Sermon for September 16th, 17 Pentecost – Mark 8:27-38

Grace, peace and light are yours, from the Triune God who loves us.  Amen.

This gospel story from Mark captures the essence of what it means to follow Jesus.

It tells a story that could as well be happening in our time and place as in first-century Palestine.  The timelessness of Scripture never fails to amaze me.

“Who do people say that I am?” Jesus asks his disciples.  And they have a variety of responses, as would we.

Today, we might answer this question by reciting the line from the prophet Isaiah included in Handel’s Messiah: Wonderful, Counselor, Prince of Peace.  We might say Messiah.  We might say Son of the God or the Most High.

We might say the Christ.  Or Savior.  Or friend, or brother.

We might say he’s been co-opted into the political realm.  Or we might say that some people claim Jesus was someone whose followers don’t resemble him very much.

We might say a number of things, were Jesus to show up and ask us.

But this question and these answers are what help us understand the context in which we live.  In Jesus’ time, the disciples’ answers reflected the yearning of the people of Israel for the long-awaited Messiah, particularly in the face of Roman occupation.

When we ponder who others say he is, we can keep a safe distance.  But when the question is asked of us – well, then, as they say – it gets personal.

And it is the central question of discipleship.

Who do you say that I am?

Sure, we can answer it with a memorized answer.  We can recite the party line or the Second Article of the Creed.  We can even get really fancy and include Luther’s Small Catechism comment on that Second Article.

But who do YOU say that Jesus is?  In plain language?  Better yet, in NON-CHURCH language?

I’m going to put you on the spot a bit, and ask you to turn to someone and answer this question to each other: who do you say that Jesus is?  I want to emphasize that there are no wrong answers.  This is not a confirmation test, but a way to hear beyond ourselves.  I’ll give you a couple of minutes because let’s not overthink this!  When we’re near two minutes I’ll gather us back together.

[two minutes later]

Thank you for entering this space!  After worship, I would love to hear some of what you heard from each other – and please share with others as you are comfortable.

Who do you say that I am? – this is a critical question from Jesus that then leads us to our own identity: who do we say that WE are?  And I would pose that question both individually and as a congregation, or synod, or the whole church.

(Don’t worry, I’m not going to have you answer that one!)

But it’s the question that when considered with who we say Jesus is, determines how we will live as his disciples.

And here’s where Peter’s answer makes things interesting.

He names Jesus as Messiah, yes; but I think Peter understands “Messiah” to mean Messiah as king – a great warrior who will drive the Romans out of Palestine and establish God’s kingdom, by force if necessary.

That’s not the vision of God’s kingdom that Jesus has in mind.

When Jesus begins to clarify what HE means by “Messiah” Peter is dumbfounded.  Didn’t Jesus get the memo?  Doesn’t he remember all the Torah and all the teaching about Messiah?  What is he talking about??  And he starts haranguing Jesus, basically saying “you need to review the talking points here.  Don’t go off message.”

But Jesus will have none of it.  Not because he’s playing power games, but because he really wants Peter to understand what he means.

Peter is thinking of a Messiah as an all-powerful warrior, a kind of superhero.  Someone who swoops in and fixes everything.

But Jesus doesn’t operate like that.  That is a kingdom based on power and repression and even fear – all of which are NOT what Jesus is about.

It’s also a kingdom that keeps people down.  Doesn’t allow them to participate in kingdom activity, in all its dimensions.

Jesus instead invites us into full participation in the building of the kingdom of God.  Or maybe, more accurately, the peaceable realm of God.  For Jesus is not looking to imitate and then overthrow the Romans, but rather transform the world.

But that transformation comes at a cost.  And that is what Jesus describes as he continues.

Both Martin Luther and Dietrich Bonhoeffer knew that truly following Jesus, answering the call to discipleship, meant taking extraordinary risks.  But they also knew that NOT answering that call would lead to a life devoid of any ethics and therefore any real meaning.

Here is the critical thing to keep in mind, when Jesus is speaking to the disciples: they understand the cross only as a Roman instrument of torture.  To them, the cross means suffering and death and nothing more.  And so to take these words at face value can seem like a pretty lousy life, or it can lead us to a martyr complex.  Or worse, it can allow us to abuse others by telling THEM it’s their cross to bear.

But we – we read these words knowing the other part of the story – that the cross for us ultimately means resurrection.  Life over death.  That in suffering and even in death, there can be redemption, and LIFE.

This passage is so easily misunderstood.  So easily interpreted as related to an angry God who must be appeased by extracting that pound of flesh.  And nothing could be further from what Jesus means, or from the truth of the gospel.  Because grace demands no pound of flesh; rather, grace urges metanoia – turning in a new direction.

Jesus names three parts to discipleship, all of which are counter to the culture in which we find ourselves today:

  1. Deny ourselves;
  2. Take up our cross; and
  3. Follow Jesus.

“Deny ourselves” is usually assumed to mean some kind of ascetic living.  Live in a tiny home.  Fast several days out of the month.  Give away all your money.

Nothing is wrong with any of these things, but I’m not convinced they really are denying ourselves.  Those are denying things.  And we can easily become convinced that by denying things, we are following Jesus.

In the life that Jesus lives, denying oneself means putting the needs of others first, the majority of the time.  It’s being aware of what it means to be curved in on, or focused on, the self – and striving instead to live curved out to the world.  And it means self-care when necessary.

Putting others’ needs first and attending to self-care are critical to hold together in order to “take up one’s cross.”  And I don’t believe Jesus means that cross as a punishment.

“Taking up one’s cross” is not about bearing suffering or problems.  Those are universal; they happen to everyone.  As a professor of mine always said, “such is the nature of the human condition.”  Taking up your cross means living into what God has called us to do, in all its struggles and joys.

I’ve lived long enough to realize that when something has come to me after great struggle, it carries greater value.  The experience stays with me longer; it shapes and forms me.  Those who have stood by me as I have struggled, reminding me that we walk this road together, have been a part of that experience.

But the third part Jesus names is the one that gives this whole thing direction: follow me.

Because we could easily do the first two with no knowledge or understanding of Jesus whatsoever.  Many people do.  But as people of God, following Jesus is what changes everything.  Following Jesus is also called discernment.  Listening for God.  Watching for the indication of what path to follow, what words to say, what action to take.

This is the core of the call process in which I am now involved.  If both I and the potential congregation don’t discern, if we don’t listen, it’s as if we’ve traded our personal backpacks for ones that Jesus gives us, filled with all that we’ll need to fulfill our call – and then head off down the wrong roads, paying no attention to Jesus.

Jesus may mean for us to be on the same road.  He may not.  But if we pay no attention to him, then we’re not following him and his call to us goes unanswered.

Sometimes Jesus will say “go, head that way.”  Sometimes it will be a while before he speaks.  Sometimes he will say “take time and rest awhile.  Give me your backpack; I’ll be back with your new one soon.”

This is an understanding of the cross that embraces death and resurrection.  This is life lived in Christ.  It is difficult, and risky, and can get us in all kinds of trouble.

But Jesus calls us to life lived in God’s love and grace, and that means life lived with and for others and for the sake of the world God created.

My son and I chose the saying “he lived a full life” to be inscribed on my late husband’s headstone.  He died young, from cancer.  But he DID live a full life.  He focused on others, he answered his calling, and he sought to follow Jesus.  In those nearly 60 years, he lived into who God created him to be.

Jesus asks us, “who do you say that I am?”

How we answer that question, how we answer the question “who do I say that I am?” and how we answer Jesus’ call is what makes our lives worth living.

Not living a life of safety, but living a life.  For that is what God intends, and it is what God in Christ has freed us to do.

Thanks be to God.


Day 3 – Global Climate Action Summit Faith-Based Affiliate Event

Last evening I wrapped up the day by sitting in Grace Cathedral’s choir area (the area up front) for Evensong.  This Anglican tradition is beautifully sublime and peaceful.  Grace live-streams its Evensong services (as do many Episcopal cathedrals) and it can be a lovely ending to the day.  They are usually on Sunday evenings, but this was a special time of song and prayer for the Summit.

My first workshop on Day 3 discussed the divide between progressive and conservative Christians (specifically, those who identify as “Evangelical”) and how we might have productive and respectful discussions around climate change.  One point that was made has really stuck with me from an ethical point of view: when someone says they “don’t believe” in climate change, it carries far less of a moral failure than to say they “don’t care” about climate change.

Climate change isn’t a belief system, but rather the conclusions of 97% of the scientists studying it around the world.  The workshop looked at both Scripture and science as we brainstormed ways to engage folks in exploring a faithful response to climate change.  I’m hoping to get the presenter’s PowerPoint slides; this would be really effective in a number of places.

After lunch I attended a session of “Religion’s Role in Addressing Climate Change” which gave us lots of pointers and ideas on forming alliances and partnerships to impact climate change policy.  It’s critical that we remember that churches definitely can have a place at the secular table – we don’t get to set the agenda, but we have a right to have our voice heard.  When we work with others to build a better world, it helps to deconstruct the assumptions and prejudices about who we are as people of faith.

There were other workshops I would have loved to attend – as well as sessions at the main gathering – but this was a great opportunity to drench myself in the good things happening at many levels.  I’ll be blogging next about how our worship and climate concerns intersect.

Day 2 – Global Climate Action Summit Faith-Based Affiliate Event

Yesterday, Day 2, was such an intense day that I had nothing left when I got back to my hotel – it was time for sleep!  So I’ll still keep the days separate; another blog post will follow this one.

Lots and lots of workshops on Day 2!  Amazing topics from people from all over the US.  My favorite workshop of the weekend was called “Waste Less Food in Your Congregation” – I attended because this topic has held me captive since I read that 40% – FORTY PERCENT – of edible food in the United States is thrown away.

I have grown my own food – both produce and meat.  I’m deeply aware of the problem of food insecurity and hunger in the US and around the world.  And I am the adopted child of parents who lived through the Depression.  In my house growing up, wasting food was only a forgivable sin because Jesus.

My parents weren’t socialists, per se, but they operated in a world in which considering the greater good and honorable behavior was automatic.  Don’t take more food than you can eat – that deprives others.  Leftovers are yummy.  Bring home the rest of your meal from the restaurant – not for the dog, for YOU!

At least four of us in the group admitted to “refrigerator obsession” – every time we open the fridge we are bothered anew about the food there.  We are making meals in our minds to make sure the food gets used before it goes bad.

One of the presenters remarked that we generally have “aspirational” relationships with food.  We’re going to eat better.  Buy at the farmer’s market.  Not throw out half the salad greens (again).

In the workshop we talked about these issues and more.  One of the presenters worked for the City of San Francisco and the food banks come under her purview.  She helped dispel some misunderstandings about trash v. compost v. recycling.  For example: I assumed that if I did have to throw out produce, that it could go in general trash if my community doesn’t have curbside composting.  This is indeed true – but because it will decompose without oxygen in a landfill, it will produce methane gas, which is the main greenhouse has contributing to global warming.  So what’s the solution?  Reduce the front end consumption – only buy what I can use.  We also heard about the domino effect that food waste has on the planet, from planting of seeds to dealing with landfills.  We can do better.

One really hopeful note in this workshop was the sharing by many present of the ways their communities re-route food that would otherwise be tossed.  San Francisco has a type of gleaning system, coordinated through the SF Food Bank, that received produce from many sources.  There is also a nonprofit called Food Runners, where volunteers pick up leftover food from restaurants and institutions that can then be served to other folks.  I experienced this at TACO in San Diego (Third Avenue Charitable Organization) – some items in the meals they offer are donations from places like Panera Bread, Starbucks, and the like.

One of the themes at this conference was that we need one another to lean on as we engage in this challenging and sometimes painful work.  Forming relationships and networks by this kind of sharing renders benefits for the all the places we serve.  And it reminds us that the people of God really ARE better together.

Faith-Based Affiliate Events at Global Climate Action Summit – Day 1

Today I participated with people from all over the world in a Talanoa dialogue about what it means for people of faith to achieve a “Just Transition” to a more climate-conscious world.

Talanoa is a word used in the Pacific Islander nations (the region called Oceania) to describe a process of determination wherein all voices are welcomed at the table and encouraged to share their stories as we collectively work to an outcome.

It was a fascinating process.  The main points our work group determined over the day (a 6-hour meeting!) were organized into three sections: our present reality, where we’d like to be, and how we might get there.

Where We Are:

*There is devastation of creation as an impact of climate change

*Climate change brings environmental justice and social justice together

*A “Just Transition” is an incredibly complex process that can be intimidating

*Facilitating a “Just Transition” requires learning the skills of deep listening to the most possible voices

*Faith communities bring a different “bottom line” to the discussion.  We have an intrinsic understanding of sacrifice.  We bring social teachings to the table that serve as an ethic.  We also bring a message of hope that is desperately needed.

Where We Want To Go:

*We would like to be able to say, at the end of our lives, “we did well on that”

*Lower emissions are critical, but lowering poverty is just as critical

*Transitioning to a new economy that is equitable, participatory, and sustainable

*Humanity fulfilling the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals

How Will We Get There?

*Privilege must make space for the marginalized, particularly in leadership

*Recognize that available faith-based resources are present and numerous

*Re-interpret our long-standing traditions and practices – there is value in these

*Be involved with change on all levels – not only lifestyle, but also corporate/institutional, public policy, and worldview

*Enable training for faith communities interested in engaging with the issue of systemic change

*Improve communications in as many ways as possible, through relationships and deep listening between ALL parties as the primary way

*View all of our work through a three-sided lens: economic equality, racial equality, and sustainability

We were also reminded that to “love God” or “love neighbor” in the abstract, detached manner is not love, but simply an abstract concept.  Engagement with the issues of climate change is at its heart engagement with one another, because climate change impacts us all, and our interrelatedness means that “love” is a very active and engaged verb.

Our collective work will be crafted into a submission for consideration by the Secretariat of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change.  This event was co-sponsored and coordinated by the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America – my national church body.  It is deeply satisfying to know that my church is very much a part of living our faith in such critical ways.

It is midnight in the Bay Area – a very long day!  But a good one.  More tomorrow.  May you be blessed.

Forming a Faithful Response to Climate Change

I’ll be blogging for the next few days from the Faith-Based Affiliate track of the Global Climate Action Summit in San Francisco.  Our events are being held at Grace Episcopal Cathedral, one of SF’s most iconic churches.

From their website:

“The Global Climate Action Summit will bring leaders and people together from around the world to “Take Ambition to the Next Level.” It will be a moment to celebrate the extraordinary achievements of states, regions, cities, companies, investors and citizens with respect to climate action.

“It will also be a launchpad for deeper worldwide commitments and accelerated action from countries—supported by all sectors of society—that can put the globe on track to prevent dangerous climate change and realize the historic Paris Agreement.”

For the Summit to be happening as a Category 4 hurricane bears down on the southeastern US is both ironic and deeply pertinent.  An El Niño weather pattern is developing in the Pacific Ocean – a warming of ocean currents – and it has the potential to bring weather extremes to many areas of the globe.  In Southern California it tends to manifest in higher precipitation; however, in Central America, it manifests in extreme drought.  Signs of that drought are already beginning to emerge.  In these countries where the political situation is already tense, adding the impact of climate change on food sources (among other things) can lead to further destabilization.

So what does this have to do with worship?

When we gather in worship, we gather as one part of the body of Christ, but not forgetting the rest of the Body.  We remember those in need throughout the liturgy, and are sent out from worship to be Christ’s hands and feet in the world.

My diaconal project looked at how worship forms us and shapes us for our diakonia, our service, in the world.  I’ll be looking at that dimension this week from more of an outside-looking-in perspective, seeking ways that as people of faith we can be a voice for care and stewardship of creation by responding to the climate needs voiced by the world community.

For more info on the Summit itself:

For a list of the workshops happening at the Faith-Based Affiliate Event:


Our Bonhoeffer moment: John the Baptist and World Refugee Day

Today, June 20th, is World Refugee Day.  That I was asked to preach on the birth narrative of John the Baptist from Luke’s gospel on this day – when his father Zechariah prophesies that he will be the herald of God’s son, who himself becomes a refugee – is ironic indeed.

John the Baptist’s birth feast day is this Sunday, June 24th.  As I prepared this sermon, I was struck how yet AGAIN the lessons in our lectionary are timely beyond anything we could invent.  John grew up to speak truth to power, while always pointing to Christ.  We are called to do likewise, for such a time as this.

This Saturday I and several other people of faith will join the Families Belong Together march in downtown San Diego.  We will bear honest and strong witness to our faith and to our belief that separating children from their families is sinful and inhumane.

In light of the executive order signed this afternoon, we will also bear witness to our belief that indefinitely imprisoning families for seeking asylum is no solution to a complex and urgent problem.

My sermon today explored all this.  I hope it gives you hope in these dark days.  Blessings.


Feast of St John the Baptist – Mary Shaima, San Diego Conferences Gathering, 6-20-18



Grace, and peace, and the wind of the Spirit to you from our Creator God.  Amen.

Today we are dwelling in the space of John the Baptist – specifically, the feast-day of his birth.

And so the gospel today looks not at his adult life or work, but at his birth narrative.

You will recall that when Zechariah was skeptical of the angel’s message to him about his son, the angel took away Zechariah’s ability to speak.  And later, when he confirmed the message of the angel by writing “his name is John” Zechariah’s voice was restored, and he responded in praise and prophecy.

Not in anger or righteous indignation.

No, Zechariah had experienced for himself the promises kept by God.  And so his song of praise affirms this.  His song of praise, the Benedictus, that is the Gospel Canticle in Morning Prayer.

And I find it fascinating that the verb tenses in the Benedictus are past, present, and future.  Here is the tension of living in the already – not yet.  God has kept, continues to keep, and will keep God’s promises.

As Lutherans, we are all about paradoxes.  And the already – not yet is the eschatological one.

But I want to look at another paradox, one that is not found in the text.

John’s feast-day was one of the earliest set in the Christian calendar.  It has accumulated fascinating cultural practices around the world.  And though we usually hear about John in the season of Advent, his birth feast-day is in June.  And not just any day in June, but the day in June that is 6 months prior to Christmas Eve.

If we think about the Annunciation to Mary – March 25 – and Christmas, December 25 – and Mary’s visit to Elizabeth, the placement on June 24th might seem like it roughly adds up.

But the placement on June 24th coincides with an occurrence in the natural world: the summer solstice.

And the calendaring of the birth of Jesus happens right around the winter solstice.  Neither of these dates are necessarily accurate, and accuracy is not the point here.  Rather, the symbolism is the point.

John’s over-arching words about Jesus are that “he must increase, and I must decrease.”

The solstice days float roughly between the 20th and 22nd of June and December.  But John’s birth feast-day on the 24th means that the light of day has already begun to decrease.  And Christmas, Jesus’ birth feast-day starting on the 24th of December means that the light of day has already begun to INcrease.

Could this be the result of aligning with pagan festivals to either supercede or co-opt them?  Well, of course.  But it’s hard to deny the pattern and position of the sun.  No matter how you spell it – sun or son.

And still – none of this is what strikes me the MOST about this lesson today.

What gets under my skin – what keeps me up at night THESE days – is Zechariah’s language.

Specifically, verses 78 and 79:  “To give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

I am going to make an existential claim, and say that if we don’t think we are sitting in darkness, we are not paying attention.

If we do not think the shadow of death is hovering, we are not paying attention.

Families seeking asylum in the US are now being considered as criminals, in a policy change that has been called out internationally as inhumane.  These people are then considered illegal border crossers, so they are put in jail – and by a particular US code, their children are taken away from them.

THAT is darkness.

Referring to refugees, asylum seekers, and immigrants as “animals” who might “infest” our country – is to me the shadow of death.

And oh, how we would like to respond in ways that veer off the way of peace.

How we would like to take the low road, and call all the names, and place all the blame.  (Elsewhere.)  How we would like to dash off a post and retreat.

But we stand at what I honestly think is our Bonhoeffer moment.

“Not to speak is to speak,” said Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  “Not to act is to act.”

Not only is it our Bonhoeffer moment, it is also a moment in which we are called to be church together for the sake of the world.  In the public sphere.  With one another, and with countless others, in solidarity for justice and righteousness.

And the distinction that we bring into that sphere is God fulfilling God’s promises:  “For he has looked favorably upon his people and redeemed them.”

Dear friends, this distinction is so important.  And yet, I struggle with it.

I struggle with seeing God in ANYTHING that’s going on these days.  But if I give it some effort, my eyes might be opened.  As Leonard Cohen said, “the cracks are where the light gets in.”

The response from so many to this darkness has been a concentration of light.  Of organizing around some kind of moral compass.

And so our Bonhoeffer moment calls us not only to speak, but to speak both truth and compassion.

As Jesus did in the gospel a couple of weeks ago, we call out the work of the devil but we also offer that reminder of God’s fidelity to all people.  And that reminder is most clearly seen in the actions that we undertake, freed by grace through faith in Christ to serve the neighbor.

Admittedly, calling out the work of the devil is where we step into the riskiest territory.

The devil is NOT stupid.  That should be obvious.

When we step into the places where we are called to speak justice, where we are called to preach peace, we are taking risks.  Not necessarily calculated ones, either.

That is what John did.

That is what Jesus did.

That is what we are called to do.  Be church together for the sake of the world.  We’ve given it plenty of lip service, now is when we actually LIVE it.  Risks and all.

Mary spoke – words of revolution.  Zechariah spoke – reminders of God’s promise-keeping.

John spoke.  Jesus spoke.

And we are called to speak – speak God’s peace, and grace, and justice, and LOVE to this world that is convinced it is sitting in darkness and the shadow of death.

John’s gift to us is the call to repent of our desperation, in this and all situations.  John points us to Jesus.  And in following his direction, we are reminded that this life in Christ is not without difficulty.

I saw a t-shirt the other day that really summed up the full spectrum of the Christian life, even though it wasn’t a “Christian t-shirt:”

It said:  Life isn’t easy.  Life isn’t perfect.  Life is GOOD.

Life is good, meaning that it is rich and challenging and painful and hard and sad and joyous and, in the end, FULL.

In the Benedictus, Zechariah wisely reminds us that God keeps God’s promises, throughout time.  An incredibly important thing for us to remember.

For the light shines in the darkness of this day, of this struggle; and the darkness WILL NOT overcome the light that is Christ Jesus.

Walk and march in that light.  Amen.


The Dance of the Three+ Circles

Here is the sermon I preached at Hope Lutheran Church in Temecula, California on the Feast of the Holy Trinity.

The gospel lesson was John 3:1-17


“How can these things be?”

Nicodemus poses THE seminal question for this feast of the Holy Trinity.

He’s a man ahead of his time, really.  He sounds very contemporary, applying reason and logic and operating in a secular system that dictates behavior and policy.

And everything that Jesus is saying is shaking the foundations of all of that.

How can these things be?

Reason and logic aren’t working right now for Nicodemus.  He’s a Pharisee – specifically, a member of the inner circle, the Sanhedrin.  Basically a theological rock star of first-century Jerusalem.

“How can these things be?” he asks.

And we ask the same question, don’t we.

Confronted with St. Paul’s letter to the church in Rome, and the gospel according to John, what else WOULD we ask.

How can this be, that we have received a spirit of adoption?

How can this be, that we would be born from above, of Spirit?

How can this be, that God is three in one AND one in three?

How can these things be?  what does this all mean, anyway?


There’s a little bit of Nicodemus in all of us, if we are honest with ourselves.

We all exist in THIS world.

We operate, for the most part, within the structures and the systems that this world has created.

(I discovered the extent of that last week when I lost my debit card and let me tell you, operating in this world without a debit card is quite the challenge!)

We can find ourselves at the point where we are not at all comfortable with the idea of giving up those structures and systems.  We’ve put a lot of trust in them.

That’s usually the point where the structures and systems start down the road to idolatry.

But maybe we’ve heard or experienced a shift that makes us stop and say “this Jesus seems to be onto something.”

That is where Nicodemus is in our story.  This narrative occurs right after Jesus has turned over the tables in the temple, and I wonder if among the Pharisees, Nicodemus has a more properly calibrated moral compass – so that in the wake of upended tables he has been moved to come and talk with this Jesus.  Perhaps he has wanted – but never dared – to do something similarly radical for a long time.

He can’t have a discussion with Jesus in broad daylight, or he’ll likely be out of a job.  So he comes at night.  But he is still taking a chance.

And that chance is worth taking for Nicodemus.  Something has stirred him to seek after the truth which he senses in the person of Jesus.  Something in his heart of hearts tells him that all the people and places he’s thought have the answers – might not.

The truth that Jesus proclaims to him in the shadows of night is that his hope and salvation Will. Not. Be. Found. in the things of this world.  Nicodemus is challenged to be rooted not in any earthly system or belief – but rooted in God.

How can these things be?  asks Nicodemus.  And he thinks, because Rome’s not gonna be down with this.

How can these things be? asks Nicodemus.  What about all the things that I’ve worked and saved for?

How can these things be? asks Nicodemus.  

And Jesus’ answer gets at the gut-level reality of what it means to follow him in this world: The wind blows where it will, and you do not know where it comes from.

In other words:   if you want a neat and tidy agenda, Jesus ain’t your man.

If you want to know what’s gonna happen tomorrow – don’t follow Jesus.

If you’ve got OCD, Jesus is gonna mess with that for sure.

The wind blows where it will, and you do not know where it comes from.

And Nicodemus is stunned.  He has heard Jesus speak of a relational and experiential God who moves way beyond the limitations of the Sanhedrin, but his way of understanding up to this point has now been COMPLETELY deconstructed.

This is why “understanding the Trinity” is, I think, an exercise in futility.  Not because God is some kind of capricious jerk, changing things up on us, but because God is beyond our words, our definitions, our understanding.

But God is not beyond our experience.

Just when we think we’ve got it all nailed down, our experience of the living God pulls out every nail.  Our whole concept of God becomes more vast with every story shared between us.  And so I wonder if it’s not so much that the Trinity is a way of knowing who God is, so much as it’s a way of discovering those things to which God is committed.

And we seem to discover those things by experience – not by God posting a Facebook event, or sending us an email, but by us being open in our daily lives to the infinite scale and scope of the divine.  When we begin to notice the divine present and at work around us, we are drawn into life with God, and we realize that God, in some aspect of the Trinity, is all around us.

The Cappodocian Fathers of the 4th century, who really fine-tuned the theology around the Trinity, used the Greek word perichoresis to describe such a life.  Peri means “around” and choresis means “to give way” or “to make room.”  It might also be translated “rotation” or “a going-around.”  Imagine a Venn diagram – the diagram with intersecting circles – where you have three circles in a perfect multidimensional intersection.  Now imagine that same diagram in movement, where the perfection of the intersection points is maintained.

At the center of these three circles is a fourth, unseen circle, which is the divine center of love.  That center is the center of all divine action in the world: love.  As Episcopal Presiding Bishop Michael Curry said in his sermon at the Royal Wedding last week, “there’s power in love. …We were made by a power of love.  And our lives were meant and are meant to be lived in that love.”

And yet.  And yet.  We might still find ourselves saying “how can these things be?”

How can these things be in this world where sometimes just getting up in the morning causes me to lose hope?

Well, I was reminded of how these things can be in the words of our Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton, who was the commencement speaker at my seminary’s graduation last week.  She began her sermon like this:

In the name of God, the Creator, who fashioned us beautiful;

in the name of Jesus, the Redeemer, who calls us lovable;

and in the name of the Spirit, the Sustainer, who makes us capable.  Amen.


Beautiful.  Worthy of the dance.

Lovable.  Welcomed to the dance.

And capable.  Able to join the dance.


The ONLY way that these things can be is in the mystery that is God.  We waste valuable time trying to figure out HOW these things can be, instead of simply leaning into the truth that they CAN be and they ARE.


Who you are called and created to be, intersects with a deep need in the world.  And that is where you and God will dance.  Because choresis, you see, comes from the same root word as choreography – the creation of a dance.

It might look like building a Habitat Home – stocking food pantry shelves – or teaching Sunday School – but that’s where the divine music is playing.  It’s as if we’ve met God, Jesus, and Spirit at a Greek festival, and we all yell “OPA!” while throwing back some ouzo, and we all join the circle dance, arms around each other’s shoulders and probably falling over our feet.

But filled with joy.  In the dance of Trinity.


When we end this story today, we don’t know where Nicodemus goes.  But we do hear about him again in John’s gospel: when he speaks up for Jesus with the Sanhedrin, and again when he secretly joins Joseph of Arimathea to bury Jesus with an extravagant offering of balm and spices.

It takes Nicodemus a while to move into the dance, but he eventually does.  He has heard the words of love on this night, and he has realized they are for HIM.

What have you heard in the stories of Jesus that moves you to the dance?

In what ways have you experienced God that make you want to dance?

Maybe you have not heard or experienced either of these yet.  Maybe you are asking “how can these things be?”  That’s ok.  I have many days like that.

I urge you to join the dance anyway.  Because God the Creator, Jesus the Redeemer, Spirit the Sustainer – they will meet you there.  And together, God will show you the steps.

Beautiful.  Lovable.  Capable.  Gifts from the Trinity, with love.  Use them, and live in that love.