May 19, 2013
The Feast of Pentecost 
Leave-taking from the parish
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

The Feast of Pentecost, when we honor the gift of the Holy Spirit, has had a timely way of weaving itself into my life. On this day in 1964, when I was 13 years old, I was confirmed. On this day in 1982, when I was 31 years old, I was ordained a priest. And on this day in 2013, now that I am 62 years old, I part company with you.

The Holy Spirit is with us at all times, of course, but when we invoke it on special days - like baptisms, weddings, ordinations, and today - I believe that the Spirit responds, and becomes particularly active. When we bring open hearts and a faithful intention to these moments, something stirs within us, among us.

I have felt this movement vividly over the past weeks, as I have been preparing for this day. The Spirit has been stirring me as I have taken leave of one group after another, as I emptied out my office, as I have read your stories of what we’ve shared in the many cards and letters you’ve given me, and especially on Friday night as you overwhelmed me with that unbelievable party. I’m still stunned.

My heart is stirred with gratitude for the generous love and support you have always shown me and my family, as I bounce from memory to memory, from things we have accomplished together to births and deaths and precious small moments of intimate connection when time has stood still. I am privileged to have been allowed into those times.

I am stirred to wonder about my future - how will what I have done find new expression as I move into a dramatically different life? But I’m also wondering the same about you. How will the Spirit take what you have experienced over the last 30 years and more, and guide you to new expressions of who you are?

Recently I’ve had many conversations with many of you that have gone something like this: “Brian, thank you for bringing this or that into our community.” Then I say “But I didn’t do it alone. We did these things because of who we are.” Then you say “Yes, but it wouldn’t have happened without you.”

Well, this can go back and forth forever, like the chicken and the egg, but I get the last word! So today I’d like to point out some qualities that are now imbedded in the DNA of St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church - in you, that is - and wonder about where they might take you next.

First, you are diverse. Some of you are confident in your faith, some are happily seeking, and others are deeply skeptical inquirers who don’t know what you believe. You are straight, gay, lesbian, transgendered, adopted, single, married, partnered, and of many races, ethnicities, and ages. You know that this is God’s church, God’s altar, and every child of God belongs.

Over the years your diversity has embraced a Jewish congregation, a Coptic Orthodox church, an Urban Indian congregation, Zen Buddhist teachers, Hindu chant, and now, Lutheran and UCC pastors on staff. You worship like meditative monks at 7:30, informal family at 9, tasteful traditionalists at 11:15, and bicultural compadres at 5pm.

Second, you are survivors - no, make that “a people who thrive in adversity.” You not only endured 16 years of an adversarial, punitive bishop; you used that time as an opportunity to stand up and come into your own, reaffirming the most important things. You came through an arsonist’s fire, pulling together and becoming stronger than before. You were the only Episcopal congregation in this country who undertook a capital campaign and major construction project during the worst economy since the Great Depression. You’ve got a lot of nerve.

Third, you are builders. 62 years ago, you created a new mission on a dirt road and alfalfa fields in the wilds of the North Valley. Recently, you created a new mission of your own in the Village of Corrales, now a parish of its own. You started up a Contemplative Center, with prayer groups, conferences, and retreats. You were among the founders of St. Martin’s Hospitality Center for the Homeless. You created a unique form of liturgical music at 9:00 that takes the best of contemporary ensemble playing and delivers it with heart and soul. And you built this house of worship and the Ministry Complex next door.

Fourth, you are leaders. In your 63 years, you have nurtured 23 people - 10 of them women - towards ordination. 2 became bishops, 2 became the bishop’s Canon to the Ordinary, and 1 was the 1st native New Mexico Hispanic priest of the diocese. And right now, 3 more are up and coming. You’ve always known what a deacon is, and always had at least one, doing what deacons are uniquely called to do. Dozens of Lay leaders initiate and run ministry groups with authority, some of whom have been here less than 6 months. Having once been pariahs, a number of you are now taking over the diocese!

Finally, and most importantly, you are seekers. This can be quantified through the array of spiritual programs and groups and retreats and pilgrimages you generate, more than any other parish I’m aware of. But this dimension is far more than anything that can be quantified.

People walk in here and know it is a holy place, a place suffused in prayer. Your worship is deep, immediate, and real. It is normal here to have several trained spiritual directors who are companions to dozens of seekers, and to utilize a Discernment Guild that is already central to the spiritual work you have in transition. You may not know how unusual all of this is, ironically, in the church.

Now clearly, it has taken many people, a whole village, to develop these qualities. One person cannot, and has not, done it alone. And these qualities will go forward with you into your next chapter. You can’t help but be yourself. And you will attract a leader who is attuned to these qualities, who will partner with you to express them in new ways.

So my message today is this: in the transition ahead, rely upon these qualities to see you through. God has given you these gifts, and you already know full well how to use them. So use them in the next year or two of transition.

As a diverse community, bring in all the variety of voices and experiences to hear the Spirit. You have wisdom and strength in diversity. Trust it. When disagreement and problems arise, don’t worry, and don’t be in a hurry to resolve it. Those tensions are a part of what happens when diverse points of view come together, and because of them, an unforeseen, better path will open before you.

As survivors and thrivers, enjoy the relative chaos. Like sailors during a storm, lash yourselves to the mast and laugh at the wind and the rain. You’ll come through just fine.

As builders, create a good transition. There will be plenty of time later to make plans with a new Rector for your future, so for now, be present to what is before you, and craft a good transition. Be creative, patient, and true to yourselves.

As leaders, don’t wait for someone else to determine what will happen next, or when or how it will happen. Be leaders to yourselves, and together with God and your bishop, shape your own becoming.

And as seekers, entrust it all to God. The Spirit has always been in your hearts, in your midst, in all that you do. God will not fail you, but will, in fact, guide you exactly where you need to go.

You need only to be like a canoeist, gliding down the river, through rapids and doldrums, danger and peace, but always attentive, awake, occasionally making adjustments in direction or pausing on the banks to consider the next move. The water, the Spirit, will do the rest. You don’t need to force your way downriver.

At this fork in the river, we part company, each of us about to round a bend that will take us into territories that neither of us can yet see. We’re both a little nervous, but I hope that like me, you are also excited. And I hope that you are willing to trust in God’s Spirit, who stirs the depths this festival day, in order to empower and guide us into new life.

Sermon
St. Michael and All Angels
Pentecost – May 27, 2012
Acts 2:1-21

Several years ago, I went on a mission trip to Bolivia. I was leading a women’s retreat in Cochabamba and listened as everything I said was first translated into Spanish, then into Aymaran. It took me awhile to get used to it, but I discovered a rhythm to it and learned to wait on the others. When I began to pray, the translating stopped. Everyone prayed aloud with me in her native tongue. It was disconcerting for me. I was used to one person praying at a time. All of a sudden everyone was speaking at once. I had no idea what they were saying, but I could feel their faith in a powerful way as the words rose “like burning incense” from their hearts. I came back to the United States to the “one person praying at a time” way of doing things. It sounded very empty to me after praying in Bolivia. There are moments in our prayer time at St. Michael’s when we are invited to pray out loud. Often we do that quietly, almost shyly so as not to disturb our neighbor. I sometimes wish that we would pray like the Bolivians and speak the prayers of our hearts without worrying who is going to hear us.

The Pentecost story begins with the faithful folks gathered in a room waiting for something to happen. Jesus had promised that the Spirit would come, but what did that mean? What is it we want as we gather for worship each week? Do we hope God will show up? Are we prepared to respond when that happens?

I’m guessing they were hoping the Spirit would show up…just not like THAT. Maybe a kinder, gentler Spirit…one that would quietly enter the room and whisper a message to each person that would send them comfortably back into their routines. What kind of God sends a Spirit with wind and fire? Maybe God breathed life into the followers in that way because nothing less would have worked. Does God still send wind and fire today? If so, perhaps we should have stayed home?

We come to church and we hear stories of God’s amazing power to heal divisions, to bring hope into the most hopeless situations, to take ordinary people and enable them to do extraordinary things. Somehow even though we know all that, it is easy to forget that God still blows among us in powerful ways. Pentecost reminds us that the Holy Spirit is still engaged in wild and subversive business, making possible what the world says is impossible…taking us closer to the world God has in store for us.

The Acts story is intriguing, but the power of the story is found in what happened afterward. People left that room and went out into the world to do amazing things. The book of Acts tells stories of lives opening and sharing generously with one another, of people becoming community as they worshipped together and fed one another and cared for all in need, of faith spreading like wildfire because it was so evident in people’s lives. There was no fancy marketing campaign with billboards or slogans like “Got Spirit?” The sign of God at work in the lives of the most ordinary people was contagious and the church spread to the corners of the world as a result.

The scripture tells us that a tongue of fire rested on every person, not a select few like the ones who applied for the job or the ones who chaired the committees. All were filled with the Holy Spirit. That means that land owners and weed pullers, women and men, and gulp: even children were given this astounding power to be God’s people in the world. Beware! This is not just an ancient story. God is at work among us today calling us to be keepers of the fire begun more than 50 years ago in the St. Michael’s community. This applies to Vestry members, lay pastors, ushers, founding members, newcomers, those of us who sing off key, those of us who try and hide in the crowd, those who have retired and those who are newly baptized. God’s Spirit is in us…all of us! The words “be very afraid” come to mind as we think of ourselves given this power to be God’s people in the world.

We are the vessel for God’s amazing power. It is humbling to realize that God works through us. But I have seen it. God steps into the food pantry each week and those who volunteer are human examples of the God who feeds us. It happens in Godly play as the stories come alive. We see God as children struggle to carry baskets of food to the altar during the offering. God shows up in people’s homes as volunteers carry the Eucharist to them. God works through the altar guild as they prepare the sacred meal behind the scenes. God is in the musicians who give us a taste of heaven each week. God is in us when we reach out to one another.

We began this journey in ashes and today it culminates with fire. On Ash Wednesday, we were reminded that we come from dust. My friend Jan Richardson says that the story of Pentecost “bids us to remember what the Spirit can do with dust. Pentecost reminds us that the Spirit draws us together and gives us to one another so that we may hear and see and know with greater clarity. This day challenges us to open ourselves beyond the limits of our individual lives to the Spirit who sets us ablaze for the healing of the world.” (The Painted Prayerbook website: http://paintedprayerbook.com/2011/06/05/pentecost-one-searing-word/)

This week I had the privilege of joining the new members class as we asked the question “What is your yes to the Spirit?” It is a great question for them to ask as they come to the end of that class and prepare to take the next steps in their journey. It’s a good question for St. Michael’s as well. What is God doing here at this time in history? As God’s wind and fire blow through our community this Pentecost morning, what is our yes to the Spirit?

Rev. Deborah Little tells about an unusual spirit-filled gathering in Boston. “Right after my priestly ordination, I started going to Boston's main train station on Sundays, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for people who spend their days there. On Christmas Eve, I found the courage to celebrate a communion service with folks I had gotten to know. It was an unlikely setting -- a round table in the main waiting room, our prayers punctuated by announcements of train departures. Eight people were in that first gathering. Their reflections and prayers told me more about worship than my many years in seminary. I continued spending Sunday afternoons in South Station through the winter.

Then, on Maundy Thursday, I was walking back up to the Common after washing several homeless feet. I was thinking about Jesus, and how he was always going to people, being with them where they were, healing, washing, feeding. I realized this was the church, not where buildings are necessarily, but where people are. Folks I was getting to know on the street, many of whom find it impossible or are not welcome to be inside, and others -- "us" -- who want to help and learn, needed to gather in the midst of the city, in an accessible place. We needed to pray, to celebrate, to talk, and to be a presence to people who sit around or pass by. We needed to pray for the city, raise up the concerns of the streets, bring alive a presence of hope and faith and hospitality. We needed to celebrate communion.

So that Easter Sunday 1996, I led worship on Boston Common for the first time. I was quite scared. I'm really not a brave person. I just knew what I was going to do. I asked my street friends what the best gathering place was for them, and they said it was the benches around a large fountain at one corner of Boston Common. It was a bitter cold afternoon and I wore an alb and a stole over several layers of sweaters. We had sixteen communicants. More people gathered after the service to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and talk.

You wouldn't believe the power of that worship on the Common, the looks on the faces of people who haven't received the sacraments for years, the witness of what felt like whole worlds coming together to pray for each other and to thank God.
That first Sunday seemed a small step, although it had been huge for me. I was a new priest and nothing was easy. As I drove home, I made notes about changes I might make if I were brave enough to do it the next year. As that week went along, folks on the street who hadn't even been there told me they'd see me on Sunday! I couldn't have imagined at the time that we would be there the next Sunday and every Sunday at 1 p.m. since. And the design of the service is pretty much the same as our first Sunday. Everyone offers prayers; and I speak for one or two minutes about the gospel lesson and then welcome anyone to speak. What we receive ranges from songs, to cries of pain and despair, to brilliant exegesis, and the most Christ-like parable stories I've ever heard.
Our third Sunday, people said we had to have a name. Someone said, "Well, this is our church." Looking across the street at the diocesan cathedral, he said, "This is common cathedral." And so we were.

Our community has grown to a Sunday average of 100 to 125-plus communicants. Many more join us during the gathering time that follows. We have volunteer nurses and lawyers, Bible study in English and Spanish after the service. We celebrate birthdays, anniversaries of sobriety, and releases from jail. Homeless and housed volunteers help with setting up, serve as altar guild, bring food and clothing, and visit with regulars and newcomers. One will assist a disabled man with a housing search; another will drive a sick woman to the clinic. We visit our folks in hospitals, hospices, jails, and help them reunite with families, buy eyeglasses and winter boots. We load belongings into our cars to move them into housing. We baptize some and bury too many.

Every Sunday, we welcome people who live under bridges, people who live in suburban houses, and everyone in between. One common denominator of our church is that almost everyone would describe herself or himself in some way or another as "on the margin." So, we have our being "outside" as common ground. We also have natural elements, especially the weather, which is a great equalizer. We're all hot or we're all freezing cold. If it's noisy we are all straining to hear each other. If it rains, we are all wet.
Another common denominator is truth telling. Radical openness is the gift of homeless individuals who stand out there "in front of God and everybody," as my friend Ann would say, and tell the truth.

Sometimes I think -- could this really be what the church is about? Loving this neighbor; loving this God? So wild and unpredictable and naked and hungry? A neighbor who needs everything; a God who demands everything. But then, I think about Jesus, still walking around in our hearts and minds, inviting us, showing us how to be in love with JUST THIS NEIGHBOR, JUST THIS GOD.” (Rev. Deborah Little,  http://www.ecclesia-ministries.org/ecclesia/birth_of_a_church.html)

My prayer today for St. Michael’s is that we release our grip on what is and open ourselves to receive God’s Spirit in whatever form it comes, trusting that this story is intended for us here and now. God breathes new life into us and sends us into the world to breathe life and love into each other.

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The Spirit at Work in us
May 31, 2009, the Feast of Pentecost
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

Last week Fr. Daniel reminded us that Jesus is no longer here on this earth in any other human form than you and me. We’re it! In his Ascension, Jesus physically moves away from us towards God; simultaneously we are asked to be Christ in this world. It’s a precious gift and an enormous responsibility. 

But Jesus knew that we could not, on our own, do this. And so, as we just heard in the gospel, he promised to send the Spirit. Today is the Feast of Pentecost, when the Spirit was first given to the disciples so that they could be Christ in the world. Today we celebrate the holy gift that helps us to be the same. 

Today I’d like to explore who or what this Spirit is. How does he or she or it operate in our lives, in our community? How does the Spirit help us to be Christ in the world? 

Let’s look at the remarkable passage we heard this morning from Paul’s letter to the church in Rome. He said that in our weakness, when we don’t even know how to pray as we ought, when all we can do is groan in labor pains and wait with patience, the Spirit prays for us with sighs too deep for words. God searches the heart, knowing the mind of the Spirit, who, in turn, intercedes according to God’s will. This is amazing stuff. 

Paul begins with the assumption that the Spirit already lives inside of us, at a level that is deeper than our conscious mind. We may not feel the presence of this Spirit, but that doesn’t matter. The Spirit is there, and not as a foreign agent, but intermingled with our being, our personality. There isn’t anywhere we need to go to get to God. God is already living within, as a part of us. 

But we, of course, are not always in tune with this Spirit. We are often blind to God’s presence in us. We struggle and strive to get in touch with God, not really knowing how. All we can do is groan in labor pains, waiting with patience, hoping that something new might be born. And when we do this, the Spirit, who lives imbedded in our mind, our body, our soul, begins to stir. The Spirit honors our desire for communion with God, and begins to move. We may not be able to see or feel this stirring, but the great thing is we don’t have to. 

Paul says that the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words. What a striking phrase: with sighs too deep for words. You know, for millennia, in every religious tradition, people have identified the Spirit with the breath. The Spirit of God blew over creation, bringing what was dark and void into existence. Jesus breathed on his disciples and gave them God’s presence. Our breath that goes in and out of our bodies is the breath of God, the breath of life, and when it leaves us, our soul departs the body and returns to God. 

So the Spirit sighs within us when we are too weak to even notice. This happens below our consciousness, at a level that is too deep for words. Like a person giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, God breathes for us spiritually when we cannot breathe for ourselves. And this breath, this unspoken prayer is, Paul says, according to the will of God. The Spirit breathes in harmony with God, saying “yes” to God’s will, saying “yes” for us, even when we’re ambivalent, to all the good things that God desires: love, harmony, peace, joy, generosity, and truth. 

Paul says that God then responds to this Spirit-prayer. God, who is the Creator of all, who fills the universe, who exists whether we do or not, hears this stirring, feels this breathing, even if we don’t. God then searches our heart, as Paul says. Probing, God is looking for our hope for communion, our desire to become more faithful. Searching between our sin and our limitations, God is looking for the parts of us that want do to move forward into God’s ways, for those parts of us that are in tune with the will of God. 

And there are parts to be found. Otherwise we wouldn’t be sitting here today. God doesn’t need a heart that is 100% dedicated. God will work with whatever we’ve got. Remember the father who wanted his child to be healed who pleaded with Jesus, saying “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!” Jesus honored his plea, even in his ambivalence. So God searches for our faith, however small it may be. 

Finding that small mustard seed within us, knowing it can become a large and healthy tree, knowing that at some level we do desire communion, God listens to the Spirit within us who is sighing. Paul says that God knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because it is God’s own mind within us that is praying. As Paul said in another letter, We have the mind of Christ. Christ’s mind, the Spirit’s mind, is in us. 

There is communion between our mustard seed of faith, the mind of the Spirit within us, and the will of God. This communion forms a kind of spiritual alchemy, and things shift within us. We move forward and later we discover that we have become a little purer of heart, a bit more loving, generous, and free. This is the moment of grace, when our desire and the will of God mix. It is the beginning of an invisible momentum. In my experience, and in Paul’s writings, I believe, it is how the Spirit cooperates with us to help us grow in faith. 

This not only happens for us individually. It happens in communities of faith. It is happening right now, in ours. Over the last couple of years, we have felt the need for an evolution; we have groaned in labor pains to bring a new way of being community into being. We sensed that this new life has something to do with a shift from individualism to community. It has something to do with looking to one another and the things we do together for our strength, nurture, and inspiration. And it has something to do with living into our potential, becoming more clearly Christ in this world.

And so we asked for the help of the Spirit to help us in our weakness, to lead us into truth. And lo and behold, the Spirit sighed, breathed, prayed within us. God searched our heart and knew the mind of the Spirit. Our desire is, I believe, in tune with the will of God, and so things began to shift. An invisible momentum began, pushed along by the Spirit. How do I know this? What are the signs of it? 

Several initiatives to help us have emerged along the way, all of them leading us in the same direction, toward the fulfillment of having a stronger sense of community, raising up lay leadership, and living as the visible Body of Christ in this world. 

Soon we will be training and licensing Lay Pastors to augment what the clergy do in caring for one another. A group of us will explore for 9 months with other churches how we can deepen our spiritual life in every one of our meetings, gatherings, and activities. A Discernment Guild will help us identify and utilize members’ gifts for ministry. We will be taking what we do in the Food Pantry and expanding it out into community organizing in our neighborhood, through Albuquerque Interfaith. Our Vestry is taking seriously its role of supporting and coordinating all our ministries. And we will soon build a Ministry Complex that will house all these things. 

All of these initiatives are about building community, and the remarkable thing is that we did not invent them by setting out a plan and then marshalling resources to help us accomplish it. They just showed up once we knew we had to evolve in this direction, once we became willing to change, and once we called upon the Spirit to help us in our weakness. We have not, we cannot, we do not have to manage this process. The Spirit responds to our groaning, interceding for us with sighs too deep for words, God searches our heart, and the alchemy of God’s will and our willingness is moving us forward. 

This is the work of the Spirit among us. This is the gift that Jesus himself promised, which we celebrate on this feast day. You and I have this gift within us, and it is up to us to call upon it, to put all our trust in its hidden, alchemical work, every day, and drop this silly notion that we have to figure it out and then do it all ourselves. This is what we count on as a community as we groan in labor pains – that the Spirit will respond and birth something new among us. 

Today, on this great feast day, we pause to give thanks for this unfathomable gift of God’s Spirit within us and among us. Without this gift we are lost. We are imprisoned by the limitations of our flawed humanity. But with this gift of the Spirit, we have a partner, an advocate; anything is possible. For we have the mind of Christ. We are Christ in this world.