"There is no doubt"

"There is no doubt"

Sermon for Trinity Sunday, 1999

Readings: Genesis 1:1-2:4a; 2 Corinthians 13:(5-10) 11-14; Matthew 28:16-20

Once upon a time
there were three bears.

Once upon a time,
there was a little girl
and her name
was Little Red Riding Hood.

Once upon a time
there were three little pigs.

So begin
all fairy tales,
and we hear those magical words
"Once upon a time"
we know
that we are about to be ushered in
to a magical world,
where none of the rules apply,
where frogs can talk,
and bears eat oatmeal
and everything ends
happily ever after.

These stories of our childhood, the stories which shape our world,
and tie us to the parents who sat by our beds
reading in the soft yellow glow of the lamp,
and their parents,
and their parents before them,
these stories have a special way of beginning,
and we all know
what to expect.

And today
we hear once again
another story,
another story which shapes us, which ties us
to the people
who first told us,
and the people before them,
today
our story begins...

In the beginning, God created...

Not "once upon a time"
but "in the beginning"
before all time began.

There in the darkness
is God.
The earth is formless and void.
Nothing moves.
Nothing shines.
Nothing sings.
And there is God.

Most of us rush on,
rush on
to the day and the night,
the earth and the sky,
the sun, moon and stars,
and the earth as we know it. We rush on
to plants and animals and the human race
and speculations and arguments
about creation
and evolution,
and how it is
that our science and our religion
can be made to fit.

But all the while
there
is God.
Alone
in the darkness.

And then God stirs.

" A wind from God
swept over the face of the waters.
And God spoke".

A wind from God,
spirit, breath,
A voice from God,
and all things
come to be.

A new world, full of light
and movement
and song,
like a bright spring morning
after rain.

God exhales,
and speaks breath and life
into all creation.

Breath into all creation,
and breath and speech
into you
and me.

There is no doubt. God is here.

* * *

The disciples were together again, Matthew tells us,
one dead,
dead by his own hand,
eleven left, but none quite sure
if the rumors
and the visions
had enough truth in them,
to outweigh
the evidence of their own eyes,
the stench of death
the cry of abandonment
that last rasping breath.

It was dark,
not this time
the darkness
of a starless sky
but the darkness
of a death
a death which tore the earth open
a death which tore
the very hearts
of his friends.

Together again, in the darkness,
the disciples see a figure
and wonder,
hear the whisper of a voice,
and know
that it is true.
Jesus is here again,
risen, alive.
"Go, disciple, baptize, teach. I am with you."
His words
give them new words,
Make friends and introduce them to your friend
who died and is alive,
pour water on them, so that they know
what it is to be cleansed and healed and forgiven,
tell them
about the God who loves them
beyond their deepest dreams.

And when John tells the same story
the words come with a breath,
a breath from God.

God in Christ exhales
and speaks the breath of new life and new speech
into his followers, into you, and me.

There is no doubt. God is here.

* * *

It is not
so much later
that the disciples are together again. This time
there are more of them
and the darkness
is not so intense
though the waiting still confuses them,
the fear still consumes them,
they still don't know
what it means
to follow a dead,
and risen
but still gone,
Savior.

They stand
and wait
and pray
and wonder.

And then comes from nowhere a breath of wind
at first so gentle
that it seems
hardly real,
then stronger
and wilder
until there can be no doubt
that the breath of God has come again
come like that first wind of creation,
and this time the speech comes from their very mouths
the words of God in every language
for every person.

And around them
the Parthian and the Medes, the Elamites and the Cappadocians,
Italian, Greek and Egyptian,
men and women, black and white, young and old,
all hear the voice of God
as they have never heard it before.

God exhales,
and speaks breath
and words
for all people.
Breath and words,
for you
and me.

There is no doubt. God is here.

* * *

Years pass. Years upon years.
The breath of God
seems just a distant memory.
The disciples, the followers of Christ
gather again,

another room, another city.
They're a mixed bunch by now:
they come from different places,
believe different things.
Some of them
have been gathering there for years,
others
are brand new.

We are here.
And the darkness gathers around us, just as it did
around those other disciples
so many years ago.

The darkness of a broken relationship.

The darkness of a body we can no longer depend upon.

The darkness of an uncertain future.

The darkness of a parish without a priest.

Sometimes it seems
as if that darkness might overwhelm us.

But God is here.

God is here
and the exhale of God
the breath of life and speech
may be
not so much
like the blast of the whistle
and the rattling rush of the Amtrak train
hurtling down the middle tracks
past my station,
nor the fierce roaring wind of the tornado
sucking up lumber
like dry autumn leaves

But more
like
the feather-soft touch
of the breeze
on a warm Spring day,
the fleeting cool
as the person sitting beside you
exhales,
or the gentle, holy, kiss
of an old friend.

God exhales,
and speaks breath
and words.
Breath and words,
into you
and me,
for you
and me.

In the beginning
God.
Two thousand years ago,
God.
Here, today, in Riverside,
God.

There is no doubt. God is here.

Raewynne J. Whiteley
Trinity Sunday 1999