Second Sunday in Easter - April 27

Get Over It and Get On With It
John 20:19-31

It has been just a week since we joyfully celebrated Easter, the Day of Resurrection. Alleluias still resonate in the walls and in our hearts. The powerful feeling of hope of that most important of holy days still lingers.

And now, just one week since Easter day, we have the story of doubting Thomas. The timing may seem odd, but I think it is good. It’s always a good story to hear, but maybe especially now. A clear reminder that every day is not Easter day. And that even overwhelming joy can be tempered by doubt.

It’s a familiar story. The disciples are gathered together, but Thomas is not with them. Through a locked door, the risen Jesus comes to them. Later, when they tell Thomas that they have seen the Lord, he is skeptical. And he has very clear conditions that must be met before he will believe. He has very precise expectations before he will believe. “I must see the mark of the nails. I must place my hand just there in his side, not someplace else…”

With those words and that posture, I think Thomas speaks for a lot of us, at least from time to time. We place very specific conditions on our belief.

• Unless my prayers are answered just so, then I will withhold full belief in God’s power and love. 
• Unless God intervenes in the specific way that I expect in my life or in the world, I will not fully trust in God. 
• Unless I see Jesus walk through a locked door, I’ll hang onto doubts about the resurrection. 
• Or, I’m reminded of that scene in Jesus Christ Superstar… Unless Jesus proves himself by walking across my swimming pool (Herod’s swimming pool) I won’t believe he is who he says he is. 
• Or sometimes, we offer more of a bargain than a demand. Only if I am cured or saved from whatever threatens me, will I truly have faith. 

It occurs to me that Thomas or we, when we make these demands or offer these bargains, are assuming a position of strength over God. That we are the stronger of the two in the relationship, the more important. That we assume a dominance that enables us to make demands and expect results of God.

Maybe that’s why it is so tempting to cherish our doubts…. Because it enables us to maintain that illusion of strength or importance. When we withhold faith, we maintain that illusion that we are in the position of strength or control over God. God just isn’t meeting my needs right now… If God would just try a little harder to do what I need God to do…. What strength and power! As though all Christendom depended upon our direction.

The main thing that this story about Thomas says to me is: Get over it. Get over yourself. Get over your self-importance. It isn’t about you. Get over yourself.

God’s existence doesn’t depend upon any one individual’s faith. The reality of God’s existence does not depend upon the strength of my faith or your faith.

The truth of Jesus’ resurrection doesn’t depend upon any one individual’s belief in the resurrection.

God’s existence, the truth of the resurrection, don’t depend on us. They are not dependent upon our belief in them.

But… The things Jesus tells us to do… They things Jesus sends us out to do as he says in today’s Gospel. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” They things Jesus tells to do, these do depend upon us. They depend upon us to do them.

And Jesus is pretty clear throughout the Gospels about what we are supposed to do.

In John’s Gospel right after the passage we heard today, there is another post-resurrection story about Jesus. The disciples, including Thomas, encounter Jesus by the lake. And Jesus has a conversation with Peter. “Feed my sheep,” Jesus says. Peter, feed my sheep!

And in John’s Gospel Jesus the Good Shepherd has sheep that are within the fold and others who are beyond the fold. Feed them all. Feed those within the fold. These are the church. Feed, support, nurture the church. Offer your talents and resources to feed the church. And feed those sheep that are outside the fold. Who hunger. Who hunger for the Good News of Easter. Who hunger for food. Who hunger for meaning. Feed my sheep.

Along this journey of faith, questions and doubts seem pretty much inevitable, at least from time to time. So, unless you’re willing to completely abandon God altogether, then just don’t take your own little doubts so seriously. Hang on to whatever shred of belief, or longing for faith, or flickering hope, or memory of knowing Christ you have and then just get on with doing what Jesus tells you to do.

Feed his sheep.

And it certainly may happen that while you’re at it, you will suddenly discover Jesus with you. And in the overwhelming experience of Jesus’ presence, all doubts and conditions and demands will fall away. And in awe and joy we will proclaim, with Thomas, “My Lord and my God.”

Easter Day - April 20

Overwhelmed by Love
Matthew 28:1-10

From this morning’s Gospel reading: "After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake." The Greek says, mega seismos. MEGA seismos. A great earthquake.

A mighty power is afoot this morning. A mighty power.

And we risk getting caught up in it. Swept away. We risk being swept away, overwhelmed, by an immense power immeasurably beyond our own strength or control.

It can be a fearful thing to be confronted or overwhelmed by a power beyond our control. It can be a very scary or unwelcome feeling. I will never forget the time when, as an adult, I was swimming in the Gulf of Mexico and found myself in a current that was almost beyond my strength. For just a few moments, I wasn’t sure… In addition to ocean currents, storms and seismic events, other powers beyond our control assault us: relationships become toxic, undeserved and unexpected financial loss, war, illness. It can be a fearful thing to be confronted by and caught up in a power stronger than we are, beyond our control.

The angel says: Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid of today’s mega seismos.

One scholar writes about the angels’ words.

What the angel says about fear is, however, not a command. The sense of “Do not be afraid” is not an emphatic requirement but a comforting assurance: There is nothing to fear. You need not fear. This calming voice comes from an authority who speaks with power that is beyond this world. 

The voice of comfort and reassurance comes with the same power as the mega seismos. And later, the risen Christ also says, do not fear.

Do not fear. This power is love. The power that is afoot today is God’s love. God’s love and life-giving power. It is a power stronger than any of the forces of this world that threaten you. God’s love and live-giving power are stronger even than death. The power of God’s love is stronger than any power of this world. It is a power that even in the midst of the assault of earthly powers brings us holiness, reconciliation and restoration, newness of life.

This power is God’s plan of salvation. There is nothing to fear; today there is only rejoicing. Let the power of this day sweep you away.

Early on in our observance of the Great Three Days, the time when we recall and relive the climax of God’s saving work in our lives, on Good Friday we heard of another earthquake. We also said this prayer. On Good Friday…

O God of unchangeable power and eternal light… [unchangeable power, overwhelming power…] carry out the plan of [your] salvation: let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. 

Things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and we are being brought to our perfection, new life.

We are being swept into new life by the almighty power of God—almighty, mighty over all other powers—swept into new life by the almighty power of God.

Alleluia. Alleluia. Amen.

The Great Vigil of Easter - April 19

A Great Vigil

The word Great is scattered in spots through the Prayer Book. It occurs more than once, but not often. And it always designates something singular, singularly great.

There’s the Great Litany. There are other litanies, but only one Great Litany. The Great Thanksgiving is the climactic prayer of thanksgiving and consecration in the celebration of the Holy Eucharist. The Great Amen, the only Amen in both italics and capital letters, concludes the Great Thanksgiving. And there’s the Great Vigil of Easter. There is only one Great Vigil. The Great Vigil of Easter.

I got to thinking about the word vigil and what it means. At least in the dictionary it does not mean exactly what I thought. I think of a vigil or keeping vigil as waiting, prayerful waiting, for a definite end. Prayerful waiting, for example, for death or dawn. We keep vigil by a deathbed. We keep vigil this night awaiting the Easter dawn.

But I like the dictionary definitions. There are two: (1) purposeful sleeplessness, or (2) watchful attention.

Purposeful sleeplessness. That fits with the many candlelight vigils that arise in our culture in times of tragedy. Keeping awake at night to remember, to pray, to show support. This meaning fits with religious vigils as well. They are always on the eve of a holy day. Keep awake and prayer and preparation for the day that lies ahead.

The original Great Vigil of Easter was indeed full of purpose. In the early centuries of the Christian Church, the Easter Vigil was an all-night service that included the final acts of preparation for baptism for new converts to Christianity. There were readings and anointings and exorcisms with the purpose of preparing candidates for baptism at dawn.

Watchful attention. We have much to watch for this night. Listen again to the words of the ancient prayer, the Exsultet. It tells us what to watch for.

This is the night when God brought our ancestors, the children of Israel, out of bondage. This is the night! Watch for it!

This is the night when all who believe in Christ are delivered from the gloom of sin and are restored to grace and holiness. 

This is the night when Christ broke the bonds of death and hell and rose victorious from the grave. 

How blessed is this night, when earth and heave are joined and we are reconciled to God.  This night!

We are not the only ones who keep vigil. And as wonderful as this vigil is, on the whole I’m not sure we’re very good at vigils. Purposeful sleeplessness doesn’t come easy. Even the disciples couldn’t keep vigil with Jesus on his last night. Our hopes and intentions outstrip our abilities.

But God does not share our human frailties. And God keeps vigil, too. This night reminds us that God keeps vigil over our lives. God’s eternal purposeful sleeplessness and watchful attention guard our lives. Purposeful sleeplessness and watchful attention on our behalf.

Listen to Psalm 121.

I lift up my eyes to the hills;
from where is my help to come?
My help comes from the Lord,
the maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let our foot be moved
and he who watches over you will not fall asleep.
Behold, he who keeps watch over Israel
shall neither slumber nor sleep;
The Lord himself watches over you;
the Lord is your shade at your right hand,
So that the sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The Lord shall preserve you from all evil;
it is he who shall keep you safe.
The Lord shall watch over your going out and your coming in,
from this time forth for evermore. 

A candlelight vigil. This Paschal candle, the light of Christ that cannot be extinguished, is a symbol of God’s watchful care over all of our lives. A Great Vigil indeed.

Good Friday - April 18

Worth Saving

The headline in a newspaper of our day might read something like Young Firefighter Sacrifices his Life to Save Couple.

The article might go on to talk about how the young man had only fulfilled his dream of being a firefighter a year earlier. He was just embarking on a vocation he was passionate about. And maybe he had young children. And the guys on his local softball team would miss him at second base, although he wasn’t much of a hitter. His parents were disconsolate. To them, he was special, but they hadn’t seen him as extraordinarily courageous. On that day he had a chance to save lives. But lots and lots of people in all sorts of different settings show similar strength and courage every day. On the whole, he was an ordinary young man.

In their book on Jesus’ last week, Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossen use the image of a firefighter to talk about sacrifice. In the book, the context is not Good Friday, but the image has stayed with me.

Partly because it helps highlight the humanity of Jesus. The ordinary humanity of Jesus. He was just a young man.

The theological paradox that he was fully human and fully divine is really an unimaginable mystery. We’ll see the results of his divinity tomorrow night and Sunday.

But today the man who is dead is just a young man. Just a normal young man. Not super human. Not more than human. Just human. Younger than most of us, but otherwise just like us. Notwithstanding the hymn, we don’t know that he was particularly skilled with the plane and the lathe (he may have been a mediocre carpenter), or that he was unusually strong, or unbelievably heroic. He was a normal, ordinary human being.

Today we reflect on the fact that that young man died on the cross, not because he was a one-of-a-kind, extraordinary human being, but because we are worth saving. A young man, Jesus, died on the cross because we are worth saving.

That imaginary firefighter was just a young may who died, sacrificed his life, because the lives in that burning house were worth saving. Even if it was their indifference or negligence that started the fire. Even if, against all comprehension, they knowingly set it. Or maybe it was a tragic accident unrelated to them. Regardless, their lives were worth saving.

In God’s eyes, our lives are precious and worth saving. That’s the Good News on Good Friday.

Maundy Thursday - April 17

Two Sacraments

There are two big themes in the liturgy for Maundy Thursday. The first is Jesus’ last supper shared with his disciples. And the second is Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.

We heard about the Last Supper in the reading from Corinthians. It includes what are called the words of institution. Words said by Jesus at his last supper that convey the command for his followers to continue to “do this in remembrance of me.” In a way the Last Supper was the First Eucharist. As the collect says, Jesus instituted the sacrament of his body and blood. Historically, it’s not quite that straightforward, but it is Jesus’ actions and words and presence that are the source and authority for our sacrament. Jesus himself instituted the practice of sharing bread and wine.

In the centuries since, of course, Christians have found that participating in that sacrament, sharing the bread and wine, brings communion with the living Christ.

The Eucharist is one of our Sacraments, those grace-instilling rituals we do in the church. The sacraments always have an outward, physical, tangible component. They invite and require our actual physical participation. And through participation we meet God and receive God’s grace.

The Eucharist involves real bread and real wine, and when we consume that bread and wine we are united with Christ, and through Christ with one another in heaven and on earth. And Jesus instituted the sacrament. He told us to do it. He showed us how to do it and what to use. He even gave us words.

The reading from John’s Gospel recounts the other primary theme of this day. Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. According to John, after Jesus washed the feet of the disciples he said to them, “You ought to wash one another’s feet. You also should do as I have done to you.” He told them to do it. He showed them how to do it and what to use. And he gave them words about cleansing and showing love.

The parallels are very striking. He took real bread and broke it. He took a towel and tied it around himself. He took water and poured it. He gave the bread to his disciples. He washed his disciples’ feet. He told them to continue doing what he was doing with them.

Liturgical scholar Melinda Quivik writes: For some churches -- Brethren and Mennonites, for example -- foot-washing has sacramental power as an action instituted by Jesus. But even for those churches that have not yet embraced foot-washing, this day is the time to begin. It is a vital way to know Jesus.

Not all Episcopal churches include the ritual of foot washing on Maundy Thursday. We used to have the option to skip John’s Gospel and read instead a passage from Luke about the last supper. This is the first parish I have been associated with that did foot washing. I will never omit it again. Jesus told us to do it in remembrance of his love.

Drawing further—at least in part—upon Melinda Quivik’s words: In a strong sense, foot-washing is a metaphor for Confession of Sin and Absolution. The ritual of foot washing establishes in personal and unequivocal action the astonishing welcome Jesus offers to who we are, in our failings and deceits. Jesus’ action is a sacramental cleansing of one of the least attractive, most avoided, often misshapen parts of the body. We all have such places within us. Places which need cleansing.

When we offer to Jesus that which is dirty, misshapen, hidden within us, we are met in response with the great generosity of God’s compassion. Jesus’ action showing how he loves us so much more than we love ourselves. Touching, holding, washing, restoring to holiness that which we would hide or deny.

Much is made of how Jesus sets us an example to serve one another. And we should not loose sight of that. But this Gospel and this ritual are primarily about Jesus serving each of us. And whether or not we will admit we need his cleansing love. When we wash one another’s feet, it isn’t about mimicking Jesus. Any more than we mimic Jesus when we break bread together. It is about being Jesus’ hands and words and presence. That’s what the people of the church are and do. Especially in sacramental actions. It is Jesus who washes our feet.

Do this in remembrance of my love, Jesus say. And when you do this you make my generous love known and real in the world.

Wednesday in Holy Week - April 16

Collect for the Wednesday in Holy Week
Lord God, whose blessed Son our Savior gave his body to be whipped and his face to be spit upon: Give us grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. 

Once again, the collect appointed for this day has very little history. It was written by an anonymous author for the 1892 revision of the American Prayer Book. It didn’t make it in to the Book until the 1928 version, where it was appointed for the Tuesday in Holy Week. The current prayer book moved it to Wednesday because it fits better with the lessons appointed for this day.

Especially since I don’t know the author, I am emboldened to change one word in the collect. I’ll come back to this, but I take exception to the word “joyfully.” “Give us grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time…”

The collect is about suffering. Jesus endured suffering. Although it’s not explicitly stated in the collect, the important implication is that he endured suffering on his way to glory. On his way to resurrected glory. We pray that we may accept suffering confident in the glory to come.

The collect says that Jesus “gave” himself to shame and bodily pain, to suffering. That wording is a little misleading, too. He clearly didn’t seek out suffering. He didn’t say to himself: I need to go out today and find somebody to spit on me… But he accepted suffering. As Hebrews says, he “endured” suffering. He endured suffering as an inescapable part of human existence. Also, he didn’t draw on divine powers to avoid or end his suffering. He didn’t send a thunderbolt to zap his persecutors. Suffering is an inevitable part of human existence.

The fact that Jesus suffered surely shows that God doesn’t send pain and suffering as some sort of punishment. Jesus suffering: God didn’t send it. Jesus didn’t seek it. Jesus didn’t eliminate it. But Jesus does show us that there is a path beyond suffering to glory.

The problem with the word “joyfully,” at least for me, is that it seems to imply that suffering is necessary or good somehow, something that should be welcomed or sought out. And I don’t really think that’s the intent of this collect and certainly not of the Gospel. Suffering is a part of human life, human activity, human relationships, including Jesus’. It is not something to be sought, but it is inescapable.

There are lots of kinds of suffering, of course. Physical suffering. Shame. Mental anguish. All of the ways that we in our lives we fall short of our hopes. Suffering is a part of all of our lives.

But these are the things to remember:

Suffering is not something to be sought. Never fear that you have not had enough suffering to enter into glory.

Jesus suffered. Never fear that suffering will somehow prevent you from entering into glory.

Looking to Jesus, have confidence, even in the midst of suffering, that glory lies ahead.

Tuesday in Holy Week - April 15

The Collect for the Tuesday in Holy Week: 
O God, by the passion of your blessed Son you made an instrument of shameful death to be for us the means of life: Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. 

These first three days of Holy Week, I am focusing on the collects. There is almost no history on this one. It is from an early 20th century English prayer book, appointed for Holy Cross Day.

It’s focus is the cross. Yesterday’s collect talked of walking in the way of the cross. Today we pray to glory in the cross.

Glory is used as a verb. I understand glory as a noun. Glory is magnificence, beauty. But what does it mean to glory in something? According to the dictionary it means to take great pride in. So to take great pride in the cross.

I’m still not quite sure what that means, but it sounds passive and remote. I might have a whole list of things I take pride in… my cooking, my CD collection, the cross…

For me, to glory in something, especially the cross, evokes something more tangible, more physical. More like revel in. Or it’s all the fashion these days to use “marinate” in religious conversation. “I’m marinating in the Scriptures.” Or marinating in the cross.

And as I marinated or ruminated on all of this, several visual images came to mind. Stay with me, I will circle back to the cross.

I swam competitively as a child and teenager, and somewhere along the way I took life saving training. One of the things you learn is that people who are drowning often resist being saved. They are panicked, they flail about, they push you under, but they will not hang on so you can swim them in. It is actually much easier to save someone who has lost consciousness. There is a special way to hold their head above water and a special stoke to use to swim to shore and safety.

Thinking of live-saving, I cannot help but think of Newfoundland dogs. They are bred to be lifeguards, water rescue dogs. Part of their instinct is to bump or nudge towards shore, but ultimately they rely on the person being able to grasp hold and hang on as the dogs, who are powerful swimmers, swim to shore.

The cross is very well constructed for hanging on to. The same shape that makes it an instrument of shameful death also makes it easy to hang on to if you need saving.

In the collect we pray that this instrument of shameful death may be for us the means of life. The same shape that makes it an instrument of shameful death also makes it easy to hang on to if you need saving. If you are drowning, floundering, in need of saving, the cross is the means of life.

But you do have to grab hold.

Monday in Holy Week - April 14

Collect for the Monday in Holy Week
Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. 

The collect appointed for today has a certain Anglican gravitas. It sounds like a prayer the church has been saying for centuries. And, indeed, the phrase “went not up to joy but first he suffered pain and entered not into glory before he was crucified” comes from the earliest English Book of Common Prayer and was probably penned by Cranmer at the time of the English Reformation.

But that’s the oldest bit of this collect. None of it comes from medieval Latin liturgical works, as do many of our collects. And although it incorporates Cranmer’s phrase, the collect as a whole was written by the American churchman the Rev. Dr. William Reed Huntington in the late 1800’s. Huntington was a significant leader of the Episcopal Church during the Civil War and worked for reunification of the church after the war. He wrote this collect for 1892 revision of the American Prayer Book. Ultimately, it was not included in that book, but did first appear in the 1928 book.

The relative modernity of this collect is interesting because of the phrase in the intercessory portion of the collect which refers to walking in the “way of the cross.” Well before the late 1800’s that phrase had taken on specific connotations. In addition to the general Scriptural meaning of following Jesus, the phrase “way of the cross” came to refer to the ritual also known as the stations of the cross. The liturgical pilgrimage that traces Jesus’ last steps. It is also called the Via Dolorosa or path of pain.

The number of stations has varied across the years. These days there are typically 14. Of those 8 have some source in Scripture; the other 6 are inferred from Scripture or based solely on pious legend.

The stations:

• Jesus is condemned to death. He is confronted by his human mortality. 
• Jesus takes up his cross. Carrying all of the burdens of a sinful world. 
• Jesus falls. 
• Jesus meets his afflicted mother, seeing how the course of his life brings pain to someone who loves him. 
• The cross is laid on Simon Cyrene. In a sense Simon becomes a caregiver, accompanying Jesus on his final journey. 
• A woman wipes the face of Jesus. 
• Jesus falls again.
• Jesus meets the weeping women of Jerusalem, weeping for their children, perhaps for the pain in their children’s lives in which they are complicit or simply for the pain in their children’s lives that they cannot remove. 
• Jesus falls again. 
• Jesus is stripped. Stripped of material possessions. Stripped of human dignity. 
• Jesus is nailed to the cross.
• Jesus dies. 
• Jesus is placed in the arms of his mother.
• Jesus is laid in the tomb. 

In this collect we pray that the way of the cross may be for us the way of life and peace. Because Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead, the way of the cross has become a way of life and peace. Because Jesus walked the path of pain before us and for us, when we walk our own path of pain, he is with us, bringing us life and peace. Even in the midst of pain. Jesus is the source of life and peace as we walk the way of the cross our own via dolorosa.

When we face our own mortality or are burdened by sin, Jesus is the way of life and peace.

When we stumble and fall. And fall again. And again and again. Jesus picks us up and gives us life and peace.

When we hurt others or fail to protect them, Jesus is with us in life and peace.

When we are caregivers or need caregivers, Jesus is in our midst, walking with us in the way of life and peace.

Even at the moment of death, maybe particularly at the moment of death, Jesus is life and peace.

May we find the way of the cross to be none other than the way of life and peace.

Palm Sunday: The Sunday of the Passion - April 13

Distracted by Jesus
 Matthew 26:14 - 27:66

In what has been a bit of a theme these last Sundays in Lent this year, we’ve just heard another very long Gospel reading. Not that I’m making light of the Passion Gospel. Every year on this Sunday we hear one of the full versions of Jesus’ arrest, trial and crucifixion.

But I wonder, this morning as you listened to the Passion Gospel, did your mind wander just once or twice? I know that it’s possible, even while your eyes are following the words on the page for you mind to wander off somewhere else.

Or if your mind didn’t wander during the reading of the Gospel this morning, what about during a typical Sunday morning service? How often do you find yourself occupied planning the rest of your day, worrying about an issue at work, making a mental grocery list, writing an actual grocery list on the back of the service leaflet? How often during church do you, in effect, leave church?

Don’t feel too bad. It happens to all of us, and it’s not the gravest of sins. But here’s the question to ponder:

Does it ever happen the other way around? When you’re “out there” doing all of the things we do “out there,” does your mind ever wander “in here?” In the midst of grocery shopping do you ever find yourself lost in thought as you think of yourself praying the prayers of the people? In the middle of all those things going on wherever they are going on… at work, at Little League, working on your taxes… Other than a brief thought about potential deductions, do you have to “shake off” thoughts of church as you go about your daily life? In the middle of a Thursday, does your mind wander to the experience of participating in Communion? Life distracts us from church all the time. Does church ever distract us from life?

Maybe this week. This Holy Week. We all have the opportunity to spend a lot of time at church. More time than usual. At the very least church forces itself into more of our personal time this week. Maybe church also seeps more into our ongoing awareness this week as well.

Being distracted by church in the midst of life isn’t the point, of course. Being distracted by Jesus is. And that’s what the church does during Holy Week. This week the church distracts us over and over and over again with Jesus.

In worship services we walk Jesus’ last week with him. We hear the stories. We enact parts of them, as we did this morning in the palm Sunday procession, as we will with the foot washing at Jesus’ last supper, as we wait with him trying to stay awake in the garden the night before his death, as we venerate the cross he hangs dying on. We place ourselves with him. We don’t just hear the stories, we take part in them. We put ourselves there with Jesus during the final events of his life.

We spend a lot of time with Jesus. We spend a lot of time with Jesus this week. A lot of holy time with Jesus. And as we intentionally share his life, perhaps we become more mindful, more aware, that he shares ours. It is not just that we are with him here this week, he is with us here this week. And everywhere all the time. He places himself in our lives throughout our lives. Not just as we worship, but as we struggle… in the painful times and the boring times… sleeping, waking, times of joy, times of sorrow.

Jesus’ holy presence distracts us day and night this week. As we enter in to his life, we cannot help but be distracted by his presence in ours. This week.  Just this week?

Perhaps the greatest gift of Holy Week is that it teaches to hope that all of our lives, not just this week, can be holy. The experience of Holy Week teaches us to hope, to believe, that Jesus distracts our daily lives. His holy presence is with us throughout our lives.

The Fifth Sunday in Lent - April 6

The Commissioning of Christians
John11:1-45

Familiar and vivid readings today in both the Old Testament and the Gospel. And both of them about breath and life renewed in the midst of death. The Gospel story is usually called the raising of Lazarus. There is a lot in it. Pieces that bear proclaiming. Other pieces that beg explaining. And lots of different people with interesting relationships with Jesus.

John’s Gospel is full of “signs,” events that are meant to be signs pointing to God’s power, signs of God’s power within Jesus. This story is one of those signs, meant to display God’s power. And what a sign it is! Jesus acts to bring Lazarus back to life after he has lain four days dead in a tomb. We are meant to see God’s power in this act.

Yet another approach to this story is to look at what Jesus does not do, what actions he does not perform. Jesus does not roll away the stone. Jesus does not unbind or free Lazarus.

One commentator has written (David Lose):

While we call this scene “the raising of Lazarus,” it’s striking to realize that the actual sign Jesus performs takes up just two verses of the forty-five of this story. Maybe that’s because, as is typical of John’s Gospel, what matters most isn’t the sign, but rather Jesus’ interpretation of it and our response to it. Lazarus will die again, but the community empowered to unbind and set loose will endure. Indeed, it has endured, persisting through the centuries in works of courage and mercy. 

Jesus does not move away the stone or remove the wrappings of death. He commands others to do that. Jesus renews life in Lazarus. And he certainly could have acted to move the stone and remove the burial wrappings on Lazarus’ body. (He does those things at his own resurrection.) But he doesn’t remove the stone or unbind. He gives life and breath, but others liberate that life.

This story is about the power and responsibility of the people who gather round and follow Christ. While it is certainly appropriate to call this story the raising of Lazarus, we might also call it the empowerment of Christians. Or the commissioning of Christians. The people who follow Jesus have the power and the responsibility to act with works of courage and mercy.

We have the power and the responsibility in our lives and in our world to roll away the stone, to open up the tombs, and to unbind those bound in the shrouds of death.

So that the renewed life which God brings can be lived! Many have pointed out that this story isn’t about life after death. It isn’t about the promise of heaven or eternal life. It’s about life renewed, life resumed in a way that is inspired and blessed by God.

It is two weeks to Easter. Part of our journey during these two weeks, maybe the most important part of our journey in the weeks ahead is to discern specifically which stones we are responsible for moving; who we are responsible for liberating. So that the renewal of life at Easter life can flourish.

What works of courage and mercy are we commissioned to perform this Lent and Easter?

Some may be within us; some may be within out neighbors, other people around us.

What binds your soul in death? How are you enslaved to the flesh, as Paul says in today’s Epistle? To set your mind on the flesh is death. By the flesh, he means the world. How do the demands of the world kill your spirit? Or what anger, pride resentment entombs your soul? Do you have the courage to roll away that stone so that Easter life may be renewed in you?

There are many people in the world around us whose lives are quite literally being darkened by death because of poverty, violence, prejudice, lack of access to education, lack of access to health care, loneliness, despair. We are responsible for acts of mercy that will unbind them from the shrouds of death and set them free.

We have the power and the responsibility to act with courage and mercy. Which stones can we roll away? Who can we free from the bounds of death?

In two weeks we will celebrate an empty tomb, Jesus’ triumph of life over death. What tombs among us need emptying?

The Fourth Sunday in Lent - March 30

A Psalm 23 Person
Psalm 23
John 9:1-41

One of the things that this gospel story is about is identity. What makes us who we are? What traits describe us or what qualities determine our identity? If you were asked to describe yourself to someone who didn’t know you at all, what would you say? Especially if the other person were, say blind? Most of us would probably start with the basics of physical appearance. Next we might mention family relationships or status, probably our line of work, maybe some other activity that we enjoy or do well. (For the kids’ sermon, they were asked to describe their favorite sports or entertainment figure…)

The main character in today’s gospel story is described as the man born blind.

Over and over he is described as the man born blind. Even after he receives his sight he is still the man born blind. He doesn’t have a name. The disciples do debate whether he should also be known as a sinner or just the son of sinners. Throughout, he is the man born blind. What really strikes me in this story is how people can’t believe he is even the same man after he has received his sight. They identify him solely as the man born blind, so when he’s no longer blind, it’s as thought he doesn’t even exist. This cannot be the same man! This man is not blind. Even his parents hedge their bets. Yes, this is our son. Yes, he was born blind. Beyond that we can’t really say.

Maybe they just found it hard to accept that Jesus had the power to give sight or that anyone could change that profoundly. But mostly it seems to be about the limitation of his identity in their awareness. To the people around him he was nothing more than the man born blind.

The limitations of how we identify others and ourselves…

I think there is a yearning for identity within us all. We search to know who we really are. But does that search lead to a greater sense of who we are or does it limit us to one particular pigeonhole?

Some of you will remember when the Myers Briggs Personality Type Indicator was all the rage within the church. It described an individual’s personality type along spectra: extrovert versus introvert, intuitive versus sensate… How many of you know your Myers Briggs type? That’s who you are! Your identity has been defined!

We do search for identity. A more lighthearted example: These days on Facebook, and maybe elsewhere online, personality surveys are everywhere. You can take a survey to determine which color you are, what your spirit animal is, if you were a country, what country would you be. Just this morning there was one on which children’s book are you. One person was thrilled to be The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Another was equally excited to be Green Eggs and Ham.

In our search for identity, it is easy to let others define us or to define ourselves in all sorts of ways other than our relationship with God. Our relationship with God. That hasn’t come up at all yet as a part of who we are.

The 23rd psalm reminds us who we are in relationship with God. It’s interesting. We frequently read the 23rd psalm at funerals. It is comforting. But I wonder if we also aren’t drawn to the way it reassures and reminds us who we are. Both the living and dead. We are sheep cared for by the Good Shepherd. There’s another phrase from the burial liturgy. We commend the person who has died into God’s hands… receive, O Lord, a sheep of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming.

We are God’s beloved sheep. The recipients of God’s care and promise. Listen again to the language of the 23rd psalm: “the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” “he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul; he leads me in right paths for his name’s sake,” and “[he] prepares a table before me … my cup overflows.” Because the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. Because I am a sheep cared for by God, I am comforted and restored, guided and fed.

It’s hard to have a catchy phrase for this aspect of our identity. But I am Psalm 23 person. All the other things about who I am are a part of my identity. But my most important identity comes from my relationship with God as a Psalm 23 person. (This is different from our identity as Christians. That’s another sermon. That’s something we choose. This is about God’s gift to us of a relationship.) I am a sheep of the Good Shepherd. No matter what, the Lord is my shepherd. I am the Lord’s. Guided, protected, cherished, fed, comforted. I am a Psalm 23 person.