The Sixth Sunday of Easter

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The Sixth Sunday of Easter, May 16, 2004
Acts 14:8-18, Revelation 21:2222:5, John 14:23-29
St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, West Valley City, UT

Sometimes when I read scripture I get stuck on a word or an image and then it just stays with me. I remember a Maundy Thursday some time ago when I got stuck on the question of Jesus to the disciples, “Do you know what I have done to you?” (John 13:12) That question has stayed with me ever since. What is God doing to me?

And then again, sometimes, I get stuck on things not quite so religious or even pious, like this week. I got stuck on the oxen and the garlands of flowers in the Acts reading. I could not get this image out of my head: this confused priest of Zeus standing there with a couple of oxen decked out like bovine hippies. The kingdom of God is literally breaking into his life, and he brings his “stuff,” his oxen, because he does not see it and has not yet recognized it. From there on the propers for today were lost to me. I was stuck with the flower-children oxen and a very confused priest.

In a world of bad news as we have had lately, I look anywhere for some humor. And humor in church gives me a fresh perspective of the grace of God working through real people who are so imperfectly funny sometimes.

On the eve of my ordination to the priesthood, my friend Jay Johnson told me his experience presiding at a very “high” church in San Francisco. He was rather nervous, even though it was a weekday, said service. At the fraction he announced in a loud clear voice: “Christ our sackover is pacified for us. Therefore let us keep the feast. Alleluia!” Then he softly corrected himself. He told me this story knowing full well that in the morning I would be presiding for the first time and just might possibly repeat his wording. (I didn't.)

A priest friend in another diocese told me this about his bishop. At the words of institution the bishop said: “After supper he took the cup of wine, blessed it, broke it and gave it to his friends saying...” (Even bishops make mistakes!)

Humor can give us insights we might not otherwise have. Humor can open us to a special form of grace that sometimes takes us by surprise. At the CREDO conference a priest spoke of a funeral he was asked to officiate at for a woman he did not know. He was told that she loved her hobby of reaching out to people and wanted to be remembered in that way. So, at the viewing prior to the service he walked up to the casket. Inside was the woman, dressed in her full clown costume! That kind of set the tone for the funeral in remembering her sense of humor and her gift to so many others.

Humor can help us see ministry in new ways. On a Maundy Thursday at the parish I worked at in San Francisco a wonderful episode happened during the washing of the feet. I was in the chancel, having done a reading. At the foot washing, the rector had just finished washing the foot of a young man, a sometimes “pilgrim” visitor to the parish. The next person came up, but the young man would not leave. He knelt with the rector to wash her foot. The two of them were pushing at each other's elbows trying to get to her foot and the water and the towel. It was very funny watching them elbow each other for her foot. The rector was focused on his role as liturgical leader and did not see the picture of shared ministry, let alone ministry of the laity, the scene provided for me.

Humor can help us rethink our own theology and image of God. Many years ago the dean of the cathedral switched from red to white wine with no warning or explanation. He just did it. You realized it as you made your communion. One of the grand matriarchs of the cathedral, after making her communion and walking reverently across the chancel said in a wonderful stage whisper: “I did not know our Lord was anemic.”

For me, when humor breaks in and surprises me in church, it is a reminder of how the kingdom of God can break in and surprise me in life. It gives me something to smile at, shake my head and thank God for this glimpse of grace unexpected. It is as if a portion of the kingdom of God has broken into my life to remind me that I am very human and imperfect and that God loves me anyway.

Sometimes I see myself all too often as that priest of Zeus. The kingdom of God is breaking into my life and I just don't see it. So I stand there perplexed with the “stuff” of my life that I think I need, that I think God wants, that I think is important. When all that God wants is me: my life and my love.

So in my mind I will keep this image of a couple of oxen bedecked with garlands of flowers. Perhaps that will help me let go of the “stuff,” the oxen of my life, so I can feel the kingdom of God when it breaks into my life.