“Closer Than We Think” - Fr. Pete's Sermon for May 10th, the Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 17:22-31 and John 14:15-21

A few weeks ago, I went for the first time to visit one of our members in a care home. I had the ‘Aiea
address, I had my phone, I had my map app going—so of course, I assumed this would be
straightforward.

But as I got close, nothing quite lined up. The map said I was close… but I couldn’t see the place. I
drove slowly up and down the street, looking at house numbers, trying to match what I was seeing with what the phone was telling me. You know that feeling—you trust the map, but also… you don’t trust the map.

So finally, I pulled into a driveway so I could stop and take a closer look at my phone map. And as I
looked up—I realized I was already there.

The house I was looking for was set back behind another house. From the street, you couldn’t really see it. But I had pulled right into the driveway without even realizing it. By the way, the second time I
visited, I drove right past it again! I was closer than I thought.

I’ve been thinking about that moment as I read our passage from Acts. Apostle Paul is in Athens,
Greece—standing in the Areopagus, surrounded by temples, statues, and altars to every conceivable
Greek god. It’s a deeply religious place, but also a deeply confused one.
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But Paul notices something: an altar with the inscription “To an unknown god.” Just in case they
missed one. Just in case there was something—or someone—they hadn’t quite figured out yet. And
Paul says, in effect, that one, the one you don’t quite know? Let me tell you about that God.

Then he does something remarkable. He doesn’t start by condemning them. He doesn’t say, “You got it all wrong.” No, he begins where they are.

“I see how extremely religious you are in every way.” And then he gently shifts their understanding: the God who made the world and everything in it does not live in temples made by human hands.

This God is not distant. Not contained. Not confined. In fact, Paul says, “He is not far from any one of
us.”

And then this beautiful line, which Paul apparently borrows from a Greek philosopher: “In him we live
and move and have our being.” In other words, God is not somewhere else. God is closer than we
think.

And that connects beautifully with what Jesus says in the Gospel: “I will not leave you orphaned.”
Now, on this Mother’s Day, that word “orphaned” may land a little differently.

For some, this is a joyful day, full of gratitude and love. For others, it’s more complicated. It can carry
grief, or absence, or longing, or strained relationships. And into that complexity, Jesus speaks these
words: “I will not leave you orphaned. I am coming to you.” I will not leave you alone. I will not leave
you without presence, without connection, without love.

Then Jesus speaks of the Advocate—the Spirit of truth—who will be with them, and in them. “You
know him,” Jesus says, “because he abides with you, and he will be in you.” Again, the same theme:
God is not far away. God is closer than we think. Closer than we feel, sometimes, for sure.

And I wonder if that’s part of our struggle, both then and now. Because we live in a world that feels, in
many ways, so chaotic and uncertain. You don’t have to look very far—the Middle East blowing up,
political divisions worsening, rising prices and economic anxieties, forecasts for summer hurricanes and El Ninos, on and on.

It can feel overwhelming. And in the midst of all that, it’s easy to feel like God must be far away. Like
we’re driving back and forth, trying to find our destination, find our bearings, asking, “Where is God in
all of this?”

And the gospel response is both simple and challenging: we are closer than we think. Not because
everything is okay, not because the world isn’t broken, but because God is not absent from it. God is
not contained in one place, or one system, or one understanding. God is present—moving, breathing,
working—in ways we just don’t always recognize.

That brings us back to the image of motherhood. At its best, motherhood is about presence. It’s about being there—sometimes quietly, sometimes fiercely—nurturing, guiding, sustaining life, often in ways that go unnoticed in the moment, or in ways that are only recognized later.

And Jesus is pointing to something like that—not in a sentimental way, but in a deeply real one. “I will
not leave you orphaned.” The Spirit will be with you. The Spirit will be in you.

Which means that the presence of God is not just something we search for “out there.” It is something we begin to discover “in here”—and among us.

“In him we live and move and have our being.” That’s not just poetic. That’s a reorientation. It means
that every act of love, every moment of compassion, every gesture of justice, every quiet act of care, is a place where God is already present—even in a chaotic world. Especially in a chaotic world.

Dear siblings, sometimes we find ourselves lost—like when I was trying to find that hidden care home.
We’re searching. We’re straining. We’re asking, “Where is God? Where is God?” And all the while,
we’re parked in God’s driveway. We’re already surrounded by God’s presence. We just don’t see it or
know it yet.

So what would it mean for us—not to try harder to find God—but to become more attentive to where God already is? In our lives. In our relationships. In our community. Even in the midst of a complicated and broken world.

What would it mean to trust that we are not alone? That we are not orphaned? That the Spirit of truth abides with us—and in us?

Maybe it begins simply, with paying attention, with showing up, with loving God and loving our
neighbor, the job description Jesus gives us. We can do that in many different ways here at St. Tim’s.

And as we do, may we trust that we are not reaching out into emptiness.

No! We are responding to a presence that is closer than we think. A presence that is already here. Amen.