A homily for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, May 17, 2020
Acts 8:5-8, 14-17, 1 Pt 3:15-18, Jn 14:15-21
When it became clear, two or three months or so ago, that the novel coronavirus was becoming dangerous, then really dangerous, then life-threatening, most of us bugged out à la M*A*S*H from our places of work or school. Quickly. Messily.
Very quickly. Very messily.
We grabbed the essentials to continue as essential workers; we powered down everything else; we scooted out of wherever with barely a “See ya” or a “Take care.”
Unlike mobile Army surgical hospitals, we never had bug-out drills. We never practiced shutting it all down and setting it all up somewhere else. We exited without a playbook, making it up as we went along. Some things we got right. Too many things, we got wrong.
But we’ve soldiered on since then, six feet apart, our smiles or frowns or clenched jaws and pursed lips hidden by masks. We’ve soldiered on using tech to talk. We’ve soldiered on because we’ve had to, but mostly because we’ve had support from family and other loved ones, from teachers and preachers, from other acquaintances of varying degrees of closeness, from work partners and, for the heroes among us, from absolute strangers clapping, beeping and banging pots daily at 7 p.m.
Hashtags like #AloneTogether are myriad.
“Zoom” now has at least eight definitions, with “to videoconference” as the primary. Heck, even “videoconference” has become a verb as we stress the interwebs to their limits.
Our Normal is Abnormal, and we’re hoping and praying that our Abnormal doesn’t stick around as New Normal.
But although this coronavirus is novel, its impact is not. No, we’re not the first to see everything turned upside-down in a New York minute.
Take the Apostles and the early Christians, for example.
They built their lives around this Jesus guy, this rabbi and prophet, this Son of Man whose words and works revealed him to be The Word, the Son of God. The Almighty but fully human itinerant preacher who was in need of a good foot-washing as much as any Galilean fisherman would be.
The suffering servant who came to serve and not be served.
The Lamb sacrificed for all of humanity’s sins, those committed until then and those yet to be committed. Blameless, but given a criminal’s execution.
And then: He conquered death and enjoined his team to spread the Good News.
They had lost him, but then they had him back. Never before and never since. Their Normal became Abnormal but then returned to the Normal they knew … or so they thought.
Jesus, risen from the dead, to die no more, would be with them, would lead them, guide them, counsel them, comfort them, scold them when necessary. For perpetuity! Alleluia! He’s back! And he’s back with us!
He’s back, right?
But Jesus had another message for them, for us: Not so fast. I can’t stay with you here. It’s time for me to go to my heavenly home. It’s time for you to bug out of your comfort zone and take on the challenge — the real one, the big one — that you signed up for when you put down your nets and your tax collector’s basket.
This week, as it has for much of the Easter season, our Gospel points us to the two next significant events in salvation history: the Ascension — moved from Thursday to next Sunday because of church closings — and Pentecost, in two weeks. Ascension, closing a chapter in Christ’s mission, and Pentecost, opening the chapter in Jesus’ mission in which we’re still living.
For the Apostles, who desperately wanted to cling to their beloved friend, these messages that Jesus was giving them were confusing, bittersweet. Almost a whipsaw.
Jesus died; what do we do now? Jesus rose; alleluia, he’s here with us! Jesus is going home to his Father; what do we do now?
Jesus was definitely going to be more than six feet away.
And yet, through Scripture more than once today and throughout this season, Jesus makes it as plain as possible that while he won’t be with them — and us — in the Old Normal way, he will be with them and us in a New Normal way.
We know a little bit about New Normal.
The vast majority of us can’t receive Communion physically, but whenever two or more are gathered — even if we gather individually remotely, or as a family in our living rooms for prayer or Mass over YouTube — the Body and Blood of Christ is with us and within us.
When we pray for Wisdom — and, boy, don’t we need some now — we have the Holy Spirit to deliver it. When we need Grace, ditto.
We know for certain that our Triune God is with us in all ways at all times because, in our enforced stay-at-home lives, one blessed side effect has been a little more of the silence we need to hear God’s voice, the same voice that came on a whispering breeze just outside the cave where the prophet Elijah hid from the roaring storm.
In a few days, we will celebrate the feast of Christ’s Ascension into Heaven, where, with the Father and the Spirit, our Messiah holds the universe in an embrace of love. Love that’s far beyond our human capacity to measure.
When Jesus handed off his mission to the Apostles and those other early followers, and then passed from their sight, there’s no doubt they felt as upended as we did when we locked our doors for fear of the virus.
But they got through it, through the grace of God. And they made a new Normal, one that changed the world, one that created Western Civilization as we know it.
We will get through this, through the grace of God. Let’s ensure that our new Normal, inspired by the Spirit, will prompt us to fully embrace and implement the teachings that Jesus was willing to die for.
Let’s ensure that our new Normal, inspired by the Spirit, will be the civil civilization our fractured world needs.
A personal note…
First of all, thank you for getting this far.
But mostly, thank you for supporting me as your deacon for the last nine years (and the years of formation before it). It continues to be my honor and privilege to serve you in whatever ways I can, and I still have days when I’m convinced God was playing a joke on all of us when s/he called me.
May 14, 2011, seems like a blink ago. I look forward to the next 10 or 20 or however many years God has set aside for me to share our pilgrim journey together.
May God bless us, protect us from all evil, and bring us safely home to everlasting life. Amen
