John 14:15-21

Our worship theme in these days of sunshine and rain is “Sacred Summer,” exploring what enhances our spiritual journey. As the seasons change, as we work and play, teach and travel, and as the humidity rises, how is this summertime sacred for you?

We discussed that question in staff meeting the other day, and pondered the mystery of how the changing seasons are connected to our own life passages. No doubt you have experienced it, too, that our bodies seem to hold memories of what happened in a particular season in the past and remind us, sometimes beyond conscious memory. So this summer, you or I may wonder why we are having trouble sleeping or feeling down for seemingly no reason, only to recall later an anniversary of a loss. Or, we may remember where or how we were a few summers ago, and find ourselves feeling thankful that we’ve come a mighty long way.

Sitting with my blessings one morning, drinking coffee, and watching the birds at the feeder, I thought back to other birds I’ve known. I’m not an expert birder like Anne or Vince or many of you out there, but birds are important to me, and always have been–which reminded me of a story and it is related to this Scripture that Will shared with us today.

So, the context of Jesus’ words about the Spirit who comforts is his own imminent death. I’ve always been greatly impressed by deep faith demonstrated in the face of crushing disappointment, unexpected illness, sudden trauma, or mortal danger, for when I’m not at my best, I can lean toward a Chicken Little sort of spirituality, fearfully glancing over my shoulder at a gorgeous blue sky, noting ominously, “You just don’t know it yet, but it’s falling! It’s falling!” So I can’t help but wonder, when Jesus says, “Let not your hearts be troubled…” is he really that brave, or is he whistling in the dark? I don’t know. He may have been pretty scared or sad or confused. I guess that’s probable, really, that he is shaking inside, though he sounds really confident and courageous. But you know, I don’t mind picturing that in a Christ figure, actually, a sort of shaky one, because some days that’s the best even the bravest of us can do—proceed with the apprehension, seemingly, as our only companion.

Now, this passage is generally read in public gatherings when people are facing hard, fearful times. Funerals give it a lot of play: “In God’s house are many rooms, if it were not so, would I have told you that I go there to prepare a place for you?” Jesus is saying, “Your loved one has gone, I go, but for now, you stay…and even though we are now apart, when you face the darkness and don’t know what’s next, you will be okay–there will be a place. In the meanwhile, my comforting Spirit will be with you to remind you.” Beautiful thought, beautiful words.
Maybe my first memory of hearing this Scripture read was when I was very young and went to a funeral of I don’t-remember-who at a church, I don’t-remember-which-one. The minister who was leading the service was familiar to me because my family had been visited in our home once by him when we had moved into the community. That visit was indelibly imprinted upon my young memory. The preacher wanted to pray with our family before leaving, and he was sitting like this on a low chair, with his head deeply bowed, and fervently wailing to God over my family’s manifold sins and wickedness, even though he hardly knew us and kind of spitting a little, showers of blessing, in his sincerity, when our dog Sam decided to protect our carpet which had recently been cleaned, and just as that preacher reached a pinnacle of prayer, she leaped into his holy face and intercepted his outpouring with her own somewhat slimy snout. Lassie pulling Timmy out the well, or Balto racing to bring the diphtheria antitoxin, it was not, but I digress…

Anyway, we saw him again at the funeral, this same preacher, who used this Scripture reading for the service, sharing with all assembled his delight in his recently-learned Greek derivations of certain famous Scripture words. And one of those was the word for the comforting Holy Spirit, used in this passage. And he wanted to use it several times in a sentence for emphasis, and as reassurance to the family, “Jesus has gone away, but he has sent us the Spirit to be with us–that word in the Greek, is the Paraclete. The Paraclete is always with us. The Paraclete—means friend, the comforting Paraclete.”

Only I was a very little girl, and I thought he said “parakeet.” God has sent us a comforting parakeet. I don’t know how the family of the deceased received this declaration of faith, but I was filled with awe. For just before me, and behind the preacher, sure enough, there it was, the parakeet, pale and holy, coming down from heaven to be with us. I will send you another comforting Spirit, the parakeet. I was very happy to be comforted by another parakeet as our cat had accidentally devoured ours while we cleaned his cage. Once, and not so long ago, I really was comforted by a parakeet, when I went to Costa Rica right after my dad and then my mom had died, and there was a garden filled with them, parakeets of all colors, twittering and flying freely and full of life… life after all the deaths.

The Paraclete, the comforting Spirit, is an image Jesus uses to describe that spiritual sense of accompaniment–that when we go into the valley of the shadow, we are not alone, that we are known and loved and that there is within us and within all creation a presence–that creation alive in God, God alive in creation. I think Jesus is trying to let his beloved ones know, while he still can, that if there is a way to know God it is in this beautiful world–that is who God is—the present, nurturing, advocating Spirit. And that the experience is one of relationship–a union between himself and Spirit, between his remaining friends and Spirit, and within and through all of them, all of us, with each other and the Earth and the creatures. For perhaps he knew that they would need reminding because of how everything was about to change, because of all they would have to face. All those changes…

There are days in my life, maybe in yours, too, when I need reminders of the presence of a nurturing, advocating beloved Paraclete because of OUR life’s changes. Sometimes they don’t seem so hasty, these changes, some days changes are gradual as they move us gently from moment to moment, intermittently forming us and wearing us like streams over sandstone, deepening our channels, etching new caverns that open us more and more to possibilities for growth, for love. And then there are those other times…the times when the journey takes a sudden hop or a hairpin turn, and our hearts are in our throats, overwhelmed and afraid, it is dark. It seems like it is just too much…it seems like we are alone. Sometimes we find ourselves shut out, shut off, trapped by changed circumstances…we may feel empty some days, bad about our lives, and need a Paraclete…someone by our side, and inside our story. The other meaning of Paraclete is advocate…an advocate, a defense attorney, in the words of “Bridge Over Troubled Water”—“I’ll take your part…I’m on your side.” Jesus is saying, “I’ve left the building, so to speak, but I’m leaving the Advocate with you, the Comforter, your friend…you’ve got a friend.”

In our church we do not have a stained glass window here. But like those churches that do have symbols in paintings and stained glass, we also have reminders of the comforting Paraclete here. I think those reminders are some of the best reasons to come to church, because when you and I are here, when we sit in this space and we read these words, and we breathe and we hold the cares and the joys of one another and the suffering of this world in the light of love, when we remind one another that there is Love and Compassion and Hope and Forgiveness and Altruism and Passion and Generosity and when we can help one another to be Grateful, to show Mercy, to count our Blessings, to be at Peace, to discover Acceptance—then we ourselves are reminders—we become the companion, the partner, the advocate, the Paraclete for one another. We remind one another when we eat the bread and drink the cup and hug each other and listen to each other and see and hear and celebrate our children. When we advocate for those whose voices are silenced, whose hope is gone, whose strength has been sapped, when we sit with, walk with each other, protest with each other, rise up and work to prevent abuse from continuing, exist in solidarity, then we remind each other that we are not alone, that the Spirit of Love will never leave us or forsake us. In the changes, gradual or precipitous, we are comforted.

And you know, too, not to be like the spitting preacher I mentioned a minute ago, and bring up too many Greek words in one sermon, but in verse 18 Jesus says, “I will not leave you comfortless.” The word translated “comfortless” is in Greek “orfanov” from which we get the word orphaned. It is a word that means defenseless, bereft, alone, without anyone. I will not leave you orphaned. I will send you a comforter, a friend, an advocate, the One in the many who will care for you like a loved one, like a member of your own family.

I love that image, and I also love the saying that comes later on in that same 14th chapter of John, where Jesus says, “I am in God and God is in me, and I am in you.” You in me, and I in you. You in me and I in you—this has become my prayer mantra for this week. I have to have a simple one, easy to remember. You in me…I in you…In the momentous and minute changes, the comforter is with us, and indeed, is never apart from us, as close as breathing. We are in God and God is in us and we are together with one another, reminding one another that we are not orphaned, and we have a large and wonderful responsibility–we are one another’s chosen family. We are living advocates for one another–singing the songs of hope on each other’s behalf. Another Scripture puts it this way, “God in you, the hope of glory.” And I say, “You are my parakeets. I am yours.” Amen

Please join me in prayer:

In forms of feathers and flesh and fur, in songs and laughter and humming and hugs, in long summer days, in soft rainy nights, may our hearts find peace. Amen.

BENEDICTION
With what benediction shall I leave you? This: in your life, may you know the sweetness of birdsongs and holy light and blessed dark, and may the mystery that break into every moment like the sea’s waves. May you live at peace with your world and at peace with yourself. May love guide you in your every day. Amen.