“Steadfast in Times Like This” - Fr. Pete's Sermon for May 17th, the Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:6–14; John 17:1–11; 1 Peter 4:12–14; 5:6–11

On Friday afternoon, the day before our Special Convention to elect our new bishop, I was supposed to drive to St. Peter’s Church for a clergy dinner and compline at the Cathedral of St. Andrew.

But you may recall at that time, a Friday rush-hour afternoon, we were in the midst of a horrendous thunderstorm, with lightning all around, heavy rain, flood alerts… and I realized I was checking the weather and the traffic every few minutes.

Not because anything changed. I just had that restless feeling that something bad might be happening. Should I risk it and go? You know that sense: The sky is dark, the rain pummeling, the wind is strong, and everything feels unsettled. You start refreshing the radar, checking the text alerts, wondering: Is this going to get worse? Is this the big one?

And of course, there’s always something—another warning, another update, another reason to stay a little on edge. Alert! Alert! Alert!

I think that feeling goes beyond just the weather. Because in so many ways, that’s what the world feels like right now. There’s a kind of constant unsettledness—war, economic crisis, division—and it can leave us asking the same question in a deeper way: Where is all this going? Is this the time when everything finally breaks?

Which, when you think about it, is not so different from the question the disciples ask Jesus in Acts: “Lord, is this the time?” Jesus gives what might feel like a frustrating answer: “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set.” In other words: don’t get lost trying to predict the future.

Instead, he says, you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses. Focus not on when things will be resolved—but on how you will live in the meantime. That’s hard!

This same shift is at the heart of the reading from 1 Peter. And it helps to understand the context for this. 1 Peter is written to early Christians scattered across Asia Minor—modern-day Turkey. These are small, vulnerable communities living on the margins of society. They are not yet facing full-scale empire-wide persecution, but they are nevertheless experiencing something real: social pressure, suspicion, exclusion, and at times hostility because of their faith.

They don’t quite fit anymore. They’re seen as strange. Different. Maybe even a little dangerous. And into that context, Peter writes not with panic, but with pastoral steadiness. “Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you…” Don’t be surprised. In other words: this is part of the reality of living faithfully in a world that does not always share your values. Oh, that sounds relevant!

But then he goes further: “Rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings…” Now, that’s a hard word. Not rejoice because suffering is good, but rejoice because even in suffering, you are not alone. You are participating in something larger, something deeper—you are participating in the life and ministry of Christ himself.

And then Peter begins to sketch what we might call a kind of “rule of life” for difficult times. If the world feels chaotic… if fear is rising… if conflict is all around… How shall we live? Well, let’s see…

First, Peter says: be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers. In other words, stay grounded. Don’t goof off, or let your guard down. Don’t let anxiety carry you away. Don’t let the noise of the world drown out your connection with God. Prayer becomes not an escape, but an anchor. A way of remembering who we are and whose we are.

Second, Peter says: maintain constant love for one another. Not occasional kindness. Not selective compassion. Constant love. Because in times of stress and fear, what often breaks down first is our care for one another. We turn inward. We protect ourselves. We draw lines. Peter says: do the opposite. Lean toward one another. Hold fast to love.

Third: be hospitable to one another, without complaining. That’s such an interesting little phrase--“without complaining.” Because hospitality is beautiful in theory… but it’s sometimes inconvenient in practice. But Peter knows that community doesn’t just happen. It is created—through ordinary acts of welcome, generosity, and presence.

Fourth: serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received. Notice that: whatever gift you have. Not someone else’s gift. Not some ideal version of yourself. The gifts you already carry. Use them—use them for the sake of others.

And finally, underlying all of this, Peter says: humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God… cast all your anxiety on him, because God cares for you. That may be the most important word of all. Because so much of our fear comes from the feeling that everything depends on us. That we have to fix it. Control it. Understand it.

And Peter gently reminds us: You are not alone in this. God cares for you. God is at work—even when the world feels out of control.

Which brings us to Jesus’ prayer in John’s Gospel. On the night before his death, Jesus prays for his disciples—not that they will be taken out of the world, not that the storm will somehow pass them by—but that they will be held within it. That they will be protected. That they may be one. That they may be grounded in the truth.

In other words: the calling is not to escape a troubled world. It is to live faithfully within it. And that brings us right back to where we started. When the winds pick up and the skies darken, our first instinct is often to ask, “How bad is this going to be? When will it pass?” But long before the storm clears, there is another question: How will we live while the storm is still raging?

Perhaps that’s what Peter is offering us—not a way out of the chaos, not a forecast of when it will end, but a way of being steady, grounded, and faithful right in the middle of it. Stay grounded in prayer. Hold fast to love. Practice hospitality. Use your gifts to serve. Trust that God cares for you. These are not dramatic strategies. They won’t make headlines. But they form a life—a community—that can carry us through even in difficult times.

I was struck recently by a comment from Pope Leo, who spoke about the persistence of war in our world and said, in essence, that peace is not simply the absence of conflict, it is something that must be built, patiently, through justice, compassion, and the refusal to give in to hatred. Sounds very sympatico with what Peter says here.

Peace is not something we wait for. It is something we practice. In small ways. Daily ways. Costly ways. And so, in a world that feels unsettled, even frightening, the question is not only, “When will this end?” But also, “How shall we live?”

Peter gives us an answer—not complete, not easy, but faithful. And perhaps, if we live this way—if we become communities of prayer, love, hospitality, and service—then even in the midst of turmoil and scary storms, something else will be happening, too.

Something quiet. Something resilient. Something that looks like hope.

Oh, by the way—I did make it to the pre-convention gathering, it took an hour to get there, but it was a holy time. And on the next day, yesterday, a sunny, lovely day, we elected a wonderful new bishop.
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Hope!
Amen.