the Spirit-filled ministers (ordained or lay) who would otherwise lead us to embrace the profuseness of God’s grace. I am saddened and wearied by this denomination.

I am also, despite all experience and reason, hopeful. The breath of the Spirit moving through the ministries of Janie and many others reminds me that the Promised Land is not beyond the strength of our tired feet. My prayer this Pentecost is that the Presbyterian Church will heed the Spirit’s message of mutuality, love, and covenant, as lifted up in Janie’s prophetic action of marrying same-sex couples. I pray for our people, that Christ will continue to stir us to boldness and disobedience, regardless of the denomination’s closed doors. I offer to God Moses’ words, “Would that all God’s people were prophets.” Maybe then we will find our way out of this wilderness, for all things are possible when the Spirit speaks.

So That They May Be One

7th Sunday of Easter
Psalm 68:1-10, 32-35; 1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11, John 17:1-11
by Tina Silvestro

In this time between the Ascension and Pentecost there seems to be a scriptural pause in the midst of Easter joy. What was that time like for the Apostles? Jesus - their teacher, their friend - was crucified, rose from the dead, and ascended to heaven. We know the story and what comes next. We say it like an ordinary matter. But, for the followers of Jesus, attached to this sequence of events there were many changing emotions. After the Ascension, Jesus was no longer visibly in their midst. Yet again they were lost, afraid, and uncertain. They were a community in conflict with the established order but now they had to face this alone. Jesus had promised the Spirit but they had no idea what that meant. There was a pause time before the coming of the Spirit.

This week’s scripture speaks about communities in conflict, uncertainty in direction, and the restoration that only God can provide. God “will himself restore, support, strengthen and establish you” (1Peter5:10). The scriptures, written about freedom from oppression (Ps. 68), guidance in time of persecution (1Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11), and prayer for protection (Jn.17:1-11), point us to trust in the outpouring of the Spirit.

In the midst of New Life we are reminded of the work yet to be done. We are still communities in conflict. We are reminded of the brokenness of our lives, of people still oppressed. We are reminded that people are still persecuted through exclusion, discrimination, harassment, and unjust laws. And we are reminded that people, who, living in fear, so desperately need protection, healing, and freedom. We are reminded of our need to “let God rise up” (Ps. 68:1) with transforming love within us and within our communities so that Christ’s prayer will be realized. “Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” (Jn.17:11).

But…what does it mean to be one? Does it really mean to be the same? Does it mean to be whole? How are God and Jesus one yet different? How can we embrace our oneness in Christ, in God, in humanity, in a way that surpasses our differences? How can we create that surprising and unexpected unity that comes from accepting our differences?

Spacious Place

Bless our God, O peoples,
let the sound of God's praise be heard,
who has kept us among the living,
and has not let our feet slip.
For you, O God, have tested us;
you have tried us as silver is tried.
You brought us into the net;
you laid burdens on our backs;
you let people ride over our heads;
we went through fire and through water;
yet you have brought us out to a spacious place.
--Psalm 66:8-12

We have been tested, yes, and been through fire. Not just in the wider world, not just in society, but in our very church. In our very own faith communities. We are not free to answer God's call to ordained ministry, not free to be joined in holy union with our partners, not free to bring our whole selves into the Body of Christ. Yes, we have been tested. People have, indeed, ridden over our heads.

But the psalmist promises us "a spacious place." There is a spacious place that God will bring us into, a place with plenty of breathing room, a place spacious enough to share our whole selves. God IS making that place ready for us.

I pray that it is in the church I love. I pray that it is in the community that raised me and taught me to believe. But if it is not, and these days it is easy to believe that it is not, I pray that God leads us to the prepared place anyway. I am tired of knocking on the door, begging for entrance into a place that is too small for me. God's place will be spacious enough for all.

Unsound Bites

John 14:6
By Rev. Richard S. Hong

Especially in this political season, people decry the “sound bite” world we live in and hold the modern media responsible for it. But I blame the sound bite phenomenon on Stephen Langton and Robert Stephanus, among others. Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury in the 13th century, and Stephanus, a Parisian book printer in the 16th century, are primarily credited with being responsible for the modern system of dividing the Bible into chapters and verses.

Dividing the Bible into verses made it too easy to argue from the parts instead of from the whole. The whole of the Bible is a story of ever-broadening acceptance and inclusion; pulled apart into sound bites, it can be just as easily manipulated as any politician’s speech. John 14:6 has long been a “Bible sound bite” deployed as a weapon against other faiths. But just as one has to hear the well-publicized comments of the Rev. Jeremiah Wright in their complete sermonic context in order to appreciate them, John 14:6 cannot be accurately read outside of its context.

“To use these verses in a battle over the relative merits of the world’s religions is to distort their theological heart.” (O’Day, New Interpreter’s) The “theological heart” of these words is found in thinking about their immediate audience: Jesus is speaking to his tiny band of disciples who are frightened, isolated, and opposed by the powerful twin forces of both the religious and secular authorities. Is there a way out? Yes, Jesus says: follow me.

John 14:6 becomes a weapon when we quote it out of confidence and hubris instead of turning to it in times of fear and uncertainty. Watch a small child who is suddenly surrounded by a crowd of strangers at the mall (or at coffee hour). Frightened, he/she instinctively jumps into the arms of a parent – the person whom the child knows will provide safety and protection. Is there no other person around who would protect the child? Objectively, there probably is. Subjectively, in that moment the child only knows that there is safety in the arms of the parent. One of my favorite pastor/authors is Rob Bell. In the very first of his NOOMA series of videos (entitled “Rain”), he tells of going for a walk in the woods with his son when a sudden, fierce thunderstorm arises. All the way back to the cabin, he keeps reminding his terrified son: “I love you and we’re going to make it.” In this context, that problematic sentence: “No one comes to the Father except through me” is a reminder to his disciples to stay focused on rescuer, not the storm.

“I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life” is not the answer to the question: “Are we the best religion of them all?” After all, Jesus has just finished telling Peter that he is going to deny him, and Thomas wants to know how to find the dwelling places Jesus has told them are awaiting them. The question on the minds of the disciples is: “how are we going to make it without you?” Jesus’ answer simply means: “Do not be troubled. Believe in me. Jump into my arms. I love you and we’re going to make it. I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”

Jesus’ words are addressed to people who are riding the sea of life in a lifeboat, not a battleship. It is about the power of Christ, not Christian power. As such, far from being words that should be used to marginalize others, they are words of comfort to the marginalized. Jesus is not leaving you desolate. There is a dwelling place for waiting for you. Let Jesus lead you there.

Lectionary Notes:

The other passages for Easter 5A help set the theme of hope and perseverance for persons in trouble. The Psalmist declares God as “my rock and my fortress” (Ps. 31:3) and pleads with God to “save me in your steadfast love” (Ps. 31:16). 1 Peter reminds us that the “stone that the builders rejected has become the very head of the corner” (1 Pet. 2:7), while Acts 7:55-60 tells of the confidence Stephen had even as he perished by stoning. All of these help us interpret the Gospel lesson through the lens of rescue rather than trimuphalism.


For tech dweebs only:

I was a software consultant before going into ministry, and at the core of programming are logical operators. If two things are related by “AND”, the result is true if both things are true. If two things are related by “OR”, the result is true if either thing is true. In the land of computer logic, there is a third operator, the “exclusive or”, usually abbreviated as “XOR”. The result of an XOR operation is true if and only if exactly one or the other is true, but not both (or neither).

In the intersection of my logical world and my theological world, I find something deeply meaningful in the fact that the latter is called an “exclusive or” while the former is called an “inclusive or.” Inclusive or: it’s okay if both are true. Exclusive or: it isn’t good enough for one to be true; if one is true, the other has to be false. Too much of our theology is crafted in the logical world of the “exclusive or.”

When we base our truth claims in the world of the “exclusive or”, then we have to worry about more than the truth claims of Jesus; we have to worry about the truth claims of all of the world’s faith traditions. When we live in the world of the “inclusive or”, all we need to examine are the truth claims of our own faith. That alone seems like a big enough job to keep me occupied for, say, the rest of my life.

Through the Valleys

4th Sunday in Easter
Psalm 23; I Peter 2:19-25; John 10:1-10
by Scott D. Anderson

“Even though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me…” -Psalm 23:4

Just before Christmas, my 82-year-old mother asked me to pull my chair close to her in the skilled nursing facility she now calls home. A fiercely independent woman in her younger years, she now struggles with multiple ailments and a failing body. In these twilight years of life, she is completely dependent on others for her daily needs.

My mother wanted to talk with me about her death. This was our first such conversation. A sacred moment, to be sure. She worries about her constant, physical pain which the doctors are trying to manage. She fears being alone when the end is near. She wants to let go peacefully. She reached for my hand she asked me to pray with her for God’s presence, guidance and strength. As we closed our eyes, I realized that this was the first time I had ever prayed with my mother alone.

As a gay man who follows Jesus Christ, I find a peculiar kind of empathy with my mother. Perhaps it’s the years of struggle in coming out and building relationships, the many small crucifixions I’ve endured living as a part of the majority heterosexual culture. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death, in so many ways, is a part of our identity as LGBT Christians.

I’ve learned that God’s promise of presence, echoed in the words of the Psalmist, is often made real in the way we are present with others who are walking through the dark valleys of life. God makes use of our vulnerabilities and woundedness to communicate something profound about the character of divine love, a love which is capable of transcending even the most anxious moments of our living.

In that time of prayer with my mother, we were both able to share our weakness with God. What a gift!

Dear God, when we walk through the valleys of the shadow of death, we know you are with us. Help us to see our weaknesses and vulnerability as gifts to share. Amen.

Road to Emmaus

Luke 24:13-35
by Lisa Larges
Minister Coordinator, That All May Freely Serve
www.tamfs.org

Here's the sneaky thing about God and gay people: God meets us on that road to Emmaus, but then it turns out the road ends in the parking lot of some church called Presbyterian, or Methodist, or Lutheran, or fill-in-the-blank, where they're not all tickled to see us!

Do you ever wonder why there are so many glbt people attending churches whose denominational policies are flat-out discriminatory? Do you ever wonder why there are any at all? Do you ever wonder why lgbt folks continue to hear the call to ministry in denominations laboring mightily to keep them out? I do. I wonder these things.

Do you ever, after reading or hearing about the latest heterosexist/gender-phobic ruling or policy or statement from your national church find yourself asking the question, "Why am I in this church anyway?" I do - just about every day.

Of course, one very good answer to such questions is that many of us attend wonderful open justice seeking local churches that have either taken on the struggle to change exclusionary denominational policies, or at least have chosen actively to ignore them. That's one explanation, but there's also the Emmaus factor.

I mean, Christ has met us on the road and opened up the truth for us. Many of us met Christ on the road of our coming out - we drank it in as the Christ opened the Scriptures to us, giving us the courage to let go of our fear and shame and self-hatred. For others Christ came along on that road toward living fully into one's truest gender identity. Others of us met the Christ on the road of queer politics. Still others met the Christ on the road called falling in love.

In the opening of his Institutes of Christian Religion, John Calvin writes "Without knowledge of self, there is no knowledge of God." John Calvin may not have known he was writing about the experience of queer people, but for so many of us that deep struggle for self-knowledge has led to knowing God. And that knowing God has, for some of us, led us back to church, proving
once again that God has an unerring sense of irony.

I know the Emmaus story. I've lived it. Maybe you have too? I've been walking down that road all full of sadness and despair and an unshakable certainty that the world was going to hell in a handbasket. Then the incognito Christ has come along and walked beside me and explained patiently to me the truth of God's goodness and grace.

May we remember to hold on to the hand of the Christ, wherever the road takes us!

Jesus Breathed

John 20:19-31


Imagine the disciples on the third day after Jesus’ death on the cross. Imagine their conversation - were they wondering what their next move was to be? Though they were in fear, were they calmly waiting for Jesus to reappear in fulfillment of the scriptures? Were they speculating about how long it would be until he would reappear? Did they maybe fear that he would reappear? Did they even believe that he would?

We don’t know what the disciples discussed between the time that Mary Magdalene announced that she had seen Jesus and the time that he appeared to them. One might assume, though, that their expectations upon seeing him were great. When Jesus appeared to the disciples, however, there were no storms, no puffs of smoke, and no voice from the heavens. He appeared among them quietly, showed them his injured hands and side, and said, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Then simply, he breathed on them saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit. …”

Jesus breathed on them.

When you felt God’s call, what did it feel like? It may have been a slow, calm, dawning of the heart and soul that you were being called. It may have been an exciting, abrupt epiphany, or just a gentle “whoosh” through your body and soul. For others, it might be that God’s call was born in you while in the womb. No matter when or how God’s call arrived, consider that the breath that Jesus breathed onto – through - the disciples that day might be what was felt by you when the awareness of your call came to you. That exact breath. That exact breath, through the mystical power of Jesus, breathed especially onto you.

When you are before your session and your CPM, … when you are courageously speaking the truth of our community to our brothers and sisters in Christ who feel challenged by you as you live out your creation and your call, … take a deep breath to remind yourself of Jesus’ breath on that day. That exact breath. Remember, with hope, His words to us all, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you. Receive the Holy Spirit.” Allow his sustaining breath to flow into your heart, receive the Holy Spirit, and go in peace.


Our Divine Creator, we thank you for the gifts of your spirit. We thank you for the healing breath of Jesus, and for the great gifts of community that we share. We thank you too, for your ever-present peace and endless hope that knows no boundaries. Please grant us wisdom and courage, and help us remember to always love and care for one another through our differences. For we, with our brothers and sisters, are all one in you even when we forget. Thank you for our calls, and for the growth along the way that you provide. In your holy name we pray, Amen.