Refresh the Land When It Is Weary

Photo by Jay Blossom

If you dig the city up, you find more city underneath it.  We see this all over town, even during the pandemic.  Streets and construction sites are dug up by heavy machinery, and when we look down we see the miles of cables and pipes, and sewers, and tunnels, and concrete, etc that undergirds our city.  Very little of the city is susceptible to rainfall, except in inconvenient ways, like the sewer drain at the corner of 17th and Locust that hasn’t drained properly for almost a year now, and that results in a huge puddle on that corner every time it rains.

But Saint Mark’s is surrounded on three sides by gardens, we are one of the few patches of land in the city that is really susceptible to the rainfall.  Thankfully, in this city there are other places too, like Rittenhouse Square, which is looking lush and gorgeous this spring.  These are the places, where if you dig them up what you find underneath is the earth. You put a shovel in the ground around Saint Mark’s and you won’t find more city underneath; you find the earth there, in all its lovely susceptibility to rainfall.

It’s because of my gratitude for this gift that I am willing to listen to the angels who addressed the apostles at the Ascension.  I am inclined to want to ignore them when they chide the apostles, “Men of Galilee, why are you looking up toward heaven?”  Isn’t the answer obvious?  And is it really so wrong-minded to fix our gazes and our hearts on heaven?  But because of this gift of the green earth by which we are nearly surrounded at this church, in a city that needs such green spaces, I am willing to listen to the angels’ direction.

It’s the Psalmist’s voice that speaks the clearest word of good news to me today.  Even though scholars tell us that Psalm 68 is complicated and convoluted, and that it’s nearly impossible to identify a singular thematic thread that runs through it, I still hear something that makes me want to stop and take it on board.  It’s in the ninth verse, where the Psalmist says this, “You sent a gracious rain, O God, upon your inheritance; you refreshed the land when it was weary.”

And it’s not just because the spring rains this year have caused our gardens to blossom in great profusion.  (The roses are fantastic, and the peonies are spectacular!). Because I don’t think the Psalmist intends us to hear this verse only literally (although we may hear it that way.). It’s not just because we all know of real deserts (in California, in Australia, etc.) where the dry earth literally blossoms when God sends a gracious rain.  It’s because I think the Psalmist also allows us to hear this lovely thought not just about the land when it’s weary, but in relation to every weariness we are likely to endure.

And aren’t we weary?  Hasn’t the social distancing, and the sickness, and the grief, and the death (O, God, the death) and this whole pandemic left us weary?  Not that there isn’t anything else to weary us too - you’ve got your stuff and I’ve got mine.  There is weariness aplenty to go around.  And we need to be reminded that God can and will and does refresh us in our weariness.  In a city where so much of the terrain is not susceptible to the effects of the rainfall, we need reminders that God does send a gracious rain on his inheritance, that God refreshes the land when it’s weary.  God refreshes us when we are weary

That’s why I’m willing to pay attention to the angels of the Ascension, and to look down here, and see what God is doing.  Because God sends a gracious rain upon his inheritance; he refreshes us all when we are weary.

Notes for a sermon by Fr. Sean Mullen
24 May 2020
Saint Mark’s Church, Locust Street, Philadelphia

What Now?

Transitions are hard

I remember arriving in Australia, 22 years ago.  I knew exactly two people on the continent - big transition!  I remember sitting in my little flat at Archbishop’s House, having gotten my first view of the surrounds: a great park up the road from me, the Swan River below, and the Indian Ocean just a few miles away.  And I thought, What now?!?

That’s the question that often comes up in the midst of transitions: What now?  It’s an important question because transitions are hard.  People stumble, get confused, make mistakes, and sometimes give up altogether.  The stress and the strain of transitions is real, it’s serious, it’s difficult and troublesome.  And it’s hard to know what to do with the question, What now? with all that confusion and uncertainty.

We are in a time of transition now.   Nearly every day seems like a day for a new transition.  We transitioned as the virus was becoming a threat and we realized we were in a pandemic.  We flattened the curve.  Now we are supposed to be thinking about re-opening, resuming, re-starting things.  It feels like a time of significant transition, and we want it to be that, but what now?  What now?

The people who built this church knew that we’d face moments like this.  It’s interesting that at the focal point of the church, right here at the east end of the building, above the High Altar, they chose to place this big stained glass window that depicts the Ascension of our Lord.  You can’t see it all right now, you can only see the bottom part, where the apostles and Mary are gathered, looking up at Jesus as he is taken up into heaven.  Why did they choose this image to dominate this view of the church?

You read the end of Luke’s Gospel and you see that the apostles were at a time of transition.  They had followed Jesus in his ministry.  They had abandoned him as he went to his Passion.  They rejoiced in his resurrection, and had spent these forty days with him, one way or another.  And now, all of a sudden, he is leaving them, being taken up to heaven.  It must have been perplexing and vexing, and sad, and nerve-wracking, to see him begin to go this way.  What were they supposed to do?  Grab the hem of his garment?  Take hold of his feet?  They weren’t expecting him to leave; what would they do now?  What now?

Nearly everything now is discombobulated.  They have no plan, no way forward, had not been prepared for this eventuality.  But Luke tells us something very interesting.  It looks like he has it out of order.  In fact, some ancient authorities omit the detail that I think is so important, so telling, and so helpful for us.  Jesus is blessing his disciples, and as he is doing it, he is carried up into haven, taken away.  And then, after he is gone, Luke tells us, “they worshiped him.”

The first thing they did, when the question “Now what?” must have been burning in their minds, was to worship the Lord.  They worshiped him.  At this moment of profound transition when they had no idea what might come next, they worshiped him.

When I try to ask What now?  I find myself perplexed and vexed, uncertain and anxious.  I know we are at a moment of great transition, which brings all kinds of uncertainty, and in so many ways I don’t know what to do.  It is stressful, and confusing, and I’m off kilter.  I know we will make mistakes, and I expect that some people will want to give up as a result of this transition.  Everything seems like it is up in the air.  But one thing seems clear, even at this moment of transition: we are called to worship the living God.  We don’t know what’s coming, but we know one thing: we are going to worship him.  

What now?  Who knows.  But in this place, like those who came before us, amid all the things we don’t know, and all the confusion, we are absolutely certain about one thing, whether it happens on your side of the screen or mine, on you side of the closed doors or mine, whether its in small groups or a great congregation, we are going to worship him.  What next?  Who knows.  We’ll worship him, and we’ll take it from there.

Notes for a sermon preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
The Feast of the Ascension, 2020
Saint Mark’s Church, Locust Street, Philadelphia

The Absorption Rate

When I was growing up, a daily feature of family meals at home was iced tea. We typically sat down to eat as a family every evening, and without fail, the beverage of choice was iced tea. Because I grew up in Texas, it wasn’t just any iced tea; it was sweetened iced tea. If you’ve ever tried to add granulated sugar to a glass of tea, you will know that you have to sweeten it up when the tea is piping hot and before you add the ice to it. This is what my mom would do in preparing our dinners when I was a kid. She would boil water for the tea, steep a number of Lipton tea bags in the boiled water for a time, and then dump cupfuls of sugar into the hot water, all before adding the ice. Cupfuls. And just like that, the sugar would dissolve. But forget about trying to sweeten the tea when it has ice cubes in it. It’s a futile endeavor.

The inability to dissolve granulated sugar in a glass of cold tea is really just a matter of basic science. When a solvent like water is heated up, its molecules are energized, and the increase in kinetic energy allows the molecules of a solute—such as sugar—to break up more easily. And so, the sugar is able to dissolve. It’s actually the movement of the water molecules interacting with the sugar molecules that increases the rate of absorption. On a molecular level, the water moves from a state of relative inertia to a state of vibrancy. 

If we move from a scientific dimension to a more imaginative dimension, I imagine a glass of cold, iced tea as a stubborn entity, a lifeless thing, inert, full of little molecules that seem unwilling to interact or engage with the sugar that is added to it. At a basic level, the tea will not accept or receive the solute that is dumped into it, at least not until water is energized by adding heat. And there is a point, too, in which the tea reaches its saturation point. Once the limit of sugar has been added relative to the volume of liquid, no more will be dissolved.

Now, let’s continue the imaginative journey and move for a moment to Jesus’s words in John 14:17. Jesus says that he will ask the Father to send the Advocate to his disciples after his death. This Advocate is the Spirit of truth, and the Spirit of truth is the One whom the world cannot receive, “because it neither sees him nor knows him.” These are chilling words. On one level, this encapsulates the world’s rejection of Jesus himself. Speaking on the eve of his death, Jesus recognizes that the world has already rejected the sum total of his ministry and presence, and it will epitomize that rejection in a short time by crucifying him on a tree. Jesus’ death on the cross was the result of the world’s inability to contain—absorb, if you will— his convicting presence. As John tells us, Jesus did not come to condemn, but his very presence, a presence of love, truth, light, and peace, does judge simply because of who Jesus is. Jesus could not be received by the world, because his very nature judged all in the world that was opposed to it. Against perfect humanity, imperfect humanity stood in stark relief. 

And on the eve of his death, Jesus tells his disciples that when he has ascended to the right hand of his Father, another Advocate, the Holy Spirit, will also be rejected by the world. John sees the world in somewhat binary terms: you’re either of “the world,” which is a place of darkness and rejection, or you’re living in Christ, which means you live in the light and oriented towards the kingdom of God. And as John implies, “the world” is like an inert glass of cold tea, unable to receive and absorb the enlivening presence of the Spirit of truth.

Is it just stubbornness or ignorance that causes our own world to be incapable of receiving the Spirit of truth? Is it willfulness or blindness? What is it? Are the citizens in this world content in their own immobility and inability to be energized into action for the sake of the Gospel, for the sake of the well-being of others? The world of 33 AD is more or less just like the world of 2020, characterized by thousands upon thousands of lifeless molecules, individuals satisfied with their own position, selfishly preoccupied with their own individuality, concerned with their own personal stature, and deeply unconcerned with interacting with the Spirit who is trying to lead human souls into all truth.

I dare say that this pandemic has revealed the numerous ways in which our world is like a glass of cold, iced tea. Not a glass of refreshing cold tea when we are hot and thirsty, but a glass of useless tea, unable to absorb anything intended to spice it up or soften its bitterness. This glass of tea is sitting on a kitchen counter, not being drunk to refresh the palate or being used to any salutary effect. A pandemic that affects every single person on the planet brings into vivid relief the landscape of the human condition. And this pandemic is revealing that landscape, especially in this nation, to be a collection of self-contained molecules, individuals who are obsessed with number one and only number one. Whether it’s refusing to wear a mask in public or arguing for sacrificing the lives of the sick in order to get back to business as usual, many molecules in our world in the midst of COVID-19 are deeply resistant to interacting with the other molecules around them. 

Look around. The statistics on coronavirus deaths coming out of nursing homes in this country is staggering in what they reveal about our general lack of concern for our fellow citizens. After years and years of hunkering down in a broken healthcare system, the molecules are suddenly trying to energize themselves in a time of crisis, but it feels as if it’s too late. If this dreaded virus has revealed anything, it has revealed how interconnected each and every one of us is. All you have to do to get a better sense of this is to read about how the virus spreads. One infected person can transmit the virus to dozens of people in a short period of time. 

Even this insidious virus seems to have a better sense of how we are connected to one another than many people do. Because of this virus, we are seeing how every system and aspect of our world is related: the economy, healthcare, methods of education, the systemic poverty, and every fiber of our society. The current state of affairs is revealing the ways in which the Spirit of truth, which is the Spirit that exposes injustice in the light of the Gospel, is unwelcome and incapable of being received by the world. In many places, the world, indeed, seems resistant to learning anything from this Spirit of truth.

There is something else about receiving this Spirit of truth that our world has largely forgotten, and it’s this: with Christ as our example, we must empty ourselves in order to be filled with this Spirit. And here it gets more personal. While it may be easy to blame “the world” for its inability to receive the Spirit who will lead us into all truth, none of us is let off the hook. We must look into our own souls. If I’m honest with myself, especially in the conditions in which we find ourselves, my heart has begun to be filled with things that, left untended, will continue to reject the Spirit of truth who is trying to lead me into greater truth. Whether it’s impatience with this situation that turns into anger or resentment or concern for my own well-being, until I can begin to empty my heart of these potentially deadly things, I will not make sufficient room for the Spirit of truth to dwell within me, to teach me, to guide me into all truth. Until collectively our society can begin to realize that at times we don’t, in fact, know everything about everything and always have the answers, we will be unwilling to learn from the Spirit of truth. Like a glass of cold, iced tea that has reached its saturation point, there will be no more room for the sugar. It won’t dissolve.

And so, if we only read the New York Times or watch the evening news, we might feel hopelessly abandoned. Going into the third month of social distancing, many of us are feeling deeply alone. We are longing for the companionship that we took for granted prior to lockdown. Constant reports tell us that the virus is here to stay. No one really seems to know how to effectively tackle this medical pandemic.

But as Christians, our future is not rooted in what the New York Times says or in the dire news reports. Our future is oriented towards hope and the Gospel, and the Gospel says something quite extraordinary to us today. The Gospel tells us—Jesus tells us—that we are not orphaned and that we are not bereft. We have a companion in the way, and this companion has been with us all along. But it takes awareness to see and know this companion. And this companion, who is far greater than any virus, is here to abide with us, forever. The catch is that we must make ourselves ready to receive this Advocate, the Spirit of truth. And even when we don’t receive or absorb this Spirit, the Spirit is still there, abiding with us, ready for acceptance and absorption into our lives.

You see, Jesus says something so very simple and yet so very difficult to accept. It’s why the Spirit of truth is not accepted by the world; this Spirit continues to reveal how we have not accepted one crucial teaching of Jesus. Jesus says the essence of love is keeping his commandments. In fact, keeping the commandments is putting love into action, because the commandments we are given are to love God and our neighbor.

And here we have a key to being able to receive the Spirit of truth. Here we have the potential for the glass of inert cold tea to be energized into something capable of receiving the sugar that will soften some of its innate bitterness. The more we are propelled into action through love of God and neighbor, the more we will find ourselves able to absorb the ever-revealing Spirit of truth. The energized molecules of our heart will interact with other molecules, and we will find, soon enough, that something is different. We will have begun to absorb the Spirit of truth. The Spirit of truth, who is the continuing revelation of the Risen Christ among us, is constant and will always be an enlightening contrast to the broken, sinful world in which we live. The Spirit of truth will show us the ways in which we have fallen short of God’s intentions for us, or plain rejected those intentions. And thank God for that!

None of us knows, and may ever know, how we have gotten into this pandemic. God certainly didn’t cause this pandemic to happen. But even now as we try to climb our way out of it, God is showing us how to grow into the kingdom he has in store for us. We are not orphaned in this great tragedy, and it may be that this tragedy is precisely the time for us to recognize where we have sinned and fallen short of loving God and neighbor. 

It may seem sometimes like the glass of cold, iced tea in which we are swimming is saturated and there is no room to absorb anything to sweeten the circumstances. But actually, if we look around, good things are happening. The absorption rate just seems far too slow. It is not too late for things to change. The Holy Spirit, the Paraclete, as the name suggests, has come right alongside us for the journey and is accompanying us on the way. That same Spirit is there, right beside us, in fact, abiding in our hearts and waiting for us to recognize its presence. The Spirit is our guide as we travel through this vale of tears, revealing to us the ways in which we have gone amiss and in which the world has been too saturated with its own ways instead of the ways of God.

We should be moved and convicted by what is happening around us and within us. But we should not despair. Indeed, we cannot despair. The Spirit of truth is alongside us and is leading us into greater truth than we know right now. This Spirit will abide with us unto the end of the age. And if we can energize the molecules of our hearts, we will increase the absorption rate of this truth. We will find this Spirit dwelling ever more and more within us. And this Spirit assures us that the protection and love of God will never, ever leave us.

Notes for a Sermon Preached by Father Kyle Babin
17 May 2020
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia