May 8, 2016, the Seventh Sunday after Easter

There is always a difference between what we want to happen and what actually happens. Sometimes we get something close to what we want, and we are satisfied. Sometimes we are surprised with an unexpected blessing – and that’s always nice. Sometimes we get far less than we hoped. I suspect in this time of economic change that there are a lot of people who feel that they have not got what they expected.

Most of us would look beyond material aspirations and have hopes for happy relationships and families. And we also know that almost as soon as children are born, they begin to choose their own paths and nothing is really certain. We may not be able to control what happens, but what do we teach our children so that they can make good choices? We try to teach them fairness and hard work and perseverance. We try to teach them to love.

Jesus prays for the disciples that they would remain in love. That love is grounded in unity. This is a difficult concept for our day. We live isolated lives in isolated houses. We surround ourselves with people who are most like us. We listen to people who agree with us. We look on those who are different, particularly those who think differently, as if they are crazy or weird (and not just during an election season!) Jesus does not pray to God that they agree. He prays that they might be one.

As Episcopalians, we are used to thinking of ourselves as good citizens, as part of the cultural center. We are the denomination of presidents. The national cathedral is our cathedral. We may have noticed that we are less and less in the center of things. We get lumped in with any other sort of Christians. I am often expected to explain the abuses of the Roman Catholic Church. I’m made to feel a part of fundamentalist Christianity, “you Christians are all so judgmental…” I want to say, “I’m not with them. We’re so much more reasonable.” Did Jesus really pray for our unity?

Maybe Jesus is seeking something deeper than friendly relationships. Maybe he is proclaiming something more important than our egos.

Paul is beginning his work in Phillipi. Last week, we heard about his beginning there. Phillipi did not have enough Jews to build a synagogue, so they met outside the city walls to pray beside the river. (Last week someone wondered what they would preach about. I suggested, “When in doubt, go where the women are praying.) Paul met Lydia. She was converted and the church began in Phillipi.

Paul is returning to work, and he and his companions are being followed by a slave girl who has visions and prophecies (being possessed by some sort of spirit.) Paul is irritated by her attention (no surprise there) and he commands the spirit to leave her. The slave owners are angry that they have lost their source of income. They bring Paul and his companions before the authorities because they are “practicing a religion that is harmful to the empire.”

While in prison, there is an earthquake, and all the doors pop open. The jailer is about to kill himself because he thinks all his prisoners are free. Paul and Silas call out to him. He takes them to his home. With preaching and singing, the jailer and his household are converted and he keeps them in his house as friends.

What is this story really about? The cast of characters includes apostles, slaves, slave owners, town officials, a roman prison guard, a roman household, and anyone else who happened to see these extraordinary goings-on. What do they have in common? Nothing. Until the intervention of the good news, nothing changes. The poor are exploited. The guard is part of a ruthless system of oppression. The officials are concerned with order instead of people. In the end, there is some change. A slave girl is freed from the oppression of a possessive spirit. A jailer becomes part of a new community. He joins an illegal religion and welcomes a foreign stranger into his home. Some who hear the good news become one in a new way.

Today we also celebrate Mother’s day. Some of us may look at our families and wonder if they might be such a good example to describe oneness. Many families are broken, or at least a little difficult. When we can live at our best, there is a sort of bond that keeps us together, even when we drive each other crazy. I think that might be what we really celebrate on Mother’s day. Someone who loves us even when it’s not so easy.

When our mothers held us for the first time, they believed such promise. Anything was possible. Then life happens. Then a different kind of love develops. We are loved with all our flaws and with all the burdens and uncertainty of life. Love becomes a kind of choice, a determination to stick with it no matter what – and with a growing realization of what it might cost. If we pay attention, we realize that love is a gift.

Imagine a family that is rich in things but lacks connections between its members. The parents work hard and they are never home. The house is full of nice things that no one ever uses. The children retreat into their own world of games or school friends and never talk to or listen to their parents because no one wants to argue. Now imagine a different family. Maybe they don’t have as much and even if the parents work, they make time to be together and with their children. They gather around the table together as often as they can even when it is difficult. They share their days and listen to each other. Which family holds together? Which family teaches and practices love? Who will be there when times get tough?

When Jesus prays for our unity, Jesus wants us to accept that gift. In our fear or through force of habit we let ourselves be defined by our expectations. We expect to get what we get. Jesus wants so much more for us. Jesus has given us to each other. I think that the more we drive each other crazy, the closer we are to that gift. Jesus shows us that we are different. We have different ideas. We have different dreams. Our job is not to force each other into some sort of agreement. Our blessing is to accept the gift that difference brings. Maybe the world is much bigger than I thought. Maybe the people around me are more essential to my life than I thought. Maybe I need to look beyond what will merely make me comfortable, and dream about what God’s love can really do.