“Connected”
John 15:1-5, 8-17
They were young, maybe 18 or 20 years old. I knew their name but not their pronouns, and because their gender was unclear to me and I don’t want to mention their name, I’ll just call them C.
We were at the Pride festival in Northampton yesterday, and after marching in the parade with other joyful and singing church members, I had already spent at least two hours offering blessings to go at a very steady pace. When C approached me, alone, and asked for a blessing, I offered some version of what has become my standard general blessing.
After asking their name and if I could touch them, I placed my hand on their head and said something like this:
Blessed are you, C, beloved child of God. May you always know that that is the essence of who you are. That God created you in love and for love, and that God loves you and delights in you just as you are. There’s nothing you have to do to earn God’s love, and there’s nothing you could ever do to lose it. It is a free gift poured out on you new and fresh every day. May you know this so deeply that it feels your heart with a joy that flows out to the world. Amen.
At the end of the blessing, C looked at me and thanked me and then walked away.
Pretty quickly, a few other people approached me asking for blessings, and I was honored to offer them.
About 10 minutes passed, and C—the person I had blessed earlier— came back and stood in front of my Blessings to Go sign.
“Can I ask you a question?” they said.
“Of course,” I responded.
And then, simply and clearly and and with an earnestness that stirred my heart, C said, “How do you know?”
How do you know?
Instead of asking exactly what C meant, I chose to assume they meant all of the blessing, especially the part about being loved and the business about God’s love being a free gift.
“Well, it’s not something I can prove,” I said, as C listened intently. “There’s no way to prove God’s existence or God’s unconditional love. But it’s what I’ve experienced. I’ve known in it my life and I’ve seen it in the lives of others. That’s how I feel like I know, and that’s how I can offer that blessing.”
I could have gone on, of course. I could have said something like, “Well, I don’t always feel God’s love, and sometimes I even doubt it. Other times I believe it but feel like it isn’t enough. I could have talked about faith and trust versus truly knowing something, or I could have gone into various aspects of theology and some of the many, many ways I experience God’s love, including through chosen community, dear friends, the wonders of nature, and the beauty of music and words.
But I thought better of it and just stopped talking, wanting to listen. I thought maybe C would ask something more specific or maybe they would challenge me, and how that would be okay.
Instead, this dear young person just looked me right in the eye and said, “Thank you. That helps.”
And then they asked if they could hug me and, when I said yes, held me in a long, tight embrace.
And then they walked away.
I couldn’t help but thinking it had just happened again: an unexpected, undeserved experience of God’s extravagant love. An unexpected and utterly real connection between two strangers, each one of them—like everyone everywhere—a beloved child of God.
When I returned to myself, I could hear music and cheering from the drag stage nearby. I could see our beloved Melanie Blood standing several feet away with her camera, and if I turned slightly, I could see our outreach table mobbed with people collecting candy and Pride stickers and Love is Love bracelets, and occasionally entering into conversation with some of the amazing church members who staffed the table all afternoon.
And as I reflected on the young person’s question, I thought to myself, Isn’t that what we all want to know? That we’re beloved. That we’re loved and accepted for who we are—not how good we are or what we achieve or what we earn or how much stuff we have? And how do we know, really?
I wonder if our gospel passage this morning doesn’t point the way: In a nutshell, Jesus lays out some of the fundamentals of the spiritual journey and what it’s all about:
Stay connected, he says: to the love and grace of God, which is sometimes hard to feel or trust, and to the love of Jesus, which is bold and concrete, and expressed in compassion and actions of care, companionship, vulnerability, solidarity, and justice.
Abide, that is, stay connected, to the Spirit of God’s love alive and active in relationship and community.
Stay connected to the love, hope, and embodiment of God in the world—yes, even in the pain and loss of life and in the disheartening and frightening brokenness of the world.
Stay connected to the poor and the marginalized, the hurting and the lonely, the sick and the suffering, the oppressed and the confused, the earth and all its creatures, Jesus says, and you will find God’s love. More than that, you will find yourself loved.
More still than that, Jesus says, in finding God’s love and practicing staying connected to it, being intentional about it and seeking it out, you will find joy.
The spiritual life is not a duty, Jesus says. It is not a sacred obligation or a long, sober slog.
It, too, is a gift. This staying connected will bring you deep joy.
Okay, Jesus may have added, it won’t always bring you the fleeting happiness that the world promises. In fact, it will probably cost you something. It will demand all of you, and if you engage, it will transform you and heal you and take you to places and habits and commitments you would have never imagined.
(Wait a minute—you’re joining another ministry team? What, you’re doing more for the church than ever before? What, you want to learn about the Bible? What, you’re getting serious about prayer? Wait, you’re hosting coffee hour again? You’re offering to teach Sunday School? You’re taking a meal to someone who’s laid up? How about that! And what is that big smile on your face? Where did all that joy come from?)
I have come, Jesus says elsewhere in the Gospel of John, that you might have life, that you might know life abundant.
I’ve said these things, Jesus says here, that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.
I’m calling you friends, Jesus says, because we’re all in this together. We’re all beloved children of God, and when we stay connected to that love and to each other, we’ll bear the fruits of love, peace, justice, and joy that the world so desperately needs. We’ll make a difference, and we’ll find joy in the process.
Abide in me. Stay connected.
Now, some might say that a Pride parade and festival is one of the least spiritual places around—but I would have to disagree. It’s a place of joy and love, filled with people who’ve been hurt by the world—and the church—who are nevertheless delighting in who God made them to be. It is a place where we can practice loving our neighbors and one another.
Over the years and despite all appearances to the contrary, I’ve discovered that Pride is not really about sex or gender or identity. It’s about our need for love and belonging, our God-given desire for connection and community. And it’s about the joy we know when we open ourselves, when we commit ourselves to those things.
How do we know?
We’re connected to the Source of life and love, peace and justice, hope and joy.
So much joy.
