The Fourth Sunday of Easter - April 26

The Good Shepherd
John 10:11-18

Today is one of those Sundays that has multiple identities. Formally, this is the Fourth Sunday of Easter. We are in the heart of the great fifty days of Easter. The Fourth Sunday of Easter is also informally known as “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Every year there is a thematic focus on Jesus as the Good Shepherd. You heard reference to it in the collect appointed for this day. And in the Gospel reading appointed for this year Jesus identifies himself as the “good shepherd.”

I know that this will sound like sacrilege, but I’ve never been a real big fan of all of the Good Shepherd stuff. I have very mixed feelings about Jesus as the good shepherd. I do understand the good in this image and why, in particular, we tend to use it with children. It is comforting. It portrays Jesus as a protector and as someone who knows us by name. Those are certainly good messages.

But, as I’ve probably said before, a necessary implication of the image of Jesus as the good shepherd is that we are the sheep. And I really don’t like being a sheep. The stuffed animal sheep we give to children are cuddly, but passive, of course. Not really helpful qualities in life. Real sheep (and I’ve been around real sheep) are dumb, dirty, herd animals. Not qualities I aspire too, either.

It seems even in Jesus’ day the image of a shepherd was more nostalgic than realistic. Most of Jesus’ followers would have been very familiar with the images of planting and sowing, but not herding, as agriculture had become dominant.

But the image of a shepherd is prominent in Scripture… in the Hebrew Scriptures that Jesus would have known. And as I’ve been reading this week I’ve come across a somewhat different slant on Jesus as shepherd. It doesn’t completely get rid of the sheep, but it helps provide a new perspective. It seems very likely that Jesus was drawing upon these Old Testament passages about shepherds. And in those passages, the shepherd is a metaphor for the king. So it isn’t about individual pastoral relationships between shepherd and sheep. It’s about political rule. It’s not about Jesus as caregiver in our church nurseries or individual spiritual care. It’s about the leader of our corporate destiny (See Sloyan, Interpretation Commentary on John).

Ezekiel 34 is important background for John 10. There God denounces the shepherds or rulers who have not cared for the flock (His people) and have plundered it, neglecting the weak, the sick, and the straying. “So they were scattered for want of a shepherd and became food for all the wild beasts… my sheep were scattered over all the face of the earth with none to seek or search for them” (34:5-6). God promises that he will take his flock away from these wicked shepherds, and he himself will become their shepherd. “I shall lead them out of the nations, and gather them from the countries; I shall bring them to their own land and tend them on the mountains of Israel… I shall feed them with good pasture… I myself shall be the shepherd over the sheep. … I shall seek the lost” (34:11-16) (Raymond Brown, John).

The good shepherd is a king who does not plunder or exploit his people, but cares for them and brings them together. It seems clear that in John’s time some of God’s people were following other shepherds, other leaders. And these worldly leaders must have been compelling or attractive, drawing the people away from following God.

The same is true in our time. Leaders other than God compel our obedience, seduce our interest and commitment. Who are they in your life? But these worldly leaders, wicked shepherds, hired hands do not truly care for their people. They plunder, scatter, and neglect the people who follow them.

Jesus reassures the people to whom he spoke and us, that he is a good shepherd. A noble or model shepherd some translations say. Jesus will not abandon the people who follow him. He will collect and care for them.

But in addition to its powerful reassurance, this passage offers a challenge to us. As a community led by Jesus, how are we to live in the world? As a parish community or as a broader Christian community who follow Jesus as our leader, what does it mean to live as citizens of his kingdom? Not as sheep so much, but as citizens faithful to his rule and committed to his work in the world.

The Second Sunday of Easter - April 12

Easter Doubt
John 20:19-31

As many of you know, this Sunday the week after Easter is often informally known as low Sunday. I think that refers to the typical attendance on this day. Or it might refer to the energy level of everyone who has been involved in Holy Week services.

But, really, there are no “low” Sundays. All Sundays are Days of Our Lord and, in addition, today is the Second Sunday of Easter. The church celebrates Easter as a season. The Great Fifty Days of Easter. Probably less well-known, the church also celebrates what is called the “octave” of Easter. Easter itself is more than just one day; it is eight days, an “octave” of days. Eight days, Sunday through Sunday, make a circle, and circles signify completeness, fulfillment, infinity. Easter is all of those things.

Those of you who remember your grade school piano lessons will remember that octave is also a musical term. And I like to think of the days of Easter week as a rising scale encompassing an octave. Musically speaking the notes that encompass an octave, the beginning and ending notes, are the same but different. The same, but different. Easter day and today are the same, but different.

Today, this second Sunday of Easter, the focus of the Gospel reading is always on Thomas. It’s interesting that we also encounter Thomas around Christmas. His own feast day in the calendar is December 21. So Thomas lurks right in the midst of the two biggest, most important holy days in the Christian year.

Today, this day that is the same as Easter, but different, the Gospel reading tells of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances, first to the disciples with Thomas absent and then with Thomas present. It is the story of “doubting Thomas.” The story of doubting Thomas inextricably linked with Easter. Doubt is a part of Easter.

Doubt is probably not the best word to use. Generally, doubt is passive, indifferent. Doubt turns away for lack of interest. That doesn’t describe Thomas. He was active, seeking, asking “honest questions.” And Thomas had all sorts of faith. He knew God’s presence and love with him. And he had been a faithful disciple of Jesus.

But within the context of that broad and rich faith, he was not quite sure yet about that one piece… the bodily resurrection of Jesus… He was still searching, asking questions, trying to understand what it all meant for him.

That sort of searching, honest questioning is an essential part of faith. Without it faith is mere superstition. Faith without doubt is just superstition. A faith that is alive, that is rooted in a relationship with God will always be searching, questioning, exploring, demanding more understanding.

When facing doubt, people often seem to fall into one of two unfortunate attitudes. Both presume that faith and doubt are incompatible. Sometimes they feel that questioning or doubt is wrong and, therefore, should be quashed. As people of faith, they feel embarrassed by any presence of doubt, so they deny it or push it away.

On the other hand, some people, when confronted by their own questions or doubt, throw out the baby with the bathwater… thinking that the existence of questions or doubt negates the whole idea of God and faith.

Doubt is not incompatible with faith. Doubt is a part of faith. A healthy, essential part. Doubt, that like Thomas’ is active questioning, searching is an essential part of Easter faith.

If you would like a model of a faithful Christian who doubted who is closer at hand than Thomas, consider William Temple. I’ve quoted Temple quite a bit recently. He’s in one of our stained glass windows. He served as Archbishop of Canterbury at the dawn of WWII. This story comes from an online description of Anglican saints (HERE).

In 1906, [Temple] applied for ordination, but the Bishop of Oxford would not ordain him because he admitted that his belief in the Virgin Birth and the Bodily Resurrection of Jesus was shaky. However, Davidson, the Archbishop of Canterbury, after a careful examination, decided that Temple's thought was developing in a direction that would inevitably bring him into an orthodox position, and decided to take a chance on ordaining him (deacon 1909, priest 1910). He may be said to have won his bet, in that by 1913 Temple had indeed committed himself fully to the orthodox position, and could write: "I believe in the Virgin Birth...it wonderfully holds before the imagination the truth of Our Lord's Deity and so I am glad that it is in the Creed. Similarly I believe in our Lord's Bodily Resurrection."

I don’t know the source or the context for the quotation from Temple. But as I read between the lines I’m not sure that he’s completely convinced yet about the biological reality of the Virgin birth, but he surely believes in its meaning, and his faith was much the richer for his ongoing questioning. And the church and the world have benefited greatly from Temple’s writings and his ministry.

Honest questioning is an essential part of faith. It was for Thomas. It was for William Temple, and it is for us. Honest questioning is an essential part of an Easter faith.

Easter Day - April 5

Expect More
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Mark 16:1-8

I think over the course of the many years I’ve preached Easter sermons it’s pretty rare for me to actually preach on the Gospel reading. I hope I’ve always preached the Gospel Good News of the resurrection, but I don’t generally focus on the specific Gospel passage.

But this Easter I do want to talk about Mark. In the Lenten study class the book we used focused on Mark’s account of Jesus’ last week. I have found it helps me think about the story of Jesus’ resurrection in fresh ways if I separate the Gospel accounts and look at them individually. If I step back from the combined, composite story that I/we have of Easter.

Mark’s Gospel is the earliest written of the four. And the reading we heard this morning (and the place where I stopped) is the end of Mark’s Gospel.

Some of the women came to Jesus’ tomb to anoint his body. They found the stone rolled away. "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you." So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

If you were to check in your Bibles you’ll probably find a break and an asterisk or lots of footnotes and a subheading just after these verses. And added after them are “The shorter ending of Mark” (that’s the extra sentence that is printed in your Scripture inserts today) or “The longer ending of Mark.” Biblical scholars are pretty near unanimous in thinking that both of these longer endings were added by later scribes. Because the story didn’t seem finished. Mark’s account of the resurrection didn’t seem finished.

Mark’s Gospel ends with the empty tomb, the women’s fear and confusion, and the angel’s message. No stories about the risen Christ.

I think the other Gospels and other New Testament passages all taken together can leave us with a false sense of finality about Jesus’ resurrection. It is all wrapped up too neatly. They can leave us thinking that the recorded post resurrection appearances of Jesus were the last.

In today’s epistle reading Paul seems pretty sure that once the risen Jesus appeared to him that was pretty much everything that needed to happen! He was the last! And it’s clearly implied elsewhere in the Scriptures that Jesus did not appear again after his ascension. The activity and appearance of the risen Christ only happened back then.

But Mark leaves the story wide open. It doesn’t feel like the end. Mark leaves us expecting more.

Mark reminds us that the risen Christ does not stand still or stay put. The one place we know he is not is confined in the tomb. The tomb is empty. He is not dead. His activity is not confined to the past. He is going ahead of you, the angel says. You will see him. You should expect to see him. Expect to see more of Jesus. Ahead of you. In your future.

In the post-resurrection appearances described by the other Gospel writers, they tell us that the risen Christ appeared to men and women, to people who were discouraged, doubting, fearful. When he appeared to them he opened up their awareness of God, and taught them the meaning of the Scriptures. He comforted them, prodded them forward in faith. He took Paul and shook him upside down, totally changing his life. As wonderful as those stories are, those names and places don’t really matter. They are in the past. Mark leaves us expecting to encounter the risen Christ in the future.

Expect the risen Christ. Expect to see him on whatever road lies just ahead of you. In the midst of doubt or disappointment, expect to see him. Expect to encounter him when you gather for a meal. Expect to see him when you’re fishing or when you’re trying to figure out what to do next some afternoon. Or when you’re trying to figure out what to do next with your life. Even when you’re pretty sure he’s dead in the tomb, expect to see the risen Christ.

Mark’s Gospel doesn’t really end. Mark leaves us expecting more. Expecting to see the risen Christ. Alleluia!

The Great Vigil of Easter - April 4

For Whom the Candle Burns

John Donne was a near contemporary of Shakespeare, born just nine years later.  His writing is another example of the rich flowering of English poetry and prose that began in Elizabethan time and spilled over into the reign of King James I.  He is probably most widely known for his lyrical love poetry, although he wrote sonnets, prayers and meditations as well.

Donne has particular connection to this service tonight.  The father of tonight's baptismal candidate has written an anthem for the choir based upon a poem by George Herbert.  Donne was George Herbert's godfather.  When I spoke with tonight's godparents earlier today I told them that in earlier times godparents were expected to step in if something happened to a child's parents.  Herbert's father died when he was three, and evidently John Donne did fulfill his role as the boy's godfather.

Back to Donne.  After his first vocation as a civil servant ended in disarray, at the age of 42 he was persuaded by King James to be ordained.  Seven years later he was appointed Dean of St. Paul's Cathedral in London, where he was known as a powerful preacher.  After a very serious, live-threatening illness he wrote a series of meditations.  One includes these well-known words:

No man is an island, entire of its self;
Every man is a piece of the continent,
     A part of the main;
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
     Europe is the less
As well as if a promontory were,
As well as if a manor [house] of thy friend's or thine own were;
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind;
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

For centuries, people have found these words comforting.  Partly, I think, because we hear in them the assurance that in loss, we are not alone. 

But Donne's primary meaning is broader.  Donne is speaking of more than sympathy or support offered; more even than compassion, given by one individual to another.  It is the actual integration, interdependence of human kind that he describes.  No man is an island, entire of itself.  No one of us can ever be "entire" or whole on our own.  We are not independent, self-sufficient.  We cannot isolate ourselves or claim to be unaffected by what affects others.

Donne would say that awful phrase you often hear, "there but for the grace of God go I," is not just bad theology, it's meaningless nonsense.  To suggest that God's grace separates us from the misfortunes of others is incomprehensible.  By God's grace, there go I.  No matter whom it is I look upon or what their situation may be, by God's grace, there go I.  It is not just that I care what happens to others; what happens to others happens to me.  As Donne says, Europe is affected, diminished when any piece is washed to the sea, whether it is a meaningless forgotten clod of mud, or the great pillar of Gibraltar.  Every loss directly affects the whole.

None of us can ever be "entire" without one another.

Earlier on in the same meditation, in some less well known phrases, Donne talks about baptism:

The Church is catholic, universal
      So are all her actions.
All that she does belongs to all.
When she baptizes a child,
     That action concerns me;
For that child is thereby connected to that head
     Which is my head too
And engrafted into that body
     Whereof I am a member.
All mankind is of one author and is one volume.

We are not united only in loss.  We are united in gain, in celebration and in joy.  When the church baptizes a child, that concerns me and us all.  Tonight we have baptized Roman Frederik.  And Roman's baptism concerns all Christendom.  His baptism enriches the entire household of God.  Our joy and hope and renewal are the joy, hope and renewal of Christians around the world.  No one is an island.  Every baptism grafts new life into the Body of which we are a part.  Roman's baptism this night brings new life to me, to each of you, and to Christians whom we will never meet.

This Easter Vigil service, probably more than any other service of the church, unites Christians across all time and space.  It is one of the most ancient services of the church.  It draws together each and every child of God as we are swept through the funnel of this night into the Easter dawn and the glorious celebration of our Lord's resurrection.

We began this service with the lighting of the Paschal candle.  But this is not "our" Paschal candle that has been lit.  This candle is not one candle, entire of itself.  This is the Light of Christ.  The fullness of the Light of Christ that shines to enlighten and lead all Christians across all time and space.  This is not one candle that burns in one church building on one night.  The light of Christ is not limited or dimmed by any boundary of century or language or denominational doctrine.  This candle is the Light of Christ.

Therefore, never send to know for whom this candle burns, it burns for thee.

Whenever a baptismal candle is lit any day in any part of the world, that candle burns for thee.  The promise and forgiveness and inclusion of that baptism are for you.

Whenever the light of Christ brings mercy and love into the world, that light burns for thee.  That mercy and love are given to you.  Each of us made holier every time a human hand anywhere reaches out to another in Christian love and caring.

Whenever a flicker of hope rises miraculously up out of sorrow despair, that same flicker is kindled in our hearts.  Wherever a spark of creativity brings new beauty into the world, that spark dances into our souls.  Every single act of Christian charity and kindness that brings light into the world, brings light into our world.

Every time the light of Christ shines, by God's grace, it shines for us.  Every time the Light of Christ is lit, it brings light to us.  It affects us.  Think of the power and breadth of that light, that most marvelous and holy flame.

The Light of Christ.  Do not send to ask for whom this candle burns.  It burns for thee.

Good Friday - April 3

Praise God
Psalm 22

This year in particular I have been troubled with the profound discontinuity between how we refer to the cross and what the cross really was. That discontinuity is captured in one of the collects for Holy Week. “O God by the passion of your Son you made an instrument of shameful death to be for us the means of life.”

It was a cruel and inhumane means of political execution.

But at the same time I can’t get the hymn out of my head “When I survey the wondrous cross.” We call the cross wondrous. In today’s service we venerate it.

The cross itself… Can it be both beautiful, wondrous and horrific?

We revere the cross, of course, because of Easter. Because of what happened later. Jesus’ death on the cross ultimately brought such wondrous results. But that’s looking forward into the future.

But what about today? The day of execution, the day of death. Is the cross wondrous today? As Christians, of course, we are never without Easter. But imagine there had been no Easter. Today a holy man dies. Dies on a cross. (Not “the” cross which has come to signify so much, just “a” cross.) Without Easter is the cross wondrous? Without Easter is there anything good about this day?

In Mark’s account of Jesus’ death (which we heard on Sunday) and in Matthew’s Jesus utters the words of a psalm as he is dying on the cross. Psalm 22, which we just prayed. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

As I’ve been reading William Temple this week, one sentence has stuck with me. Describing participation in worship, he writes: “We join in praise of [God’s] goodness in the Psalms which rise out of every kind of human joy, sorrow, perplexity, anxiety and doubt.”

We join in praise of God’s goodness in the Psalms. I may be stretching Temples’ meaning beyond what he intended when I suggest that psalms are always prayers of praise. Yes, they arise out of the full range of human experience and emotion. The full range. But they always acknowledge and praise God’s holiness, God’s glory, God’s majesty and God’s goodness.

People categorize psalms… There are psalms of praise, royal psalms, psalms of ascent to be prayed when climbing up to the temple, psalms of lament or complaint. Psalm 22 is a psalm of lament. But did you notice how it is full of praise? All psalms are prayers of praise.

God’s holiness. God’s glory. God’s majesty and goodness. These don’t depend upon Jesus’ resurrection.

God’s holiness. God’s glory. God’s majesty and goodness. These don’t depend upon our success or happiness. God is not good and holy only when we feel favored or blessed. The writer or writers of the psalms understood this. In the midst of joy, yes, but also sorrow, perplexity, anxiety, doubt, horror and death, God’s holiness, glory, and goodness are worthy of praise.

God is worthy of praise at all times. Even from the cross.

This is one of the messages of Good Friday. To remind us that God is worthy of our praise. Always. Even in the most horrific or desolate times of our lives. Praise God.

The most important meaning of this day does lie ahead. But in the mean time. In all times, let us praise God.

Maundy Thursday - April 2

Knit Together in Fellowship
John 13:1-17, 31b-35

In the services earlier in Holy Week I’ve been drawing upon the words of William Temple to illustrate practices of holiness. I want to quote Temple again:

When [Jesus’] visible Presence was withdrawn from peoples’ sight, what was left as the fruit of His Ministry? Not a formulated creed, not a body of writings in which a new philosophy of life was expounded, but a group of men and women who found themselves knit together in a fellowship closer than any that they had known, and who became the nucleus of the whole Christian Church.

Sometimes I think that’s all we need to know. That being a fellowship is the primary thing to being a Christian. That following Christ is really all about how we related to one another. Creed, theology, philosophy are all secondary. Focusing on fellowship is particularly apt this evening. All of the things that are particularly associated with Maundy Thursday have to do with fellowship… how we interact with and relate to one another.

It’s probably important right at the beginning to step back and remember that to relate to others, there have to be others. You can’t be a fellowship by yourself. So following Christ means being with others.

The fruit of Jesus’ ministry was a fellowship. The events which we remember on this day were the last time Jesus and his disciples gathered in fellowship. And he did give instruction on how to be that fellowship.

First, as you may know, the name Maundy Thursday is about fellowship. The word Maundy is a shortened, anglicized version of mandatum, the first word in the Latin version of John 13:34.

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

We heard that verse in today’s Gospel. In John’s Gospel Jesus says these words shortly after the footwashing at the Last Supper.

It bears repeating over and over again that the sort of love Jesus is talking about is not affection. It is expressed in action. It is expressed in how we act towards one another in fellowship.

And there are two particular actions that are also associated with this day. That Jesus did to express love within the fellowship of his disciples.

They shared a meal. I don’t know if Jesus meant to institute Communion as we now practice it, or not. Surely Communion is a gift of the church to us today. But in fellowship with his disciples, Jesus shared a meal. To share a meal is an act of love (with or without affection). It nurtures and sustains relationships. And the more we share meals, the better. The more Christian fellowship will be strengthened and grow.

The other action that Jesus did to express love within the fellowship of the disciples was to wash their feet. It was an act of service. Not one they asked for, but one they probably needed. It was a tangible, not a symbolic act. It seems a bit odd and awkward to us today, but I wonder if it wasn’t the most universal, obvious need of the disciples. Their feet were dirty from traveling. To wash them was an act of hospitality, but it was also met a genuine need.

When we reenact the footwashing in today’s liturgy a lot of people choose not to participate. Some for better reasons than others. And that’s OK. For us, it is just an optional ritual.

But I think it’s extremely important that we are all reminded that acts of giving and receiving service are how we relate, how we interact within this fellowship of Christ. Service that meets genuine needs is not optional; it’s what we do. We serve the needs of people we like and people we don’t like. We accept service when we need it. That part’s even harder for most of us. But we accept service when we need it. It’s not optional. It’s part of Jesus’ command to be a fellowship that expresses love through service. And the more our interactions are characterized by service, the better.

Maundy Thursday reminds us that the word disciple should not exist in the singular. There is no such thing as “a” disciple. There is “the fellowship” of disciples, bound together by acts of love: shared meals and shared service. Let us pray that we may be such a fellowship.