"I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete."
Have you ever considered this? We really don't know very much about God. Collectively, we have booked a considerable amount of pew time, but when it comes right down to it, we don't know too many things about God. If God applied for a loan, picture the trouble God would have: No verifiable employment; no verifiable income; no verifiable credit history, and worst of all, no social security number!
There IS one thing we can know about God though, and perhaps that is enough. If we trust today's Gospel, we can know that God is abiding love, abiding love that cannot contain itself, that presses to overflow into our beings and into all other life until the joy that is at its core is fully shared by every single thing that takes breath. We can know this.
But do we? If I really knew that God is abiding love, would I need to wake up in the middle of the night in the throws of anxiety over any number of things: the welfare of friends, the future, what sort of things my 12-year old friend is facing, and worst of all: money? I don't think so. If I really knew that God is abiding love, I don't think this would happen. But it does happen. Maybe it happens to you too. If I really knew that God is abiding love, would my mind become consumed for two days at a time over some slight that was likely inadvertent? Would my mind become consumed for two days at a time wondering why someone can't be more like I want them to be? If I really knew that God is abiding love, I don't think this would happen. But it does happen. Maybe it happens to you too.
I've been searching this week for hints at the reality of abiding love that might help me to fully absorb it into my being. Two such hints have struck me. I was sitting with a parishioner many of you know, Michael Crosse, having a cup of coffee on K Street. A gal who joined us thanked Michael for something he had done a year before. She said he invited her to share some Chinese food when she was new to their apartment building and short on both friends and cash, having used her savings to move in. This generosity is still touching her now, a year later. It was a comparatively tiny act of generosity, the product of a quick impulse to share, and yet look at its staying power. It is still warming someone's heart a year later. Even a little bit of love seems a bit like an everlasting flame that will not be extinguished.
This encounter made me think about an example that spans not just one year, but more than forty-five. It came up in response to one of the questions covered in an Eastertide Small Group on spiritual gifts. As a kid, I loved to spend time with the Sears Roebuck Catalogue. It offered endless possibilities for the imagination. When I was about 8 or so, visiting at my grandparent's house, I playfully filled out an order form with my heart's desire-a pair of denim jeans. My grandmother found the form in her catalogue after I left and being charmed by my play, she sent it in just as I had filled it out, without questioning the size or anything else. When the order came and she presented it to me, I was overwhelmed. I knew my grandparents didn't have extra dollars. No matter that it took me 4 years to grow into them, they were my prized possession for years, not just because I like jeans, but because my grandmother bought them out of love. And I remembered all this last week. A momentary impulse of loving generosity from over 45 years ago still warms my heart.
I can't think of anything else with such staying power. You have to bring a resentment to mind to keep it alive. These acts of love have life that cannot be extinguished. Now here's the exciting part:
If Michael's loving impulse and my grandmother's loving impulse have power that spans over years, what must be the power of the Abiding Love that brought all life into being and still longs for our joy to be complete? I have described impulses of single souls in a flash moment of history. If they have power that will not die, what must be the power of God's abiding love? They are like rays of light that point to the full power of the Sun. Of course, that's a poor analogy. Even though the Sun is 100 times bigger than earth, it has limits. God's abiding love has none.
What might life be like if every choice we made rested confidently in God's abiding love? No words are an adequate answer. Jesus wants us to find the answer through being, not through hearing. He invites us to taste and see, to receive and to reflect his friendship. What might our lives be like if every choice we made rested confidently in God's abiding love? What might the world be like? May we all taste and see.