Thurs. May 2, 2024
Growing Up
The Rev. Aaron B. Jenkyn
Full text of the homily given at Thursday's Healing Eucharist based on the readings assigned for the Feast Day of The Apostles Saint Philip and Saint James, which can be found here.
Since becoming a parent I have noticed that just as the daffodils start to bloom and the apple trees blossom, when the days get longer and the sun rays start to feel warm again on our backs, kids everywhere break out last years shorts - shedding layers and breaking free of their winter wardrobe. Every spring I look at my own kids, squeezing into those shorts that fit so nicely last year, and wonder how they got so tall, how their stride become so confident, how they seemingly grew up overnight. How the shorts that I just bought have already made it into the give away pile!
From those first spring days ten years ago when my then one year old was taking his first steps in our spring garden, to our kindergartener learning how to ride a bike on Easter morning, to my now fifth grader touring the middle school, spring has always been the season, the moment, when I have realized that time has past and my littles are not so little anymore. It is, as you can imagine bittersweet.
Do you remember those days? Those moments when you realized that time had passed, that things were different, that things would never be the same again?
I am living this moment with my children right now, but I know that I am not the only one waking up this Spring to transitions. Many of you, many of us, are shedding layers and realizing that things have changed, that our bodies, our hearts, our homes are no longer the same. Perhaps it is not yourself that you are noticing, but a friend or family member, someone you love that has changed. Maybe you too are watching a loved one step outside this spring and seeing for the first time that they are not so little, not so young, not so strident or steady on their feet anymore.
I have to admit that there are times that I find myself wanting to crawl back into the den like Puxatany Phil on groundhogs day. I think to myself, maybe if I ignore it long enough, maybe this will go away. Maybe I can wish my littles to be little once again, or pray that my parent will age backwards, or if I don’t ask questions, if I don’t answer the phone, maybe my friend won’t really be sick. Maybe the results will change. Maybe if I just look the other way…. Have you ever played this game? Have you ever engaged in this sort of magical thinking? I think we all have at one time or another.
But friends, the thing about spring, is that it happens whether we acknowledge it or not. The sap flows, the flowers grow, the birds migrate, the meadow turns green, our little ones grow older, and so do we.
It is of course beautiful and good, but it doesn’t always feel that way in the moment. We have, after all, spent the winters of our lives holding on tight to what we cherish, wrapped in love, in warmth, hidden inside our homes and our hearts, we have held close and cherished that which matter most to us. And then spring comes, and we know that something has changed, that our bodies, our world, and our relationships are changing. We too have grown up over the winter of our lives.
In today’s readings, we encounter a moment like this, a spring season in which the apostles awaken to the reality that their relationship with Jesus is changing, that these are his final days before his death on the cross. Of course the signs have been there all along, but the veil of winter has been lifted and they see it differently now. And their first reaction is complicated.
They have given up everything to be with Jesus, to follow him throughout the Holy Land to support his ministry, to love the way he loves. And just as they are growing sure on their feet, sure in their belief, he tells them that he is leaving. And not just that he is leaving, he tells them that he will be betrayed by one of them, arrested by the roman authorities, and will die a disgraceful death. I imagine the Apostles may have felt abandoned, hurt, and angry not just at the loss of their leader, of their friend, of their messiah, but also because of the fear that they too were in danger and disgrace. Confronting change can sometimes do that to us.
But on top of all of this. Jesus’s disciples are worried about their own salvation. They thought they had found the way, and now it was closing to them. Or so they thought. But Jesus, uses this chance to love and to console, to say to his apostles and to all of us, that he is not abandoning them. That his departure is not a severing of his relationship with them, but rather is creating space for a new way of being together. Of a new path forward.
This passage can sometimes be read or interpreted as a scolding, as Jesus being sharp with his followers, and subsequently creating exclusionary criteria for entering his eternal kingdom. But what I hear in this passage is not a scolding or a way of keeping people out, but a Jesus who is comforting and caring for his followers and inviting them into the beauty of eternal life.
In the midst of turmoil and confusion, he is looking them in the eye and saying “Don’t worry: I AM leaving, but we will still be together. Just keep going toward God in the Way we’ve been going, and I’ll be with you — As long as you’re going toward God, you’ll be going “through” and with me… because “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”
In his death Jesus blurs the lines between the journey and the destination, he lived his life in love and lays it down in love, creating a path, a way, for us to follow.
In those moments of spring awakening, of recognizing that time has passed, that things have changed, that life is different now - those moments of worry and fear, of uncertainty and longing for what was and is no more, those are the moments that we need a nudge, a gentle reminder, a sign that Jesus is with us, that the way of love is never traveled alone.
On long walks in spring, from a distance, the world is grey, but as you get closer to your destination little bursts of color begin to appear - the buds on trees, birds nesting, little bursts of yellow and blue peeping out from last years leaf pile, daffodils blooming by the stone wall. Many moons ago, on long walks in the woods, with destinations unclear, my littles in their delight taught me this: sometimes to know the way you have to narrow your vision to see the God colors of the world right before you, and when you do, you will know that is the path to take. That is the way of love.
The changes in our lives, are making ways for new ways of being. Both in the here and now, and in the life to come. Spring is a season of recognizing change, letting go of what was, and embracing the here and now. There are springs where the passing of time hurts, the ache in our heart a longing for what was, the lump in our throat fear of the unknown. And there are seasons too that are a blessing, when the changes feel regenerative and hopeful. Spring is after all a season of growing up, growing old, growing into eternal life. But Spring is different when you are following the way of love. It is a season of opening our eyes to sense the God colors of the world, the love and beauty, strength and joy of this new season. It is knowing that the very path we have chosen is Jesus, is the essence of love, and that we never journey alone.
May you find the colors of spring, may you be warmed by the light of those you are with, may you know the beauty in growing up on the way of love. Amen.