Last year, when my daughter was in fourth grade, my daughter, wife, and I met with her
teacher for her beginning of the year conference. Her teacher asked my wife and I a question I
wasn’t prepared for. He asked, “what are your hopes for your daughter?” I was expecting to
talk about reading, writing, and arithmetic, not existential questions of parenting. My wife
looked at me and said, “I don’t know…you’re better at these questions than I am.” After
fumbling for a moment, I came up with an answer that I still stand behind – not only for my
daughter, but for my son, myself, and all of us. I looked at my daughter and said, “I hope you
know who you are, are confident in who you are, and find something to do with your life that is
life-giving for you and for others.”
Knowing deep in our bones and hearts and souls who we are is a starting point for all
else that follows. How we see ourselves, the narratives that give shape to our lives, our ability
to own our identity as good and true and holy – those affect how we walk around in the world.
Ever since I gave that answer in the conference, though, I’ve been wondering how those hopes
might come to fruition. What of it is up to chance? How can I, as a parent, help those hopes
come true? As much as I might want to direct and prescribe, how can I let go and let my child –
or my children – find their own way?
The balance of dictating who and how my kids are and being hands-off, letting their lives
run free, is one of the great challenges of parenting. Perhaps there is a middle-ground and one
that changes over time. You see, my daughter is starting middle school next year to the great
trepidation of her parents. When parenting young children, perhaps it is more appropriate to
be more directive. And as they approach adolescence – when their entire developmental job is
to discover who they are apart from their parents – to give more space for exploration and
maybe even some mistakes. And as they grow into adulthood, to recognize that, while they will
always be your child, they are a fully grown human that gets to decide for themselves who they
are and what they will do.
I don’t know who my kids will turn out to be, but one way I seek to direct them is
through the stories that shape our family’s belief, actions, sense of self, and sense of purpose.
In our family, we are kind, we say we’re sorry, we embrace our emotions. We believe that there
is a God who holds us and the world in love. We treat others with respect. We care for others.
The stories of our extended families include adventure, pioneering spirits, deeply rooted senses
of place and home, generations of faithfulness to God and family. Our kids hear those
foundational stories and I hope are shaped by them even as they seek to find their own path.
You see, stories give shape to our lives as we seek to live into them or even as we push
back against and challenge them. And for the last 175 days, we’ve been telling the story of our
faith – the story of the birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus. Beginning in
Advent, it is the grand narrative of a creation waiting and longing to be healed and made whole.
In Christmas, discovering hope in our midst. In Epiphany, recognizing that the hope of
restoration and healing is not only for us, but for the whole of the cosmos – that all things are
being made new. In Lent, confronting our fragility, our need for help, and finding God right
there with us when we admit we don’t have it all together. In Holy Week, journeying through
the highest highs to the lowest lows of human experience, discovering that God is present in
and has experienced it all. And for the last 50 days of Easter, proclaiming death no longer has
the final word and discovering the beginning of the new creation for which we have been
longing.
We tell this story not only because we believe it to be true, but because it shapes us. We
tell it year after year, season after season, because we grow into it through the rhythm of
telling and retelling. Last week in Children’s Formation, we wrapped up our exploration of
Easter. Some of the kids, at the beginning, said, “it is still Easter?!” And so we reflected on that.
I asked them why they think Easter lasts such a long time. One of them said, “because we want
to celebrate Jesus being alive for as long as we can.” Another said, “because Jesus being alive is
what our faith is about.” They actually said those things better than what I had written in my
notes as I prepared the lesson. Jesus being alive, life conquering death, love being bigger than
hate, hope consuming despair is the reason we are here in this church. We want to sit in that
reality with Jesus for as long as we can, basking in the story.
But the Easter season doesn’t last forever. The story moves on, shaped by what came
before. The season changes today from Easter – telling the story of the risen Christ among us –
to Pentecost. Pentecost is the moment we move from telling the story that shapes our life to
living the story. From this point on, the story is not one we recall, but one we write through our
lives and our witness to the new creation that began at Easter.
The English priest and ethical theologian, Samuel Wells, once articulated the narrative
scope of Scripture as a five-act play, an illustration first proposed by renowned theologian (and
dear friend of our own Peter Rodgers) N.T. Wright. In the first act of this play, creation, we see
God’s creative intentions for the world. After Adam and Eve’s disobedience and the
introduction of sin, which distorts humanity, comes act two: God’s plan to save all the nations
of the world through God’s covenantal relationship with Israel. As Israel fails to remain faithful
to this covenant, God enters the brokenness of creation in act three to defeat sin and the
accompanying alienation and death. Act four begins at Pentecost with the gift of the Spirit and
the creation of a community called the church to be Christ’s body in the world and an actor in
God’s continuing drama of reconciliation. This is the act in which we currently find ourselves.
The fifth-act, when God’s kingdom is definitively established as the only kingdom in heaven and
on earth is yet to come and, in fact, is shaped by act four.
On the Day of Pentecost, I wonder if it is the moment in which God says to us, God’s
church, “I hope you know who you are, are confident in who you are, and find something to do
with your life that is life-giving for you and for others.” “As the Father has sent me, so I send
you,” Jesus tells us. Jesus, in the flesh, is no longer here. But Christ’s body, the church, certainly
is. We have work to do to make God’s kingdom come alive, to proclaim the story we’ve been
telling of hope and new life far and wide, to continue the work of reconciliation and healing
that Jesus showed us. I hope you know who you are: Christ’s body, beloved children of God,
redeemed and made whole by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. I hope you are
confident in who you are: as the world offers enticing narratives of power, wealth, control, and
self-centeredness, I hope you remember that the fullest life is found in giving of yourself for
another, that loving your neighbor is greater than protecting what is yours, that generosity is
more fulfilling than holding on tightly. I hope you find something to do with your life that is life-
giving for you and for others: as the Father has sent me, so I send you.
Pentecost sends us out – out of the comfort of our sanctuaries, our churches, our
metaphorical locked rooms. Pentecost is where the story we’ve been telling comes alive, not
only for us, but for the world around us. Pentecost is where we are called to live out the
narrative of God’s saving work in such a way that the reality of Christ’s life, death, and
resurrection are made present in this world so that God’s kingdom may more fully come. That is
a daunting task. The world can, at times, seem too overwhelming dark and complicated to
make any difference. Being “found out” as a Christian – blowing our cover in a culture in which
the loudest Christians give Jesus a bad look can be uncomfortable, at best. But here is the Good
News: God doesn’t leave us alone.
The same Spirit that hovered over the waters of creation, the Spirit that inspired the
prophets of old, the Spirit that filled Jesus through his ministry and miracles, the Spirit that
raised Jesus from the dead, the Spirit that filled the disciples and enabled them to proclaim the
Gospel far and wide, is the same Spirit that is given to us. We are not alone to find our own
way, to make it up as we go, to do the work to which God calls us out of our own strength or
willpower. As Jesus promised us, when the Holy Spirit comes she will “guide you into all the
truth” (John 16). The Holy Spirit, “will teach you all things and will remind you of everything
Jesus said” (John 14).
“To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” Whatever the
work God calls us to that is life-giving for us and for the world, we don’t do it on our own. This
congregation of St. Luke’s is a powerful witness to the gifts and inspiration of the Holy Spirit. I
don’t want to get ahead of the day to the deconsnecration this afternoon, but we stand on the
shoulders here today of many, many faithful saints who, inspired, led by, and strengthened by
the Spirit have done more to proclaim the Good News of God in Christ than seems possible.
Their witness, and the same Spirit with us, continues to lead us into a life that seems impossible
for a congregation of our size. Over 40,000 meals served every year to anyone in need of food
and community in our neighborhood through Edible Hope Kitchen. 84 units of affordable
housing on our property…and counting. Taking Jesus’ words to care for and love the prisoner
seriously with our new One Parish One Prisoner team. But, here is the point: you have a part to
play in that. Yes, that is the witness and ministry of our church, but each and everyone of you is
St. Luke’s. “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit,” not just for the life of St. Luke’s,
but for the healing of our world.
In a few moments, on this Day of Pentecost, we will renew our baptismal vows. Our
baptism gives us an identity as God’s family. Our baptism gifts us with the Holy Spirit. And our
baptism gives us a job to do. All three of those things work together: that we may know who we
are, that we may be confident in who we are, and that, with those two, we would do something
with this life that is life-giving for us and for the world. As we move forward from Easter, we,
the church, are the living story of our faith. What story are we going to write for St. Luke’s, for
Ballard, and for the world? Hear, again, the words of Jesus: “As the Father has sent me, so I
send you.”
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