Archive for Nicene Creed

From Spigot to Rivers

Posted in Homilies with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 4, 2017 by timtrue


John 7:37-39

“‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.’” Now he said this about the Spirit.


The Holy Spirit, Jesus says, like living water, will flow out of the believer’s heart.

It won’t just be the trickle of a low-flow spigot, he says; but rivers.


Is this what we see in churches today? When we look around, do we see rivers of living water flowing forth from Christians, quenching the spiritual thirst of this parched land?

Yes, our land is parched. Yes, we’re thirsty.

We see spiritual thirst, for instance, in our individualism.

Culture tells me to be independent, self-sufficient, and confident in my own abilities. It’s a tempting message, especially when society is so accommodating to my independence.

I get in my car. I drive to the Starbucks I choose. And I order a café mocha, my favorite drink, except not as it appears on the menu but as I prefer it, with half the sweetener and twice the chocolate! Then I return to my home to watch my TV programs that I’ve pre-recorded to suit my schedule—after I run through my favorite apps that I’ve customized to my iPhone.

Ever wonder why it’s called the “i” Phone?

But, notice. This message is not all it’s cracked up to be. The “i” on the iPhone is lower case. You are actually quite dependent on others, whether you care to admit it or not.

And have you seen what this message does to relationships—or, should I say, to individuals trying to have relationships with other individuals?

“It is not good for the man to be alone,” God said. And yet that’s all most people seem to want anymore: to be left alone.

In the end, the water that independence sells us leaves us thirsty.

Likewise, there’s spiritual thirst in society.

Perhaps our societal spiritual thirst is seen best in the decline in mainline church attendance over the last four decades. Other spiritual are waters out there—spiritual waters that today seem more attractive than church. Their sellers have done a good job at marketing them, at making them more attractive.

I think we Christians are more to blame for this decline than those sellers though. For, if the unchurched or de-churched could actually see our living water, like the woman at the well, they would want it.

But they don’t see it. Which is our fault. Because—my thinking anyway—it’s not flowing out of us.

Oh, it’s there all right—living water. It’s just not flowing out of us. Instead, it’s bottled up inside our independent selves.

Thus we see spiritual thirst all around us; thirst that can only be quenched by the living waters of the Holy Spirit, by the living waters that we possess. So, let’s get it out there already!


Speaking of the Holy Spirit, today is Pentecost Sunday. It is the day in the Church when we recall the Holy Spirit descending from heaven and entering all peoples.

This is a big day on the Church calendar, right up there with Christmas and Easter!

Now, God sent his Son to be Incarnate from the Virgin Mary. And we definitely see this remembered and celebrated in our churches today—also in the world around us. Christmas and Easter festivities abound!

But God sent the Holy Spirit too. And the Holy Spirit is a lot like Jesus: another Advocate; God dwelling with us.

So, when’s the last time you walked into CVS and heard Pentecost carols playing from the speakers overhead? (For that matter, just between us, Pentecost hymns in our own hymnal are few and far between–and not very catchy!)

When’s the last time you walked down the greeting card aisle to buy some Pentecost greeting cards to give to your beloved friends and family members?

And why don’t we practice longstanding cultural traditions that involve a big, cuddly dove? A dove to descend our chimneys, maybe, and give us gifts? Doves fly better than reindeer, after all. Or red plastic dove egg hunts in our church courtyards? Doves actually lay eggs, after all, unlike bunnies.

No, by and large, we forget about Pentecost.

Maybe we should just get rid of it then, eh? Time to move on already—get with the times! Maybe we should just give up trying to figure out who or what the Holy Spirit is and just eliminate him, her, or it from our theology, liturgy, and practice.


Who is the Holy Spirit anyway? Or, to frame it another way, what if we were just to get rid of the Holy Spirit altogether?

The Creed tells us who the Holy Spirit is. We say the Creed together most Sundays, including that section about the Holy Spirit: “We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son,” and so on.

But what do these words really mean? They all seems rather nondescript.

There’s this line: “He has spoken through the Prophets.” I get that one. Sort of. I mean, there were these fringy people in the Old Testament stories who stood their ground against dictators and despots; and how could anyone have done that unless they were empowered by something divine—or at least something supernatural, or unnatural?

But how do we make sense of the lines that follow?

“We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. / We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins. / We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.”

What in the world do these words have to do with the Holy Spirit?

Maybe nothing. Maybe they’re just some important bullet points that the Creed compilers felt compelled to include somewhere—like a kind of faith appendix statement.

Anyway, why couldn’t the Creed compilers have been more concrete, like they were with respect to Jesus?

Jesus! He was born of the Virgin Mary, tried before Pilate, crucified, died, and rose again on the third day. Also, he will come again to judge the living and the dead.

Yes, Jesus is easy to believe in. It’s all right there in the Creed, concrete, before our eyes.

So why do the words about the Holy Spirit have to be so abstract?

To which I say, yes, they are abstract. The Holy Spirit is a bit confusing—and has been for the entire history of the Church.

But notice this: everything about the Holy Spirit in the Creed has a communal focus.

The Holy Spirit spoke through individual prophets, yes. But why? It was to rouse a collective people, a nation: to pray as a people; to convict a nation of its societal sin; to rouse the nation to justice—which is just the profile of corporate love’s face.

And as for those other statements?

One holy catholic and apostolic Church means our communal faith with all the saints of all the ages.

Our baptism is our entrance rite into the one fold of God.

And as for the resurrection of the dead? Every single person who walks this earth will die. You cannot get more communal than that!

So, what happens if we just get rid of the Holy Spirit altogether?

We lose our prophets, our teachings, our conviction, our prayers, our communion, our baptism, our justice, our love.

You see, a god without the Person of the Holy Spirit is like a swimming pool without water. What’s the point? It has form and function but fails to serve its purpose.

If the Holy Spirit is not flowing from us like rivers of living water, what’s the point? We might testify of God’s form and function; yet what good are our testimonies when we fail to accomplish Christ’s mission?


So, how do we get the living water of the Holy Spirit to flow out of us?

Well, it looks like the stuff I just mentioned—Spirit stuff, I call it: corporate belief, prayer, communion, baptism, justice, and love. Or, to use the words of our patron, it looks like “love, joy peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control”—the things St. Paul calls “the fruit of the Spirit.”

And that starts with each of us, as individual followers of Christ.

What? Did I just say individuals?


I know many of my messages talk about our salvation, faith, belief, and so on in a corporate way. I’m not waffling on this theme! The Bible is clear throughout: Jesus’ mission is not to save individual souls from a world that is hellbound; but to save the world, the cosmos, all of it, by redeeming and restoring it to its rightful state. He’s already redeemed it, by the way; and now it’s up to us, his corporate church, to restore it.

But here’s the thing.

Do you remember what I said about that spigot? Jesus did not say, “Out of the believer’s heart shall flow a trickling spigot of living water.” He said rivers.

But an individual, trickling spigot is better for a dry and parched land than nothing at all.

The living water of the Holy Spirit starts with each one of us. Each one of us would do well to live a life characterized by the fruit of the Spirit. See what this looks like in Galatians 5. And to help us, St. Paul also includes a contrasting list, “the works of the flesh,” he calls them, the things that shouldn’t flow from us.

And when this living water begins to trickle from you, even if you are a low-flow spigot, well, hey, at least it’s something! And when a second low-flow spigot opens up nearby, why, its trickle joins yours and the two become a bigger flow.

And a third trickle combines to make the flow bigger still.

And so on, each one of us intentionally committing to live a life characterized by the fruit of the Spirit, until our individual, low-flow trickles become a brook; our brooks a stream; our streams a creek; and our creeks, eventually, mighty rivers of living water, to renew and revitalize a parched and dry land.

Come, Holy Spirit!


An Ephphatha Moment

Posted in Homilies with tags , , , , , , , , on September 6, 2015 by timtrue


Mark 7:24-37

What do you really believe about Jesus?

We believe the Creed; or we imply that we do, every Sunday, when we say it together:

“We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ . . . God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one being with the Father.”

And, a few lines later:

“By the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man.”

So the man Jesus, when he was walking on the earth with his disciples two thousand years ago, was fully man; yet he was also fully God.

Fully man and fully God.

Do you believe this?

It’s kind of confusing.

As a man, was Jesus aware that he was God?  Let’s assume so.  In today’s reading, as he healed the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter from afar; and as he healed the deaf and mute man, let’s assume Jesus knew he was God incarnate.

Well, when did he become aware that he was God?

Was he aware of it last week when he called the Pharisees hypocrites?

Was he aware of it when Herod beheaded John the Baptist?

Was he aware of it when he went to his hometown and wasn’t well received, when he said, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house”?

What about when he was in the wilderness, fasting for forty days, tempted by Satan?

Or what about when he was baptized by John in the Jordan River?

As a man, did Jesus possess an awareness of his full divinity?


So, keep backing up.  We don’t have much on Jesus’ childhood.  Except once, when he was twelve, over in Luke we read that Jesus’ parents were on a journey home from Jerusalem and realized that Jesus was not with them.  Frantic, they retraced their steps only to find him three days later hanging out with the teachers at the Temple.  And Jesus asks, “Why were you searching for me?  Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”  Was Jesus aware as a twelve year-old boy that he was fully human and fully divine?

As a boy, presumably learning on-the-job carpentry skills with his father Joseph, was Jesus aware of his divinity then?  None of the New Testament Gospels relates any miracles done by Jesus as a boy; but the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas does.  (And not all of them are good miracles!)

Was Jesus aware of his divinity as a boy?

What about as a baby?  We can’t reasonably assume that Jesus was born walking and talking and otherwise planning out his human life.

I mentioned last week that I spent a couple of years teaching second grade.  We worked on multiplication tables in second grade.  Well, what if Jesus were in my classroom?  Would he have learned his multiplication tables faster than any of the other students?  If he was fully God as a boy, doesn’t that mean that he knew everything already?  Why would he need to go to school at all?

Yet he was also fully human.  Back in Luke, just after his parents found him, we read that Jesus “increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor.”

No doubt he had to learn his multiplication tables, just as every other child his age did.  No doubt he made some mistakes along the way.  No doubt his first exercises in carpentry were crude and rough, just as every other apprentice begins crudely and roughly.

Jesus was fully human.  He therefore went through the normal human processes of increasing in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor—or, said another way, he grew mentally, physically, spiritually, and socially.

And, just as we grow and evolve in these ways throughout our human lives, it is reasonable to assume that Jesus continued to grow in these ways throughout his life.  It’s safe to say that Jesus was probably aware of his divinity to some extent when his parents found him at the Temple.  He was probably more aware when he was baptized in the Jordan River.  He was probably more aware still when he performed the miracles in today’s reading.  And he was probably even more aware when he stood trial before Pontius Pilate.

But, without doubt, he also made mistakes.  Human mistakes.  He increased in wisdom, meaning he had to learn carpentry through trial and error—stress error.  He made mistakes.

Now the real challenge: did Jesus ever sin?

For the record, mistakes aren’t to be confused with sins.  Writing “3×3=6” on a test is a mistake; looking at your neighbor’s test for the answer is a sin.  Coming into my office and confessing, “Pastor, I made a mistake: I just robbed a bank at gunpoint.”  Well, yeah, that’s a mistake, technically.  But more importantly, it’s a sin because it’s morally wrong.

(By the way, no one has ever come into my office to confess this to me; so stop looking around and trying to determine who might have said this!)

Point is, I ask this question—did Jesus ever sin?—because something unsettling happens in today’s Gospel.  It is so unsettling, in fact, that it has caused some people to conclude that Jesus actually did sin.

He’s fully human, they argue.  And sin is a part of human nature.  So why not?  Why shouldn’t Jesus have sinned?  And here’s the proof!  He calls the Syrophoenician woman a dog!  He insults a person and shows exclusive attitudes towards gender, race, and class.  In a moment of weakness, they conclude, St. Mark has captured an episode when Jesus actually sinned.

On top of all this, they rightly point out, the Creed does not deny it.  Yeah!  Pay close attention to the Creed when we say it together in a few minutes.  Nowhere does it state that Jesus never sinned.  And this is true of both the Nicene Creed and the Apostles’ Creed.

“But wait!” I want to protest (and I hope you do too).  “He was fully God.  The Creed makes this clear!  And how could God ever sin?  Besides, what about the Bible?”

The Creed doesn’t say that Jesus never sinned, true enough.  But a good chunk of it—about half!—makes explicit statements about Jesus’ full divinity.  And, yes, while the Creed does not say that Jesus never sinned, the Bible does!

To quote just a few verses:

“He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth” (1 Pet. 2:22).

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15).

“You know that he was revealed to take away sins, and in him there is no sin” (1 John 3:5).

The Bible is clear: Jesus never sinned.  In fact, let me suggest that the Bible is so clear on this matter that the writers of the Creed felt no need to put it in.  It was already a foundational truth upon which the Creed was built.

So then—phew!—glad to have gotten that off my chest! Still, we have to deal with this sticky question.  Why does Jesus respond to this woman the way he does?  Why does he call her a dog?  What is going on here?

Jesus set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

The “children” here are Jews; the “dogs” are Gentiles.  The Syrophoenician woman is a Gentile.  Jesus is calling her a dog.

We can’t soften this.  I tried.  I looked up the Greek for dog, hoping to find some sort of idiom or colloquialism to help me out.  And you know what I found?  The Greek word for dog means dog.

It’s an insulting term, demeaning, and exclusive.  She is a woman; she is not a Jew; and she is probably upper class (Jesus is lower).  We might easily read biases into Jesus’ canine statement—biases against gender, race, and class.

But my theology won’t allow me to believe that Jesus would sin.  So, what do we make of this exchange?

“Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.”

My theology won’t allow me to believe that Jesus would sin.  But it does allow room for human mistakes; and room for human growth.

Jesus calls the Syrophoenician woman a dog.  She boldly replies that she wants what he has to offer, that she trusts him, that she believes in him.  St. Matthew relates the story adding these words: “Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish’” (Mt. 15:28).

Whatever else we want to make of this story, Jesus clearly turns.  He doesn’t want to help the woman; then he does.

Far from being evidence that Jesus is sinning, I find a strong case here for Jesus experiencing growth and maturity in his adult life—on the fly!

Certainly, as a man, he was influenced by his culture—just as we all are.  We buy into ideologies without even realizing it.  Music, media, family, friends, foes—they all influence us in ways seen and unseen.  Why should it be any different for Jesus?

Jesus was tired.  He’d been working hard.  He’d entered a house and didn’t want anyone to know.  He was needing some alone time.

Nevertheless, his reputation had preceded him.  People—non-Jewish people—knew of him and of his capabilities.

Why shouldn’t he have been a little annoyed, then, when this unknown woman approached him?  What if she were merely wanting to see him perform some magic trick?  Was it a sin to respond the way he did?

But then—since my theology allows for human growth and maturity—why shouldn’t Jesus experience a sort of “aha!” moment, on the fly?  When the woman responds in a way that demonstrates faith, why shouldn’t Jesus be able to realize his mistake, to have sudden sympathy on the woman and her daughter, and to abandon his human biases?

It works for me.  And I hope it works for you.

But, if all this is still not enough, there’s one more bit that compels me: the context.

What was Jesus’ point last week?  Hypocrisy.

We shouldn’t live pretend, hypocritical lives; but lives that are honest, authentic.  What made the Pharisees hypocrites was their preconceived ideas, their biases, about washing hands before meals.  Jesus and his disciples weren’t good Jews, these Pharisees said, since they hadn’t washed their hands before the meal.

Isn’t it curious that today’s episode with the Syrophoenician woman occurs just after this lesson about hypocrisy in Mark’s Gospel?  It’s as if Jesus is remembering his lesson on hypocrisy as his conversation unfolds with the Syrophoenician woman.  It’s as if he checks himself, mid-sequence, realizing he’d better put his very words into practice.  He better not be operating by biases, even if those biases are commonly accepted social norms.  Wrong is wrong, after all.  Better to nip a mistake in the bud than allow it to blossom into sin.

So that’s part of the context.

But also, what happens next?

Next, Jesus heals a deaf and mute man.  Jesus goes to the man, sticks his fingers in his ears, spits, touches the man’s tongue, and looks to heaven and says this strange word: Ephphatha.  And the man’s ears are opened; and he is able to speak clearly.

The man, who could not speak or hear before, has an Ephphatha moment.

Could it be that Jesus, who at first had not seen the Syrophoenician woman’s intentions clearly, also just experienced an “Ephphatha” moment?

What about us?

Do we allow socially acceptable ideas to govern our sense of right and wrong?  Do we possess biases about gender, race, and socioeconomic class because we allow society to influence us along these lines?  And then are we so stubborn in our biases that we refuse to change them once we realize our mistake?

Or are we like Jesus?  Are we cognizant enough in the heat of whatever situation to discern what is truly right from what is truly wrong—and then act on it?  Are we able to experience an Ephphatha moment?

Right is right, after all; and wrong is wrong.  Better to nip a mistake in the bud than allow it to blossom into sin.