Let's be careful out there

​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Easter VI, Year A
May 17, 2020
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
It was in a time before Netflix, Hulu, Prime, and binge-watching television on demand.  Remember, we had favorite shows then too, but we had to watch them a specific time and day of the week and, then, only one episode per week.  Networks wrestled and competed for sweet spots in prime time.   There was art and science to what shows played on which networks and when.
 
When I was in college, Thursday nights were the night to watch, and we did whatever we had to do to reserve the television and get a prime seat in the dormitory common room.  Without fail, my friend group gathered at 10 pm for our favorite show: Hill Street Blues.  It was an hour-long series set in major metropolitan police precinct, following the lives, adventures, and exploits of police officers, detectives, prosecutors, and public defenders.  It was a brilliant mix of crime show, legal thriller, and nighttime soap opera.  The characters were deep and compelling, the writing was wry and clever, and we could not miss it even if we had a test or paper due the next day.
 
Hill Street Blues always opened with early morning roll call in the precinct.  Over coffee and donuts, all of the characters gathered for their daily assignments and updates on ongoing investigations.  In rapid succession, alliances were formed, tensions were revealed, and the chaos of crime and punishment was organized.  Leading the meeting is Desk Sergeant Phil Esterhaus, a veteran cop, clever communicator, and well-respected father figure.  After the rundown of purse snatchings, narcotics investigations, and murder suspects, the Sergeant ends the meeting, somehow, commanding absolute silence from a room full of side conversations.  He stares them all down and says “Hey, let’s be careful out there.”  It is cautionary, heartfelt, and absolutely the same, every week. 
 
The Sergeant’s admonition has resonated through my own life, long after its show has ceased to be.  When heading off on a new adventure, sending a child to camp, or handing over the car keys, those words have spilled from my own consciousness.  “Hey, let’s be careful out there.”
 
It is such a loaded phrase.  Hey: pay attention, if only to this.  Let’s: we are in this life together.  Be careful: be attentive, cautious in our actions, and full of care for self and others.  Out there:  It is a big wide world, full of woe and wonder.  We cannot always control that.   Nowadays when we pick up our mask and gloves, put the hand sanitizer in the car, and head out into the vectored world, I think it often, even if I do not say it.  Hey, let’s be careful out there.
 
As we meet Jesus this week, we are in there with the disciples, and Jesus is telling them what will happen when he is no longer among them physically.  They are scared and unsure and perplexed.  As with the previous passage, Jesus brings them back to the main thing: when you love one another, you are loving me and you are with me.  He has to repeat this in many ways for them to hear it, and he does. 
 
The gospel writer’s Greek does linguistic backflips to fuse action with being.  Now I am no great student of philosophy, but this loving as more than an action – this loving as a way of being is a pretty sophisticated thought.  I read lots of philosophy in my theological studies and could not make sense of much of it.  I find more cogent philosophy in songwriting and storytelling than in Immanuel Kant or Martin Heidegger.  Bob Dylan, Neil Young, and the Avett Brothers bring it home more effectively.  But that is another sermon.
 
Thankfully, Jesus adds the next bit to get us out of our heads and into the mind of God.  He says that God will send the Advocate (also known as the Holy Spirit) to be with us forever.  The Spirit will move in and among us and help us connect our actions to our very being in God.  This is a big thought, a big idea, and a radically new thing.  Jesus is saying that God has got our back, there is no space between us and God, and it is all about God’s movement among us.  All we need do is accept this, and live in it.
 
And while we consider Jesus final words to his disciples, at the end of the entire Bible, in the last chapter of Revelation, the writer says this: “Amen. Come Lord Jesus!  The grace of the Lord Jesus is with all of you. Amen.”  This is an outstanding, mic dropping statement of all pertinent philosophy and theology wrapped into 16 words.  It is all there: God’s radical presence, hope for the future, and grace – like mamma’s love, gravy on the biscuit, or grits with your eggs – grace is unearned and unmerited, but always abundant.  If there is any signpost pointing to the Spirit among us, it is grace.
 
While we are unsure of how we will gather again, while we are unable to sing together, praise together, and share God’s communion.  We are not orphaned or left out in the cold.  The Spirit is moving in and among us just as surely as the wind blows and grace abounds.  Know that.  Believe that.  Rest assured in belonging with God.
 
I guess the reason Sergeant Esterhaus’s words have resonated in my mind and echoed in my heart for many years is that they ring with a holy tone.  Their sentiment is the same is that of Jesus and of Revelation.   It is Sunday morning roll call for all of all saints.  Can you hear Jesus, commanding silence from all of the world’s noise, telling us we have his love, the Spirit’s presence, and God’s enduring grace always?  He is staring into all of our beloved faces
saying, “Hey, Let’s be care-full out there.” Amen.