Dear friends,
I give thanks to God for you. I’m so grateful to be walking this rocky road alongside all of you.
A few housekeeping things:
1) I won’t be posting here next week, as the Northeastern Iowa Synod Office is offering a worship service for our synod congregations. This is another gift for which I give thanks!
2) Please let me know if you still like to have the audio only of my sermon. I’m not sure how necessary it is now that I’m producing a video each week, but I’m more than happy to continue making it available if you want it. It’s one of those many technology pieces that I’m glad to have figured out! I think I learn something new nearly every day!
3) Speaking of videos…if you haven’t already, you may wish to subscribe to my YouTube channel. In addition to Sunday morning worship services, you’ll find Evening Prayer on Mondays and Wednesdays and Morning Prayer on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ve heard through the grapevine that reaching the 100 subscribers mark may open new and exciting features on YouTube. I haven’t verified this yet for myself, but let’s get to 100 subscribers and see what happens! You may subscribe, if you wish, by following this link and clicking on the subscribe button. https://www.youtube.com
Here is this Sunday’s worship service:
And here is the link for the audio only of my sermon: https://soundcloud.com/stacey-nalean-carlson.
The sermon is based on John 14:15-21.
[Jesus said to the disciples:] 15“If you love me, you will keep my commandments. 16And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. 17This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.
18“I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. 19In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. 20On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. 21They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”
Beloved of God, grace and peace to you in the name of Jesus. Amen.
There are days when the Holy Spirit isn’t subtle. And for those days, I am grateful.
Early last week, I signed up for a opportunity offered by the Center for Mindful Self-Compassion. Friday morning, I joined 100 people from around the world on Zoom. The instructor led us in a practice referred to as a Self-Compassion Break. She invited us to notice when we’re being hard on ourselves, or when we’re aware that something is happening in us—our outside of us—that’s hard. She said, stop and pause. Name the challenge. It can be as simple as saying, “I’m having a hard time right now. This hurts.”
Then, she said, try to remember your common humanity. Our instructor invited us to actually open our eyes and scroll through the screens on Zoom so that we could see the faces of all 100 participants. Look at our common humanity, she said. You are not alone. Tell yourself: “I’m not alone. Other people feel the same way I’m feeling. We all struggle in our lives, especially now.”
Then, she said, give yourself a little hug. Hold your hand on your lap or put your hands over your heart. Maybe even summon up an image that takes you to a peaceful place—your favorite spot underneath a tree or beside the lake or the ocean. Then, speak gently to yourself as you would to others. “It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re not alone.”
So, that was Friday morning. And then, Friday afternoon, I looked up what I had preached on this reading from John three years ago. And to my surprise, I found that I had begun my sermon sharing about an online self-compassion inventory that I had just taken—an online inventory offered by the same organization through which I had just practiced self-compassion earlier in the day!
Three years ago, I was grateful to discover that I’m fairly self-compassionate. However, one score was a bit worrisome. And that was isolation. I felt isolated three years ago, apparently. And if I were to take that inventory again today, I imagine that isolation score might be even higher.
This is a time of profound isolation for many people in our world. Even though some of us can depend on technology to help keep us connected, we know it’s not the same as being together face-to-face. I read a piece recently that talked about why Zoom meetings are so exhausting. One reason is that it reminds us of all that we’ve temporarily lost. We should all be in the classroom, or in the office, or in the sanctuary together, but we’re not.
And as I’ve begun to look at guidelines for resuming in-person worship, that feeling of isolation has only deepened. Some of the pieces of living together as a community of faith that we most deeply value—those pieces that help us to feel connected to one another—will need to be modified or even eliminated altogether for some time into the future. Imagine gathering, but not singing, not even speaking in unison, not sharing the peace, not sharing in Holy Communion, not getting within six feet of those we miss so desperately, not hugging, not shaking hands. It’s nearly impossible for me to imagine.
The isolation of this time is real, whether you’re living alone or living in a household with others. So our gospel reading for today—the same gospel reading I reflected on three years ago when I first realized my sense of isolation—is a welcome, needed word from our Savior.
Jesus is speaking to his disciples just before his betrayal, arrest, and death. The disciples’ hearts are troubled, filled with uncertainty about the future. What will become of Jesus? What will become of them? Into the midst of their fear and anxiety, Jesus makes this promise: I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever.
The word translated here as Advocate is Paraclete—literally, one who is called alongside. Jesus prepares the disciples for his death by promising them that they will not be left alone. Another will come alongside them—to aid them, to teach them, to remind them of all that Jesus has said to them, to abide with them, to be in them, to accompany them.
Years ago now, I read an article that, for me, provides a beautiful image of the Paraclete. As a crew-member of a nationwide race series, Caitlyn Pilkington’s job was to follow the very last runners to ensure everyone made it across the finish line. In this article she wrote, In New Orleans, I spot a walker struggling. I jump out into the windy street hugging Lake Pontchartrain. The walker says she’s not sure if she wants to keep going. She’s all alone, the second-to-last participant far off in the distance. I make the promise to walk as much as I can with her through the course’s final hills.
After I hand her water, she says to me, “I printed out a bible verse for each mile of this race, but I left them in the hotel. Now you show up, and all you want is for me to finish my first race. You are my angel.” She makes it to the finish where her best friend is waiting for her.
When that woman in the race was alone, she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep going. Isolation does that to us. We’re not sure we want to keep going. We’re not sure we can keep going. What a powerful moment it is, then, when someone comes alongside us to assure us that we’re not alone. They don’t have to fix whatever problem we’re experiencing, they don’t have to have answers for our nagging questions, they don’t even have to say a word, really. Just knowing they’re there for us is enough to encourage us to go on.
When others draw alongside us to help us when we need it most, I believe it’s the not-so-subtle work of the Spirit—the Paraclete—coming to our aid.
On Friday it was the leader of that online self-compassion break. On Wednesday, it was the friend who showed up with a gift, knowing I had had such a hard day the day before. She remained at a safe distance and even so, her presence combated that feeling of isolation. Last week, it was the friend and mentor who held me accountable to walking just one mile each day, knowing that moving our bodies would help both of us manage our mental health.
Where have you seen the Paraclete this week? When have you known the work of the Paraclete in your life, drawing alongside you to assure you you’re not alone? When has the Paraclete empowered you to accompany another?
Jesus promises his disciples that he will not leave them orphaned. He will not leave them bereft of that kind of parental love that is there—day and night—no matter how far you’ve strayed or how old you’ve grown—to hold you, help you, assure you that you are loved without measure. The disciples will not be left alone, isolated. We are not alone. God refuses to leave us isolated. The Spirit is with us always.
Karoline Lewis puts it so beautifully on Working Preacher this week: Jesus promises the Spirit just when the disciples, just when we, are most in need of pastoral care. Yes, there are a few references to the Spirit here and there in the Gospel of John up to this point. But it is at this moment, the Farewell Discourse, Jesus’ last night with his disciples, that the promise of the Spirit’s presence is vital. Jesus knows that what lies ahead we cannot do on our own; that what we will be called to face we cannot do without his help…[so] the Spirit will accompany us. The Spirit will be our companion.
God knows there are times when we feel so isolated and alone. In those moments where that sense of isolation is so troubling, what would it look like to pause, ever so briefly, and name your sorrow? Can you imagine, in the midst of that fear and anxiety, pausing to remember that you’re not alone, that what you’re experiencing is common to all humanity?
Could you consider this invitation to be gentle with yourself, to put your hands on your heart, to speak words of kindness to yourself, trusting that they come from the Paraclete—the Holy Spirit—who abides with you?
If you try a self-compassion break this week, please let me know how it goes. I pray that in those moments when you feel most isolated, the Spirit would come alongside you in powerful, not-subtle-at-all ways and encourage you with the truth that you are not alone.
No matter what has happened, no matter what is to come, you are not alone.
You can lean on the everlasting arms. They’ll catch you. They’ll carry you. They’ll hold you when all that you need is to know, deep in your bones: you are not alone. Amen.
*Read Caitlyn Pilkington’s entire article here: https://www.womensrunning.com
**Read Karoline Lewis’ entire article here: http://www.workingpreacher.org
***Learn more about the Self-Compassion Break here: https://self-compassion.org