Easter 6C Sermon: The Signature of the Spirit

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

We know how the world keeps “peace.” It hides conflict under rugs and labels difficult conversations as divisive. It avoids deep listening and opts for silence over change. It allows bullying voices to dominate community conversations.

In the time of Jesus it was the Pax Romana that boasted of peace but maintained occupation and executed dissenting voices. These kinds of false peace endure still in places where disagreeance is repressed by power and at the cost of human dignity. Think of the people of Ukraine who have been told the only peace they deserve is one they can pay for. Think of how “keeping the peace” is sometimes used to dismiss marginalised voices – “there’s more of us and only a few of them, why do we need to worry about that?”

These imposed views of peace may look like tidy solutions, but they are not the peace of Christ. The peace Jesus gives is never imposed and is never transactional. The peace of the Christ looks like grace.. agency.. empowerment. It can only be received, and it prepares the way for something more – for God’s indwelling in the world.

Through scripture we hear the Spirit of God that arrives in all kinds of marvellous metaphoric manifestations giving us some clue as to the nature of the Spirit’s peace-making work — life-giving breath, winds of change, wisdom for the way, holy fire, heavenly dove, an advocate, a comforter … and in Jesus’ own Aramaic tongue as Ruha—a feminine word reflecting the nature of God’s spirit to mother us into newness. Like a mother hen, seeking a hospitable place to nest, she desires a home with us. A spirit who doesn’t just dwell in distant heavens but in breath and bone. In a vast universe she chooses to be a local – hanging out in our kitchens and conversations. In our decisions. In our weariness. In the place where love is born (which is always right where we are.)

But I wonder what kind of home she finds in us? Are our lives cluttered with fear? Are our doors locked with suspicion of change? Are we resistent to the Spirit who notoriously shows up to transform the places in us and the world that thirst for whole(i)ness?

These are questions not only for individuals but for churches, communities, and nations. And they arise with particular urgency this week, as we enter National Reconciliation Week. This year’s theme is “Bridging Now to Next” - an appropriate theme after a failed referendum that has left many of us asking, how do we come back from a place of such polarisation? How do we attend to the stories still wounding us, still making rifts between us?

It’s helpful to remember that origins of Reconciliation Week lie in prayer. In 1993, churches initiated a Week of Prayer for Reconciliation in response to the troubling findings and 339 (mostly still unimplemented) recommendations of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. That prayer movement grew into the national observance we mark today. Christians—Indigenous and non-Indigenous—helped found it, not because they had answers, but because they knew: the Spirit cannot rest where justice is denied.

If we are to be homes for the peacemaking Spirit, then we must also be homes for truth, for lament, for listening. If we cannot offer that to our sisters and brothers and neighbours of Country - if we cannot bear faithful, honourable witness to the weight of experiences that have brought us to this moment with each other, then we reinforcing walls, not building bridges.

Aptly, The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity immediately follows on — another bridge in need of repair. For centuries churches have chosen times of competition over communion, doctrinal wars over fellowship. If we want to draw lines between “us” and “them,” we must reckon with this: there are more than 45,000 Christian denominations worldwide. Which makes the point that if uniformity of view is our highest value – be it in our nations, or churches or communities – then we will eventually find ourselves alone.

Thank goodness that in God’s house, the hospitality is good! There are many rooms we are told. And what leads us there is the Spirit whose priority for drawing us into relationship cannot be tamed, captured or controlled. A spirit that is unconcerned with uniformity of people or perspective – a spirit who speaks in many languages and appears in many expressions as she calls to the many and varied people of God. In Revelation we see the vision she ultimately calls us to – a holy city with gates never shut, offering food, healing, and light to all nations.

Jesus knew hospitality was important. As an itinerant he relied on it. In the wilderness he was formed by it. He taught his disciples to depend on it as he sent the 72 out to accept the invitation to the food and stories shared at another’s table, to encounter life as others did. This is incarnation. A God who doesn’t speak at us, but lives with us – depends on us to find home in this world.

The Spirit leads us to do the same for one another. Hospitality is, after all, the first theology people learn of the church—not our creeds or liturgy, but whether they were seen, welcomed, made to feel they belong. Our hospitality is the signature of a Spirit who has found a place to dwell. Our hospitality is the first ingredient required, if we are to open up space for sharing, hearing and the makings of a genuine, relational and lasting peace.

Jesus says: I do not give as the world gives – Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.

As we anticipate Pentecost may we welcome the home-seeking Spirit – that she may forge the bonds between us, draw us out to the bridges that need mending, and breathe new life through this precious and fragile world…

…that none may be left wanting for God’s peace.