Father Gary’s Sermon

Inspired from John 14:23-29

Proclaimed on May 16, 2004

It was a rainy day when little four-year-old Jack was dropped off at Billy’s home for a day of play. As little boys are given to do, they began roughhousing, their voices growing louder by the minute. Suddenly Billy’s mother poked her head through the door of the room saying, “Boys, you need to settle down! Don’t you know God is in the room?” When she left Billy looked at Jack and whispered, “Let’s go into another room.”

In certain ways this is similar to the story that is in our Gospel reading this morning. Jesus had entered the room of his last Passover meal with his disciples. He finds them arguing among one another about which one of them is the greatest. This debate was occurring because they were so sure that Jesus was soon going to make his move to rise up against the Romans, defeat them, and set up a new Jewish Kingdom. They were preparing to assume important positions in the new state.

Jesus’ response to their “roughhousing” was to remind them that God was in the room. Furthermore, the expectation for them was that they were to love one another. He also continued his preparation of his disciples for his immediate departure. In so doing he promised them that God would continue to remain with them. Indeed, the Father would give them peace, make his home within them, and teach them all the things they would need to know, even in his absence. To accomplish this the Holy Spirit, also described as the Comforter, would be sent to them by the Father.

Of course, we know the rest of the story. That night they would betray him, deny him, and abandon them. Like the little boys roughhousing with each other, it was as though their response to these words of Jesus was to go into another room. The question arises as to how God would be able to comfort them under these circumstances?

Perhaps some insight can be rendered through an old tapestry that is located in France that portrays the conquest of England in 1066 by the Norman King William the Conqueror. Several panels with individual scenes tell the story of the remarkable event. One of the panels is entitled, “Bishop Otto Comforting the Troops.” One might expect, therefore, a picture of a clergyman praying and encouraging the soldiers. What is surprising, however, is that the picture reveals the Bishop literally beating the men to within an inch of their lives with his bishop’s crook. In essence, the meaning of “comfort” is to do what is necessary to encourage the army to complete its mission. Could it be that this is what Jesus had in mind when he promised to send the Comforter to them?

I raise this issue because modern science in the field of neurology is coming up with some shocking information. All evidence about the human neurological system indicates that we as human beings are hard wired for God. We are put together to have a relationship with the Almighty. Therefore, misbehaving like those two young boys, as well as like the disciples of Jesus, is acting contrary to the manner in which we are made. So what has gone wrong?

Johann Christoph Arnold, a prominent monastic leader, believes that the chief barriers to our experiencing God are prominently manifested in mistrust and dishonesty. He relates that many of us learn from the time of our youth an attitude of distrust. When our hearts are cut off from God due to hurt and distrust, the neurological flow of grace is damned up, and healing has a hard time breaking through. What he means by dishonesty is not so much a single incident, “as a pattern of self-deception that is an unconscious hiding from, or denial of, our true condition.” The issues of distrust and dishonesty, as simple as they may seem, are indeed barriers to our experience of God. They disrupt the normal God circuits in our brains.

I recall beginning to learn this shortly after I was ordained and visiting a friend in the hospital. He was there because he had trouble breathing. His lungs were seriously diseased as a result of several years of smoking. When I first approached him I quickly became aware that he was angry. He was not angry with himself, nor even angry at the tobacco he still used; he was angry with me! He was angry because I was a priest, and that I dared to suggest that God loved him. Do you hear the distrust?

You see, throughout his life he really didn't have much need for God. This was his dishonesty. Now he was dying and he needed God, but God just didn't seem to be anywhere around. Many times I had anointed him with Holy Oil, and many times given him the reserved sacrament, but still his illness would not go away. He was dying, and because his body was not being healed, he could not believe that God loved him. He pointed this out to me, questioning any good that I might be doing, even suggesting that I was peddling a lie. Sitting there beside him he even had me questioning my vocation, as well as questioning my God. It was an honest moment for both of us.

I admitted to him that I really couldn't defend nor explain myself. Maybe it was true that I was a fraud and a liar, but it certainly wasn’t my intention. Then I did something that did not make much sense. I asked him if he wanted the bread and wine before I left with my tail between my legs. He looked up at me, not in anger or disbelief, but with tears in his eyes. After a brief spell of coughing, he forced out the following words, “I'll take anything that you have to offer!” My honesty must have gained his trust.

Confused, I prepared the bread and I poured the wine. Then holding the elements up before him the following words came from my lips from I know not where. “Sir,” I said, “This is the Body of Christ. Just as the wheat in this bread had to be ground up to make the bread in order to feed you and give you life, so was the Body of Christ broken up in order to heal you and give you life.” And he took the bread, chewed it, and then forced himself to swallow it.

Then I took the cup of wine and said, “Sir, this is the Blood of Christ which has been poured out for you. Just as the grapes from which this wine is made had to be crushed to give you the life of the fruit, so the life of Christ was crushed that you may receive his eternal life poured out into you.” He took the cup, and with shaky hands he drank the wine.

“Sir,” I said, “it is true that you are dying. But you are not dying alone. For Christ has already traveled this journey you are on. He is no stranger to death. In this Holy Eucharist Christ faces death again, but this time with you in your death. In his presence with you in your death, he is assuring you that you will be present with him in his resurrection life!”

After that neither one of us could say anything more. The neurological circuitry for God within our brains was no longer disrupted. We were both with God and at peace, but only after our mutual distrust and dishonesty had been dealt with.

More often than not, I find that God is like an Alfred Hitchcock movie. He is present throughout the entire production, but for the most part unseen. Hitchcock always made an appearance in all of his movies, most of the time it was only for a brief moment or cameo in a transition scene. And then his appearance would be so brief that most observers would not notice him unless a special effort was made to look for him. The same is true for the Divine in our midst. Jesus promised that God was with us always, especially in the busyness of life; but God is rarely noticed. That is why worship is so important. Here we intentionally notice God in the sacraments, which function much like little Hitchcock cameos in a Hitchcock movie, where God suddenly becomes physically present among us, even for the slightest of moments, but sometimes never noticed until someone points God’s presence out to us. But the experience of God all of the time should be normal for us for we are fearfully and wonderfully made in that we human beings are hardwired for God. It is only sin--revealed through our learned distrust and dishonesty--that prevents us from experiencing God in our midst. But the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus gives us an honest presentation of God’s love which allows us to trust again; just like my friend dying in the hospital, not alone, nor afraid, nor angry anymore, but wrapped in the arms of a very loving and very present Lord, discovering especially in his dying just how fearfully and wonderfully he was made, for he now had full access to God, as do we all through Jesus Christ our Lord.