Parting Gift

Youth Sermon

May 10

May 10 – The 6th Sunday of Easter, Year A
Acts 17:22-31 • 1 Peter 3:13-22 • John 14:15-21

My name is Frances Garner, and I started going to Saint Paul’s when my Dad took the job as Rector here in July of 2018.

And I would say that that was the most pivotal moment in my faith journey: when my family moved to Arkansas. I remember sitting at the kitchen table back in Alabama, the smell of brownies in the air behind me, as my parents told me and my siblings that we were moving to Fayetteville. It was not good news. I’ll be honest, part of my subsequent distress came from the young child in me not really knowing where Arkansas was. Through a fuzz of feelings, I can remember that one of my siblings’ friends thought Arkansas was an entirely different country, which 100% didn’t help the situation. But beyond geography, what really scared me, as I’m sure you can imagine, was how all of the people that I felt connected to and had built relationships with were about to disappear from my daily life. I was preemptively feeling a dooming amount of loneliness. As I scooted away from the table and ran upstairs to bury my face in my pillow, I blasted my Dad’s “dumb” job for ruining my life. Fast forward about four months later, when we got into town each of us was given a welcome basket full of razorback memorabilia, and my ten year old mildly materialistic mind felt a twinge of acceptance and community.

We know that Jesus isn’t a fan of materialism but he does leave us with a sort of consolation gift before he ascends into heaven. In today’s reading from John, Jesus says that he will ask the Father, and he will give us another Advocate, to be with us forever and that we know him, because he abides with us, and he will be in us.

Sitting at my kitchen table, and later crying into my pillow, I could’ve really used something like that. I could’ve used Jesus giving me the sense that I wasn’t about to lose everything or be completely alone, that someone, or something, would be with me through the unknown. And it turns out that was exactly what I was being given, even if I didn’t have the language for it at the time.

I have found this “Advocate”—or the Holy Spirit—to be such a comforting aspect of our faith. In times of desperation, sorrow, and hopelessness, the Spirit that abides on earth with us is a steadfast comfort. In my first few months in Arkansas the “Advocate” showed up in many ways. It showed up in the St. Pauls’ kids who sat with me at school lunch, in the adults who checked in on my family to see how the transition was going, and in the choir who gave me my first taste of participating in worship on a new level. Looking back, those were not just nice moments, they were evidence of the Holy Spirit’s quiet work… surrounding me with the gift of belonging even before I could ask for it.

But, the Holy Spirit wasn’t given to us just to comfort us in difficult times. It is also God’s gift to us to make sure that the radical change Jesus began in the world stays with us here on the Earth, even when Jesus isn’t physically here with us. It guides us and nudges us in the same direction that Jesus led his disciples when he was still with them. That means that the Holy Spirit is not just a presence we receive; it's a force that moves us and calls us outward.

And that’s what I didn’t really comprehend at first.

For a long time, I found myself praying what I would call a “blanket-statement” prayer for help. To be honest, sometimes I still do. That’s the prayer when I’m running late for school and I’m sitting at a red light and I throw up an exasperated “God please let this light turn green.” because for some odd reason, in the moment, getting a tardy feels worthy of a cry to God.

Those prayers aren't wrong, but they can be a bit narrow–a bit incomplete. They’re hasty, inwardly focused, and leave no time for us to listen.

What my time at St. Paul’s has taught me is how to shift those prayers into a focus that feels more faithful– the sort of prayer that essentially asks God for a clearer mind. Every week we stand together for the Prayers of the People and every week I am reminded that my life is not the only one God is working in.

When I look out during the Prayers of the People I see a room full of individuals with their own lives, their own stories. I see people who have supported me, people going through things I may never understand, people who are celebrating, grieving, questioning and hoping, all at the same time. And in that moment there is a shift. Being in church is no longer about me, but about us. My prayers become less about fixing my immediate problems and more about joining in on what God is doing in the lives around me.

The Prayers of the People are inherently expansive. They stretch us beyond ourselves and our urgencies to remind us that we are a part of something much bigger. Over time I’ve realized that that doesn’t have to stay within the church, either. It follows me through my week. It changes the way I notice someone sitting alone or the way I respond when someone is struggling. It’s like a quiet nudge. Look up. Pay attention. You’re not the only one here. And in those moments, I begin to understand something deeper. That is the gift of the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit doesn’t just comfort us, it challenges us. It widens our perspective and gently pulls us out of ourselves so that we can start to see others the way God sees them. Not as background characters in our lives but as people deeply loved and known. Because the truth is, life doesn’t get easier because we have faith. Moving to Arkansas was still hard for me. Change is still uncomfortable. There will still be moments of loneliness and doubt. The world doesn’t just suddenly become something we fully understand. BUT the Spirit of Truth helps us see it differently. It doesn’t necessarily remove the hard things, but it reframes them. It reminds us that we aren’t walking alone. It shows us glimpses of God’s presence through good people, and peace in times of uncertainty. It gives us the ability to look back and recognize that even when we felt lost, we were being guided somewhere meaningful. Even if it’s so far in front of us that we can’t see it yet, God is waiting for us.

The advocate is moving ahead of you, preparing places for you, and growing something within you that you can’t see yet. And I think that that’s what Jesus was getting at with his disciples in today’s reading. They were facing a future without him physically beside them, but Jesus promised them God’s presence not simply amongst them, but within them, abiding there for forever. That promise wasn’t just for them, but for us as well. For every moment we feel we don’t belong. For every transition that feels too big. For every prayer that doesn’t have the best words. For every time we’re unsure of what’s next. The Advocate is there.

Maybe the invitation for us, especially today on Youth Sunday when we are celebrating the closing of a school year and, for some of us, the start of a new chapter in our lives, is not to just receive that presence, but to trust it. To trust that the Spirit is working through us and to go out on a limb. Trusting in our ability to do difficult things because the Holy Spirit is with us. The same Spirit that comforted me in this new place and has given me a community I cherish with a very full heart is the same Spirit that I trust will comfort me in my upcoming transition and call me to be a similar comfort for someone else. Because every small step of trusting in the Spirit is a step toward loving others more fully.