Easter Day - March 27

Aorist People
John 20:1-18

On Easter morning we joyfully acclaim:  The Lord is risen!  He is risen indeed!  He is risen!

Bear with me for just a bit, but this year I got sidetracked by grammar.  If you think about it, it is an odd phrase.  Not a construction we would use in everyday speech.  And what’s with the present “is” and then some sort of past “risen?”  He is risen.

And actually, if you Google “Easter grammar,” you get quite a few hits.  People wondering if “He is risen” is correct grammar, or wondering why so many Christians use poor grammar.  Shouldn’t it be “He has risen?”

But for centuries in our worship we have greeted Easter morning with the acclamation:  He is risen.  And, like so much of the material in the Prayer Book, it comes from the Bible.   The King James translation in particular.

As another aside, I think I have one of my former professors to thank for getting me off on this track.  Back when I was doing scientific writing, Professor Eric Cheney would not let any of his students use the passive voice.  Ever.  And scientists are prone to use the passive voice, especially when describing passive things like rocks.

This phrase isn’t actually passive voice, but I do think it caught my attention because of Eric’s persistent editing.

Apparently, this construction, “He is risen” is an archaic way of forming the present perfect for intransitive verbs.  OK, so that’s cleared it up for me!

More interestingly, and I am going somewhere with this, it is a way of translating a Greek verb tense called the aorist.  It’s not a tense we have in English, but it occurs, for example in Matthew 28:6 for the verb “raise”.

The King James translation:  He is not here, for he is risen, as he said.  Where we get our liturgical acclamation.

The New RSV, the version we use in worship, translates this same verse:  He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said.

Some other newer translations say:  He has risen.

He is risen.  He has been raised.  He has risen.  It’s one word in the Greek.  The verb “raise” in the aorist tense.

One online commentator writes:  The Greek aorist passive has no precise equivalent in English, and this present perfect construction was particularly useful for [translating] verbs that presented an ongoing state resulting from a past action.  That’s what the aorist conveys--something I do remember from my New Testament Greek in seminary.  A past action that continues to present an active, ongoing state in the present.  We don’t have that tense in English.  There is no direct equivalent.  Something to remember, in general, when we recognize that we are always reading the New Testament in translation from the Greek.  There is no direct equivalent.

So the aorist tense describes an ongoing state resulting from a past action.  That’s Easter, isn’t it?

I’m not sure what to make of the idea that the whole of our Easter faith is based on a verb form that doesn’t exist in English.  But it really is.  For us, Easter is an “ongoing state resulting from a past action.”  Yes.  Definitely, yes!

We’re not Easter people.  We’re aorist people.  Or maybe Easter aorist people.

I love the joyous cry, “He is risen.”  It’s been a part of my entire life.  And I think it works for us theologically, whether or not we understand the grammar.  It conveys that aorist sense that we live in an ongoing Easter state resulting from a past action.

But all of this led me to want to come up with some less grammatically complex sentences that describe the ongoing state that results for us from the past action when God raised Jesus.  I wanted some simple, active, present-tense sentences that describe Easter today.  God is the subject of all of those sentences.

So Jesus was raised, back that first Easter.  Today, present-tense:  Jesus lives.  Jesus lives.  Mary saw him after his death and resurrection.  Mary saw him.  People still do.  I can’t say that I’ve ever physically seen Jesus in the way Mary apparently did, but without a doubt I have known his living presence with me.  Jesus lives.  And at one point in my life he said... to me:  Come home.  This is where you belong.  Be with me.

Another present-tense Easter sentence.  Love heals. God’s love heals.  There’s an Episcopal ministry called Magdalene House or Thistle Farms, that’s getting quite a bit of attention these days.  It’s a community of women who have survived prostitution, trafficking and addiction.  Their slogan is “Love Heals.”  And their results are a miraculous witness to the power of God’s love to heal.  Not universal, but nonetheless miraculous.  The women of Magdalene House will tell you emphatically, that God’s love heals.  Present tense.  When I was first thinking of this I was misremembering the slogan.  I thought it was:  Love wins.  Maybe winning doesn’t sound very Christian, but in this case, that fits, too.  God’s resurrection love wins over evil.

Last night at the Vigil I quoted the fourth century Easter sermon of St. John Chrysostom (You can read the whole sermon HERE).  Written originally in Greek, it appears to have a lot of aorist tense:

Christ is Risen (aorist), and you, o death, are annihilated! (present tense.)

Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down!
Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is Risen, and life is liberated!

It’s that last present tense Easter statement I want to focus on.  Life is liberated.  That is passive voice (I think!).  The active form would be:  God’s power liberates life.  God liberates our lives.  Theologically, we would say God frees our lives from the bondage of sin.  One writer describes the dead places within us that God liberates (HERE).  The dead places within us that fuel corruption or deception.  Or the dead places within our lives where we buy into any of the “isms” like racism or sexism, which see someone else as “other” and therefore less.  The dead places where suspicion, rejection, marginalization, judgment, and fear dwell.  God opens the tomb.  God’s power frees our lives from these dead spaces.  God liberates our lives.

Finally, one more present tense, on-going active Easter state:  Hearts praise.  Our hearts praise.  Voices sing.  God inspires our hearts to praise, our voices to sing.  Just try to not say alleluia today.  Just try.  To not say alleluia today.  God fills our hearts with praise and inspires our voices to sing.  He is risen.  Alleluia.

Good Friday - March 25

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The Power of God

The Gospel accounts are not consistent about what terrestrial or celestial events accompanied Jesus’ crucifixion.  Things like the darkening of the sun…

John, whom we always read on Good Friday, doesn’t mention anything.  But, of course, John was written a good bit later and is considerably more interpretative and less historical than the synoptic gospels.  John is also more pointedly critical of “the Jews.”  It took time for the early Christians to perceive the Jews as “other” and therefore available for blame.

We have no way of knowing for sure what happened to the world when Jesus was crucified.  But Matthew, Mark and Luke all recount very significant effects.

Matthew’s list is the most comprehensive:

The sun darkened.

The curtain of the temple was torn in two.

The earth shook and the rocks were split.

Graves were opened.

Everyone would have noticed.  A fairly small group of people would have actually witnessed Jesus’ death.  And even his closest followers couldn’t have really begun yet to understand what it meant. 

And yet, the Gospel writers are telling us that Jesus’ death on the cross affected everyone and, literally, every thing.  Everyone would have noticed that something monumental was happening to their world.

Things which they thought were absolutely solid, unchangeable or secure...  all of a sudden were not.  The light of the sun.  The stability of the earth.  Even the temple itself.  Were shown to be perishable, changeable.

Only the cross was secure, where God’s power, greater than any other power, was being revealed. 

Later St. Paul would write:  For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18).

God’s power, in the message of the cross, wasn’t to be fully revealed until Easter.  But Good Friday and the crucifixion certainly should have gotten people’s attention…  Wake them up to the earth-shattering, soul-shattering significance of what is happening.  What happened at Golgotha was an event more powerful than the light of the sun, more powerful than the solid rock on which we stand, more powerful even than the temples we build to house God.

Today we know (or say that we know) that Jesus’ death was earth-shaking, soul-searing, yet we rarely treat it as such.  We place our security elsewhere.  In things that seem to us secure.  Rather than in the power of God, made known on the cross.

Maundy Thursday - March 24

What Does Jesus Want to do for You?

It is only in hindsight that we really recognize the monumental significance of the event we commemorate tonight.

It was Passover, but really just another Passover.  For Jesus and his disciples they would have celebrated many Passovers in their lives.  And this was not the first that they had celebrated together.

For us it’s a Thursday.  Just a Thursday.  We’ve been taught that it’s Maundy Thursday, but it’s Thursday.  Many of you were at work today, doing what you always do at work.  Some of you are missing your favorite Thursday evening TV shows tonight.

I’m thinking about how the extraordinary events that we commemorate today break into regular ordinary lives.  They come unexpectedly in the midst of routine activities.

A traditional, routine Passover supper becomes the institution of the New Covenant.  What the disciples had always done become something they had never done before when Jesus said: This is my Body, This is my Blood.

And the foot washing was completely unexpected.  Jesus down on his hands and knees like a serving girl washing the disciples’ feet.  Out of no where.  Jesus the servant.

And, in a way, that’s lesson enough.  On a night when we might be watching reruns on TV or the usual scurrying to get kids to activities or just crashing tired from work…  On an ordinary Thursday night Jesus shows up.

But at a diocesan event this week Bishop Lee gave us another way to look at this event.

Peter didn’t want to be served.  Probably for much the same reasons most of you won’t come forward to have your feet washed.  You don’t like being served.  It’s awkward.  If my feet need washing (which they don’t; thank you very much), I’ll wash them myself!  I’m just not into the foot washing thing.

But.  It’s not about you, Peter.  It’s not about you!  It’s not about what you want.  Clearly.  You don’t want your feet washed.  It’s also not about what you need.  It’s not as though Peter’s feet needed to be washed and Jesus volunteered.  Jesus wasn’t really “serving” Peter, this line of thought goes.  It wasn’t about serving Peter’s needs.

We talk a lot about servant-hood on Maundy Thursday, and that’s definitely one (maybe the best) interpretation of this event.  Jesus models humble servant-hood.  Jesus does say that in John’s Gospel, that we are to serve one other as he serves us.  But not because Peter needed (or wanted) to be served.  Maybe it was about Jesus.  Maybe it was about what Jesus wanted to do for Peter.  Jesus wasn’t responding to Peter’s need, but was proactively doing what he wanted to do for Peter.  Serving is what Jesus wanted to do for Peter and the disciples.  It’s about what Jesus wanted to do.

What does Jesus want to do for you?  It’s a big question.  Not the same question as: what do you need.  Not the same question as:  What do you want Jesus to do for you, even if that’s a noble desire. It’s not about you!!!  It’s about Jesus.  Who Jesus is.  What Jesus wants.  What does Jesus want to do for you?

• Jesus wants wholeness and holiness for each of us.
• But he also wants us to be apostles.  To get off our backsides and on our feet…  To share the Good News.  Maybe that’s why he washed the disciples feet…  To help them focus on sharing the Good News.
• Or maybe he wants to show or share with us something new and wondrous.  Or something new that makes us really uncomfortable.
• Maybe he just wants us to be more open to his touch.
• Maybe he wants to teach us to be more courageous of faith.  To en-courage us in cherishing and proclaiming our faith.

So on an ordinary Thursday, Jesus shows up and says: Here’s what I want to do for you.  Would you let him do it?

Part of what participating in the foot washing is about is training us to remember that it’s not about us.  It’s about Jesus.  It’s about LETTING JESUS DO WHAT JESUS WANTS TO DO.

On this normal Thursday, Jesus shows up wanting to do something for us.

What is it he wants to do for you?  Will you let him?

Wednesday in Holy Week - March 23

Trust Jesus

The Way of the Cross.  It is the Holy Week journey.  As contemporary Christians our worship life this week invites us to experience it with Jesus.  To accompany him through the events of this week as he journeys towards the cross.  Holy Week is not about theology, about the meaning of what happened.  It’s about what happened.  We find our own meaning in experiencing it with Jesus.

It really kicks in tomorrow when we remember the last supper in our Maundy Thursday worship and enact Jesus’ washing the feet of his disciples.  Then Friday we literally stand at the foot of the cross.

As you know, I’ve been using the liturgical devotion The Way of the Cross as a starting point for my homilies this week.  More widely known as the Stations of the Cross, in our tradition it is called the Way of the Cross.  Monday and Tuesday, we’ve looked at the Stations that do not have a source in Scripture.

Tonight, we’ll review those stations that are described in the Gospel accounts of Jesus journey to the cross:

Jesus is condemned to death

Jesus takes up his cross

The cross is laid on Simon of Cyrene

Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem

Jesus is stripped of his garments

Jesus is nailed to the cross

Jesus dies on the cross

Jesus is laid in the tomb

It’s like watching a train wreck.  You see disaster coming, but you can’t stop it.

Or like watching a movie or TV show when you know a character is walking into mortal danger, but you can’t warn them.

There is an inexorable momentum towards the cross.  Towards Jesus’ crucifixion on the cross.  We know that death on the cross lies ahead, but we can’t stop.  Jesus probably knew then what lay ahead, but didn’t stop.  The people who accompanied him then couldn’t have known.

And this devotion, which is the way of the cross, leaves him dead in the tomb.  That’s the end.  Jesus, dead, is laid in the tomb. 

Why would we get on this train that is heading for a train wreck?  Why would we join ourselves to this story that ends with death on a cross and a dark tomb?

I can only think of one reason.  Because we trust Jesus.  Trust.  Because we trust that accompanying Jesus is always the right thing to do.

Now, of course, we know that the story didn’t end at the tomb.  But this devotion, The Way of the Cross, ends with death on the cross.  And maybe part of what it teaches us is to trust Jesus.  Participating in this devotion, walking with Jesus to the cross, teaches us to trust Jesus.  It trains us to trust that accompanying Jesus is always the right thing to do.  Against all the odds, against everything that our senses may be telling us, to trust that Jesus is leading us in the Way that we should go.

Tuesday in Holy Week - March 22

Women on the Way

For the first three days in Holy Week, I am basing my homilies on the devotion that we call the Way of the Cross.  I like this title better than the more common Stations of the Cross, because it emphasizes the journey.  The stations are part of something bigger—the way we all walk this week towards the cross.

As I said yesterday, as early as the fourth century Christian pilgrims processed through the streets of Jerusalem imitating Jesus’ journey towards the cross as a means of personal devotion.  Over the years, this practice has been symbolically adapted locally throughout the world.  By the early 1700’s the number of stations had been regularized at 14.

Six of those 14 stations aren’t mentioned at all in Scripture.  They are the invention of pious folk, born purely out of legend.

Why?  What was missing from the Biblical record that faithful people felt a need to include?

Yesterday I mentioned the three stations that tell of Jesus’ stumbling or falling, illustrating the full humanity of Jesus.

Today, let’s look at the other three: 

Fourth station.  Jesus meets his afflicted mother.

            Sixth station.  A woman wipes the face of Jesus

            Thirteenth station.  The body of Jesus is placed in the arms of his mother.

What was missing from the Biblical record?  Women, apparently.

Women, of course, are mentioned from time to time in the Gospel accounts.  But with one exception, not as part of Jesus’ journey from his trial to his crucifixion. In Luke’s passion Gospel which we heard on Sunday, Jesus laments over the “women of Jerusalem.” "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children,” he says.  This passage occurs only in Luke.  It is the subject of the eighth station.  But the women are only passive recipients of Jesus’ words.   They do not interact with Jesus at all.

Of the three stations where women interact with Jesus, two are about Mary.  It is understandable that Jesus’ relationship with Mary would be embellished and expanded and that the pious would imagine her close accompaniment of Jesus along the way to the cross.  She was loyal, loving and brave.

But the woman who wipes the face of Jesus.  It’s a wonderful and fascinating addition to the story.  There is absolutely not the remotest source for this event in Scripture.  Yet legend has even given her a name, Veronica.  When Jesus falls, she pities him.  She feels compassion for him.  She cares for him.  She wipes his face.  Or, in another telling of the legend, she gives him her veil and he wipes his face and returns the veil bearing his image on it.

She cares for him.  She tries to help him, provide comfort.  His appearance was marred says the devotion for this station.  Yet still she pitied him.  She cared for him.

At a time when others were mocking, condemning, despising, rejecting, taunting, whipping Jesus, she cared for him.

Surely there were others, back then.  Maybe not many, but some, men and women who felt compassion for Jesus, who tried to offer comfort.  Let us remember them as we walk the way of the cross this year.

Monday in Holy Week - March 21

Jesus Falls

Today’s collect mentions walking the way of the cross.  In our Book of Occasional Services, there is a devotion called the Way of the Cross.  It is the Episcopal version of what is often called the Stations of the Cross.  Growing up, I thought only Roman Catholics did the Stations of the Cross, but it actually a widely used devotion.

It began on the streets of Jerusalem as early as the fourth century, as Christian pilgrims sought to trace the path of Jesus as he walked towards Golgotha.  Faithful Christians prayed at stations along that journey, seeking to mark the actual spots where Biblical events took place

The actual locations of those events have been subject to considerable scholarly and church politics debates.  Over the centuries, the number of stations also varied widely.  By the early 1700’s the number and identity of the stations had been fixed at 14.  As you know, many churches have pictorial representations of the stations on the walls to aid in the devotion.  (For it to work, though, you really need side aisles, which we don’t have.  Otherwise, I’m sure Bishop Montgomery would have installed stations here.)

Of the 14 stations, 6 have absolutely no source in Scripture.  Their source is purely pious legend.  Our devotion indicates that we can omit those three if we wish.  But perhaps they have something to teach us.  They have met a need for faithful Christians for centuries. 

Of the six stations which describe events that are not mentioned in Scripture, three of the six describe Jesus falling.  Jesus stumbling and falling along the way.

To this day, there is considerable variation in the prayers or meditations associated with each of the stations.  Several Roman Catholic versions I found online link Jesus falling with the weight of our sins.  It is the burden of carrying our sins that bears down upon him and causes him to stumble.

Alternatively, in the prayers associated with these stations in our tradition, the emphasis is on Jesus’ humanity.  Jesus has willingly taken on human weakness and frailty.  Because he is fully human, he stumbles as he struggles along a very difficult journey.

It is because Jesus is like us that we may hope to be like him.  

These stations illustrate the holiness of stumbling.  If the holy one stumbles, then our weak stumbling may be holy, too.  They show Jesus humility in fully taking on human being, so that we who are human may come to take on him divinity.

Because Jesus is like us, even in our frailty and weakness, we may hope to be like him.  The Jesus who stumbles and falls is the Jesus who dies on the cross.  The human Jesus who stumbles and falls is the Jesus who is raised to new life.  And we, who stumble and fall, will be raised, too.

Palm Sunday - March 20

Palm Sunday:  Welcoming Jesus

Luke 19:28-40

Several of the names or themes that we associate with this day seem a bit odd.  We call it Palm Sunday, of course.  And yet there is no mention of palms at all in the synoptic Gospels.  In Luke, which we heard this morning, plants aren’t even mentioned.  The people laid the cloaks on the colt for Jesus to ride and on the roadway ahead of him.  Matthew says that they cut branches to place on the road.  In Mark, they are “leafy” branches, but no palms.  John does mention palms, but John is the least “historical” of the Gospels, so it’s hard to say.

We also talk about this day as the day on which we commemorate Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  The Palm Sunday story is the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry.

But many scholars and commentators note that Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was, in fact, the opposite of triumphant.  Think about what triumphant means.  It means victorious.  To triumph is to conquer.  To be triumphant you have to be triumphant over someone or something.  We do speak of triumphing over hardship, but more commonly it means winning an athletic or military or political battle.  Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was anything but triumphant.

In contrast, Pilate, who represented a triumphant government would have arrived in Jerusalem about the same time.  He did not live in Jerusalem, but would have traveled there to be present during Passover representing the Roman government that had triumphed over the Jews.  And his entry would have been triumphant.  Riding on a noble steed, surrounded by embodied power and military might.

Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem was a humble entry.  Riding a young colt, bareback, his feet probably dangling near the ground, surrounded by a ragtag group of disciples.  Jesus’ actions as he entered Jerusalem were not triumphant.

Jesus’ so-called triumphal entry has always been less about Jesus’ actions and more about the people welcoming him.  It’s about how they felt about his entrance into their city, into their lives.  And they cheered with joy.

At least they cheered when Jesus entered Jerusalem.  This weird day is actually called Palm Sunday:  The Sunday of the Passion.  It’s Palm Sunday, but the sad pragmatism of the church recognizes that most of you won’t be in church on Good Friday.  So we also read the Passion Gospel today.  So in the span of just about twenty minutes in our worship service, the peoples’ feelings changed from joyful welcome to indifference at best or condemnation at worst as Jesus is condemned and crucified.  All of us probably can identify with a range of feelings along that spectrum from joy to indifferent or condemnation.  For what it’s worth, as a preacher I have always found it easier to conjure up in all of us feelings of guilt or remorse as we accept our culpability for Jesus on the cross than I have to inspire those Palm Sunday feelings of exuberant welcome.

Jesus was hailed, Luke says, for his deeds of power.  That might sound like Jesus had something to be triumphant about.  But think about what the acts of power Jesus had performed during his life and ministry.  He healed people.  He brought peace in the midst of the storm.  Jesus’ power brought healing and peace in the midst of turmoil.

It certainly may be that the people who welcomed him thought or hoped that he would become a triumphant political leader.  We know that didn’t happen.  And that was not the witness of Jesus’ life.  Jesus brought healing and peace.

There is a lot to celebrate on Palm Sunday.  Just think, on this day we don’t have to go searching for Jesus.  We don’t even have to struggle to follow him.  He comes to us.  He comes into our lives, walking down the street right outside.  We just have to welcome him.  With joyful hearts.

Can we do that?  In the midst of everything going on, do we, can we stop to sing and cry out with unbridled joy for one who has humbly come into our lives bringing healing and peace?

The Fifth Sunday in Lent - March 13

Being Prodigal

John 12:1-8

Jesus commends Mary for being prodigal.  In today’s Gospel reading Jesus commends Mary for being prodigal.

Many of you will remember that last week, preaching on the so-called parable of the prodigal son, I talked about God’s prodigal mercy and forgiveness towards us.

This week Mary is prodigal in her actions with Jesus.

This week I actually looked up prodigal in the dictionary.  It means: spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant.

It’s only our lectionary that brings last week’s Gospel reading together with this week’s.  They come from different Gospels.  The parable is in Luke; today we’re in John.  And the settings in Jesus’ ministry are different.  In both, of course, Jesus is teaching those near to him.  And, from our vantage point, we know that in both Jesus’ face is already set towards Jerusalem.  The cross is within view.

The chronology of Jesus’ passion is a bit different in John than in the synoptic Gospels.  In John’s Gospel the story we heard this morning takes place just before Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, only days before his crucifixion.  It is set in Bethany, just across the Kidron valley from Jerusalem.

Mary’s anointing of Jesus is the focus of this reading.  It’s probably worth noting that it is clearly Mary of Bethany, sister of Martha (and not Mary Magdalene as often shown in popular depictions), who is the actor in this story.

In Jesus’ day there were several reasons for anointing:  Anointing for a purpose, king’s or prophet’s heads were anointed as a symbol of the special purpose or power to which they were called.  Anointing was done for healing, as it continues to be today.  And bodies were anointed after death for burial.

Mary anoints Jesus’ feet using a pound of pure nard.  Historians say that would have cost the equivalent of a year’s salary for a typical laborer in that day.  Nothing about this story is “practical.”  None of it really makes sense even within the context of contemporary rituals.  Mary uses way too much perfume.  And why Jesus’ feet?  There is no precedent for that.  (Some scholars suggest it is to distinguish this anointing from a prophetic or messianic anointing…  maybe)  And then she wipes it off with her hair.

Mary’s action has no practical or ritual meaning.  It seems to foretell Jesus’ coming death, but the main point of the action is simply Mary’s act of prodigal care for Jesus.  Mary’s prodigal act of care for Jesus.

And Jesus tells them not to criticize her for it.  It’s OK to be prodigal towards Jesus.  To recklessly “waste” a pound of costly perfume.  Just because.  Just because it’s Jesus.

Last week the story was about God’s prodigal mercy, love, and forgiveness towards us.  Given to us not measuring our worth or counting the cost.  God is carelessly, recklessly, prodigally merciful towards us.

This week the story is about Mary’s prodigal care for Jesus.

Maybe prodigality is a good thing in our relationship with God.  Maybe prodigal acts are a quality of that relationship.  Not only in God’s actions towards us, but in ours towards God.

I don’t do prodigality easily.  Being wasteful or reckless are not good things in my world.  And I’m not suggesting that we should be prodigal in all aspects of our lives.  I’m NOT saying that Christians should be wasteful or reckless in everything we do.  We are called to be good stewards, to honor with reverence the gifts we have been given in life.

But maybe in this one area…  in our relationship with God.  Maybe in this one area, it’s good to be prodigal.

After all, our relationship with God is formed of God’s unfathomable, limitless love.  And it’s a relationship that exists in eternity, time without end.   Why not be prodigal?

What does that mean for us?  To be prodigal within the context of our relationship with God?  To act prodigally in our love for God?  To recklessly express our relationship with God?

Our money and material gifts are certainly a part of how we express our relationship with God, as it was for Mary, but that’s just one piece and maybe not the most important thing I’m thinking about.

How about being prodigal in praise?  Not limiting in any way our extravagant praise of God.

Or being prodigal in what we bring of ourselves to our relationship with God.  Our hopes, our fears, the things that matter most to us.  Recklessly risking all that we are in the context of our relationship with God.  Not keeping any of our life separate from God; holding nothing back.

Or being prodigal in our service of others who bear the image of Christ.  Recognizing Christ present in others and seeing the way we treat others as a part of our relationship with God.  And expressing that relationship with prodigal service.

As I said, prodigality doesn’t come naturally to me.  I’m still thinking about what this may mean for me, and I hope you will ponder what it might mean for you.

The Fourth Sunday in Lent - March 6

Unconditional Forgiveness

2 Corinthians 5:16-21

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Last week I mentioned how well the words of the Ash Wednesday liturgy capture the meaning of Lent.  But there are some words in that liturgy that often give me pause.  We all say the sweeping and profound Litany of Penitence, naming the many ways we sinfully fall short of God’s hope for us.  The litany is followed by the absolution where we affirm that God “pardons and absolves all those who truly repent, and with sincere hearts believe his holy Gospel.”

Those who “truly” repent and those whose faith is “sincere.”  Those words make God’s pardon sound conditional.  Not only must we repent, we must “truly” repent and we must have sincere faith, as well.  We have to meet those conditions before God forgives or absolves.  And how true must our repentance be?  How do we measure the sincerity of our faith?  How do we know if we’ve met God’s conditions?  The idea that God’s forgiveness is conditional on some standard we must meet troubles me.

Today’s epistle and Gospel readings suggest God’s forgiveness is unconditional.

Unconditional forgiveness.  What do you think about unconditional forgiveness?

The Ash Wednesday absolution always makes anxious, worrying about what criteria are necessary to qualify for God’s forgiveness.  But I am also uncomfortable in the world of unconditional forgiveness.  Unconditional.  Forgiveness given by God without any requirements, conditions, or expectations for that forgiveness.

Looking first at the epistle.  Paul’s relationship with the church in Corinth is troubled.  It’s become personal.  They have challenged his ministry and his authority; he has written back expressing hurt and defending his ministry.  Everybody feels hurt and wronged.  Some of the really puffed up disciples in Corinth commend Paul’s chastisement (of others) but rebuke his gentleness at the same time.  He can’t win.

In the midst of this very messy situation, Paul writes this meditation on forgiveness and grace that we heard this morning.  It’s a meditation on God’s grace and forgiveness.  Remember this line in particular, “in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them.”  Not counting their trespass against them.

What follows is my second-hand interpretation of a summary of a theologian’s reflection on God’s forgiveness (David E. Frederickson summarizing John D. Caputo HERE).  Paul talks about no longer looking at the world from a human point of view.  There are two ways to think about forgiveness:  the human way and the divine way that Paul is describing in this passage.

The human view of forgiveness depends on reasons, excuses, or confession;  it is conditional.  These conditions in a sense “buy” back the debt incurred through the injury.  The wrong doer confesses, explains, compensates and then forgiveness is granted.  It’s a transaction that depends upon the sinner meeting the required conditions.  God’s forgiveness, however, seeks to exist apart from any economic consideration. It seeks to be pure and absolute. Its logic, against the logic of common sense, demands that only the unforgivable can be forgiven, only that which is not forgotten, blotted out, cleansed, or purified, can be given back to the wrong doer as a gift with no strings attached. If one is moved to forgive based on the repentance of the offender or some proclivity of the sinner which excuses the wrong then it ceases to be forgiveness. Likewise, forgiveness offered because it heals the one who forgives (which may indeed happen) is no longer forgiveness in the strict sense. Forgiveness requires there be no reason for it. It must be a pure gift.

The human way of looking at forgiveness is as a transaction, conditional.  For God, it is pure gift.  Forgiveness is given by God purely out of God’s love and mercy.  There are no conditions.  You don’t have to earn it or qualify for it.  You don’t even have to want it.  God gives forgiveness unconditionally.  Which is to say God forgives murderers, even if they don’t seek forgiveness.  It can be an uncomfortable idea, this unconditional forgiveness.

But we live in this new creation, Paul says.  Christ brought a new creation where God’s grace and forgiveness are truly given unconditionally.  And furthermore, Paul says, we are not just recipients of this grace and forgiveness, but participants in this new creation, participants in offering God’s unconditional grace and forgiveness to others.

So what do you think about unconditional forgiveness?  What do you think of God squandering forgiveness on people who don’t deserve it, who may not even want it?  What do you think of God wasting forgiveness, apparently without a thought?  What do you think of a God who gives forgiveness away like a prodigal?

To waste or squander without thought of value.  That’s what prodigal means.  God forgives prodigally.

The Gospel reading today is the familiar parable of the prodigal son.  But note the context.  Jesus is eating with sinners and tax collectors.  And the religious authorities are grumbling. “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”   And the Scriptures don’t say that the sinners needed to confess first, or be purified, or meet any other conditions.  Jesus ate with sinners and tax collectors.

The parable is told as a response to the discomfort of the religious authorities to Jesus’ unconditionally sharing a meal with people who were not worthy.

And, technically, it’s not clear that the prodigal son ever actually repented.  His return could be just another scheme to get money and food out of his father.  I’ll tell him this, the son says…  maybe that will work.  Or maybe his was truly penitent.  We can’t know.  But in the parable the father runs out to greet him, embraces him and welcomes him before the son has said a word.  Unconditional forgiveness.

So what do you think about unconditional forgiveness?

It’s very comforting and reassuring to think that it’s offered to me.  God loves and forgives me unconditionally.  There isn’t some standard I have to achieve before God will forgive or bestow grace.

It’s harder, of course, to think of God offering unconditional forgiveness to everyone, to think of God prodigally squandering forgiveness on anyone and everyone.  No matter whether they deserve it or even want it.

So for me, the bottom line is that whenever we want to come him, the door is open.  Whenever you or I want to come home, the door is open wide.  There’s no password, no conditions, nothing we have to prove.  Nothing.  The table is set.  The fatted calf is prepared.  We are welcome.

And, for me, trying to hang on to the belief that the same unconditional grace and forgiveness are offered to others brings me closer to God.  Remembering God’s unconditional mercy for others brings me closer to God and enables me to at least begin to live, as Paul encourages us, as an active participant in God’s new creation.

The Third Sunday in Lent - February 28

Repent

Luke 13:1-9

What would it take to really bring home to you the need for repentance?  What would it take to get your attention?  That’s what Jesus is doing in today’s Gospel passage.  He’s trying to shake up the disciples into an awareness of their own need for repentance.

In Luke’s Gospel, this story is part of a series of events where Jesus is teaching his disciples and the broader group gathered around him.  This particular event is unique to Luke’s Gospel.

It touches upon the persistent question.  Why does suffering happen?  Why does calamity strike some people and not others? Answering these questions is not Jesus primary point, although he does address them.  Jesus point is to rattle the disciples’ into a recognition of their need for repentance.

Jesus refers to two historical events that we know nothing else about.  Evidently Pilate murdered some Galileans while they were in the midst of offering sacrifices to God.  In another instance a tower, perhaps in the walls of Jerusalem, fell, killing eighteen people.

The implied question is:  Did these people die because of their own fault?  Were their deaths punishment for their sin?

Jesus is VERY clear.  These people did not suffer because of their fault.  Suffering is not God’s way of punishing sin.  The occurrence of suffering does not prove some particular state of sinfulness.

Never think that about yourself or about someone else.  Jesus is very clear.

Perhaps more importantly for the disciples and for us, implicit in Jesus’ words:  Don’t assume that just because a tower has not fallen on you that means you are right with God.  The absence of calamity does not prove that everything is right between you and God.

There’s one more very important thing Jesus is saying.  Sin does produce suffering.  God does not produce suffering as a punishment for sin.  Sin itself produces suffering.  Not all suffering is the result of sin.  Calamities just happen.  But sin does produce suffering.  Our sin produces suffering.  Within ourselves, in our relationships with people we care about, and in the world.  As St. Paul says in Romans, the wages of sin is death.  Our sin kills our souls.  Kills our relationships.  And can kill others.

In today’s collect we pray to be saved from our own evil thoughts that assault our souls.  Our sin of pride or covetousness kills our relationships.  And while the people from Jerusalem who were crushed by the falling tower did not die as a result of their sin (Jesus is very clear on that), it is possible that they died as the result of a greedy builder who cut corners on quality or safety to save a few pennies.

So repent.  Sin causes suffering.  Your own sin kills.

Jesus is saying to the disciples and those gathered around:  You think being killed by Pilate is bad?  You think having a tower fall on you is bad?  The consequences of your own sin are worse…

God is concerned about our sin.  But if we think of our sin as a problem that God seeks to fix, there are two possible ways God might respond to the “problem of sin.”  One would be to impose justice through punishment.  The other is to seek reconciliation through forgiveness.

One commentator writes:  "[Why do you say that] sin requires punishment? Is God not able to forgive sin? Indeed, aren’t punishment and forgiveness rather antithetical, when you think of it? That is, each is a way of dealing with a problem, but not that compatible. If someone has “paid for sin” then there is no need to forgive. And if one has truly forgiven, then there is no payment required."

God doesn’t punish.  God seeks reconciliation and new life.  God’s hope is that out of sin, new fruit will be born.

The Gospel reading we heard today has two parts.  The first part where Jesus calls for the disciples’ repentance and the second part about the fig tree…  the fig tree that has failed in the past, but God saves it, nurtures it and so deeply yearns for it to become fruitful.

This passage not meant to be about the meaning of suffering.  Jesus is clear that the tragedies he cites had no meaning.  It’s about the seriousness of sin and a call to repentance.  And the promise of reconciliation and renewed fruitfulness.

It’s actually all there in our Ash Wednesday service.

In that service the Church invites us all to the observance of a holy Lent:  Remembering Jesus’ passion and resurrection, the season of Lent became a time in which “the whole congregation was put in mind of the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.”  All Christians.  All of the time.  Need to renew our repentance and faith.

What does it take to bring that message home to you?

But the fig tree is in the Ash Wednesday service, too.  After we say the sweeping and profound litany of penitence, there is an equally sweeping and profound absolution.  The absolution begins with these words:  “Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who desires not the death of sinners, but rather that they may turn from their wickedness and live…

God pardons and absolves.  Restores, reconciles, renews…  That is God’s hope for us; God’s response to our sin.