THE DAY IT ALL MADE SENSE

John 14:8-17, 25-27

[Since spokn communication differs from written, some of the grammar and syntax of this transcript may seem awkward in written form. To keep integrity with the spirit of the original delivery, the transcript stays close to the exact words spoken.]

I remember the first Northern Pike I ever caught. I was standing out at the dock of the place where my family used to go every year, on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Out there casting with a daredevil, this guy named "the Judge" was silently sitting next to me, with his red, pockmarked face. And then I felt that tug on the line. And it seemed like a--a kind of ordinary moment at the time. And I had no idea that such a moment would, in my memory, become so important to my life. That one moment, feeling the thrill of a bent pole, the rite of passage that was catching my first big fish.

Take a moment, if you would, to ponder those events in your own life that might have seemed kind of insignificant or ordinary at the moment, but in the passing of time have taken on a meaning that you could only understand by remembering them, through the organ of your memory. Think of those events and words that somehow keep coming back to you, in your life, in forming the meaning of your life. Maybe it was some funny thing your mother did as you were hiking down the Grand Canyon. Maybe it was the first note you blew on the clarinet. The ancient smell of dying leaves in the fall, blowing on your back patio. The Cheap Trick concert when you were 15. Your first kiss. Consider the idea that you can't really understand the significance of such moments, or any moment of your life, until you're able to see all moments by looking back at them from the present moment.

A friend of mine once told me that there are two faculties that are most important to living the spiritual life. The first is imagination--it's extremely important if we are to be on the spiritual journey. And memory--the ability to look back on the events and patterns of our life and understand their meaning in light of the Holy Spirit. That aspect of God that enables us to make sense of a God who goes beyond sense.

That's what we celebrate today, on Pentecost--the coming of the Holy Spirit; the birthday of the church. That moment when all of those believers were assembled in Jerusalem, and Peter preached the sermon that made it seem to make sense. These events that had happened several weeks prior, that must have baffled them all, somehow made sense that day. How their master was tortured and crucified. How he walked again among them after his death. The Spirit somehow had taught them what it meant, just as Jesus had predicted. And to all those people gathered, because of the coming of the Holy Spirit, it made sense.

So the simple point I want to make this morning, about the Holy Spirit, that oft neglected member of the Holy Trinity, is this: that the Holy Spirit is that which enables us to make sense of God in our very human, and limited, life. The Holy Spirit helps us to make sense of what is beyond sense. And the text that Paul read this morning suggests that in some ways, the only we can make sense of those things, in light of God's purpose for our lives, is in looking back upon them, by remembering.

I suppose that is an appropriate theme for today, Memorial Day Sunday, when among other things, we remember those who have died to defend, and those who served to defend, the highest ideals of our country: the ideals of justice, and freedom, and equality.

But let's take a moment to look into this text from John 14. This story in which Jesus promises to send the Holy Spirit, so the disciples can understand, and "get," who he is. Now if you read John--and I commend it to you...if you've got a few hours to kill, pick up the gospel of John and read it in one sitting. As we were joking in staff meeting, it's "all strange all the time." If you read the gospel of John and understand it, just let me know. Because it's weird, it's strange, it's hard to understand. You need some guidance in order to understand what is very odd. And the Disciples--if you read the whole gospel, you'll notice--they are not cast in a terribly flattering light. They're not really very smart people, in any of the gospels, really, but especially in John's gospel. Jesus is constantly saying something spiritual, and they're constantly not understanding it.

Nicodemus for example, not one of the twelve, but an example of this business that goes on in John. Jesus says, "You must be born again," and Nicodemus asks, "How can I possibly enter my mother's womb a second time?" not getting what Jesus is saying. In this passage today, Philip says to Jesus--and this is at the point when Jesus is saying goodbye to his Disciples, he is about to go to the Father, and head to the cross--and Philip says to him, "We don't get it," in essence, "Show us the Father. Make it concrete for us. And then we'll get it." And we who have the benefit of time and distance know the irony of Philip's statement, don't we? Because there's Jesus, standing right in front of Philip. And he says to him, "How long have I been with you?" The point of the passage is this: if you're seeing this human being in front of you, who came to dwell among you, you're seeing God. "Did you not know that I am in the Father, and the Father is in me?"

Jesus knows that the Disciples can't get it. And that they can't get it until they look back, and understand the meaning of their experience with him in light of the Holy Spirit. And so at the end of the passage, Jesus says, "I have said these things while I am with you but the Advocate...." (In John, it's a fancy Greek word called "parakletos"--the paraclete) "...will come upon you and teach you all things. And you will remember with understanding. You will remember my words." The Holy Spirit is that which enables us to make sense of God in our life, when life seems a string of meaningless events and moments.

While I was preparing for this communion meditation, I do what I often do to procrastinate. I know I've mentioned this before, so--I did some research. And I happened to be reading about Gestalt psychology. I'm sure all of you know what I'm talking about when I say Gestalt psychology, right? But interestingly enough--look up Wikipedia "Gestalt psychology"--it's a German school of psychology that asserts that human beings have a unique ability to see that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. And the theory has to do with the form-forming capability of our minds. Our human ability to see a meaning in the pattern of various parts of something, when each part taken individually is meaningless.

Now let me show you what I mean. On your insert--in your bulletin, it's a yellow sheet--we joked in the office that you might think the copier had run amok or something. But on that piece of paper you'll see a whole bunch of meaningless dots--it looks like meaningless blobs of ink. And you might think that there's nothing until I tell you that there is a dog there. I don't know if you can see it--it's a Dalmatian. It's, perhaps, one of the most well known illustrations, I understand, of Gestalt psychology. [See illustration here, or go to: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Emergence.jpg You see the little dog? The nose is in the middle of the page, and the ear, and its hindquarters are kind of toward us. It's not very big. Can you see it? Anybody? And you know, what's weird is if...well, if you can't see it you've got something to occupy yourself with for the rest of the service. And then maybe those who can see it, you can show those who can't see it at the coffee hour. But what's odd is the fact that if you can see it, then you can't look at it and not see it after that. Isn't that interesting? I really like that. I think it's a neat metaphor for how the Holy Spirit works. Enabling us to see what we might call the pattern of grace in our lives, when at first glance it might seem a meaningless series of events. When the events of our lives might seem meaningless, the Holy Spirit helps us to see the pattern of grace.

At our men's retreat in February, one of the questions that we explored together was the question, "How can you see God working in your life?" And the conclusion that many of us came to was that you often can't see God in the moment. Especially if that moment is filled with suffering. How can you see God working when you're dealing with miscarriage or infertility, or death, or grief? And so many of us remarked that it's only in looking back that we knew that God was there with us.

One of the older men in the group--and I hope he's OK with my saying that, because he knows who he is--but...one of the wiser men in the group, told a story about his first wife's death. He was in his late twenties, I think, or early thirties at the time. And he was left behind with two young kids. And he spoke of the sense that God had abandoned him. And he told the--as he told the story he confessed to wondering how such an event could ever make sense in his life, and how he would never get through that experience, let alone experience joy in his life. And then he spoke about how, in looking back on that event from the perspective of time and memory, he had no idea the grace that awaited him. The love and joy that he would yet know, for which that experience had, in part, prepared him.

There's a poem called Footprints, which is a bit sentimental for my taste I suppose, but it really makes the point well that I'm trying to make. It's about a person who looks back on his life and sees it as a series of footprints in the sand. And during those most difficult times in his life, he sees only one set of footprints. And it is at the end of his life that he learns that those are the times when Christ carried him.

I think that's how the Holy Spirit works. And when we don't understand all this God stuff, when faith doesn't make sense, if we continue to trod the path of faith, even if wearily, we do so trusting that power that enables us to see the pattern of grace in our life--our remembering how God has been with us for every step of that journey, and will be, for every step to come. May it be so. Amen.

Jeff Vamos

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