THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ Whole sections of libraries are filled with books about the doctrine of the Holy Trinity. Another section in church history covers the Councils of Nicaea and Chalcedon. If you don’t mind, I won’t read those to you right now. 

Here’s what you might find helpful: we best understand the doctrine of the Trinity when we think of it as a relationship more than as an identity. I say that because it’s better to think of the Holy Trinity as a reciprocal living being than as three separate persons somehow also being one, even though that is also true. 

God the Father and Creator is One with Jesus, the Messiah, the Christ, the Redeemer, who is also one in and with God. The Holy Spirit, the Sanctifier, is one with and in each and both of those who are also one in and with the Spirit. That same Spirit is the presence of God and Christ in and with us as we worship, pray, and continue the work of creation, reconciliation, and redemption in our own time. 

Got that? It will be on the final. 

It’s a dance between God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit with all three leading as one, and in step with each other. It’s a dance that we all join as we gather to worship, pray, and work together. We’re still working on getting the steps just right, and occasionally step on our own toes as well as someone else’s. 

When we get that, we understand that the dance party isn’t just for or about us. Our life in Christ is to stop trying to be the belle of the ball, but instead to be a living invitation to those who have a desire to attend, but think they lack the correct shoes. And in case someone comes to the door with no shoes at all, be ready with a basin and towel and make sure they have clean feet. 
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And when we get that, it’s time to get down and boogie. 

​THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ Today marks the end of what used to be called Eastertide. The name of the day, Pentecost, means “fiftieth day.” That name doesn’t come from our use of it being fifty days after Easter Sunday. It’s older than that, which we can gather from Luke’s opening words in today’s first lesson. 

When the day of Pentecost came, he tells us. It’s an ancient Jewish agricultural festival, marking the beginnings of the Spring harvest. Life returns after the long winter, and signs of ongoing nourishment make themselves known. Hold onto that thought. 

Today’s Gospel lesson gives us a very different story. It’s the evening of the day of Jesus’ resurrection, not the fiftieth day after. The disciples gather in fear, trying to make sense of what they’ve heard that day in light of what they saw with their own eyes just a few days before. Again, life comes back, even after a grueling, horrifying week. But unlike seeds planted in early Spring for radishes, peas, and lettuce, this life emerging from the ground is not what they expected. 

Jesus says, “hey y’all” and then breathes on them. “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Then he gives them the quick start instructions to go along with the user’s manual he’s been trying to show them for a few years. 

So, who gets it right, Luke or John? 
It doesn’t really matter, does it? 

I say that because the Spirit makes an entrance a bit before day one. A wind from God hovered over the face of the deep. Wind. Breath. Spirit. Ruach, the ancient ones called it. A bit later, God breathes into the human’s nostrils the breath of life. Jesus breathes on the disciples. Luke describes a rushing wind, maybe like Elijah heard while hiding in the cave. 

Air gives life. The heart depends on getting enough oxygen to nourish its muscle and keep pumping. Let the oxygen levels get too low, and bad things start to happen. Air is necessary for speech, including those first words “Let there be light.” Yet, when the wind roars loudly, speech becomes difficult, hearing nearly impossible. 

We know that sometimes the air, the spirit we breathe is not healthy. We learned that lesson, again, the hard way during the Covid pandemic a few years ago. We also know that the spirit filling the air around us is often working to steal us away from the Holy Spirit that reveals God’s presence among us. The air, the spirit, seems heavy with the pollutants of greed, hatred, division, even self-worship and fleeting desire. We might call those “advertising” or, sadly, politics as usual. 

Okay, enough, um, “air.” 

​The point is not about deciding exactly when the Holy Spirit arrived. The point is that the Holy Spirit has been there all the time. You ask where? Reach out, and touch air. Inhale, then exhale. At uncertain and difficult times, gasp. Or, pause in the middle of turmoil and take a deep breath.

Paul tells us that the Spirit is the enabler of everything from our proclamation of faith to the good work that we do. It’s a reciprocal relationship. The Spirit enters, words and works of faith exit to reveal the Spirit’s presence. That is our sign, the revelation of the truth of our hope in the risen Christ. The Spirit is the source of our life, the work we do a celebration of a profound truth in its harvest. And it is the type of spirit we nurture within us that helps us determine whether the spirit we take into ourselves is from God. It’s why we need to continue to come together and hear again the words that lead us into truth—which is again, the work of the Holy Spirit.

God continues to come to us, continues to give the breath of life to us. And each breath is renewing, each inhalation and exhalation of the Spirit different from the last. And then, one day, the final exhalation will return the Spirit of life, mixed with our own spirit, back to the Creator and Giver of all life.
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It’s why we can begin and end this day with a full, Spirit-filled voice. Alleluia. Alleluia.

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINGS

​ Last Fall, I began asking around about commemorations for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. It’s a period of eight days that begins with the Confession of Peter on January 18, and ends with the Conversion of Paul marked on January 25. As you might imagine, some intervening celebrations and events meant those who had interest in that week couldn’t meet to make plans until it was too late to implement them. 

A couple of us then met and did what we could. You saw that happen on Ash Wednesday. We haven’t been able to progress beyond that. Yet. 

The idea of Christian unity is a good one if you simply ask about its favorability. When you start talking about what it means and how it might be accomplished, however, that’s a different matter. My first experience with that week came while I was music director for a large Roman Catholic parish. The pastor often joked with me that the prayer life of 1,500 Catholics was in the hands of a filthy Protestant. Then, one summer Sunday after the last of four masses, an older member of the parish asked when I was going to become a Catholic. Before I could answer, the pastor said, “He’s more Catholic than you are. Leave him alone.” But, on the day I was asked to speak at a weekday Mass about unity, I was told, "Be careful what you say.” 

The institutional church’s attitudes have challenged ideas of unity since the early years. The early church was divided into four regions—Antioch, Constantinople, Alexandria, and Rome—each with bishops teaching and providing oversight from those cities. Jerusalem, having been destroyed by the Roman army in 70 CE, fit in as it could. Several councils of bishops met to address faith issues and to define accepted teachings. But ecclesiastical identity politics kept true unity well beyond arm’s reach. That is, if you’re only talking about actual human arms. Spears, swords, and flaming torches were longer. 

At least one writer has concluded that when Mohammed saw the battles, both verbal and real, between warring factions of church leaders, he formed Islam as a religion that would show the world how to live together in peace. But like at creation when God formed humanity, it started to fall apart when a bunch of people were allowed as part of it. 

And so it seems today we have before us what I call Jesus’ one unanswered prayer. At least we haven’t become able to answer it the way he intended, nor in the way we would like to be able to admit. 

We began dividing over things like the presence of one letter in one word, but that one letter had great implications for our statements of faith. Simply put, it changed the Holy Spirit as “proceeding from the Father” to “proceeds from the Father and the Son” as we will say in a few minutes. 

Then it became over issues that affect everyday life. The church in Rome needed to raise funds to finish building St. Peter’s. You can find information on “indulgences” on your own, even as they played a large part in Martin Luther’s note he placed on the castle church door in Wittenburg in 1517. Johns Calvin and Knox, along with Ulrich Zwingli, figure into the mix of Reformed thinking. Then there’s that guy Henry. It can get complicated. 

While I appreciate different opinions and understandings of our shared faith traditions, our many positions have grown from a family debate into very real and often threatening positions regarding what is taught about salvation. I think the main result of all of these is to satisfy the tempter from the garden and the wilderness by helping us avoid Jesus’ true purpose as he prays. It’s too easy to fall into the self-created trap of making salvation dependent on what we do and what we say we believe rather than on what God has accomplished through Christ Jesus.

After all, who can tell me, or even better yet, show me, what it means to be one in Christ, even as God is one in Jesus and Jesus is one in God? That is the true meaning of Christian unity, an end that cannot be found in attempts such as the Elizabethan Settlement’s demand that all British citizens attend worship every Sunday using the approved Book of Common Prayer. Also, they had to enjoy the oversight of bishops appointed by the crown. By the way, not having to do those things is what the founders of this country meant by “religious freedom.” It isn’t about making it acceptable to hate those not just like us, as some recent efforts seem to be trying to do. But the foundation of this country could be said to depend in part on Christian disunity. Then there’s the thought that if it were to be a Christian country, prosperity in this young country would suffer because capitalism and Christianity can’t really share the same playground.

“May they be one, even as you and I are one" is what Jesus prays for. Discerning what that means and how it becomes real in all our lives is how we do what Jesus asks us to do at his ascension. Be witnesses. Not to his departure, but to his eternal, loving presence in the world he came, and continues to come to, to save.
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After all, we are some of the people God has made into Christ’s Church to be just that—witnesses to unity in and with Christ in God. Oh, in case you’re wondering, it’s not just for a week anymore. It’s forever.

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

 ​ A friend said recently that if the Apostle Paul heard what was going on in our country and in our world, we’d be getting a letter. She said this because many of Paul’s writings are in response to current events and the early church’s straying away from Paul’s teachings. 

Today we’re on a journey with the apostle as he travels through Greece. He has moved away from Thessalonica and Philippi, where he faced challenges from religious authorities and even beatings and imprisonment. He finds himself in Athens, a city with no lack of places of worship. And, just to make sure all the bases are covered and no deity is left behind, there’s an altar dedicated to “an unknown god.” 

There’s nothing more troubling to a pantheon of deities than a god left standing in an ignored corner of Mt. Olympus. Not troubling to the other gods, mind you, since their only concern is being worshipped as much as possible. Just imagine not having paid tribute to the one deity that’s in charge of keeping all the milk from spoiling. Bummer. 

You might have noticed that Paul is well-versed in the Greek form of rhetoric. He takes a stand, speaks of it, then argues every point against it, revealing the inaccuracy of each one. Then, after using all our words in support of the alternative to prove that it’s false, he returns to his point to reinforce its veracity. Preachers have been parsing his words for nearly 2,000 years, and we still haven’t covered all the bases. 

Getting back to my friend’s statement, I wonder what Paul would say after taking a long walk through Wilmington, Delaware. 

He wouldn’t have to go very far to see the many places of worship, the altars where the faithful present their own sacrifices to please the gods. If he came by sea, he could not miss the shrines rising into the sky, their names writ large to identify themselves. Chase. Barclays. WSFS. Highmark. Nearby he would find arenas where worship is encouraged. Although Paul might enjoy a good game of baseball or football and the like, he might question the huge tributes paid to the gods of celebrity and athletic prowess. 

If Paul found himself strangely transported by air, he would find a demi-pantheon just across the highway and along his journey into town. He might wonder what a burger is and why it needs a king, then explain who the real King of life is. Paul might see billboards advertising other arenas of worship and even a few places with his name on the front with the added word “saint.” 

In his own words, he might ask, "Was I crucified for you? Is Christ divided, as you divide yourselves invoking his name?” That’s just for starters. He would then wonder, out loud, mind you, why we’re devoting so much of ourselves to maintaining idled spaces while so many of our brothers and sisters are forced to sleep in tents in a park. Then, just to make his point, he would join those in the park to help them mend and support their tents all while telling them about his own encounter with the risen Christ.

He would probably tell them, while showing us, that the really big tent, the only one that truly matters, is the tent supported at its center by a cross. It’s a tent of love intended to gather all the world into its sheltering embrace, where Love itself makes us God’s children together as one as the body of our risen Lord continues to become manifest in our own time.
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I wonder if those who hear Paul and trust his words to be true will find that truth all around them as they journey through their lives in this place we all call home. If not, he would remind us that salvation is likely not to be found on social media. Heaven help us if he starts addressing that place of worship.

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ The lectionary for the Easter season always seems to be a bit confusing. The first three Sundays all have events that take place on the first day, the day of resurrection. The Fourth Sunday is always Good Shepherd Sunday. Then Sundays five, six, and seven feature lessons from what’s known as the Farewell Discourse in John’s Gospel.
 
Today’s lessons begin with the martyrdom of Stephen, a deacon who is known as the first martyr of the church. His example is supposed to give us strength; his faith is about trusting the God who raised Christ from the dead even as Stephen is pummeled with rocks as religious authorities stone him to death. 

You might have noticed the identity of the man watching the coat closet at this event. Luke, the writer of the Acts of the Apostles, tells us that those wielding the stones laid their cloaks at the feet of a young man named Saul. This is the entry of the man who will become known as Paul the Apostle into the story of the first-century church. 

The gospels for today and for the coming weeks help us understand Jesus’ words preparing his closest followers for his imminent departure. Today’s lesson takes place immediately after the scene in the upper room. Jesus has shared supper with his friends. He has washed their feet and given them an all-encompassing new commandment—the mandatum novum, as it is known, from whence we get the name for the day we hear it. Maundy Thursday. 

For us, it seems strange. While there are seven Sundays in the Easter season, there simply aren’t enough gospel lessons telling us of post-resurrection appearances of the risen Christ so that we have different lessons for all the Sundays in the three-year cycle. And so, the lectionary prepares us for a coming event. Forty days after the resurrection, Luke tells us, Jesus met with his disciples on a hilltop. He raises his hands in blessing and is raised into the heavens, a day we call the Feast of the Ascension. 

But there’s something else at work in today’s readings. Today’s Psalm is part of the same one chosen for the Feast of Saint Stephen. You probably aren’t aware of that because the Feast of Saint Stephen falls on December 26, when most of us have other things on our minds. Today’s Psalm is also identical to the Psalm the lectionary chooses for Holy Saturday, also a day when we are usually too busy to stop and take notice. Yet this Psalm contains a sentence that Luke quotes from Jesus as he hangs on the cross. I'll let you look for that on your own. 

All this raises a question in my mind. What do we do when it seems that God has gone silent or has even gone away? 

​For a long time now I've been thinking that we seem to be stuck in this Holy Saturday moment. Jesus is gone, and even though we know what is to come in just another day, we don’t seem to be able to move beyond this moment.

While we wait, while we wonder what’s next, there are many opportunities made available for someone or something to come and enter the void in our hearts, in our minds, in our faith. At least one of the temptation stories heard on the First Sunday in Lent tells us that the tempter went away to wait for a more opportune time.

We are living in that more opportune time.

Luke, Paul, Peter, John—all the writers of the books and letters we now call the New Testament—expected the risen Christ to return to earth in their own lifetime. Even now, some 2,000 years later, there are those still expecting the risen Christ to return in a triumphant, military-style victory in our own lifetime. Some are so eager for this moment that they decided to try to bring it about by creating the chaos, the conflict that they expect to happen at that time. Yet faith stands silently while we wait in this moment between Jesus’ departure and his expected return. What do we do?

We remember. We remember ourselves—join ourselves together with Christ in as many ways as we might find possible. That is what the word "religion" means. We join as ligaments join muscles to bone and to flesh for movement, for signs of life, so that even though we stand on this day and time in between, we find life.

The church, that life that Paul calls the body of Christ, is to live into the uncertainty of the moment, just as the risen Christ moved into the uncertainty of death and transformed it into life in ways no one else could do. We are called to live into Jesus’ admonition to Philip, who asked Jesus to show us the Father. I can just imagine the incredulity in Jesus’ voice as he wonders out loud, "Have I been with you all this time, and you still don't get it?”

Then comes the statement that we all fail to live into. Jesus says if you don’t believe because I tell you who I am, then believe because of what you have witnessed. Indeed, you will do what I have done and even more, even greater things than I have done.

I can’t tell you how many times I've stood beside a hospital bed, a grave, or a crying parishioner with the full understanding that I have yet to live fully into that moment. It doesn’t mean I’ve given up. But it does mean I still have a lifetime of work to do. Most of that work is to open myself to be in the time and place where Jesus can fill me with his promised Spirit.
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It’s good to know that I’m not alone.