May 2, 2010
Acts 11.1-18; John 13.31-35
+ As hard as it is to imagine, I know, I once actually had someone take offense at my preaching. Several years ago, a parishioner (at another church) made a point after Mass of saying to me, “Answer me one thing, will you, Father? Why do you always preach about love?” Now…I have to have admit, I was a bit taken aback this. I am usually prepared for criticism such as: “Why do you preach so fast? Why do you preach such short sermons? I don’t like it when you preach about universalism or the Virgin Mary or that strange brand of liberal Socialist High Church Anglicanism you seem to be so fond of…” But to be asked about why I preach about love really did sort of throw me for a loop.
My answer wasn’t particular eloquent, I can say. All I could say was: “Because…Jesus did.”
Her response was so beautifully low-church Protestant Episcopalian. “”Well, of course he did. But, still, it all just seems so…fluffy and emotional for my tastes.”
Now, you can imagine how I reacted to this. At first, I reacted to it as I do to all nit-picky, non-constructive criticisms I might receive (and let me tell you, I receive a fair amount of nit-picky non-constructive criticism—it’s just part of the job). But as I pondered it, I realized that this parishioner actually had a point, as difficult as it was for me to admit it.
Preaching about love, speaking of love, striving to love one another—which Jesus does command us to do again and again—does have the danger of becoming somewhat sentimental and “fluffy.” We are, as Christians, commanded—and that’s very important to remember—we are commanded to love. We don’t have an option here. There are no choices for us on this point. If we are Christians—if we choose to follow Jesus—we simply MUST love. And we must love everyone. We must love each other as Christians. We must love others who are not Christians. We must love our enemies. And, sometimes this is the hardest one of all, we must love ourselves. There are no “ifs,” “ands” or “buts” about it.
However, we run the risk, with all this talk of love, of becoming frivolous. When we—in our society—think of love, we think of romance, of cupids and hearts, of sentimental images.
But when Jesus speaks of love—as he does in today’s Gospel—it isn’t even remotely the same image. Christian love is not sweet, sentimental, fluffy love. Christian love is hard, difficult love. Because, as hopefully most of us here this morning, know: love is not easy. Love is actually quite hard. Yes, love has moments of being wonderful and beautiful and all-encompassing at times. But love also can be difficult and full of complications as well. As any of you who have been in a committed relationship for a fairly long period knows: love is very, very hard at times.
When we chose to love, we also choose to give up certain freedoms in ourselves. When we love, we are no longer the center of our own universes. When we love, we realize that others are important in our lives.
And that is essential to being a Christian as well. Christian love reminds us again and again: it is not just about me all the time. It is about us. ALL of us. And if love doesn’t motivate us, if love doesn’t compel us, if love doesn’t spur us on to serve fully and completely in this world, then it’s useless. It’s pointless. And it isn’t Christian love then. It isn’t the love Jesus commands us to carry out.
It’s important to remember the fact that the love Jesus commands is not sweet, sappy, romantic love. Rather, love, in this sense, means essentially, friendship. We are, in a sense, commanded to be friends to one another. And that recognition only complicates it all the more. Friendship, like any committed relationship, as well all know, is hard too. Essentially Jesus is telling us that we need to be friends with each other.
Or to take it a step further, we need to be family to each other. And neither, as well know, is easy. In being family to each other we know full well that it doesn’t mean we have to “like” each other all the time. As in any family, we can’t like each other all the time. But like and love are too different things. Just because we might not like our family and friends and spouses sometimes, we do have to love them all the time.
That, I think, is what Jesus is getting at today. I certainly get the impression that Jesus didn’t always like the Sadducees, the Romans, the crowds, or even his own followers. At the beginning of our Gospel reading today, we find that little comment, “when Judas had gone out.” So, Judas, as Jesus is talking about his commandment of love, is going out to betray Jesus to those who will arrest him and murder him. I’m sure Jesus had a very hard time liking Judas at that moment. But, at no time, can we ever doubt that Jesus stopped loving even Judas. Throughout his life, we find that Jesus loved them all.
And even now, we find Jesus loving us as well—all of us, no matter who we are and what we are. That kind of love is a completely non-judgmental love. It is a love that is blind to whatever WE might think separates us from that love.
In a few weeks, this wonderful Easter season will come to an end with a flourish. On Pentecost Sunday, we will find Jesus’ Spirit descending upon those early followers—and upon us as well. That Spirit, like the love we are pondering this morning, is not some wispy, ephemeral ghost. That Spirit of Jesus is a fire. It is a fire that comes upon and consumes us. It is a raging flame that burns within us and rouses us in ways we never knew we could be roused. That Fire of Jesus’ Spirit is, truly, love manifested.
As we heard in our reading form Acts this morning, when the Spirit descended upon the apostles and the early believers, the Spirit made no distinction among those followers and the Gentiles. The Spirit, as a flame of burning love, burns away any distinctions we have among ourselves. And that is what love does. It makes us equal. It makes one. It binds us together and causes us to be blind to whatever might separate us from each other.
This is what we should be praying for in these last days of the Easter season. This burning desire for love should be propelling us forward to the great Pentecost of Jesus’ Spirit upon each of us. And it should be burning within us so we can go out and serve each other in love—even in those moments when we might not like each other. Especially in those moments when we might not like each other.
Yes, I’m sure that parishioner, wherever she is this morning (and I actually do know where she is this morning), probably rolled her eyes a little when she heard this Gospel. She probably still thinks it is frivolous of us to continue preaching about love. But, for me, I do so unashamedly. I, without embarrassment, preach loudly and strongly about love. I can’t imagine being a Christian without love. Without this burning love Jesus commands us to feel, I would become a bitter, angry person. I would be eaten up by self-pity and anger and frustration. I know I would.
But, with this commandment of Jesus loud in my ears, I find that my pitiful efforts at loving both those people who are easy to love and those people I might not like who are hard to love, really do make a difference. I might fail in my attempts at my love (and I have) But as long as I try, as long as I strive to love, to respect others, anger and self-pity and frustration simply lose their strength.
“I give you a new commandment,” Jesus continues to say to us again and again. “love one another. Just as I have loved you should love one another.” This is how we show that we are Jesus’ followers in this world. This is how each of us makes a difference in this world and, maybe changes it, bit by bit, for the better—even in very small ways.
So, let us love without fear or embarrassment. Let us love without distinction to anyone. Let us love freely and fully. Let us love until our anger, our resentment, our fear and our loneliness is burned away to nothing within us. And let that love burn like the Spirit’s all-consuming fire within us and within all of our actions.
Acts 11.1-18; John 13.31-35
+ As hard as it is to imagine, I know, I once actually had someone take offense at my preaching. Several years ago, a parishioner (at another church) made a point after Mass of saying to me, “Answer me one thing, will you, Father? Why do you always preach about love?” Now…I have to have admit, I was a bit taken aback this. I am usually prepared for criticism such as: “Why do you preach so fast? Why do you preach such short sermons? I don’t like it when you preach about universalism or the Virgin Mary or that strange brand of liberal Socialist High Church Anglicanism you seem to be so fond of…” But to be asked about why I preach about love really did sort of throw me for a loop.
My answer wasn’t particular eloquent, I can say. All I could say was: “Because…Jesus did.”
Her response was so beautifully low-church Protestant Episcopalian. “”Well, of course he did. But, still, it all just seems so…fluffy and emotional for my tastes.”
Now, you can imagine how I reacted to this. At first, I reacted to it as I do to all nit-picky, non-constructive criticisms I might receive (and let me tell you, I receive a fair amount of nit-picky non-constructive criticism—it’s just part of the job). But as I pondered it, I realized that this parishioner actually had a point, as difficult as it was for me to admit it.
Preaching about love, speaking of love, striving to love one another—which Jesus does command us to do again and again—does have the danger of becoming somewhat sentimental and “fluffy.” We are, as Christians, commanded—and that’s very important to remember—we are commanded to love. We don’t have an option here. There are no choices for us on this point. If we are Christians—if we choose to follow Jesus—we simply MUST love. And we must love everyone. We must love each other as Christians. We must love others who are not Christians. We must love our enemies. And, sometimes this is the hardest one of all, we must love ourselves. There are no “ifs,” “ands” or “buts” about it.
However, we run the risk, with all this talk of love, of becoming frivolous. When we—in our society—think of love, we think of romance, of cupids and hearts, of sentimental images.
But when Jesus speaks of love—as he does in today’s Gospel—it isn’t even remotely the same image. Christian love is not sweet, sentimental, fluffy love. Christian love is hard, difficult love. Because, as hopefully most of us here this morning, know: love is not easy. Love is actually quite hard. Yes, love has moments of being wonderful and beautiful and all-encompassing at times. But love also can be difficult and full of complications as well. As any of you who have been in a committed relationship for a fairly long period knows: love is very, very hard at times.
When we chose to love, we also choose to give up certain freedoms in ourselves. When we love, we are no longer the center of our own universes. When we love, we realize that others are important in our lives.
And that is essential to being a Christian as well. Christian love reminds us again and again: it is not just about me all the time. It is about us. ALL of us. And if love doesn’t motivate us, if love doesn’t compel us, if love doesn’t spur us on to serve fully and completely in this world, then it’s useless. It’s pointless. And it isn’t Christian love then. It isn’t the love Jesus commands us to carry out.
It’s important to remember the fact that the love Jesus commands is not sweet, sappy, romantic love. Rather, love, in this sense, means essentially, friendship. We are, in a sense, commanded to be friends to one another. And that recognition only complicates it all the more. Friendship, like any committed relationship, as well all know, is hard too. Essentially Jesus is telling us that we need to be friends with each other.
Or to take it a step further, we need to be family to each other. And neither, as well know, is easy. In being family to each other we know full well that it doesn’t mean we have to “like” each other all the time. As in any family, we can’t like each other all the time. But like and love are too different things. Just because we might not like our family and friends and spouses sometimes, we do have to love them all the time.
That, I think, is what Jesus is getting at today. I certainly get the impression that Jesus didn’t always like the Sadducees, the Romans, the crowds, or even his own followers. At the beginning of our Gospel reading today, we find that little comment, “when Judas had gone out.” So, Judas, as Jesus is talking about his commandment of love, is going out to betray Jesus to those who will arrest him and murder him. I’m sure Jesus had a very hard time liking Judas at that moment. But, at no time, can we ever doubt that Jesus stopped loving even Judas. Throughout his life, we find that Jesus loved them all.
And even now, we find Jesus loving us as well—all of us, no matter who we are and what we are. That kind of love is a completely non-judgmental love. It is a love that is blind to whatever WE might think separates us from that love.
In a few weeks, this wonderful Easter season will come to an end with a flourish. On Pentecost Sunday, we will find Jesus’ Spirit descending upon those early followers—and upon us as well. That Spirit, like the love we are pondering this morning, is not some wispy, ephemeral ghost. That Spirit of Jesus is a fire. It is a fire that comes upon and consumes us. It is a raging flame that burns within us and rouses us in ways we never knew we could be roused. That Fire of Jesus’ Spirit is, truly, love manifested.
As we heard in our reading form Acts this morning, when the Spirit descended upon the apostles and the early believers, the Spirit made no distinction among those followers and the Gentiles. The Spirit, as a flame of burning love, burns away any distinctions we have among ourselves. And that is what love does. It makes us equal. It makes one. It binds us together and causes us to be blind to whatever might separate us from each other.
This is what we should be praying for in these last days of the Easter season. This burning desire for love should be propelling us forward to the great Pentecost of Jesus’ Spirit upon each of us. And it should be burning within us so we can go out and serve each other in love—even in those moments when we might not like each other. Especially in those moments when we might not like each other.
Yes, I’m sure that parishioner, wherever she is this morning (and I actually do know where she is this morning), probably rolled her eyes a little when she heard this Gospel. She probably still thinks it is frivolous of us to continue preaching about love. But, for me, I do so unashamedly. I, without embarrassment, preach loudly and strongly about love. I can’t imagine being a Christian without love. Without this burning love Jesus commands us to feel, I would become a bitter, angry person. I would be eaten up by self-pity and anger and frustration. I know I would.
But, with this commandment of Jesus loud in my ears, I find that my pitiful efforts at loving both those people who are easy to love and those people I might not like who are hard to love, really do make a difference. I might fail in my attempts at my love (and I have) But as long as I try, as long as I strive to love, to respect others, anger and self-pity and frustration simply lose their strength.
“I give you a new commandment,” Jesus continues to say to us again and again. “love one another. Just as I have loved you should love one another.” This is how we show that we are Jesus’ followers in this world. This is how each of us makes a difference in this world and, maybe changes it, bit by bit, for the better—even in very small ways.
So, let us love without fear or embarrassment. Let us love without distinction to anyone. Let us love freely and fully. Let us love until our anger, our resentment, our fear and our loneliness is burned away to nothing within us. And let that love burn like the Spirit’s all-consuming fire within us and within all of our actions.
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