Easter 6

Readings: Acts 15:1-2, 22-29; Rev 21:10-14, 22-23; Jn 14:23-29

In today’s gospel, 
Jesus tells his disciples to “keep his word”
as a sign of the love that they have for him,
and he promises to send the Holy Spirit,
who “will teach you everything
and remind you of all that I told you.”
To keep Jesus’ word means not simply 
to remember what he said,
or even to follow his instructions,
but it is to have Jesus, 
who is God’s eternal Word,
come and make his dwelling in us,
giving us his peace,
the peace that the world cannot give.
That is what the Holy Spirit does
in teaching and reminding us:
it makes Jesus and his peace abide in us.

This sounds all very pious,
but what does this look like in practice?
What does it look like for the followers of Jesus
to embody the peace that the world cannot give? 
Well, it might look pretty mundane—
even legalistic and bureaucratic. 
In our first reading, from the book of Acts,
we hear recounted a meeting called
among the apostles, 
along with Paul and Barnabas,
to address a legalistic question:
namely, which parts of the Law of Moses
did non-Jewish converts to Christ have to obey?
It results in what is essentially an HR memo
to the Gentile converts in Antioch
telling them which parts of the Law 
applies to them—
those concerning idolatry,
certain foods,
and whom you can and cannot marry—
and, by implication, which did not—
namely, the practice of circumcision. 

The apostles describe this as 
“the decision of the Holy Spirit and of us,” 
which is a pretty grand claim
for an HR memo—

what might sound to us more like 
a legalistic, bureaucratic compromise
than the workings of the Spirit 
who blows where it will.
But who’s to say that the Spirit cannot be at work 
in legalistic bureaucratic compromises?
After all, Jesus calls the Spirit an “advocate,”
which is how we translate the Greek parakletos,
the term for a legal counsel,
one who stands beside you in a court 
to advise you and represent your interests.

As strange as it may seen,

as hard as it is for me to believe,

the Holy Spirit is a lawyer.
So it seems that the Spirit 
not only can be at work within processes 
of legalistic bureaucratic compromise,
but this is actually the Spirit’s special skill set.

Still, to fully appreciate 
how the Spirit works in the Church,
we also need to pay attention
to what is left out of the account
as we have just heard it.
Our reading omits the process by which
the apostles, counseled by the Spirit, 
arrive at this compromise.
First, Peter tells the story of his experience
with the Gentile Cornelius and his family,
how God “who knows the heart, 
bore witness by granting them the Holy Spirit 
just as he did us… 
[and] made no distinction
between us and them, 
for by faith he purified their hearts.”
His testimony is strengthened by Paul and Barnabas,
who speak of “the signs and wonders 
God had worked among the Gentiles.” 

Then, James, who is chairing the meeting,
speaks up to note how what 
Peter, Paul, and Barnabas are describing
fits with the words of the Lord
as recorded in the prophet Amos,
showing how their experience 
sheds new light on Scripture
and Scripture confirms their experience:
“I shall return and rebuild the fallen hut of David;
from its ruins I shall rebuild it and raise it up again,
so that the rest of humanity may seek out the Lord,
even all the Gentiles on whom my name is invoked.”
The words of Amos show how this story
fits into the wider story of salvation:
the family of Israel is called by God
and given the Law of Moses
so that through it all of families of peoples
might be freed from the curse of sin
and regain God’s primordial blessing.
God’s will is that Jew and Gentile 
be brought together in one body,
the ancient dividing wall of hostility between them
broken down by Christ’s cross and resurrection.
This legalistic and bureaucratic HR memo
is a key moment in God bestowing
the peace that the world cannot give.

God does not act in this way
because God is legalistic or bureaucratic,
but because we are.
We exist in time and space,
we are beings with histories and institutions,
we require meetings and memos 
to make and communicate judgments.
We needs synods and conclaves
and planning processes.
God accommodates our human condition
by the gift of the Spirit who stands with us
as we listen to people’s experiences,
as we read the Scriptures together,
as we sift and negotiate and compromise
and try to find our way to something
that looks a little more like that peace 
that the world cannot give.

Of course, our listening and reading and negotiating
will never on their own lead us to the fullness that peace.
In the vision of John recorded in Revelation,
the heavenly Jerusalem descends from heaven.
We do not build that glorious city 
that gleams with the splendor of God;
we receive it as a gift.
This heavenly city that comes to dwell on earth,
this city that is the peace the world cannot give,
requires no meetings or memos or institutions—
it doesn’t even need a temple 
to mark God’s presence,
for the crucified and risen Lamb is there,
from whom shines forth the light of God 
by which all judgements are just,
in which all our stories are honored,
through which all divisions are healed.

But until that day,
as we make our pilgrimage through time,
holding our meetings,
writing our memos,
making our judgments as best we can,
we trust that the Spirit stands beside us,
walking with us as our advocate and guide,
making God’s Word dwell somehow
within our human words.
And we pray on our pilgrimage
that God would give us 
the peace that the world cannot give,
that God in his mercy
would have mercy on us all.

 

Easter 6

Readings: Acts 15:1-2, 22-29; Revelation 21:10-14, 22-23; John 14:23-29

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says to his disciples,

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.”

St. Augustine wrote, “Peace is so great a good that. . .

no word falls more gratefully upon the ear,

nothing is desired with greater longing,

in fact, nothing better can be found. . . .

just as there is no one 

who does not wish for joy,

so there is no one 

who does not wish for peace” 

(Civ. Dei 19.11-12).

Peace is something that we seek 

both as individuals and as societies.

When this promise of peace 

fell upon the ears of Jesus’ disciples

they must have heard it with great longing.

They, like us, longed for peace within themselves;

their hearts, like our hearts, were filled

with conflicting emotions and ideas and commitments

pulling them in a hundred different directions.

They, like, us, longed for peace in their society;

their world, like our world, 

was a dangerous, violent place,

scarred by war and injustice, hatred and oppression.

The promise of peace –

peace within themselves and peace among peoples –

must have fallen upon their ears

as something too good to be true,

yet also as a promise 

that they desperately wanted to believe.

Jesus’s promise of peace 

is something that we accept on faith,

on our belief that he will, as it says in our Gospel,

come to us and make his dwelling in us;

it is his presence within us 

that brings peace to our warring hearts.

Likewise, in our second reading, 

from the book of Revelation,

we hear the apostle John’s vision 

of the heavenly Jerusalem.

According to some interpretations, 

the name “Jerusalem” means “abode of peace.”

The vision of the heavenly Jerusalem 

is a vision of a world at peace.

And we are told that what makes that city 

to be truly an abode of peace

is not the beauty of its walls or gates or foundations,

but that fact that the Lamb of God 

dwells there with God’s people,

in their midst, as their light and their temple.

The promise of peace within us and peace around us

must grow from the promise of God’s presence with us.

Jesus’ promise of peace 

involves accepting the gift of God’s presence,

which allows us to heed Jesus’ command:

“Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.”

But the peace of Christ involves 

not only accepting God’s gift;

it also involves giving something up;

it requires us to give up our desire 

to secure our own peace

by controlling people and situations.

To return to St. Augustine:

he says that peace is so desired by human beings

that even those who wage wars hope that, in the end,

their wars will bring peace.

He notes, however, that those who start wars 

do not simply want peace;

they want peace on their own terms, 

a peace “that suits their wishes,”

a peace in which they can impose upon others

“their own conditions of peace” (Civ. Dei 19.12).

We want peace, 

but the peace that comes from absolute control.

This desire for control shows itself

both in our social relations and in our inner lives;

we not only want to bend others to our will,

but we also want to master ourselves

by making ourselves fit into some ideal image

that we have dreamed up

rather than simply being 

the person God has called us to be.

We not only wage war against others,

we wage war also against ourselves

in the hope that we can defeat and subjugate 

our own internal conflicts.

True peace, however, is never simply 

the suppression of conflict,

whether this is a matter of imposing our will on others

or trying to deny the conflict within ourselves.

True peace involves emptying ourselves 

of our own agenda,

because unless we do so

there is precious little room for Christ to dwell with us

and our hearts remain troubled and afraid.

“We will come to him and make our dwelling with him.”

This happens in many different ways.

Christ dwells among us 

in the form of the poor and the needy,

or those who show us love, 

or those who try our patience.

Christ dwells within us 

when we find our hearts moved by love

or by the miracle of healing and forgiveness.

Perhaps most of all, 

Christ dwells among us and within us

is the sacrament of the Eucharist.

To return one last time to St. Augustine,

he wrote of the Eucharist: “at [Christ’s] own table,

the sacrament of our unity and peace

is solemnly consecrated” (Sermon 272).

In the Eucharist we gather around the altar of the Lamb,

leaving our agendas and desire for control behind,

and receive the living Christ into our hearts.

We eat and drink the peace that the world cannot give,

the peace given by the Lamb who bears our sins away.