Sermon on May 17, 2020: Easter 6
An astronaut adrift. From the 2013 sci-fi film Gravity.
I will not leave you orphaned.
Maybe it’s just me, but sometimes being human feels like being an orphan. Not like being a literal orphan, of course—or a literary orphan like Oliver Twist, roaming the streets of 19th century London. I mean something more like a spiritual orphaning. The feeling of being detached from one’s sense of place within the order of the universe. Perhaps it’s just a feature of the postmodern condition, or maybe it’s part and parcel of the human experience in all times and places.
The more I reflect on my own experience upon this earth, the more I believe that there are only two ways to go through life. We can either go through it believing that we are in the palm of a God who is both immanent and transcendent, who is at once unimaginably close and exalted high above the heavens, who loves us with a love that we cannot fathom—or we can believe that our life is essentially meaningless, and that eventually everything will slip away into a vast expanse of nothingness. As though we are like astronauts floating through outer space toward a black hole, never again to emerge. Alienated. Orphaned.
In philosophical terms, this is the choice between theism and nihilism. And the fragmentation we experience in these latter days makes the option of nihilism so very tempting. The sense that there is no coherent metanarrative—only the will to control the narrative. To take only the latest example, people can’t even maintain unity against inane conspiracy theories like “Plandemic,” so how can we hope to ever find our place in the order of things, as beloved creatures of God?
It’s hard to resist the temptation of feeling like a spiritual orphan. Jesus says that he will not leave us orphaned; he says that, “the world will no longer see me, but you will see me.” In those moments when we want to throw up our hands and say that it’s all meaningless, we need to remember those words: the world will no longer see me, but you will see me. We need to remember the many times that we have seen Christ: in those moments when we were shown a profound act of love, in the times when we were forgiven though we did not deserve it. These moments will be meaningless to the world because the world cannot see them. Such moments may even look like weakness. But we who see them through the eyes of faith, with the eyes of the Spirit of Truth, who has been given to us.
It has been nearly 2,000 years since Our Lord ascended into heaven; but not a moment has gone by that we have been left alone. At times Christians may have felt like orphans, but we have never been so. The Holy Spirit has filled the hearts of the faithful, so that we may be Christ to one another. And that is what we are called to be, even now, no matter what today or tomorrow holds. The world will do what the world will do, but Christians are called to a life in the Spirit that the world cannot know. And we know what such a life will look like. What the shape of such a life will show. It will show love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-Control. These are the markers of the presence of Christ, the fruit of the Spirit—showing us that Christ is with us and has not left us orphaned.
And so, dear friends in Christ, if you are ever tempted to believe that God has left you all alone, or that your life is without meaning, or that the light of Christ has gone out from the world: remember those times that you have seen him, even when you were not looking. Remember the acts of love; the moments of joy; the expressions of peace. We need each other so that we may be Christ to each other. It’s hard to know how to do that, in this season of distance. At the very least, we can renew our dedication to the work of praying for each other, and in this way be Christ for one another. To be present to each other in the Spirit, although we are absent in the body.
May God’s love be so poured into our hearts, by the power of the Holy Spirit, that the eyes of our faith are opened and we are given the grace to see Christ at work in our lives. Even in times like these. Even today, even now. In each and every moment. Christ is with us. By his Spirit, we are made children of God, and marked as his own—forever.