A Celebration of New & Mutual Ministry is the service where the bishop officially installs a new rector in a congregation, blessing the relationship and shared ministry of the priest and congregation.
Isaiah 2:2-4Psalm 96Ephesians 2:13-22Luke 10:1-9
The Rev. Eric Stelle, preacher
You’ve got a lot to envy, here at Trinity.
You’ve got a long heritage of faith to be rooted in and to draw from. You’ve got a fabulous building that immediately feels like church as soon as you step inside. You’ve got an actual neighborhood! (My church is just kind of stuck on the side of the road.) You’ve got a nice website. (You see the things priests get jealous of!) You’ve gotten a great rector. When I daydream about having a second priest on staff with me, it’s always someone like Sabeth I dream about.
But do you know what I envy most? Your name! You get to be called, “Trinity.” You get to be known by that aspect of God’s nature our spirits most yearn to know – this paradox of being many and being one.
For so is the wisdom we’ve inherited: That God is a perpetual harmony of being – of purpose, intent, and spirit, and yet, one in which, the individual still has autonomy and dignity.
Isn’t that what we yearn for in this life? To know that we matter as individuals – that we have dignity? that our particularity is important? that our story matters? And to know ourselves in union with another? Isn’t that at the heart of every relationship we seek? what we yearn for in our marriages? when we hold hands or kiss (or something more than that!)? to feel ourselves joined together as one? Everything in us craves that kind of union.
So when I consider who I am, and when I consider who God is, it is always this mystery of Trinity which beckons me most: That I have a necessary place in the universe because I am as God willed me to be; and that God is, holy and true, and one with me and one with you and one with the cosmos and one with God’s own self. The only problem with the name of Trinity is that – in the end – it may prove to be a name far too small. For where is the end of the Oneness of God, the “I in you and you in me”?
And it is this gift of “Trinity” that is your gift for Seattle.
It’s the same message we heard from St. Paul: Christ has abolished the dividing walls between us to make in himself one new humanity. And how desperately this world craves to know this as true. In our brokenness, we divide and divide and divide again, these endless divisions, this endless rending of the Imago Dei, the image of God.
But you are Trinity.
And, Trinity, the world has stopped looking to the church for meaning and hope. And I say this to our shame. While claiming the name of God, how often we’ve reduced God to nothing more than a mascot for our egos and petty agendas, even presuming God’s patronage and favor as we’ve carved up the Body of Christ, again and again.
So, again and again, the world needs us to repent and return to the Lord, proclaiming by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.
For this gospel we claim, is still the good news this world wants to discover, now as much as ever: That there is hope; there is community and justice and compassion; there is meaning and purpose in this life; that God is real; and there is no hurt or disappointment or sin for which forgiveness is not the stronger power – both God’s forgiveness and ours.
And if our society has moved past its perceived need for church, it is our time to become as church for them, wherever they may be: In our neighborhoods and in our homes, in our offices and on the bus. It is to be as Trinity – in this world and for this world and with this world.
And it’s this idea of “Trinity with the world” that most intrigues me in that story we just heard of Jesus sending the 70 disciples out as missionaries of sorts.
Now I don’t know you, personally. But I know you’re Episcopalians. So I suspect this whole “proclaim the gospel” business makes you uncomfortable – fearful of what you don’t know, fearful of being branded one of those “other Christians” we so comfortably build our walls against, fearful of your own doubts and uncertainties.
Fair enough.
But here’s what intrigues me about this story: Jesus sends his disciples out with an extraordinary gift, the gift to cure people who are sick, a gift that could make them instant celebrities wherever they went. And yet, coupled with this gift, Jesus intentionally sends them out totally unprepared and with no provisions of their own. Which means, they cannot care for those in the towns they enter, if they don’t first receive the care and hospitality of the townspeople themselves.
And there’s a wisdom in this, in what it forces upon us.
If we had our druthers, we’d always choose competence. We’d always choose self-sufficiency. Because it’s safe. Because it’s secure. But it’s also very lonely.
And we are Trinity.
We are called to oneness – not only with our spouses and children, not only with people whose politics match our own, not only with our church, not only with our God. But a oneness with all those with whom God is one, which is without end.
And, guaranteed, the easiest way to enter into that true, oneness of spirit is when we choose to be vulnerable with one another – not only with our friends – but with the world. Jesus doesn’t need more cocky punks to be his witnesses. He’s got plenty of those already. He sends us out as those who are weak, those who are humble, and those who are sincere in our gratitude when others come alongside us in our vulnerability.
I’ve been reading a mystery series recently. And in it, the main character says there are four things that lead to wisdom – when we’re able to say:
I don’t know.
I need help.
I’m sorry.
I was wrong.
It’s such a different posture of living in this world – of laying down our pretensions and coping mechanisms, and simply being real. And this kind of honesty and vulnerability changes everything. We become such a safer person to be with – no longer trying to exert our power and influence – but coming alongside our neighbors as fellow-sojourners seeking our way with this one, precious life we’ve been given.
We have gifts to bring. We have gifts to receive. We are Trinity, with God and with this world.
I remember several years ago, I was on something of a spiritual retreat / vacation in in Fes, Morocco. And one morning when I was praying I said, “Jesus, I want to see you today.” Now how or where or if this would happen I couldn’t say. It was just an articulated desire. I wanted to see Jesus in a way my heart would recognize.
Later in the day I headed out to explore and I brought my leather passport wallet with me because I’d noticed the stitching coming undone. And since I was in a city famous for its leather work, I thought maybe I could find someone to repair it. And I walked into this tiny shop where there was an old man at his sewing machine, and I handed him the wallet and showed him the problem. He didn’t seem to speak much English (and I didn’t speak Arabic or French). But he studied it for a little while and then started preparing his machine.
Now, this made me a little nervous because all the travel guides warn you about getting ripped off in Fes, that it’s really easy to get lured into some unintentional expectation of payment – where you take a picture of someone’s donkey and the next thing you know they’re demanding money. And so I was always super vigilant about my vulnerability. And now here I am; this guy’s starting to fix my wallet and we haven’t agreed on a price yet. So I ask, all smiles, “How much?”
How much? he parrots back. How much? And he keeps working.
Hmm. I try again. How much? And he chants it back to me again,
How much? How much? and starts threading the bobbin.
After the third time with the same response I finally just gave in and thought, Well, Eric, you’re in for it now. And I sat back and watched him. After several minutes he finally finished and handed it back to me and I asked, How much? And he smiled.
Libre, he says. Libre. It’s free.
And I can’t tell you how deeply this touched me. Not just because I got free work done. But because I’d told Jesus in the morning that I wanted see him that day. And I did see him, in the face of this old, Muslim tailor who knew from the start that he would bless me, and who – for whatever reason – required me to trust him without any contract or guarantee.
Caution and shrewdness and self-sufficiency will only take us so far. To be witnesses for Christ in this world requires us to be in this world as Christ made himself in this world: vulnerable, in need of support, willing to be misunderstood and taken advantage of, and to do so with a spirit of absolute love and oneness with all those with whom we’re sharing this life.
We don’t have it all together. In fact, it’s better if we don’t.
It’s safe simply to say, “Jesus, we still don’t know who you are. We cannot know where you are taking us. We cannot dictate how you will respond to our fears. But here we are. We choose to trust you.”
We are Trinity, with God and with this world. So there will gifts to receive from this world as we make our way into it with hearts set towards love and vulnerability.
And we have gifts to bring. It might not be the power to heal every disease among us. But we bring the gift of hope – the hope that everything the gospel promises is still real: love, community, reconciliation, joy, and Trinity – God one with us.
And as you set out for a new season of life and mission in Trinity, in Seattle, you can do so with the hope that the Jesus we have received, the Jesus of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, the Jesus the church has preached for two thousand years, can still be trusted, even as we do the earnest work of seeking him afresh in the chances and confusion of this quickly changing world.
The world doesn’t experts. It needs honesty and love and companionship. And it needs you.
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