Sin , Righteousness, Judgment, and Making Your Confirmation (Reflections on Pentecost, 2024)

 

“When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of Truth who comes from the Father, she will testify on my behalf.” (John 15:26)

I was surprised to see Judy at this get-together. It was an informal gathering of Roman Catholic young adults, mostly college-age as I was, to which my buddy Mike had invited me. Except for the free-flowing beer, it was as wholesome a gathering of suburban 20-somethings as one would want to find. Judy, whom I had not seen since we both made our Confirmation together in a little LCMS[i] congregation about six or seven years earlier, greeted me warmly with a hug. “So, Owen,” she said, “when did you become a Christian?”

Given that we had both affirmed our baptisms in the same ceremony, I found this question rather odd. My most orthodox Lutheran answer, naturally, was, “I became a Christian when I was baptized and affirmed my faith through my Confirmation.” Judy stared at me. “You mean you were a believer then?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied. “I wasn’t,” she said. “I only got confirmed because my parents made me.”

I was confirmed fifty years ago this Pentecost, but I still remember how our pastor prepped us for the rite. He drilled us on the Apostles Creed and sternly told us, “If you don’t believe what you’ve just said, don’t bother showing up on Sunday.” I liked my pastor, but fifty years later I have to admit his statement was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard any adult utter. Of course we were going to show up—whether we believed it or not! We were only teenagers, and our parents would make us!

It’s a long-standing tradition in many Lutheran churches (and probably in many other denominations as well) that on the Day of Pentecost, that feast which honors the coming of the Holy Spirit upon Jesus’ disciples, that we hear young people confess their Christian faith and affirm their baptisms. The pastor lays hands on the heads of the confirmands and prays that they, too, will be anointed with God’s Holy Spirit.

I believe in God the Holy Spirit, so I believe she always shows up[ii]. I’m just not sure a fourteen-year-old will always recognize her. At least not immediately. I don’t think I did. At fourteen, you have a lot of other stuff on your mind besides your religious faith—if you even claim to have faith.

I’ve often, with a cynicism I’ll admit is somewhat unbecoming of a clergyman, referred to Confirmation as “Graduation from Church.” I think we treat this rite superstitiously. We might say to ourselves that our son or daughter has confirmed their faith, so now we know they won’t go to hell. We’ve done our part. We’ve appeased an angry God by having the kid go through this, and we’ve appeased the even angrier parent by letting them see their grandchild confirmed. Now we’ll never have to go to church again.

I can list by name any number of families from my congregation who have vanished after the youngest child made Confirmation. But I’m still going to pray for the Holy Spirit to be poured out on these young people. I must believe that she will do her work of gathering, enlightening, and sanctifying our young brothers and sisters even if I never personally witness her active in their lives.

In the Gospel lesson from the Revised Common Lectionary for Pentecost, Year B (John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15), Jesus promises his guys he will send them what in Greek is called the parakletos—literally the one “called to the side.” That means our side. The one who will be beside us. She is sometimes called the “Comforter,” the “Advocate,” or the “Counselor.” But Jesus is careful to remind them that this companion will come to them, but maybe not at this specific moment. The Holy Spirit will do her work in God’s time, not in ours. “I still have many things to say to you,” Jesus says (v.12-13), “but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of Truth comes, she will guide you in all the truth.” I think to be guided in the truth means to understand things with a clear and mature vision. That doesn’t always happen right away. Sometimes it takes time.

I’ve been warned that one of the worst things you can say to teenagers is, “You’re not ready for this now,” or “You’ll understand when you’re older.” But this is true of all of us regardless of our age. There are times when we’re just far from the Spirit of God. It happens. We may have faith and hope, but we’ll still find ourselves waiting. In the context of the Gospel story, these guys are sitting around that table in the upper room after their Passover seder, fearing that their friend Jesus is about to be arrested and executed and they, too, might find themselves on the wrong side of the law. They are waiting in fearful uncertainty. And the older we get, the more of those moments we’ll experience. But that’s when the Spirit can do her best work and teach us about sin, righteousness, and judgment.

The word the Bible uses for “sin” here is hamartias. It doesn’t mean breaking the commandments. It means “missing the mark.” The Holy Spirit gives us that longing to get back on target and to reconnect with faith. She’ll teach us that righteousness is clearly found in Jesus Christ, who taught us simply to love one another as selflessly and as openly as he has loved us. And we’ll understand judgment. We’ll see how to love the things of God and reject the things of this world that draw us from God like wealth or prestige or power over others. We’re all just waiting for the Spirit to do her work, so here’s an illustration of how to wait:

In her memoir Still, Lauren Winner recounts the story of her friend Julian. When Julian was just twelve years old and preparing to be confirmed, she told her father—the pastor of the church—she wasn’t sure she could go through with it. She wasn’t sure she believed everything she was supposed to believe, at least not enough to make a promise before God and her congregation to believe those things forever. Her father told her, “What you promise when you are confirmed is not that you will believe this forever. What you promise when you are confirmed is that this is the story you will wrestle with forever.[iii]”

Confirmation is far from an ending. It can and should be a beautiful new beginning. Don't be afraid or embarrassed to wait and wrestle and have faith in having faith.

 

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[i] That stands for Lutheran Church Missouri Synod, once the largest, most progressive, and influential body of Lutherans in the United States. They shot themselves in the foot around 1970 by going ultra-conservative and have never quite recovered.

[ii]I like to refer to the Holy Spirit as “She.” The word in Hebrew for “spirit” is a feminine noun. We have two masculine parts of the Trinity and I like to be inclusive.

[iii] From Lauren Winner, Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis (New York: Harper One, 2013) which I’m quoting from Rachel Held Evans Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church (Nashville, TN: Nelson books, 2015)

St. Matthias, Your Mom, and Other Obscure Saints (Reflections on Easter 7,Year B 2024)

 

"Saint Matthias" Rubens (Flem. 17th Cent.)

“Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” (John 17:11b)

Does anybody remember Saint Matthias? If all the saints were on bubble gum trading cards, I bet Matthias’ card would be the least valuable of all. Aside from the initial draft, this guy doesn’t have any stats. Nobody knows anything about him. He’s not exactly one of your MVP apostles like Peter, John, or James. He isn’t even of quirky interest like Matthew or Simon the Zealot. Matthias makes his appearance in our First Lesson for Easter 7 Year B (Acts 1:15-17, 21-26), and then is never heard from again.[i] Some Bible scholars have opined, as Bible scholars are wont to do, that Peter and the others were just too antsy to sit around and wait for the Holy Spirit, so they figured they should do something. That “something” was replacing Judas Iscariot. Had they waited, they might’ve realized that the new twelfth apostle was going to be Paul. But, no. Thay had to shoot craps and pick this guy, a guy who doesn’t even have any sensational legends or miracles attached to him in the extra-biblical folklore of the Church.

The only tiny scraps of information recorded about Matthias is that he might’ve preached somewhere around the Caspian Sea and that he was martyred by being stoned to death and then decapitated[ii]. But this makes me wonder: if we don’t have a record of him, does that mean he didn’t do any worthwhile ministry? I mean, c’mon! The guy got stoned AND beheaded. He must’ve pissed somebody off, and there’s no surer way of doing that than preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ. If you go around talking about forgiveness, compassion, generosity, and radical inclusion you’re going to make somebody angry. We can’t say Matthias wasn’t a good apostle just because we don’t know what he did for the faith. If he did anything at all, God knew it, and that’s enough.

I guess that’s my take-away. We won’t all be recorded as being heroes of the faith. We won’t all start fabulously benevolent NGO’s or cure cancer or win the Nobel Peace Prize. But that’s cool because God isn’t calling us to be madly successful or to work miracles. God is calling us to faithfulness. Jesus reminded us in the Sermon on the Mount not to sound the trumpet when we do what we’re supposed to be doing anyway.[iii] It doesn’t matter that nobody sees or knows about our good works. We’re not running for office. I just think it’s important for us to recognize that those around us, faithful people God has placed in our lives, may do so much good for so many people that we’ll never know about or appreciate. But just because we don’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t being done. As the poet said,

“Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”[iv]

 

Our lives are filled with totally unremarkable people. But they are people who still show up and make a subtle impact just by doing their part. Like your mom, for example. If you were to ask any Christian who was the most important spiritual influence in their lives, I’d bet nine out of ten times they’d answer it was their mom. This Sunday, the Seventh Sunday of Easter, is also Mother’s Day here in the USA. I have no problem with giving a shout-out to all the patient, steady, and otherwise commonplace women whose prayers and faithfulness have kept churches and people from crashing headlong into the metaphorical ditch or have been there after the crash to help pick up the pieces. Their work hasn’t been glamorous. Like Saint Matthias, they may go unnoticed and unappreciated, but they get the job done.

I find it coincidentally appropriate that on this Mother’s Day we get one last reading from Jesus’ Farewell Discourse (John 17:6-19). It always seemed to me that Jesus was taking on an almost parental role with this prayer. That is, he’s praying for the disciples the way your mom might pray for you, or you might pray for your kids. He’s saying in essence, “Father God, look after these guys. I know I’m not going to be around much longer, so just keep them safe and help them get along with each other. I’ve taught them everything, so now they’re on their own. Don’t let them get into trouble in this dangerous world and help them do the right thing.” Just as Jesus prayed this for his disciples, I have a feeling someone at some time has prayed something similar for you.

Happy Mother’s Day. It isn’t easy to have complete responsibility for something over which you will, ultimately, have no control. And if you feel like an unappreciated Saint Matthias, know your Heavenly Father—and probably a whole lot of other folks who just haven’t been verbal about it—have seen your quiet, regular, and faithful good works.

May that thought bring you peace today, and may the peace of God which passes our understanding keep your heart and your mind in Christ Jesus.

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[i] By the way, if you’re wondering what happens in verses 18-20, the writer recounts how Judas Iscariot committed suicide by leaping from a great height and eviscerating himself (literally “spilling his guts”) on the rocks below. It’s kind of a gross story, so I can see why the folks who composed our Revised Common Lectionary wanted to leave it out.

[ii] I checked some of my faithful sources for this. They include Fox’s Book of Martyrs (or, if you prefer the original title Actes and Monuments of the Latter Perilous Days Touching Matters of the Church), that wonderfully gory chronicle originally published in 1563 but appended many times since. I also referred to my Pocket Dictionary of Saints (John Delaney, editor. Image Books, 1983) and my Little Pictorial Lives of the Saints (Benziger Brothers 1926 edition).

[iii] Matthew 6:2-4.

[iv] From “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” by Thomas Gray, 1751. I really like this poem. It’s one of my faves.

New Rule: Love (Reflections on Easter 6, Year B 2024)

 

"Peter's Vision" Domenico Fetti (It. 18th Cent.)

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12)

It’s going to be a pretty busy Sunday at Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia. We’ve got a baptism and a confirmation to celebrate, and the lessons appointed in the Revised Common Lectionary for Easter 6, Year B will fit very nicely. We start off with the awesome story from Acts about Peter and the Roman centurion Cornelius (Acts 10: 1-48) and segue to Jesus talking about how we are to abide in his love (John 15:9-17). 

The first lesson works out for us pretty well because it references both Holy Baptism and the anointing of the Holy Spirit. The rite of Confirmation is all about affirming a baptism one may have had when one was, perhaps, a bit too young to be affirming it oneself (as will be the case with the young fellow I’ll be baptizing). The confirmand is asked to confess his/her faith, and then kneels and has the presider lay hands on them and pray for the presence of the Holy Spirit.

Ordinarily, we like to celebrate confirmations on the Day of Pentecost—the day the Holy Spirit first descended on Jesus’ disciples. Indeed, we still plan to confirm two of our youngsters on this feast day, but on Easter 6 we’ll affirm the baptism of a confirmand with special circumstances. She’s a young adult who, for whatever reason, never made her confirmation as a teenager as most Lutherans do. She won’t be available on Pentecost as she’ll be graduating from a military academy and will be away doing officer’s training. But that’s okay. We don’t have to go by the book or by traditions. Our lessons for this Sunday are all about keeping Jesus’ commandment and breaking some of the more traditional rules.

First a little back story: The lesson from Acts is actually the end of a really great story. It’s about this Roman centurion—a pretty cool guy who seems to believe in the Jewish God and observes Jewish prayer customs—who gets an angelic vision and is told he needs to send for Simon Peter. Jump cut to Peter, who is getting ready to have a little snooze before lunch on the roof of the house where he’s staying. God sends him a weird symbolic vision in a dream. Peter sees all kinds of animals, those permitted by Jewish dietary law and those deemed profane and is told he can eat any of them. Peter, being Peter, thinks this is some kind of test of his orthodoxy and boldly proclaims that he’d never eat anything unclean. God explains to him what God calls clean, no one should call unclean. Peter doesn’t get it. So God sends the vision again. Still no comprehension. God tries a third time, then gives up. Peter will just have to figure it out on his own.

Peter is awakened by messengers from Cornelius who have come to ask him to visit their boss. It’s a long journey to Cornelius’ house, so Peter and his host do the absolutely unthinkable thing of asking these gentiles to stay the night. Normally, inviting non-Jews into a Jewish home would be a violation of the rules, but it looks like Peter is starting to catch on to the meaning of his vision[i].

The next day, Peter and some buddies visit Cornelius’ house and share the Gospel with him and all his household. The whole gang gets the Holy Spirit, and Peter, who has figured out that in God’s love there is no longer Jew or gentile, clean or unclean, them or us, baptizes everyone. The old-time purity rules have gone in the dumper. There’s a new rule that supersedes all of them.

In the Gospel reading Jesus gives us the new commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.” He says this after having just washed his disciples’ feet on the night of the Last Supper. He’s broken the rule that makes distinction between teacher and student, rabbi and disciple. He’s called them “friends” and not servants. He’s taught them all are equal, all are servants of one another, all are welcome. If they keep this rule, they will abide in his love.

The word “abide” in Greek means literally to live or dwell within something like you live in your house. It’s also translated as “remain,” “endure,” and “continue.” It’s all-encompassing and never-ending.

So how do we keep this commandment to live and dwell in the love of Jesus? How do we abide? The liturgy for the Affirmation of Baptism in our service book, Evangelical Lutheran Worship, gives us a really nice roadmap to follow. Those affirming their baptism are asked:

Do you intend to continue (abide) in the covenant God made with you in baptism:

To live among God’s faithful people,

To hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s Supper,

To proclaim the Good News of God in Christ through word and deed,

To serve all people, following the example of Jesus,

And to strive for justice and peace in all the earth? 

 

When an infant is brought to the baptismal font, we ask the child’s parents and godparents to promise to raise this child in such a way that, when this youngster comes of age, he/she might say yes to the above questions.

All of us who are baptized, who believe we are part of the family of God, friends of our Savior, are called to this life-long missional dwelling—this commitment to love God and love everyone else, humbly and without distinction. It’s a tough rule to follow at times, but it’s the only one that matters.

Keep abiding, my friend, and thanks for looking in on me this week.

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[i] Peter was actually doing a pretty outlandish thing by staying where he was staying. He was at the home of Simon the tanner. Tanners were semi-outcasts from the community because tanning leather is a really smelly job and their homes tended to stink. They were also constantly in contact with animal carcasses, and Jews found it unclean to touch dead stuff.