some last things

Today I preached my last sermon as Vicar. It went well I think... so there you have it.:

I’m just going to tell you right now: they didn’t ask me to preach because I know God better than you do. Or at least, I hope they didn’t

because I don’t. I only know of God what I have seen.

I am not a Biblical Scholar, I am not a Systematic Theologian. And I don’t intend to be. My work here is to answer your questions with a kind look rather than a solid answer.

My job is to come close enough to whisper to you that I don’t know why bad things happen to God’s children, but I do want to be near you when (not IF) they do, in case I can somehow offer comfort that distance or diplomas would not permit.

Sometimes it is nearness that matters most.

It seems that is what mattered most to Thomas.

We call him Doubting Thomas because he is having a little trouble believing that Jesus has risen, and even more trouble believing that Jesus has come back and come close.

He tells his friends that he wants to see Christ for himself that he wants to get up close enough to examine the wounds of his dear friend, perhaps like a father checking a bicycle crash scrape for tiny pebbles, maybe Thomas wanted to verify Jesus’ identity, or maybe he knew it would be so nice just to be that close and personal again.

It doesn’t sound like a shocking request to me. I don’t fault Thomas for asking. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told God,

“All right, You. Its time to show up because I’m feeling so alone out here and I’ve made such a mess of things. And don’t just send a representative—You’re God with us, so get with it.”

We all have moments of mind-numbing doubt but we also, all of us, bear witness—our beliefs tend to show in our behaviors, no matter what.

It is quite possible that they gave me this job because I am willing, if not able, to articulate the things I believe, and to tell you about the things I have seen.

So I’ll just be like a good disciple I’m going to tell you outright what I saw.

I can’t tell you what God looks like because I can count on one hand the number of times I know God showed up and

every time

God showed up looking a lot less like I thought God ought to
and a lot more like something else entirely.

And by the time the smoke of my disbelief cleared it was all I could do to turn to an innocent bystander and double check,

“Did you see that? Did that look like GOD to you?! Well, did you get a good look at his face, his hands?”

And I end up sounding a lot more like a doubting Thomas than I would like to.

Looking for God can be a little like aiming binoculars at a moving target sometimes. It’s more like bird watching than going to the zoo. So instead of studying up on systematic theology, which I haven’t found to be very satisfying, I gave up on trying to get the facts and figures all right.

I’ve been busy watching over your kids.

It’s another kind of bird watching altogether.

One of them showed up in a newspaper/masking tape crown complete with poker chips for jewels with a paper/scotchtape robe and scepter to match. And I knew, without a shadow of doubt, I knew that if this garb had been offered to God, God would totally wear a paper crown and cape like that—God would appreciate the know-how required to turn ordinary paper into something regal. God would see the hard work required to craft such adornments and call it worship and God would wear them proudly.

Another of these birds broke out in song, as clear as a church bell, as he colored madly away on a picture of a robot. And I knew, there was no doubt, that God would definitely sing like that, with abandon, adding a little color to the sunset, or drawing in a few more clouds around the edges. I knew God could sing just like that…

Then, just last week,

it was Easter morning and so I may have been a bit bleary eyed, perhaps a little overwhelmed by the lily smells and Alleluia bells. But I looked up and saw one running toward her daddy to pass the peace  and I was never so sure as I was then that God runs, God runs like a girl let loose toward what she most wants. God is at once all pumping knees and breeze and abandon on God’s way and who can stop God from coming close and passing peace when the time is right? I know, walking feet are a must for people like me prone to tripping and crashing but God doesn’t seem to worry about that sort of thing. Only God can teach us how to really pass the peace with such gusto.

St. John corroborates my testimony: he writes that Jesus did come close enough, did offer himself, bodily, to even the most vocal of doubters.

And then to the rest of us, who have to go lifetimes without seeing, he offered us

a blessing.

Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet believe

Because we are the bird watchers, waiting for a glimpse, holding onto hope, adjusting our bifocals and hearing aids because

These little birds, over whom we have been told to watch so closely, are not put here as a noisy distraction.

These little ones bear the image of God as they don paper vestments or sing aloud the praises gushing forth from deep within their hearts, as they rush forward and somehow, in a tiny song or embrace bring with them the peace that passes all understanding,

Lest we forget that the least of these are the littlest Christs in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.