fledglings

Photo by: Brian Davies/AP, www.guardian.co.uk/environment/gallery/2010/jul/30/week-in-wildlife

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, May 19, 2013 – Pentecost Sunday

God With Us, God Within Us

Texts: Acts 2:1-21 and John 14:8-21

Eric Massanari

"fledglings”

I have grown to appreciate, more and more,

these silent spaces in our worship time together—

moments of resting together,

if for only a minute or two,

in silence and stillness

in the midst of a noisy and busy world.

In such moments I am reminded

that all words coming out of our mouths—

these words I speak in this moment—

emerge from a Ground of Silence.

And, in the end, all of our words return

to that same Ground of Silence.

I'm reminded that all movements and actions—

the waving of my hand and the movement

of our eyes across each other's faces in this moment—

move out from a Deep Stillness.

And, in the end, all our movements and actions return

to that same Deep Stillness.

This Ground of Silence out of which rises all words,

this Deep Stillness from which emerges all action,

is the great Center of Life that

in one sense we carry within us,

and in another sense we dwell in it,

all together.

Some of us name this Center “God” or “Spirit.”

Hopefully we do so remembering that

even these names cannot fully describe

the Truth that is alive within us

and among us.

Just the same,

we need our inadequate names,

we need the reaching, stammering words,

and the imperfect attempts at right action,

because these are ways we step out

and explore the heart of our life in God.

These are the ways we trust

and risk living the life of the Spirit

here and now in this world as it is.

Given the shape of the world as it is,

given what we see in humanity,

it isn't always easy to trust that

this is indeed true, that God does in fact

dwell here within us and among us.

Sometimes it appears a rather foolish

thing to live with such faith.

It is also true that

we are often too distracted

to see this truth which lies

at the heart of Life.

Philip says to Jesus: “Teacher, I will be satisfied

if you just show me God before you leave.” (John 14:8) 

"Philip, have you been with me all this time

and missed what is right here with you?

To see me is to see God,” Jesus replies.

But Jesus does not stop there.

he goes on to add this:

"Believe in me,

believe that I am in God

and God is in me.

Or, if that is too difficult,

believe in the Way I have shown you:

believe in my words and actions,

test them through your own life,

and you will know that the same Spirit of God

dwells with you,

and within you."

  

It seems that as far as Jesus was concerned,

“spirituality” could be described

in some rather clear terms:

The Spirit of God is a gift that is freely given,

an overflow of God's own love into all of life.

We are hosts of the Spirit at the center of our lives,

and the Spirit is present wherever we might go.

Spirituality, then, is learning to pay attention to

and respond to the Presence of God

already with us, within us, and among us.

Over the last few weeks our family

had the pleasure of watching

two robins build a nest

under the eave of our house.

After building it, the two adults spent

furtive days going back and forth,

sitting on the nest, and bringing extra

grass and straw to patch it and enlarge it.

Then one day three tiny beaks could be seen

reaching up just above the edge of the nest,

waiting for the adults to bring the next meal.

Sooner than we thought possible,

we watched as three fledglings piled on top

of one another, vying for space in

a nest that had quickly become too small.

What we missed were those miraculous moments

when each of the fledglings stood

on the edge of the nest,

trusted some deep message

imprinted at the heart of their being,

and stepped off.

Even though the ground was far below,

even thought there was a 60-pound, ever-hungry,

yellow Labrador Retriever standing

down there watching,

even though they knew nothing yet

about the power and joy of flight,

they stepped off,

they chose to fall.

As the poet Ranier Maria Rilke once put it,

those fledglings had to

"patiently trust their own heaviness”

before they could fly.

I have a friend.

Actually, this friend has several

different names because she represents

different people I have met along my journey.

My Friend has suffered greatly.

She has suffered the violent abuse

of men who have not learned how

to live with their own fear,

and pain and anger.

And in their pain and fear

they beat her, and raped her,

and neglected her in her pain.

These same men took my Friend to church, regularly.

And the church always looked the other way.

It was not a sanctuary for her. It was not safe.

Later in her life my Friend tried to go to church on her own,

because she hoped it might just be

a place of healing and hope.

And there in the church, more men

told my Friend that the problem was really

with her, inside of her.

And again she was neglected in her suffering,

and again violence was done to her there, in the church.

Time passed.

And in that passage of time my Friend has done

courageous work in truth-telling,

healing and integrating.

She has had to learn to trust

that deep Center in her own being,

and to trust a small handful of others

who recognize that truthful Center in her,

and who try to live from that place themselves.

She is like that fledgling on the edge of the nest,

venturing out each day into a world

that in her experience has been terribly hurtful.

She, too, has to trust her own heaviness,

trust that Spirit of Life and Love

is indeed at the center of her being

and at the heart of the world.

For me, to see my Friend is to see Christ;

it is to know, deep in my heart,

that the Spirit of the living God is indeed

alive within us and among us.

She reveals to us, the church—

the church that contributed to her suffering—

the very truths that we stammer to proclaim,

and often fail to perceive or practice.

The truth is, being quiet for a few minutes 

on Sunday morning together,

gathering here for an hour or two 

of worship and fellowship,

are not enough to root our lives in the Spirit,

and orient our words, actions, choices

to the Way of God's love.

It just isn't enough. 

 

There are too many other things—other “gods”—

in our daily lives vying for our attention and allegiance.

Spirituality easily becomes one of many compartments of life,

rather than the very Ground of Being.

In this culture hellbent on productivity and efficiency

and information, we even turn spiritual practice

into a commodity and competition.

Jesus called his friends to a whole-life practice

of deepening, centering down and living with

heartfelt attention to the Spirit.

He taught them to pay attention to the Spirit

by learning how to sometimes be still and quiet,

and look and listen.

He taught them to test their sense of the Spirit

within community, including with people

who think, act and believe differently.

He taught them to break silence with words of truth

when that is what the Spirit calls for.

He taught them to boldly enact the call of the Spirit

in their lives when they had sensed it's pull.

And, by example, he taught that

living a life centered in the Spirit

calls us into more honest engagement

with our own selves and with the world.

A Spirit-centered life is not an escape,

it is an entrance into life as it is,

a willingness to risk everything for love.

Jesus said:

This is my body, given for you

This is my blood, shed for you

This is the Spirit of Life given to all.

Amen