Fire. It
fascinates us. It captures our gaze and
delights us. I’ve just gotten back from
what’s officially known as “early years of priesthood retreat” (but more
commonly known as baby priest camp!) and we spent more than one night sitting
out under the stars, gathered around our outdoor fire pit, enjoying the
fraternity, but gazing at the fire. It
warms us, it lights up our world, it cooks our food, it fascinates us and
attracts our gaze.
Friends: look up. Literally, please do it now: look up. Because those of us who are baptized (and if
you’re not, let me know and we’ll get that sorted by this time next year) have
been gifted with God’s own dignity and life, through water and the Spirit and
resting on us are tongues as of fire, descended from above. For those of us who are confirmed (and again,
if you’re not, talk to us), those tongues are strengthened. It’s a blazing fire, tenderly lapping the top
of your head, and it should capture our gaze, it should draw us up, to the full
stature God created us to have, to gaze with longing at the heavens for which
God has claimed us, by making us mature, confident, heads-held-high, missionary
disciples, gaze captured by the delightful fire of the Spirit.
Ninety-six days ago, we were marked with ashes
on our foreheads and remembered that we are dust. We lamented that sometimes that’s all people
can see when they look at us, the leftovers, the remnants of God’s fiery
passion in which we each have been embraced, because a fire in which what grabs
your attention first is the ashes isn’t much of a fire. But there are no ashes without flames. There is lamenting to be done for each of us
and for all of us, but not today. No,
today, we celebrate. We have lamented
and sought to grow in grace and virtue through our fasting, prayer and
almsgiving; we have celebrated Easter, set alight the new fire, and watched our
Paschal candle burn throughout these fifty days of Easter. And now, we celebrate, that God has gifted us
with His own fire. It does rest on
us. It is pulling us up and, however far
we have to go, we will blaze triumphant with him forever.
“O Holy Night” is a Christmas song, but some of
its lyrics would fit astoundingly well for Pentecost – “Long lay the world in
sin and error pining; ‘til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.” We may and we must lament the prominence of
our ashes, but even more keenly must we feel our created and redeemed worth and
let that gift of Spirit pull us up to our full stature. That’s what God’s doing through this gift.
I don’t do this often, but on this Feast, I do
want to share with you some words of a theologian which I came across this week. Normally what I read informs my preaching
without getting quoted, but (partly because I was on retreat, partly because it’s
so good), here’s a paragraph’s worth of excerpts. This is from Jesuit Father Karl Rahner: “The reason why the glowing love of the
Father and of the Son has descended into our hearts is that the Father’s own
Son has brought our humanity back into the Father’s light. The
Holy Spirit of the eternal God has come.
He is here: He lives in us, he sanctifies us, he strengthens us, he
consoles us. The center of all reality,
the innermost heart of all infinity, the love of the all-holy God has become
our center, our heart. God is ours. He has not given us merely a gift, created
and finite like ourselves. No, he has given us his whole being without
reserve. He has given us himself. God is our
God: that is the glad tidings of Pentecost.”
No comments:
Post a Comment