Known and Unknown
THE SIXTH SUNDAY OF EASTER
Acts 17:22-31 • Psalm 66:7-18 • 1 Peter 3:13-22 • John 14:15-21
A few years ago I remember seeing a commercial, most likely on the computer, where the camera angle is of one moving through a hospital. (I didn’t think I would be able to find it, but one Google search of “commercial hospital knowing thoughts of others” brought it up as the first result.) No words are spoken, but as a person comes into view, text of what they are going through, context for why they are in the hospital, appears. As you can imagine, the circumstances of the patients vary from worry to joy, confusion to determination, and for about four minutes, the Cleveland Clinic offers a glimpse into the lives of others before asking at the end: “If you could stand in someone else’s shoes…Hear what they hear…See what they see…Feel what they feel…Would you treat them differently?” The video is titled “Empathy: The Human Connection to Patient Care.” Ten years ago the clinic made a video to cultivate what has been named as a missing link in our society, even before the pandemic. If we take a moment to consider what another person is going through, does it change how we relate with them for the better? Does it change who we are or who/what we understand God to be?
What we know of God and how God instructs us to be in relationship with one another primarily comes from our Holy Scriptures. As Christians we especially look to Jesus to show us the way of living in right relationship with one another. Have you ever wondered what Jesus heard or saw or felt as he walked around, beyond what we’re told in the New Testament? Knowing the hearts and minds of everyone, I presume he didn’t need text to appear to know what others perceived; he just does.
While we are six weeks into Easter, our gospel lesson takes us back to that night of the Last Supper—after Jesus has washed their feet, foretold again of his betrayal (including Peter’s), offered the new commandment, and assured the disciples that he was going to prepare a place for them, that he is the way and the truth and the life. All this and the message that we hear today happened before Jesus was crucified. Among all the other feelings, Jesus knows how attached the disciples are to him—his mortal flesh, his presence, his love, his very being—and he anticipates the grief they will feel in his absence. He meets them where they are and doesn’t withhold truth from them. He offers them assurance that they will not be left orphaned. “Another Advocate,” “the Spirit of truth” will come. However loving and compassionate it may be, this is relatively cryptic for those who don’t have the full context, isn’t it? The disciples don’t yet have the crucifixion nor the resurrection. We, too, hear these words before the Ascension when the resurrected Jesus Christ will leave the disciples, only this time to remain at the right hand of the Father, as if God has only a left and a right hand, let alone is only a Father.
The hymn “Immortal, invisible, God only wise” came to mind while I was writing, inspiration or a reminder that I do not and cannot know how and why God exists the way God does. I am encouraged to be careful in how I interpret God’s Word. When I hear Jesus say, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments,” I first hear it as a conditional statement. And it is, truthfully, conditional, but the conditions are mine to choose. God’s love is a given. If I choose to believe in God through Jesus Christ and if I choose to love, then I will keep the commandments, particularly that new commandment to love one another. That love of one another points toward a union in God that presupposes empathy and surpasses human understanding. It is that union that would recognize the Spirit of truth because it would already have made its abode in us, in me, in you. We would live, as we live, in love…in God.
Paul, who didn’t have the experience of being in the physical presence of Jesus, knows something of this love of and in God. Paul isn’t the first person I think of when I consider one with empathy, but the man knows his audience, perhaps even more so when he’s on trial. The people Paul encounters in Athens have time for intellectual and philosophical pursuits. Woven into their daily life is a religiosity Paul deems as extreme. Having taken time to walk throughout the city, “carefully” looking at the objects of their worship, Paul does not zealously destroy their idols, nor angrily condemn their way of life (at least not in this time and place). Given the opportunity, he shares a proclamation with them about the Maker of heaven and earth. He has the authority of lived experience of new life after repentance and the gift of evangelism, and he uses both for the benefit of those who hear. I also imagine the Spirit of truth, the Advocate to be fully engaged in this moment.
Rather than seeing the altar “To an unknown god” as an inclusive catch-all for any deities that may be forgotten, Paul sees it as an invitation to engage their curiosity, to offer intrigue at the possibility of perhaps knowing something of the unknown. Before he shares the proclamation, though, it’s worth noting that he demonstrates knowledge of their poetry, which is also another recognition of knowledge of their gods, because the quote about “offspring” comes from an opening invocation to Zeus in Greek poetry (in Aratus’ poem Phaenomena). Knowing the context of others is no light or easy work, but showing some element of mutual respect or at least understanding opens a way for trust, creating an opportunity to hear in our heart of hearts what may have before seemed impossible if not highly improbable.
In a season of celebrating academic achievements and thinking about the one to whom we were born and those who have mothered us in our lives, can we take a step out of what is known and familiar and venture into the realm of uncertainty, what we don’t know, or even into what is uncomfortable? It’s a big ask, and I’m not asking you to go there if you don’t want to. The eleven disciples who were relieved to know that they weren’t the ones to betray Jesus were probably quite content to ponder how they might show true love of one another, incapable of processing the news that Jesus was trying to tell them about what was to come. Some Athenians were likely very angry at Paul suggesting that their way of life was lacking in any way.
But there was someone who heard Paul’s words and felt a stirring in their being, a resonance of recognition. Someone who, like those who experience Holy Communion for the first time and hear our gracious words of “Whoever you are in your journey of faith you are welcome in this place, you are welcome at God’s table,” feels seen and heard as a beloved child of God. Someone who was drifting with restlessness, groping at one superficial stimulation after another while ignoring the deep yearning within yet whose soul grumbled with awakened hunger at the possibility that perhaps something or someone heretofore unknown was seeking them. Someone who felt like the missing piece of the puzzle was finally found and snaps into place, only that sound isn’t of closure but of a new door, a new life being opened.
For all that we know of God, there is so much more that we do not know. Some of the most beautiful things in this life are the revelations, the ways in which we discover God and God’s love for us—in the delights of Creation, the kindness of others, the strength we find when we think we have none, and other “good things as surpass our understanding,” alluded to in our Collect. All of God’s promises are rooted in unconditional love everlasting. It is always up to us to decide if we are willing to believe and to trust that our Triune God is known to us as True, and if we so believe, then whatever the circumstances, we love one another as we are loved. We don’t have to be omniscient to be loving. Christ is the connection we always need.
© 2023 The Rev. Sara Milford
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church – Fayetteville, Arkansas