Overcoming Denial: the Spirit of Truth Preached on May 17th, 2020 For Wollaston Congregational Church Virtual Worship Scripture: John 14:15-21 Today we continued to read from the farewell discourse in the gospel of John. Jesus speaks to anxious disciples. Although they have tried to deny it, they know that Jesus will soon be taken away to die. Jesus also speaks to anxious readers of John’s gospel who live after the time of Christ, toward the end of the first century. These followers are dealing the Roman Empire’s persecution of those who remain faithful to Jesus, the one who was crucified for speaking the truth. Anxious disciples and persecuted followers need to hear Jesus’ words of truth and comfort. And so, Jesus reminds the disciples and the readers ourselves included, that when he has gone from them physically, he will still be with them in the form of another advocate and comforter … the Spirit of truth. Jesus tells the disciples, “You know her” … the Spirit is familiar to them, they will recognize her. They will recognize Jesus in her. There is a strong sense of identification in what Jesus is saying. The Spirit is identified with the Truth, Jesus is identified with the Truth. Jesus, the Spirit and the Abba are identified with one another. All are One. In his teachings, Jesus talked a lot about the truth. And on one occasion he didn’t even have to say anything, he simply had to be. When Jesus was interrogated by Pilate, the Roman Governor, before he was condemned to die, Pilate posed the question “What is the truth?” Jesus did not reply, but simply stood there in silence. Jesus had already told the disciples “I am the truth.” Jesus is seen to be the truth of God, in his healing and teaching ministries, his recognition of those who were ignored. He is seen to be the truth by putting the most vulnerable at the center … the sick, the elderly, children, and the poor. He is seen to be the truth in his silent witness to Pilate and the others who condemn him. There were many opportunities for Jesus to talk his way out of crucifixion. There were opportunities to cease speaking the truth in the temple, to cease lifting up the hopes of the poor and oppressed, to refrain from the message that God desired a better life for them. But Jesus refused to do it. Like many the prophets who went before him, Jesus was executed for speaking the truth. We are generally aware of what is the truth. If we knowingly lie, we are painfully aware of it. Deliberate lying is problematic and usually unethical, of course. Still, perhaps a more common form of untruth is self-deceit. We practice self-deceit in a number of ways and for a number of reasons. In these times, I am noticing my own inclination to self-deceit in the form of over-optimism and denial. I’d prefer to pretend that things will soon return to ‘normal.’ If I hope for a regular summer, visiting family and friends, eating and playing together, perhaps it will happen. Optimism in itself can be helpful at times. The expression “hope or pray for the best, and prepare for the worst” attempts a balance between optimism and pessimism. And yet optimism can mask denial, and denial can lead to harm. In these times denial and over-optimism may result in very serious harm. If we are over-optimistic about the trajectory of COVID-19 and decide to return to in-person worship prematurely, we could cause serious harm to our members and also our community. This sobering fact must inform our decisions in the coming weeks and months. A more troubling aspect of denial and over-optimism is the deliberate sense of denial we are seeing in many of our leaders. This denial takes the shape of a lack of communal mourning, in the face of 85 thousand deaths. It takes the shape of ignoring the warnings of health and scientific experts about the dangers of prematurely “reopening the economy.” It takes the shape of “magical thinking” that a COVID-19 cure or vaccine will suddenly appear well before the known timeline for such developments. One form of truth telling our leaders could easily begin to practice is the habit of saying “I don’t know” in reply to questions outside their fields of expertise. They could begin to defer to the experts and to work collaboratively. Being truthful means being humble. And humility is sadly lacking in many leaders in these times. Some of these problems are outside our control, of course. Still, we can contribute to the discourse in our communities and our state, by adopting a practice of truthfulness with ourselves and others. Who will we talk with in the coming weeks? Will we participate in a virtual town meeting? Will we demonstrate our commitment to physical distancing and protecting our vulnerable neighbors when we go out and about? Will we, as a church, remain mindful of the number of vulnerable ones in our congregation, as we discuss a timeline toward coming back together for in-person worship? In our personal and corporate times of reflection and worship: How might we invite the Spirit, in the form of the truth, to abide with us and among us? Where will we find the strength and the courage to face the truth without denial? How will we mourn in truth for all who have died, while we remain hopeful for the future? Last week Marian sent me a picture of the Medieval mystic, Julian of Norwich, self-isolating, as she did, with her cat! Although she lived in seclusion in a cell in the church, Julian had people come by, appropriately distanced, for prayers of healing. She is known as the first woman to have written a book in the English language, in which she tells of visions given to her by God in her time of seclusion. Author, scholar, and Episcopal priest Mary Earle writes: “Norwich’s population was around 25,000 in 1330, until it was struck viciously by the plague known as the Black Death. At its peak in the late 1340s in England, [the plague] killed approximately [75%] of the population of Norwich.” Julian was a young girl at this time. She surely must have been “affected in untold ways by this devastation. [Then] the plague returned, [when] she was about nineteen.” [1] It seems that many people have been finding some comfort in Julian’s writings in current times. Author Veronica Mary Rolf answers the question “Why Julian now?” She says, “in our age of uncertainty, inconceivable suffering, and seemingly perpetual violence and war … Julian shows us the way toward contemplative peace. “In a world of deadly diseases and ecological disasters, Julian teaches us how to endure pain in patience and trust that Christ is working to transform every cross into resurrected glory. “… Julian’s voice speaks to us about love. She communicates personally, as if she were very much with us here and now. Even more than theological explanations, we all hunger for love. Our hearts yearn for someone we can trust absolutely—divine love that can never fail. Julian reveals this love because … she experienced it firsthand … “Again, and again, Julian reassures each one of us that we are loved by God, unconditionally. In her writings, we hear Christ telling us, just as he told Julian, ‘I love you and you love me, and our love shall never be separated in two.’” [2] Julian did not deny of the suffering of her time. And yet she was able to trust her fears and worries to God. Her optimism came from a deep appreciation of God’s profound love for her and for all creation. Julian’s most famous saying is still often repeated in these times: All will be well and all will be well and every kind of thing shall be well. In these times of fear and not knowing what is ahead, I have noticed that I’m inclined to spend a lot of time online. Besides video conferencing for work and socialization, I read many articles about the pandemic. Each day I check the statistics on infections, hospitalizations and deaths, in Massachusetts. They come out at 4 pm. Over the past few weeks, I have discovered that I need to acknowledge today’s reality to the best of my ability. I need to study the risks of reopening in-person worship and how the virus spreads from person to person and in communities. I need to be aware of what the numbers mean for our state and our city. When the numbers have been published and I have read them, I have confronted the reality. Then I need a time to let it all go. And so I have added a new time of quiet at the end of my afternoon: with a yoga session, a time of prayer, or simply sitting in quiet and enjoying the view from my window. Through the breathing, moving, and sitting in the quiet I begin to slow down my recurring thoughts. Then I find that I am sitting with God, the Sprit of Truth. I hope that you have a practice like this too, or you can begin one. So that we can all turn our hearts toward the eternal Truth that: All will be well, and will be well, and every kind of thing shall be well. May it be so. Amen [1] Mary C. Earle, Julian of Norwich: Selections from Revelations of Divine Love—Annotated & Explained (SkyLight Paths: 2013), xx—xxi. [2] Julian of Norwich, The Fourteenth Revelation, ch. 58 (Long Text). Adapted from Veronica Mary Rolf, An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich, (IVP Academic: 2018), 18-21.
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