Trinity

 

May 26, 2024

 

John 3.1-17

 

+ I usually ask Deacon John to preach on Trinity Sunday every year.

 

And he does a good job with it.

 

Better than I do.

 

But today he is living it up in International Falls.

 

And Deacons Suzanne doesn’t like preaching.

 

So, here goes.

 

When all is said and done, at the end of the day, I can say this about myself:

 

I have been called a heretic a lot in my life as a priest.

 

And sometimes, I gotta say, that term cuts me to the core.

 

I don’t think of myself as a heretic.

 

In fact, I think I’m actually (probably) kinda orthodox on some very important things.

 

I don’t say that pridefully.

 

I’m not bragging.

 

I’m just saying…

 

Yes, I know.

 

I’m pretty liberal.

 

At least socially.

 

But theologically, I’m kinda cut and dry.

 

Let’s face it: for better or for worse, I am very solidly High Church not only in HOW I worship liturgically, but also in my views about WHO I worship.

 

But then, I go and say something or preach something that really just rankles people.

 

For example, that whole universalist thing.

 

I’m not apologizing, by the way.

 

I really do believe that, eventually, we will all—ALL of us—be together with Christ in heaven.

 

I really do believe that.

 

I do not believe in an eternal hell.

 

And I honestly do not believe that Christ is ultimately victorious if anyone is left in hell.

 

When I talk on Holy Saturday about the Harrowing of Hell, I really do believe in it.

 

I really do believe that if anyone is in some metaphysical hell, totally separated from God, that even there, Christ will come, will take that person by the hand and lead them out.

 

NOTHING separates us from the love of God in Christ---not even hell.

 

That’s not heresy, in my book.

 

That, I think, can actually be supported by Scripture and Church doctrine.

 

But then, there’s the Trinity.

 

Sigh.

 

The Trinity.

 

Every time I try to explain it, I find myself nudging over into some kind of heresy.

 

Oh, the three-leafed clover is Partialism?

 

Oh, what you’re preaching now is Modalism?

 

Now you’re guilty of Sabellianism?

 

Perichorsis? Where is that in scripture and 2,000 years of Church tradition.  

 

Despite the jokes, I actually don’t want to be a heretic.

 

So, I’m not even going to attempt it today.

 

After all, I’m just a priest. I’m just a poet.

 

I’m not a theologian, nor have I ever claimed to be one.

 

Most of us, let’s face it, don’t give the doctrine of the Trinity a lot of thought.

 

Like you, I really don’t lose a lot of sleep over it.

 

I approach this Sunday and this doctrine of the Trinity as I approach any similar situation, like Christmas or Easter or, as we celebrated last Sunday, the Holy Spirit and Pentecost.

 

It’s a mystery.

 

And I love the mystery of our faith.

 

And let me tell  you, there is nothing more mysterious than the Trinity.

 

God as Three-in-One—God as Father or Parent or Creator, God as Son or Redeemer and God as Spirit or Sanctifier.

 

I know, I know.

 

It’s difficult to wrap our minds around this concept of God.

 

The questions we priests regularly get is: how can God be three and yet one?

 

How can we, in all honesty, say that we believe in one God when we worship God as three?

 

Certainly our Jewish and  Muslim brothers and sisters ask that very important question of us: Aren’t you simply talking about three gods?

 

(We’re not, by the way—just to be clear about that)

 

My answer is: I just don’t know.

 

My mind just doesn’t seem to work that way.

 

Whole Church councils have debated the issue of the Trinity throughout history.

 

The Church actually has split at times over its interpretation of what exactly this Trinity is.

 

We can debate it all we want this morning.

 

We can talk about what is orthodox or right-thinking about the Trinity all we want.

 

But, just so you don’t think I’m a complete theological wimp, or that I’ve lost my edge, I am going to say this with some sort of conviction.

 

I do have a pretty solid belief in what the Trinity is NOT.

 

And I saw my belief in what the Trinity is NOT simplified recently in a meme.

 

I know this:

 

The Trinity is NOT two men and a bird.

 

The Trinity is not two white men seated in heaven with a dove floating around them.

 

If that is what the Trinity is, then call me a heretic.

 

And burn me at the stake.

 

Because, I cannot believe in that.

 

The Trinity is not two men and a bird.

 

God is so much more than that.

 

We can go on and on about theology and philosophy and all manner of thoughts about God, but ultimately what matters is how we interact with our God.

 

How is our relationship with God and with each other deepened and made more real by this one God?

 

That’s what Jesus tells us again and again.

 

Just love God.

 

In scripture we don’t find people worrying too much about whether they are committing a heresy or not in trying to describe God.

 

What do we find in scripture?

 

We find a constant striving toward a more personal and closer relationship with God.

 

This is our primary responsibility: our relationship with God.

 

How can all this talk about God—how can this thinking about God—then deepen our relationship with God?

 

Our goal is not to understand God: we will never understand God.

 

God is not some Rubik’s Cube or a puzzle that has to be solved.

 

Our goal is simply to know God. In our hearts. Passionately.    

 

Our goal is to love God.

 

Our goal is to try to experience God as God wishes to be experienced by us.

 

Because God does know us.

 

God does love us.

 

And, more likely than not, we have actually experienced our God in more than one way more than once in our lives.

 

I personally have experienced God in a—shall we say?—tri-personal kind of way (I don’t know what heresy that might be, but I really don’t care)

 

I personally have experienced God as a loving and caring parent, especially when I think about those times when I have felt marginalized by people or the Church or society or by friends and colleagues.

 

Or when I simply realize that I am a 54 year old orphan.

 

I have also known Jesus as my redeemer—as One who has come to me where I am, as Jesus who suffered in a body and who, in turn, knows my suffering because this One also has suffered as well.

 

And this One has promised that I too can be, like Jesus, a child of this God who is my—and our—Parent.  

 

I have been able to take comfort in the fact that God is not some distant deity who could not comprehend what I have gone through in my life and in this limited, mortal body.

 

In Jesus, God knows.

 

In Jesus, God knows what it was to be limited by our bodies.

 

There is something wonderful and holy in that realization.

 

And I have known the healing and renewal of the Spirit of God of my life.

 

Many, many times.

 

I don’t know what the Trinity is.

 

But if this tri-personal God is what it is, than that works for me.

 

If all we do is ponder and argue and debate God and God’s nature, we’ve already thrown in the towel.

 

And we are defeating the work of God.

 

But if we simply love God and strive to experience God through prayer  and worship and contemplation and loving others, that is our best bet.

 

No matter what the theologians argue about, no matter what those supposedly learned teachers say, no matter what the heresy Nazis bray about,  ultimately, our understanding of God needs to be based on our own experience to some extent.

 

Yes, God is beyond our understanding.

 

Yes, God is mysterious and amazing and incredible.

 

But God does not have to be a frustrating aspect of our church and our faith.

 

Our experience of God should rather widen and expand our faith life and our understanding and experience of God and, in turn, of each other.

 

So, today, as we ponder God—as we consider how God has worked in our lives in many ways— and who God is in our lives, let us remember how amazing God is in the ways God is revealed to us.

 

God cannot be limited or quantified or reduced.

 

God can only be experienced.

 

And adored.

 

And pondered.

 

And loved.

 

God can only be shared with others as we share love with each other.

 

When we do that—when we live out and share our loving God with others—then we are joining with the amazing and mysterious work of God who is here with us, loving us with a love deeper than any love we have ever known before.

 

 

 

 

Pentecost/Founders Day

 

May 19, 2024

Ezekiel 37:1-14; Acts 2.1-21

+ Let’s go back, on this Founders Day.

That’s what Founder’s Day is all about, after all. Right?

 

Let’s go back.

 

Back to 1956.

 

For most of us here, 1956 seems like some very different, almost alien world.

 

If you were living in Fargo, North Dakota in 1956, you would be living in a very different city, state and country than the one we all know.

 

In 1956, Dwight Eisenhower was president.

 

But 1956, like 2024, was also an election year.

 

Eisenhower would be going up against the Democrat, Adlai Stevenson. Eisenhower would win a second term.

 

Eisenhower that year would sign into effect the National Interstate and Defense Highways Act, which caused interstates to be built across the country.

 

(Just imagine—there were no Interstates in 1956)

 

If you were watching this new thing called television in 1956, you would be watching shows like, Queen for a Day, My Friend Flicka or Guy Lombardo's Diamond Jubilee

 

If you were listening to music on Your Hit Parade, amid all the songs by Perry Como, Gogi Grant and Les Baxter, you would also be hearing this new thing called Rock and Rock, especially from a shaggy-haired young man from Mississippi by the name of Elvis Presley.

 

And at the movies, you would be watching, “The Bad Seed,” “Forbidden Planet, “The Girl Can’t Help it” and the very controversial film (by those standards), “Baby Doll.”

 

If you were going to attend an Episcopal church in 1956, you would no doubt not get what you’re getting this morning, except maybe at some Anglo-Catholic parish, the nearest one of those being in St. Paul, Minnesota.

 

A typical Episcopal church service in 1956 would consists of Morning Prayer from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, with a sermon and hymns from the Hymnal 1940, with a priest (a male priest) in cassock, surplice and maybe stole or tippet.  You would get Holy Communion once a month.

 

Women would’ve always worn skirts and would never have imagined going to church without a hat.

 

Men would always wear suits and ties.

 

And here, where we are right now, well. . . you would be sitting in an empty field.

 

The VA Hospital would be there, but it was considered out of town.

 

And that year, a group of brave Episcopalians decided to build a church in what was considered a growing edge of Fargo.

 

Bishop Richard Emery agreed and so he split the city in half.

 

Everyone south of Main Avenue (which was called Front Street in 1956) went to Gethsemane.

 

Everyone north of Main were to attend St. Stephen’s.

 

Talk about instant church membership!

 

As we look at this photo of those who broke ground for this church in 1956, we

need to take into account their idealism.

 

The hopes contained in those faces.

 

They imagined so much for this church.

 

This building we are in now was meant to be only temporary.

 

A large church, big enough to seat 300 people, was planned just north of the church and with its completion, this building would become the hall.

 

Those hopeful people imagined much for the future.

 

And they imagined us.

 

Well, maybe not us in particular.

 

Let me tell you, those poor people in 1956 could never have envisioned a Jamie Parsley in the future!

 

Those people might not be too happy where we stood with women in leadership roles or full inclusion of LGBTQ people.

 

But, sadly, none of those people from 1956 are with us now.

 

When we look at the photo of the dedication, all of those people have passed on to the nearer Presence of God.

 

Rob Butler, who was a baby in 1956, was our longest member from that time.

 

But, as you know, he died in January.

 

But we do celebrate those today who came in the years that followed.

 

Carol Spurbeck, Greta Taylor her daughters Bobbi and Debby and Joy Coffey and her children Laura and Sandy, Craig Frear and Susan Frear all moved here and became members in those first ten years this church existed.  

 

As time went, as north Fargo was built up, the church grew.

 

It was the mid 20^th Century when churches everywhere flourished.

 

This little building was packed to gills.

 

As some of those early members remember, it was pure chaos here on Sunday mornings.

 

And St. Stephen’s, unlike Gethsemane Cathedral, did things a bit differently.

 

Things were a bit more laid back.

 

As Clotine Frear, who was member in those early days remembers, the acolytes would chew gum and blow bubbles during the service. (some things don’t change)

 

They wore sneakers when polished black shoes were expected.

 

But St. Stephen’s also showed that it was a little different.

 

As the larger Church was changing, as women were allowed to be in leadership roles, we in North Dakota were not quick to embrace those changes.

 

But we at St. Stephen’s were.

 

We were the first parish in the Diocese to have a woman lay reader (who essentially could lead services if the priest was unavailable), the first woman senior warden, the first female acolyte, SusanFreare.

 

These seem kind of innocent now.

 

But in the early 1970s these were controversial things to do.

 

In 1972, St. Stephen’s endured a horrendous vandalism, in which a group of teenagers broke in and trashed the church.

 

By the 1980s things were definitely changing.

 

The ideals those first founders envisioned gave way to a starker reality.

 

North Fargo did not develop the way people originally thought it would.

 

Over the years, parishioners drifted back to Gethsemane Cathedral.

 

And then, in 1981, came a catastrophic event, something called “the exodus.”

 

For various reasons, a large group of St. Stephen’s members just left.

 

Many of them transferred their membership to Gethsemane.

 

Several just went no where.

 

The reasons were multiple.

 

As I read through the church record book of that time, it is horrendous seeing the number of people who just left.

 

Those who were leaving said that St. Stephen’s members should just give up, close its doors and join Gethsemane Cathedral.

 

But the ones who were remained were—in typical St. Stephen’s fashion—  defiant.

 

As the great Jim Coffey proclaimed loudly, “I will never join Gethsemane Cathedral!”

 

For those who remained, brave as they were, those were bleak years.

 

It was heartbreaking to see fellow parishioners leave in droves, never to return.

 

(actually some of them did in fact return—and some later requested to be buried from St. Stephen’s).

 

But the reason we celebrate our members today who have been here for 45 years or more is because they were the ones who stayed.

 

They were the ones who endured.

 

They were the ones who picked up the pieces and went on to do the ministry they felt they were called to do.

 

Who kept church going every Sunday, who kept the doors open, who did the ministries that needed to be done.

 

And they were the ones who hoped for better times to return.

 

And to be clear, it was not all bleak in those years following.

 

In 1985, St. Stephen’s was the first parish in this diocese to call a female priest to be Rector.

 

St. Stephen’s became a beacon of progressive issues, standing up and speaking out on such issues as women’s rights within the church and the full inclusion of gay and lesbian people in the Church, issues that were widely unpopular in this Diocese for many years.  

 

St. Stephen’s became (and remains) a defiant voice.

 

Rather than giving up, St. Stephen’s stepped up, and our parish became a leading parish in participation in the Diocese.

 

Our members have always been and continue to be leaders in the Diocese.

 

During those years, we also celebrated a new addition being built.

 

The labyrinth ministry was formed.

 

St. Stephen’s was also from its beginning a somewhat Low Church parish.

 

I share this story quite often but Steve Bolduc once overheard a clergyperson in this diocese lament about St. Stephen’s: “awwww, St. Stephen’s, it’s so Low Church it should be called MISTER Stephen’s!”

 

Well, somehow, this Low Church parish took a chance and called an upstart, High Church priest and poet to serve as Priest-in-Charge, later their Rector.

 

As time went on, better days did indeed come.

 

Much better days.

 

Membership grew---and continues to grow.

 

In 2015, we had the largest confirmation class here since 1961.

 

During the pandemic we never missed a Sunday Mass, quickly switching over to livestreaming.

 

People as far away as Paris and Kenya watched our services on Livestream.

 

St. Stephen’s eventually found itself and embraced its weird, unique blend of what it means to be a parish in this rapidly changing world.  

 

We know who we are—we have our particular ministry in this city and diocese.

 

And we are known by others as that place, St. Stephen’s.

 

I was at on art gallery this week and when I was talking to some of the people who were working there, I mentioned that I’m the rector of St. Stephen’s.

 

“Oh, St. Stephen’s!” they said, “We LOVE St. Stephen’s! You guys are so COOL!””

 

Of course, our identity is not neat and tidy.

 

Progressive, liberal, and yet High Church and traditional???

 

Our plain little church which was never meant to be an actual church has become a beautiful artistic showcase, even being featured recently in the Fargo Forum for its use of artistic elements.

 

For us—somehow—it all works, in a way that wouldn’t work many other places.

 

And this weird blending draws people to us.

 

But, for all of that, we wouldn’t be who we are and what we are without these people we honor today.

 

These were the ones who  endured and kept things together.

 

They didn’t give up. And because they didn’t, we are here today.

  

This is what we are celebrating on this Founders Day, on this Pentecost Sunday.

 

It is on this day, that we who came later, who continue the fight to be just a bit different, just a little “off” from the rest of the Church, give thanks for all of you who were here before.

 

Thank you, founders.

 

Thank you for your vision.

 

Thank you for your endurance.

 

Thank you for your fortitude.

 

Thank you for not giving up and giving in.

 

Thank you for not closing the doors and going to Gethsemane Cathedral or to the Lutherans.

 

Thank you for remaining true to what St. Stephen’s has always been and will hopefully continue to be.

 

In what you did, whether you were aware of it or not, we today, on this Pentecost Sunday, this Sunday which is essentially the birthday of the Church, the day on which we celebrate the Holy Spirit’s descent to us, in what you did we can see the Holy Spirit at work.

 

So, how do we know the Spirit is working in our lives?

 

Well, as Jesus said, we know the tree by its fruit.

 

In our case, we know the Spirit best through the fruits God’s Spirit gives us.

 

When the future seems bleak and ugly, when all seems lost, the Holy Spirit comes in and, in the Holy Spirit’s own time, make everything worth living again.

 

That scriptures from Ezekiel today is truly a scripture for us on this day.

 

It is an amazing scripture and an amazing vision.

 

In it, God’s Spirit revives the dried, dead bones in the valley.

 

What appears to be dead and lifeless is given new life by God’s life-giving Spirit. 

 

That dynamic and life-giving presence of the Spirit of God speaks loudly to us through you, our Founders, today.

 

We see the Holy Spirit at work in the ministries we do, in the love we give to God and the love we share with others, with the truth we proclaim as Christians, even in the face of opposition.

 

We experience this Spirit of truth when we stand up and speak out against injustice, wherever it may be.

 

This is how God’s Spirit comes to us.

 

So, founders, thank you again, all of you who listened to the Holy Spirit.

 

Thank you to those of you who stayed.

 

We honor your commitment today.

 

We give thanks to God for you today.

 

We thank you today.

 

You have blessed us, and today we are truly blessed.

 

Let us pray.

 

Amen