Plugged In, Powered Up
The Rev. Dr. Seth Weeldreyer, First Presbyterian Church of Kalamazoo
May 12, 2024 – Seventh Sunday of Easter / Ascension Sunday
Acts 1:1-14; Psalm 113
Psalm 113
Praise the Lord!
O servants of the Lord, give praise;
praise the name of the Lord!
Blessed be the name of the Lord
now and for evermore.
From east to west, the rising of the sun to its setting
let the name of the Lord be praised.
The Lord is high above all nations,
and his glory above the heavens.
Who is like the Lord our God,
who is seated on high,
but comes humbly low
to see all life in the heavens and the earth?
The Lord raises the poor from the dust,
and lifts the needy from the ash heap,
enthroning them to sit with princes,
with the rulers of the people.
The Lord secures a childless woman in a blessed home,
making her the joyous mother of children.
Praise the Lord!
He came to get plugged in. Last Wednesday, a day after the tornado came so near his home. Looking for a place to charge phone and computer, use the internet, somehow he ended up at our church. Sandy greeted him with his daughter at the back door. Eventually Shawn, Louise, Kelly, Meredith all got in on the conversation … extending to our church and everything going on here. Seemed to start when he asked for the password. “YouAreLoved!” He asked something like: is that really you, who you are, what you do? He’s had other impressions of or interactions with Christians that leave him suspect. He plugged in here … but turns out our WiFi routers or internet connection were having trouble. So, he went on to the Library. Returned about the time we started welcoming neighbor guests for CtV
Next morning he sent an email to our staff: Thank you for making my daughter and me feel welcome yesterday, and for inviting us to stay for dinner. I am sorry that we could not accept your hospitality. My daughter was keen to get home so she could take her shower, eat dinner, get ready for school, and go to sleep (in that order). As you probably gauged, she has autism and development delays and does not like it if her schedule is changed at the last minute. As we discussed, a friend of mine is looking for a church. I saw on your website that your church tries to be inclusive of all people, regardless of race, gender, ability, and sexual orientation, and are active in the community. I mentioned this to my friend, and he asked for an introduction. Via this email, I would like to introduce you … I will let him tell you his and his family’s “story”. I am sure you will find it interesting.
Friends, here’s one way to understand Jesus’ ministry. He went around getting people plugged in to God. Maybe we could imagine him as a human external battery brick, divinely powerful beyond all possibility, never out of energy … far better than the old Energizer Bunny! As people came into his presence it felt like the gorgeous clear, sunny Wednesday after our Tuesday storms. Roman Palestine knew nothing about literal weather tornadoes. Ordinary people like us faced storms of more human concern that threatened life. Like our visiting friend, scripture writers invite us to hear their stories. All the swirling vortices we know – whirlwinds of illnesses and ailments in body or spirit; twisters of biases, prejudice, religious rules, social norms that exclude, cause conflict; cyclones of Roman army soldiers that sweep in, uproot, level whole cities in their wake as Luke and earliest Christians knew well. As Jesus heals, teaches, welcomes and shares hospitality, speaks truth, embodies sacred grace and peace, people get charged up, empowered to live more abundantly. And time and again people ask; who is he really? Is this too good to be true? This power I feel, like it could reshape the whole world … can this really be the promise of Holy Love?
Today we celebrate Jesus’ Ascension. It’s a narrative pivot between the Easter season and Pentecost. And even more, the whole Christian liturgical year. Can we believe we’re six months from Christmas?! As our worship goes, from Advent through Easter, we tell the story of Jesus’ life, ministry, death, and resurrection. We get to know him, learning to trust his presence and power. During the long season of Pentecost or Ordinary Time, we take on his purpose – we live faith as the body of the Risen Christ ever seeking Christ’s Reign in all creation. That’s the expected culmination we celebrate each year on the last Sunday before Advent begins again. That’s the thematic frame of the church calendar year.
Truth is, whatever the season, throughout the whole year, all the Bible reading / theology conversation we share, it’s always about how we connect with God. How we feel Holy Love charge us and flow through us into the world. We’re strengthened / empowered to flourish through surges of Divine grace. We live faith in all the ways we seek the fullness of peace that is sanctuary God desires for all people and creation.
People in all ages passed on to us statements of faith that tried to express what that means in their language of their time and issues of their place. So, for example, the Apostles’ Creed – Jesus born of the virgin, suffered, died, descended into hell, raised to sit at the right hand of God. Now honestly, that electrical cord can seem a bit worn and frayed to me. I’m not sure that piece of poetry rooted in realities, phrases, philosophy, and culture of the ancient Roman world is the most helpful to us now. Especially if taken more literal-metaphysically, not metaphorically / theologically / politically, as intended. You see, the Apostles’ Creed adopted phrases people used to hail Caesar. And when they’re put together, the basic point is: we give our hearts and allegiance to Jesus “ascended to sit at God’s right hand,” not him.
Marcus Borg explained: Of course, God doesn’t have hands and Jesus isn’t actually sitting anywhere. The monarchical language reflects power constructs of society in its time. No literal going up and coming down in a three-tiered universe. The Bible repeatedly tries to tell us: God’s power in Jesus works different than others we know. Something like Psalm 113 imagines: The Lord coming humbly low to see, to know, to raise up the poor and needy, enthroned with princes. The Ascension celebrates the central promise that “Jesus is with God, and God is everywhere … not constrained by time and space … Jesus, like God, can be known anytime, anywhere.” Early Christians raised this question incessantly, lived it unavoidably with deepest integrity: Who is Lord? In the first century, they had to choose: God in Jesus, or Caesar and human constructs of world domination, injustice, oppression, and violence. Maybe that’s still our choice, though our Caesars look different. The lordship of Jesus hails God’s dream so much better than false, fallible, superficial human schemes for wealth and power that often become nightmares. The ascension affirms and proclaims Jesus’ abiding power in the common life, personal conviction, shared commitment of people like us who follow him. He was for them, and still is for us: ‘Emmanuel … God with us.’”[i]
So how can we imagine that power works in our time? What metaphor could we find meaningful? Yeah, I’m not a fan of despots lording it over commoners, so often for selfish gain. And I’m not sure something like electing Jesus as president quite works either. A couple of weeks ago John helped us imagine Jesus as the vine and we are branches. If we drive around our grape growing country nearby maybe that works. Or this week, that’s when I thought maybe in our techie age something more like power cords. Our bulletin cover is my attempt at a little metaphorical fun. Plugged in to Christ’s loving presence we feel in baptism, communion, scripture … as if he’s a power strip with infinite outlets. And more than sitting in a little regal chair next to the big monarchs’ golden or iron throne, Jesus “ascended” to be forever plugged in to Holy Love. As we connect the power cords of our minds and hearts, that Love flows through us to others, as well. Because maybe we all come here feeling like our Wednesday visitor needing to power up for another week. And more than just charging our own internal batteries for our own devices in the week to come, God calls to be something like computers that can both charge and operate fully even while having other devices plugged in and charging too. God wants us to be that way with other people and all society … caring, connecting, energizing abundant life … maybe a bit like the man knowing a friend who just might want to connect, too.
Okay, now it’s time to connect this all to our other celebration for today. Connecting, caring, energizing life in others … I prayerfully scanned stories about mothers and grandmothers. It’s easy to find so many expressions of appreciation for sacrifices made – ones we’ve all received in some way. Secure care and sanctuary even in tough times. Arms and a heart to enfold us when we’re feeling left alone and scared. Wisdom when we’re looking for our way. Inspiration when we’re seeking who we can be. All the times someone found our lost sock or shirt, shuttled us to activities, nourished us with favorite recipes, picked up a drill to fix a broken toy or shelf. We could tell many stories, and we’ll get to one in a moment.
First, friends, as we pivot from Easter to Pentecost, God’s revelation in Jesus Christ and in us trying to live faith as the Body of Christ, recall with me how Christians like us over the ages imagined Mother Church. Like the Apostles’ Creed, maybe it’s a metaphor that’s limited by genderized pictures of God and some kind of patriarchal power inequities in society. It’s helpful to think critically about that all. Still, today I celebrate that God calls us all to be as faithful in relationships of care and service like people who have mothered us, at best. Sometimes not even our own mothers, sometimes maybe not even females alone. For Mother Church, of course, includes all of us. Called to care, to connect, to stay committed even when it seems we’re don’t really know what we’re doing, whether it’s the right thing or not, feeling something like the whirlwind inside even the best mothers can feel of such a compelling, complete, even desperate desire to love and an almost overwhelming fear of causing some sort of harm so unintended.
Friends, we together as Mother Church face the question of society seemingly ever more poignant in our age when so many don’t come home to God in places like this anymore. A question literally on our doorstep this week: Are you for real? Is this true? At best, maybe it’s as real and true as Psalm 113 imagines – a childless woman in a blessed home becoming a joyous mother of children.
As we hear Ilka from Englewood, Colorado celebrate mothers, mothers everywhere, maybe we can cherish those who have mothered us, and feel inspire to live that faithfulness together.
I believe in mothers, she writes. We can’t always determine who might offer a mother’s nurturance, still it comes in the sweetest ways. Years ago, my sister struggled with alcohol and drug addiction. She tried desperately to treat her addiction and decided that she needed a locked facility to help her work her program. Except her daughter was three-month-old. She knew she needed to get better, but also knew in order to do that she had to find consistent and safe care for her little one. I’d worried about her for years, and thought this might be her last chance. I told her I would take care of her daughter. As a single woman living in a one bedroom apartment, I had no context for a how a child can change a life. In a matter of hours … upside down: my living space became babyfied and lovely, generous friends came by with a Baby Bjorn, an excersaucer, toys, bottles, blankets, blocks … I’ve never been the same. Now, it’s been years since I took care of Jordan; since I held her and shushed her to sleep. I had her for seven months total with one painful hiccup. My sister lost her brave battle with addiction over five years ago and I still miss her terribly and long for her presence in my life. Despite the pain in her life, she had Jordan and so, I did, too. I tasted motherhood in all its joys and pains, the bitter, the sweet.
My brother and his wife, who couldn’t have children of their own now raise Jordan. She’s happy, thriving, the embodiment of my sister’s goodness. She has no memory of me caring for her, but maybe one day I’ll get the chance to tell her how lucky she was, to have not only one mother, but three. And I didn’t mother Jordan alone. I was mothered by kindness; by angel-friends who buoyed me during months of interrupted sleep, sheer fatigue, heartache, and utter cluelessness about a child’s needs. There is goodness that words cannot capture – a gift card for groceries after a long, hard week of teaching, cash left in my glove compartment when a friend washed my car, onesies, so many other tiny gifts of love as a reminder: “You aren’t alone”.[ii]
By the way, dear friends, the man who came on Wednesday concluded that he thinks we are who we say we are. If so, maybe a bit like Ilka, and Jesus, as the Psalmist promises, it’s because at best, we’re plugged in together, powered up by Holy Love that flows to others through us, as Mother Church.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[i] Quoted and abridged from Marcus Borg, Speaking Christian (New York: HarperOne, 2011), 179-181.
[ii] Quoted and abridged from Ilka, https://thisibelieve.org/essay/94634/