Craving, Insanity and Sanctity

Craving, Insanity and Sanctity (Sermon, John 14:15-21)

 St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, Easter 6, May 29, 2011

Can we talk about love? It is one of the most over-used, misused and misunderstood words in the English language.  Part of the problem is that other languages have different words to describe a multitude of conditions for which we use this one English word.

For example.  I love chocolate cake. I love coney island hot dogs.  Another example. I love that girl so much I want to be with her all the time, all my life.  I would do anything for her.  I have never felt anything like this before.  Another example. Jesus said “love your enemies.”

In the first example, we are talking about a food craving.  In the second we are talking about romantic love, a wonderful experience which has been diagnosed as temporary insanity.  And in the third we are talking about advanced spirituality.  All three very different conditions are identified with the same word, “love.”

I would like to present to you a model for love based in scripture, a very Christian model challenging us to grow spiritually.  By presenting this model I wish in no way to diminish the greatness of the craving for mashed potatoes and turkey gravy or of falling in love.  This spiritual model starts very small and moves out in concentric circles.  First God loves us, each and every one of us.    From that loves comes the ability to love ourselves, which is our  first step and obligation.  Self-love is not bad.  It is very good. We are not capable of loving others unless we love ourselves. By love I mean wanting good and doing good for someone.  First we do it for ourselves, so that we can do it for others.  Jesus said in today’s Gospel “If you love me, keep my commandments.”  Love is more than wishing good; it is doing good.  It is more than a wonderful feeling, although that helps a lot.  Sometimes the wonderful feeling isn’t there at all, but true love is.

This love of God for us and our love for ourselves and for Him begins to spread out.  At first in a small circle that includes only immediate family. That’s natural. Love starts at home.  Then by the grace of God it moves out to include the larger family and the relatives.  Now for some it doesn’t move out.  Maybe there has been turmoil over a marriage.  Maybe there has been abuse, so that the nuclear family closes in to protect its members.  Forgiveness may be needed.  But by the grace of God and our own willingness, this love can expand into a larger circle, to include neighbors and friends, those who are similar to ourselves.  Then by the grace of God it moves out further to include those who are different but just as lovable when we get to know them.  Many, by the grace of God, are able to move beyond their own region and develop a real love and patriotism for their country, even a willingness to die for it and it’s people.  These are the people we will be honoring tomorrow on Memorial Day.

The next expansion of the circle is difficult for many, is sometimes hard to even conceive.  It is a love for all mankind, regardless of country.  To embrace all mankind in the arms of our love, again by the grace of God, does not mean we love our own country and its people any less, any more than a mother and father love their firstborn less when other children are born.  The firstborn now has other family members to love and to be loved by.

Remember, the love I am talking about when I refer to all mankind or any part of it is wanting good and doing good when we can for people.  Loving someone and doing good for them doesn’t mean we necessarily like them.  Sometimes we don’t like our own family members or even ourselves.

Caring about people from other countries and helping when we can does not make us any less patriotic in regard to our own country.  I think it can make us more patriotic, yes, more realistic about our country’s failures.  It can make us appreciative of what we are and have, maybe a little less self-absorbed.

I am grateful to have had an experience of living overseas as a student for four years and to have met and made friends with people from many nations. I know that influences my view on things, but I don’t think that has made me any less appreciative of the U.S. or less patriotic.  The experience of sailing across the Atlantic after four years away and cruising into New York harbor  was very emotional. My fellow students and I, all newly ordained priests, were anxiously looking forward to seeing the Statue of Liberty.  Before we reached her, however, an officer of the ship came to me and asked for one of my classmates, John Wall.  He had a sad message for John and asked me to deliver it.  John’s father had died while we were crossing. The family had intentionally waited until he was close to home to send the word.  I shared the sad news with him and a bunch of us gathered to celebrate the Eucharist in his cabin.  When we finished the ship was docking; we had passed the Statue of Liberty.  John’s brother came on board to escort him home to the funeral in North Carolina.   I missed seeing the Statue but never regretted that because of the special time with John. My love for him and his family superseded the opportunity for a personally rewarding patriotic experience.  Years later I was able to return to New York and gaze on the grand lady.

The sentiments that I have been expressing to you are found in today’s closing hymn, “This Is My Song, Oh God of All the Nations.” I ask you to listen to its words and let the melody move you.  The melody is that of Finlandia by Jean Sebelius, the great Finnish composer; the words are from the Methodist Hymnal.  They speak of patriotism for one’s own country and empathy for the citizens of other countries.