Here at St. George’s our pews are full of ex-pats, and I suspect that most of us here today remember quite vividly our first visit to Thailand. I came here in April of 2021, during the height of Covid, and travelling during that time was a surreal experience to say the least. There were two layovers on the way, Detroit and Seoul, and the airports were deserted, save for the pilots, airport staff, and of course we travellers, a small but intrepid band passing through the metal detectors and rushing to make our connecting flights, our footsteps echoing through the empty terminals. And of course, getting onto the plane was no small feat. It was like applying for a corporate job. I remember standing at the gate in Detroit, waiting to board a plane to Korea, and after a temperature check, I stood at the desk where a flight attendant thumbed through a stack of my documents, reading the fine print, her furrowed brow hovering above her mask. Twenty-seven long and sleepless hours later, we touched down at Suvarnabhumi, and I was herded—along with the other passengers—down the hall, and soon enough an army of nurses descended upon us for one last screening. After that, I finally reached the hotel, where I would quarantine for the next ten days, and stood there looking out the window at Thailand, a country that I longed to experience, close enough to see but still inaccessible, out of reach, just beyond the glass.

So, why I am telling you this story? Because on that journey, even though it was full of paperwork, hurry, pressure, and insomnia—I was still full of wonder and expectation. I had never been to Thailand before and, in fact, had never even been to Asia. It was all so new. I was able to drink in every moment. Wonder is a precious thing. It not a common experience, but it resurfaces throughout our lives, in those rare moments—when we fall in love, have children, or travel to a new country. But then it fades away, just as quickly as it appeared. Wonder is a dying light.

My second journey to Thailand felt different. The journey was now a routine. I was focused on getting here, and I didn’t stop to drink in the moment. I had done it all before. And I’m sure many of you can relate. The first time you came here, it was all so new. But now, after living here, we still appreciate Thailand, but it is more in the background, more familiar. Yes, wonder all too easily fades away. Wonder is a dying light.

On the surface, our gospel reading for this afternoon tells the story of a missionary journey. Jesus sends the 70 out into the towns to preach the gospel, to heal the sick, to bring refreshment to weary souls. But at a deeper level, I think it is also about wonder, and about how easily it fades away.

But before I can explain, I need to set the reading in context. Last week, James and John tried to call fire down onto a Samaritan town, but they failed. They failed because our Lord rebuked them. He chased away the vengeance from their hearts. But imagine, if you will, that this never happened. Imagine that Christ never rebuked them, never said, “You do not know what spirit you are of.” They would have gone out on that missionary journey with their illusions intact. Thinking that God is full of wrath and anger. And they would have done a terrible job of preaching the good news. They may well have gone through the streets proclaiming God’s judgment and maybe even refusing to heal those they deemed unworthy. But it was not so. They went into the towns as vessels of grace, mercy, and restoration. In the name of Christ, they healed the sick, and they brought refreshment to exhausted souls… They went into that journey knowing full well that no one lies outside the boundaries of God’s concern.

With every healing, with every miracle, the disciples had to let go of their false images of God. The journey was not just for the sick, it was also for them. As the grace of Christ coursed through them and healed the lepers, the deaf, and the infirm, it also purified their hearts of illusion, so that they could finally see God and His kindness. And they were able to release their judgment.

We often think that spiritual maturity is about cultivating virtue. But what if this is not true? What if spiritual maturity is about how quickly we can let go of our images of God?

I think in our own lives, we can follow the disciples’ example and learn to let go of our false images of God. After all, an ever-present temptation, a real danger in the life of prayer, is loss of wonder. And without wonder, we hold our preconceptions about God with too much force. Wonder is not just about being amazed at the loveliness of a night sky—it is also about holding our ideas about God with an open hand. This attitude is already prayer. We find God much more easily in letting go than in speaking. That is one of the great paradoxes of Christian prayer: Immersion in grace comes through an openness to mystery, and not through many words. Wonder is not an attitude, it is a state of prayer; and in wonder we let go of our opinions about God, letting them flee away, like a flock of birds into the dawn. And then the grace of Christ can finally course through us.

But wonder is a dying light. And we must tend it and keep it aflame. And we do that through unknowing: through a silent consent to God’s mystery. And in that silence is true prayer. I am reminded of a quote by Miles Davis, that great jazz artist: “Play what’s not there.” Prayer does not consist in many words, but in the silence between the words. For in that silence there is openness, humility, surrender, consent… In a word, ‘wonder.’

It is like being in Thailand. We love this place, or else we would not be here. Remember how beautiful it was as we first arrived? We stepped off the plane into the heat, and we took in every sight and sound, every new face, every sudden rainfall, and every temple. But wonder is a dying light. And for many of us, Thailand has become a mere background. We see it every day. But now and again, it is good to remember. Thailand surrounds us. And so does God. But we often forget both.

It is good to remember God. But to remember God, we must submerge our hearts in His mystery. This is true wonder. This is true prayer.

Amen.