Introduction

The Landing at Williamsburg, a senior living facility of Immanuel Communities, holds worship on Sunday mornings. This is the homily from June 3, 2011, the Seventh Sunday of Easter.

Readings

Acts 1:6–14
Psalm 68:1–10, 32–35
1 Peter 4:12–14, 5:6–11
John 17:1–11

Homily

This past Monday was a windy day. As I spent time working in the yard at home, I gradually grew acclimated to the gusting breezes, making sure I kept my cap pulled down on my head so the wind didn’t catch the brim and blow it away. The sound of the leaves in the trees was a rustle that drowned out the calling of the birds.

But every now and then, the steady winds would cease, and the woods would grow quiet. The sound of silence felt almost palpable, like a presence, in its contrast with the wind. And then, after a break, the breezes would blow again.

That eerie silence—that calm between the gusts—was like the place in which we find ourselves this morning in the Church’s year. This past Thursday was the Feast of the Ascension, the day when we mark the departure of the risen Christ after his forty days of appearances among his followers. And next Sunday, we will celebrate the Feast of Pentecost, the giving of the Holy Spirit to the Church, a gift which comes down upon us like flames of fire and the rush of a mighty wind.

But today, we’re living between those two feasts: Ascension and Pentecost. It’s like a break, a pause, a time for silence and reflection. These are good times to have, to treasure as moments when we can sit and ponder, when we can meditate upon the sometimes turbulent lives we lead.

Jesus himself made time for such quiet moments. He would go away to lonely places to pray, leaving behind the crowds that never grew tired of seeking him out. He followed in the footsteps of tradition, like Elijah before him, who sought refuge from conflict, hiding in a cave on Mount Horeb. There Elijah witnessed great storms and violent earthquakes before he heard the voice of God coming from “a sound of sheer silence,” (1 Kings 19:12b, NRSV) or “a tiny whispering sound” (1 Kings 19:12b, NAB).

In that tradition of seeking to hear the voice of God speaking to us from the pauses, the rests, the times between, we pause to hear some words for us in today’s readings.

In the passage from Acts, Jesus shares some final words with his apostles before his Ascension, making a promise to them:

But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalm, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth (Acts 1:8, NRSV).

In the reading from 1 Peter, the apostle writes words of encouragement:

But rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed (1 Peter 4:13, NRSV).

Finally, in John’s Gospel, Jesus prays to his Father for the Church:

And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent (John 17:3, NRSV).

A slender thread winds it way among these verses, tying them together, and binding us to them. As we listen to their message in this day of pausing and resting, we can hear the voice of that thread speak to us.

In the passage from Acts, Jesus tells his apostles, and us, that we will be his witnesses. That word—witness—comes from the Greek word martyria. That’s the root of our word “martyr.”

So Jesus is telling us that he will give us the Holy Spirit. This gift will in turn give us the strength we need to witness to him before others, to become martyrs for the faith. It’s another way of saying that the Spirit empowers us to take up our crosses and to follow our Lord.

And that leads us to the verse from 1 Peter. The apostle reminds us that we can rejoice in sharing Christ’s sufferings. This tells us what it means to live with the power of the Spirit, to be witnesses, to become martyrs, to take up our crosses. We share in Christ’s sufferings, but then that means that he shares in our suffering for his sake.

John’s gospel, finally, brings to mind the old saying about how we truly come to know someone when we have walked in his or her shoes, when we have shared the joys and sorrows of another’s life. I think that’s what Jesus had in mind when he prayed to his Father on our behalf and bound together the gift of eternal life with knowing God our Father and his Son in the love of their Spirit. He prayed, “And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent” (John 17:3, NRSV).

When we hear that word, “know,” we easily take it to mean knowing like we know the cashier at the grocery store, or maybe the person who delivers the mail, or our next-door neighbor, or maybe a son or daughter, a niece or nephew. We can identify them by their hair, their shapes of their faces, their distinctive laughs, perhaps the lists of hobbies and pastimes that bring them joy.

And that’s all part of knowing. But to know God is much more. It’s a little like how you know, when you get up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water, just where the light switch is—so many steps, so far from the doorway, so high up on the wall—that your hand just goes to the right spot without needing to think about it.

Knowing God is like that. It’s knowing about him, about his mighty works, his acts of power and mercy, but it’s also knowing him with our whole selves. That’s why Jesus said the great commandment was, “… you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30, NRSV).

We can only do that because Jesus has given us the gift of his Holy Spirit. That’s where we get the strength to persevere, to be obedient, and to serve. By the power of the Holy Spirit, we become witnesses, martyrs for the faith. We receive the blessing of grace so that we can rejoice in sharing Christ’s sufferings. We come to know God with all that is in us. And in that knowledge, we share in the eternal life that the Father and the Son enjoy in the communion of their Holy Spirit.

So, in these days that fall between the times, between the wonder of the Ascension and the mystery of Pentecost, we can rest together in the peace of God—the peace that does pass all understanding—we can listen to the voice of our Lord, and we can get ready to join Peter and the whole Church and “be glad and shout for joy when [Christ’s] glory is revealed” (1 Peter 4:13, NRSV). Amen.