Wednesday, 25 April 2018

Things in a bag

The Fifth Sunday 
of Easter
Year B

I have three things here in a paper bag.  Let me pull them out and name them:  jack-knife, envelope, rose petal.  I lay them on the edge of the pulpit - three individual things which, a moment ago, were all together.   They were part of a set.  We’ll call that set 
things-in-a-bag”

I can pinpoint, in terms of time and place, the beginning of my mild obsession with the relationship between things: I’m in southeast Alaska in the late summer of 1982.  I am looking at a river.  The shutter of my mind opens and captures the water of Ketchikan creek flowing swiftly downstream to the sea.  The dimly visible shapes of large Chinook salmon can be seen swimming upstream slowly and with determination.  Somewhere in the trees over to one side, a raven croaks loudly from a high perch.  An animated couple ambles upstream along the trail on the other side of the creek, meeting a single person walking briskly into town with his head down.  A fox crosses my path up ahead.  A few fallen leaves tumble in the strong breeze at an angle across the gravel bar.  I am struck by it – the whole thing – no one part of it but the whole together, creating within me a colour or a flavour, a picture, an impression, even a story.  Forty years on I still remember it.  I can tell you about it this morning.

Unrelated things are gathered in to a set.  For a moment, completely one and in relation to one another. 

In our first reading this morning, Philip the deacon travels south because he’s been told to go by the Holy Spirit.   He catches up with a diplomat from the court of Queen Candace of Ethiopia, on his way home, who is seated in his chariot reading the copy of the Book of Isaiah that came into his possession in Jerusalem – a work produced by a people not his own – a voice, centuries old, speaking to him for the very first time.  He is moved by the words but perplexed by the book.  Philip is invited up into the chariot to explain.  They approach a stream - water tumbling over stones, creating rapids and eddies.  The Ethiopian diplomat says “See, here is water!  What is to prevent my being baptised?”  

This handful of things and persons are gathered together in a bag.  God’s will is worked out not by the visible and substantial individual things but by the invisible and insubstantial relationship between them – providing from the mix itself novelty, opportunity and occasion.

Much of the Acts of the Apostles relates the experience of people tumbling through the invisible but undeniable tumult of the Spirit's fresh progress in the world.  Freed from fear and filled with the power of the Spirit, they are thrown together and set upon the road.  The saints emerge from that mixed bag. Communities of faith are cobbled together in peculiar circumstances.   The waters of baptism erode the borders between classes and languages.  The fire of God’s spirit defies conservative and self-preserving tendencies.  Love covers its multitude of faults.  Forgiveness releases people from isolation and loneliness.  What could prevent such a thing from happening?  If you stood in its way you might get knocked over.

Teased apart into their strands, these things mean little.  Seen whole from within as a participant, however, they begin to make eminent sense.