To My Readers

The sermons on this blog have been preached as a part of my ministry with the people of the Episcopal Church of St. John the Evangelist in Flossmoor, Illinois.  After over thirteen years with the people of St. John's, I will say farewell on June 18, 2017.   During these last few weeks, updating this site has been a lower priority.  There will not be any more posts after today.

After some time off I will begin a new position with Yellowstone Episcopal Parishes in Montana:  St. Andrew's in Livingston and St. John's in Emigrant.  At this time I don't know if or how or where my sermons there will be published.

Google tells me that about 12 people click on these sermons each week.  Some weeks a few less, every now and then quite a few more.  I know who two or three of you are.  To all of you, I hope my sermons have provided some blessing and insight and I pray that God will continue to bless and strengthen your faith and ministry.

Kristin+

The Fifth Sunday of Easter - May 14

Come, My Way

John 14:1-14

In this morning’s reading, Jesus really blows it as a therapist.  He commits the cardinal sin of therapy:  he tells the disciples not to feel what they are, in fact, feeling.

The beginning of the 14^th chapter of John is relatively familiar.  We often hear it read at funerals…  “in my father’s house are many mansions.”  We are so accustomed to hear Jesus’ words as comforting in that context, it is hard to imagine what this time would have actually been like for Jesus’ disciples.

Don’t be worried, Jesus says.  Don’t let your hearts be troubled. But the disciples ARE worried.  This is the beginning of what is called Jesus’ farewell discourse in John’s Gospel.  This comes right after the last supper and Jesus washing the disciples’ feet.  Jesus has said that be will be betrayed, he has foretold Peter’s denial, and he has said that he will be going away—leaving them.  The disciples are very worried and anxious.  What will happen to Jesus?  What will happen to them?

Jesus says, Believe in God, believe also in me.  So the disciples must think: if I’m still worried I don’t have enough belief?  This is not helping.

Jesus continues:  I go to prepare a place for you…  and you know the way to the place where I am going.

At this point, I imagine that Thomas’ anxiety is at a breaking point:  How can we know the way?? This is not a casual conversation about theology.  Thomas and the disciples see their lives and their hopes ending and they don’t know what to do.

Then in John 14:6 Jesus says:  I am the way, and the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me. 

There are several ways to react to that verse.  Especially when we hear this passage at funerals, we hear the reassuring promise in the first part of this verse.  Jesus is our way to God.

But for the disciples these words might have only increased their anxiety even more.  There is only one particular, specific way to the Father.  What if I don’t get it right?  What if I fail the test?  Even after Jesus says these words Philip expresses the disciples’ ongoing confusion and anxiety.   We don’t know who you are, Jesus.  We don’t know what’s going on.  Help us.

Jesus could have said thing better.  He could have expressed himself more pastorally, more therapeutically (!).

The poet George Herbert said what Jesus should have said to the disciples in their state of worry and anxiety.

Herbert wrote a poem based in large part on John 14:6.  It is called “The Call.”  Over and over again, the stanzas of the poem begin with the invitation, “Come.”  Jesus’ words are an invitation, not a test.  An invitation.  Come, Jesus says.

Do you know George Herbert?  As Episcopalians, we should at least be aware of him. I’m not much of a poetry reader, but there are a few poems I know well because they’ve been set to music.  Herbert’s poem “The Call” has been set to music as one of Vaughan Williams’ Five Mystical Songs.  And in that form it made it into and our current hymnal. 

The Poetry Foundation’s biography of Herbert says this (Read the full biography HERE):

Nestled somewhere within the Age of Shakespeare and the Age of Milton is George Herbert. There is no Age of Herbert: he did not consciously fashion an expansive literary career for himself, and his characteristic gestures, insofar as these can be gleaned from his poems and other writings, tend to be careful self-scrutiny rather than rhetorical pronouncement; local involvement rather than broad social engagement; and complex, ever-qualified lyric contemplation rather than epic or dramatic mythmaking. This is the stuff of humility and integrity, not celebrity. But even if Herbert does not appear to be one of the larger-than-life cultural monuments of seventeenth-century England—a position that virtually requires the qualities of irrepressible ambition and boldness, if not self-regarding arrogance, that he attempted to flee—he is in some ways a pivotal figure: enormously popular, deeply and broadly influential, and arguably the most skillful and important British devotional lyricist of this or any other time.

Herbert lived from 1593-1633, and for much of that time served as a priest in the Church of England.  His poetry has been described as allusive or evocative. 

Listen to The Call.  And hear Jesus saying these words to you.  Come.  Come along my way with me.  Come into my truth, my life.  Jesus says (Hymn 487).

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:

such a way as gives s breath;

such a truth as ends all strife;

such a life as killeth death.

Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength:

such a light as shows a feast;

such a feast as mends in length;

such a strength as makes his guest.

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart: 

such a joy as none can move

such a love as none can part;

such a heart as joys in love.

I don’t completely understand it.  I can’t analyze what every phrase means.  But when I hear Jesus saying those words to me, I want to follow.

I want to follow an a path that “gives us breath,” a journey that inspires rather than tires.  I want to know a truth that does not divide or is not used as a weapon, but rather a truth that “ends all strife.”  And I want to live a life, now in this life, that is stronger than death.  Come, Jesus says.  Come to a feast that mends.  Gather for the Lord’s feast mends all those places within us that are broken or torn.  Come share a love and joy that no one can move or part from you.

Come, Jesus says.  Come, join me in my Way, my Truth, my Life.

The Fourth Sunday of Easter - May 7

Jesus' Flock

John 10:1-10

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a solitary sheep.  I’ve seen lots of sheep.  They run huge flocks of them in the mountains out west.  But I have never seen a solitary sheep.

Today is informally known as Good Shepherd Sunday.  On this Fourth Sunday of Easter we always have readings that refer to Jesus as the Good Shepherd.  We always pray Psalm 23.

There are lots of pieces to this image that Jesus offers of himself as the Good Shepherd and us as the sheep of his flock.  Most of us probably tend to focus on the image of Jesus as the caring shepherd.

We focus less on the sheep.  After all, it is called Good Shepherd Sunday, not sheep Sunday.  But today I want to focus on one aspect of the sheep.  The flock.  Sheep live in a flock.  I’ve never seen a solitary sheep.

This image that Jesus chooses to describe our relationship with him of shepherd and sheep involves a flock.  The flock is built into the image.  Jesus might have had other reasons for choosing this image.  Certainly sheep and sheep herding were familiar to Jesus’ audience.  But amongst all of the familiar images he could have chosen he chose this image, of a shepherd and a flock of sheep.  To be a follower of Jesus, to be one of Jesus’ own, is to be part of a flock.

Again and again, the Scriptures emphasize the importance of the flock.  Not just sheep, but sheep in a flock.

In the passage from John we heard today, Jesus describes himself first as the shepherd, then as the gate.  The gate which protects the sheep, as a flock, in the sheepfold.  Jesus doesn’t offer his sheep individual force fields for protection.  He offers himself as protection when they are gathered together as a flock.

In another passage from John that is read on this Sunday in other years, Jesus talks about calling, gathering his sheep into a flock.  So there will be one flock under Jesus, the shepherd.

Then there is the parable of the lost sheep in Luke and Matthew.  In the parable, the shepherd goes in search of the one sheep who is lost.  Note that the sheep is lost because it has strayed from the flock.  The sheep is not lost because it does not know where it is geographically.  It is not lost because it doesn’t have directions to get to some destination.  It is lost because it is separated from the flock.  For a sheep, to be solitary is to be lost.  The definition of lost for a sheep is to be separated from the flock.

This does not mean that, as Christians, we have to be just part of the herd or act like lemmings in all aspects of our lives.  This is not to quash individual initiative or creativity.  But in a culture that celebrates rugged individualism, it is important to remember that charting a solitary course is not a Christian virtue.

Being a part of Jesus’ flock means that our Christian lives are rooted and sustained and guided here in this community, this particular “flock”.  On our own, we are lost as Christians.

In today’s collect we pray that we may know and recognize Jesus, the good shepherd’s voice, when he calls us and follow where he leads.  A good prayer, but remember that we do not listen or respond on our own, but as members of a flock.  And in those times that we all experience, when we do not recognize Jesus’ voice in our lives, when we cannot hear him speaking to us, or cannot figure out how to follow…  in those times, come here.  Jesus, the good shepherd, will be with the flock, to guide and protect his own.

The Third Sunday of Easter - April 30

First Hand Christians

Luke 24:13-35

The road to Emmaus story.  Two of Jesus’ followers, Cleopas and a companion are joined by Jesus as they are walking home from Jerusalem to the village of Emmaus.  It is later in the day on Easter Day, the day of Jesus’ resurrection.  This story appears only in Luke’s gospel and Cleopas is not mentioned anywhere else.  Scholars aren’t real sure where the village of Emmaus is, either.  Regardless of whether or not we can confirm the historical details of this story, it has important implications for us as Christians today.

Listen to what one commentator writes about Luke’s telling of the Emmaus story (Fred Craddock, Interpretation Commentary):

There is no doubt that Luke is writing not only the story of Jesus but also that of the church which knows him in these ways.  The importance of experiencing the living Christ in word and sacrament cannot be overemphasized.  There were, says Luke, special appearances of the resurrected Christ to a number of his followers.  In fact, Luke says that such appearances continued for forty days before he was received up into glory (Acts 1:1-11).  Yet were that the whole of the story, all believers except those select few would experience only the absence of Jesus, fated to try to keep faith alive on the thin diet of these reports of his having once been seen by others.  Thus all subsequent generations would have been secondhand Christians, removed by time and place from the Camelot of Luke-Acts.  But Luke here tells us that the living Christ is both the key to our understanding of the Scriptures and the very present Lord who is revealed to us in the breaking of bread.  His presence at the table makes all believers first-generation Christians and every meeting place Emmaus.

There is no reason to doubt that the story Luke tells here about Jesus, about Jesus coming to meet two disciples on the road, is true.  But Luke is also telling a story about his Christian community.  About how they continued, first hand, to encounter the living Christ in the sharing and interpretation of Scripture and in the breaking of the bread.  So this is our story, too.  About how we encounter the risen, living Christ firsthand.  As we gather to share God’s word and to break bread at the Lord’s table.

Thinking about Luke telling the story of how his community encounters the living Christ, I got to thinking how I would tell the story of this community encountering Jesus alive with us.  Of course, like the early Christians, we meet Jesus as he speaks to us from the Scriptures and as he offers himself to us in Holy Communion.  But I would also tell a story set in the undercroft where we gather in caring and conversation.  Where Jesus is active and revealed in acts of compassion and conversations of care for one another.  And stories of outreach, where Jesus’ hands work with us to care for the “least of these.”

As I followed this train of thought I began to think about my own life beyond the life of this Christian community.  When and where do I encounter the living Christ in my life.

I could tell a story about a solitary individual, it could be me or any number of other people, taking time for prayer of reading of Scripture.  Maybe with a candle lit, saying the daily office and reading the Bible and meeting Jesus there.  Or I think about a clergy group I’m in—all women Rectors.  We gather once a month for conversation and support.  Jesus often sits with us.

But as I really thought about the sweep of my daily life, there’s a whole lot of it where I am not aware of the risen Christ with me. 

As you might imagine, I’m dreading the physical move that’s ahead, and I’m just beginning to start thinking about sorting things to move and things not to move.  What if I were to chuck out from my life every thing and every activity where I am not aware of the risen Christ?  What if I were to just sweep away every thing I have and every thing I do that does not lead me to encounter the living Christ.  A lot of the mundane things and activities that fill up everyday life would be gone.

Think about that in your life.  Imagine getting rid of everything that isn’t alive with Christ for you.

What would be left?

Not much?  Would your life, like mine, have huge gaps of time and space if you eliminated everything where you don’t perceive the presence of Christ?

Assuming we want to be closer to Jesus and know him more deeply, there are two things we can do to fill those gaps.

First, do more of those things where we do encounter Jesus.  Spend more time in prayer or Bible study or common worship.  More than just that token every now and then.

And, second, retune our awareness to see Christ present with us in aspects of our lives where we may not expect to find him.   When we fail to see the living Christ with us in many of the activities of our daily lives, it is not because he is not there.  It is because we fail to see him.  Remember, even Cleopas and his companion did not recognize Jesus right away.  They were not expecting to see him there.  Sometimes it takes time or focus to see Jesus in places where we may not expect to find him.

Attentiveness, mindfulness, prayer are ways to do that.  I know I’ve shared at least a portion of these prayers with you before.  I first encountered them many years ago and they really made an impression.  They are prayers of Chinese Christians said to accompany many everyday activities (From the Oxford Book of Prayer, ed. George Appleton). 

A prayer to be said while washing clothes:

I pray thee, Lord, to wash my heart, making me white as snow.

A prayer while pruning a tree:

I pray thee, Lord, to purge me and take away my selfishness and sinful thoughts, that I may bring forth more fruits of the Spirit.

When posting a letter:

I pray thee, Lord, to add to me faith upon faith, that I may always have communication with thee.

Short prayers for mundane, daily activities.  Reminding us that Jesus is with us and praying for his transforming power in our lives.

So Luke’s story about the road to Emmaus leaves us with several things to think about.  In your life, on what occasions, activities, or places do you encounter firsthand the risen Christ?   And how much of your life do those experiences encompass?  If there are gaps and if you would like to know Christ more and better, do more of those things where you find him and work at seeing him in those other aspects of your life.  He is there.

The Second Sunday of Easter - April 23

In This Room
John 20:19-31

All or most of you have received the letter I mailed this week saying that I will be moving to Montana.  If the Post Office sent yours to Nebraska or you recycled it without opening it, as I do with much of my mail, there are copies on the information tables.  The decision to go was both a very easy decision and a very hard decision.  Easy because there is no question it is the right thing for me at this time.  Hard, because it means leaving all of you.

My last Sunday here will be June 18.  So we have 8 weeks to reflect and share stories together.  Clergy in the church, apparently, have found that that is the “right” amount of time.

I’ve already been reflecting.  And I want to share one statistic with you.  A statistic, a number.  In my mind, at least, it’s connected to today’s Gospel reading.

We heard the familiar story from John’s Gospel of doubting Thomas.  The day of Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples were huddled together in fear in a room with the doors locked.  Jesus came to them to be with them in that room.  Never mind the locked doors.  Thomas wasn’t there and was reluctant to believe the other disciples’ story.  John tells us that a week later the disciples were again (still?) hiding in a locked room.  Thomas was with them.  And again Jesus came to with them in that room.

The statistic I want to share with you is the number of times since I have been here that we have gathered in this room to celebrate communion:  2,265.  I didn’t count each one.  We average about 170/year these days, multiplied by 13 ¼ years.  We have gathered in this room to celebrate the Holy Eucharist 2,265 times.

And Jesus has come to be with us in this room each and every one of those times.

This is not the only place that Jesus meets of course.  Nor is Communion the only occasion when we know him.

But, as Christians in a sacramental tradition, we affirm that he is always here in the breaking of the bread.  Always.  In this room when we gather around his table to break the bread and share the cup, he is with us.  Always.  When we participate in the sacrament of the New Covenant he shares himself with us.

In John’s account, Jesus walking through walls or Thomas touching his wounds is usually taken as “proof” of his resurrection and resurrected presence.

But for us today, I’m more interested in the walls and locked door as a metaphor.  Jesus came to be with the disciples despite the barriers they had put up.  Why were they hiding behind locked doors?  John says they were afraid.  Afraid that the situation that crucified Jesus was also a threat to them.  Were they maybe also trying to keep Jesus out?  Afraid of what his presence with them might mean for their lives?  In John, being enclosed and in darkness is a symbol for turning away from God. 

Regardless of why they were afraid, they put up what they hoped or imagined were impenetrable barriers.  And Jesus walked right through and came to them anyway.  Bringing light and life and peace.

We put up all sorts of barriers to keep Jesus out of our hearts and our lives.  And Jesus walks right through and comes to us anyway.

David Lose writes:  we gather so that we might…   be encountered by the Risen Christ one more time and be caught up in faith so that we may experience God’s abundant life.  We gather in this room at this table to be encountered by the Risen Christ.  Today for the 2,266 and 2,267^th times.

He comes to be with us in this room, bringing abundant life and peace, oblivious to any barriers we may have put up.  He brings peace.  He says it over and over and over again.  Peace be with you.  My own peace I leave with you.

Thomas models for us the faithful response.  My Lord and My God!

Easter Day - April 16

More Than Enough

Some of you may know the poem or story, “I wish you enough”.  With just a quick search on the internet, it’s hard to figure out its true origin.  I first saw it fairly recently on Facebook, where it was set within the context of a parent and child saying goodbye at the airport for what they knew would be the final time.  There is a book I Wish You Enough published in 2009 (Bob Perks), but I’m not sure if the book or the poem came first.  The poem goes like this:

I wish you enough…
I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how grey the day may appear.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.
I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.

It is touching and heart felt.  But it came to mind for me today because it is so NOT Easter.  The sentiment “I wish you enough” is SO not Easter.  It is the best we can do without Easter.

I think people find it meaningful because it seems to teach contentment and appreciation for life’s gifts.  It is offered as somewhat of an antidote to the voracious striving for more of our culture and society.  So many people today never feel like they have enough of anything…

I have no quarrel at all with those messages…

BUT, “I wish you enough” is so NOT the Christian message of Easter.

Last night we participated in the Great Vigil of Easter.  It includes an ancient prayer called the Exsultat.  Exsultat.  Exaltation.

In the Exsultat we say or sing:

Rejoice and sing now, all the round earth,
bright with a glorious splendor,
for darkness has been vanquished by our eternal King.

Never mind “enough” sun to get through a gray day.  A glorious splendor has vanquished darkness.  The glorious splendor of our eternal King has vanquished darkness.

Easter is about abundance!  About God’s abundant love and life poured into our lives.  God’s abundant love and life.  Eternal.  Immeasurable.  Abundance.  Which by definition is way, way more than enough.

“Enough” will get you through life, maybe, barely.  But the abundant love and life given by Jesus’ resurrection offers so much more than getting through, even getting through difficult times.  Jesus’ historical resurrection came into the lives of people at the time who knew fear, uncertainty, grief, and violence. 

Jesus’ resurrection today comes when many people face fear, uncertainty, grief or violence.  And brings resurrection life.

God’s abundance life and love brings, not just “enough” to satisfy our wants, but mercy and grace, more than we could ever want or need.

Abundant resurrection life overcomes despair with hope. 

Resurrection life offers not just endurance, but joy. 

Into the midst of violence, resurrection life plants seeds of peace in our hearts.  Peace that surpasses human understanding. 

Wonder overcomes fear. 

Resurrection life gives not just enough hellos to get through the final good-bye, but eternal hallelujahs where life triumphs over death.

Around the year 400, St. John Chrysostom wrote an Easter sermon that describes hell’s reaction to Jesus’ death:

Hell is in an uproar

Hell took a body, and discovered God. 
It took earth, and encountered Heaven

Jesus’ resurrection takes our earthly bodies and lives and fills them with heaven.

So our Christian greeting this Easter season, or anytime is:  I wish you the abundant love and life of Jesus’ resurrection.

Good Friday - April 14

The Real Cross

We have all seen so many crosses.  In the church, in jewelry.  There are so many different kinds and different shapes.

But I’ve never seen a real cross.  A crucifixion cross.  I don’t mean something in the movies or even a replica.  A real cross actually used for crucifixion.  I’ve never seen a real cross.  Probably you have not, either.

A real cross.

Big, crude, covered with and smelling of God knows what.

With a dying man hanging on it.  And some other crosses with other condemned men hanging near by.

This day, Good Friday, challenges us to face, to experience, that cross.  To stand close enough to touch and feel it, to smell it.  To be so close that we really can’t see anything else around or beyond the cross.

And this service brings us there.  The Good Friday service brings us face to face with a real cross and Jesus crucified on it.

And THEN, standing there, we say:  We glory in your cross, O Lord, and praise and glorify your holy resurrection; for by virtue of your cross joy has come to the whole world.

This day brings us to the horror of the cross and then we proclaim glory and praise.  The challenge for us, as Christians today, is to see THAT cross as a source of joy.  To see the harsh, brutal, real cross as the source of joy for the whole world.

John’s Gospel, which we read on Good Friday, doesn’t describe what happened at the moment of Jesus’ death, but Matthew, whom we heard on Sunday says: The earth shook, and the rocks were split.  This service brings us close enough to feel the earth shake.  And then…

But just as the brutal cross is a source of joy, the earthquake is a source of renewal.  Easter renewal is not about the daffodils of spring; it is about the earthquake.

Today we stand close enough to the real cross to hear and see Jesus breath his last.  To die a real death.  Only then can we see new life triumph over death.

Maundy Thursday - April 13

God's Commitment

The reason we call this day Maundy Thursday is a bit of church trivia.   But it also helps us focus on part of the meaning of this day.

“Maundy” is a shortened, Anglicized version of the Latin mandatum, command.  It comes from Jesus’ words at the end of today’s Gospel reading from John:  A new commandment I give to you.  Mandatum novum.  A new commandment I give you:  That you love one another as I have loved you.  It’s associated with Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.

Love.  I’ve talked about this before, but it bears repeating.  When the Bible talks about love it doesn’t mean affection.  It means a way of acting.  Or, in a way I heard it described this week.  It’s a commitment.  Love in the Bible is not a feeling, it’s a commitment.

Bonhoffer describes that commitment:   love… is the will to enter into and to keep community with others.

Jesus’ command and the focus of this day inspire us to follow Jesus’ example.  But I want to focus on God’s commitment.  When we talk about God’s love for us, it is commitment we’re talking about.  That commitment is what the whole Triduum is about.  God acting out God’s commitment to us through Jesus.  So for at least a bit, let’s worry less  about what we should be doing and focus on what God actually does.

God goes to extraordinary efforts to be with us.  To enter into and keep community with us.  To be close to us.  Think about the foot washing!  Knowing what he knows, Jesus chooses to wash the feet of his disciples, including Judas.  God knows what Jesus felt at that time, but it’s hard to image that it was affection.  But he touched.  Cleansed.  Served.  Because he was committed.

This is what commitment in action looks like. 

And the Eucharist, of course, is God’s ongoing commitment to be in community/communion with us.  On Maundy Thursday we also always hear about Jesus establishing the New Covenant, setting in motion a way to keep God’s commitment to us after Jesus’ death.  Jesus creates a holy, mystical, eternal community shared with God, and invites us into it.

We give thanks for that community in the prayer we say after the Eucharist;

Eternal God, heavenly Father,
you have graciously accepted us as living members
of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ…

Remember, God’s love for us isn’t a feeling.  It isn’t affection that we must earn or live up to.  It is a commitment.  An unswerving commitment.  To us.  To be with us.  To do more for us than we can ask or imagine.  Nothing WE can do will shake God’s commitment to us.  God has shown us that.  Again.  And again.  And again…

Palm Sunday - April 9

Palm Sunday Processions
Matthew 21:1-11

We just heard the story of Jesus’ passion:  his so-called trial and crucifixion.  It’s a powerful story.  And for us as Christians entering into Holy Week, the events of Jesus passion lie just ahead.  We can see the cross on the horizon.  On Friday we will be at the foot of the cross.

But today is also Palm Sunday, the day on which we remember Jesus’ festive and triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  We heard that portion of Matthew’s Gospel as we began our own Palm Sunday procession at the outdoor altar.

From Matthew:  The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!"  When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?" The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."

The other Gospel writers give similar accounts of a great and festive event with large crowds cheering Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.

I want to share with you one Biblical scholar’s commentary on Matthew’s account of the triumphal entry (Douglas R. A. Hare, Interpretation Commentary):

It is improbable that Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem manifested as open a claim to kingship as Matthew’s account suggests.  Had a large crowd publicly acclaimed Jesus as their king, the Roman garrison would have promptly cooled the messianic ardor.  Moreover, there would have been no difficulty in securing witnesses for a Jewish trial.  This does not mean that we must consider the incident as created (rather than interpreted) [by the gospel writer].  It is probable, however, that the demonstration was on such a small scale that it failed to attract public attention.

Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was on such a small scale that it failed to attract public attention.  Jesus’ actual procession into Jerusalem was probably more like our Palm Sunday procession, than like the grand event we usually picture.  It was small, quiet.  Basically unnoticed.  The participants were just a few of his most devoted followers.

Jerusalem at the time was busy, preoccupied with other things.

Years ago I read a clever essay about Jesus’ birth titled: “Not in the news.”  It is written in the style of a newspaper account and describes all of the things that were going on at the time of Jesus’ birth.  Jesus’ birth did not make the news.  Similarly, Jesus’ trial and death weren’t even a blip in the news of the day.  Other than later Christian writings, and a brief, passing reference in Josephus, there is no mention of Jesus’ death in the historical record.  It failed to attract public attention.

Matthew, and the other gospel writers, describe how it should have been when the Messiah entered the holy city Jerusalem.  They describe what should have happened when the King came into his own.  Great crowds should have dropped everything to gather in exuberant, joyful acclaim.  Hosanna! All glory, laud and honor to thee redeemer king, to whom the lips of children make sweet hosannas ring.

It’s Holy Week.  Jesus is coming again.  What sort of Palm Sunday will it be for you?

Are you too busy?  Preoccupied with other important things?  Indifferent to the Messiah’s arrival?

Or will you drop everything to sing and shout for joy?  Will you lay aside other activities to join the crowd that cheers and follows Jesus?

The Fifth Sunday in Lent - April 2

A Few Things to Say About Death

Ezekiel 37:1-14

John 11:1-45

Writing about today’s readings another preacher says:

We Christians have some very distinctive, and some very special, things to say about death—about both real, physical death and about the other deaths, the little deaths, the endings and changes and losses that we seem constantly to be experiencing. In fact, we say much the same thing about both types of death. What that is can be found in both Ezekiel and John.  (The Rev. James Liggett, HERE.)

We just heard the reading from Ezekiel and from John’s Gospel.  Death is front and center in both readings.  Ezekiel tells the story of the valley of the dry bones and the Gospel is about the death and raising of Lazarus.

From Ezekiel:  The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry.

They were very dry.  We are meant to understand that they are long dead.  There is absolutely no remnant of flesh or life within them.  Even the bones convey their powerlessness:  our hope is lost.

In the reading from Ezekiel we look upon the reality and power of death.

It’s a similar perspective in the Gospel.  Lazarus is dead.  Jesus’ delay ensures that we know Lazarus is dead.  After Jesus heard that his friend Lazarus was sick did Jesus’ really intentionally delay so that Lazarus would die and Jesus could then perform the miracle?  Maybe, although I certainly have trouble with that picture.  Maybe this is all on John.  Lazarus did die before Jesus arrived.  And maybe the way John tells the story has to do with John’s intense focus on Jesus’ work.  John wants to shine the spotlight brightly and solely on Jesus’ “sign.”  For John these signs are even more than miracles that prove Jesus’ power.  They point to God, revealing God’s presence in Jesus and the nature of God’s care for people.

In any case, Jesus arrives the fourth day after Lazarus died.  In the Bible after three days, hope is lost.  Jewish spirituality of the time taught that the soul lingered for three days near the body, but now it is gone.  Decay has begun.  Lazarus is dead.

To introduce a touch of levity, I’m reminded of the early scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy’s house has landed on the witch.  The munchkin coroner sings:

As Coroner I must aver,

I thoroughly examined her.

And she's not only merely dead,

she's really most sincerely dead.

In John’s Gospel we are meant to understand that Lazarus is not only merely dead, he’s really most sincerely dead.

These readings show us death in all of its inescapable power.  They do not brush death away as insignificant or of no concern to people of faith.  Death is real.  And it is powerful.  More powerful than we are.

We Christians have some very distinctive, and some very special, things to say about death.  And the first thing we say is that death is real and it is powerful.

But the second thing we say is that the breath and the word of God are more powerful than death.  God breathes life even into death.

God’s breath, through the prophet Ezekiel, breathes life into the very dry bones of Israel.  Into bones long, long dead and without hope.

And Jesus’ words bring life again to Lazarus.

We Christians have some very distinctive, and some very special, things to say about death.  Death is stronger than we are.  God is stronger than death. 

And we say these things both about real, physical death and about the other deaths, the little deaths, the endings and changes and losses that we seem constantly to be experiencing.  God brings resurrection after physical death.  God also brings life after all of the other real, significant deaths we face and experience throughout our lives.

When Jesus in today’s Gospel says, I am the resurrection and I am the life, maybe that’s not just two ways of saying the same thing.  Maybe Jesus is saying two related, but different things.  I am resurrection after physical death.  And I am life, now, after the spiritual and personal deaths we experience in our daily lives. 

In all of these stories we’ve been hearing from John’s Gospel, Jesus is speaking on several levels.  When he talks with Nicodemus about being born again, he means being born again spiritually.  When Jesus talks about being the bread of life, he’s talking about spiritual sustenance.  When Jesus tells the woman at the well that he is living water, he means that he can quench the yearnings of our soul.  And today he is not just talking about life after physical death, he is also (perhaps even more importantly) talking about spiritual life.

Jesus is talking about renewing life after the little deaths, the endings and changes and losses that afflict us all.  Jesus is talking about restoring our soul when sin—pride or greed has killed our soul within.  Grief.  Jesus brings new life to all of  the pockets of darkness and death within us that keep us from knowing the abundant life that is God’s hope for us in this life.

So as we look at those places of darkness and death within us, let us pray the words of the hymn:  Breathe on me, breath of God.  Fill me with life anew.

Remembering Lazarus, let us cry to Jesus:  Unbind me.  Let me go.

We Christians have some very distinctive, and some very special, things to say about death.  Death is stronger than we are.  But God is stronger than death.  And God’s breath, Jesus’ word speak life even into death.

The Fourth Sunday in Lent - March 26

The Lord is My Shepherd

Psalm 23

I wonder how many of you have ever seen a real shepherd.  If the Bible didn’t mention them would you give them any thought at all?  It’s funny that we cherish an image so deeply that is not a part of our own experience at all.

The image of the good shepherd is a common one in the Bible.  It occurs first in the Old Testament where it is a description of what a godly ruler should look like.  At one point in the history of God’s people, the monarchy in Jerusalem has failed, so God decides to step in.  Speaking through the prophet Ezekiel:

For thus says the Lord God: I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out. [Since the King isn’t!] I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice (Ezekiel 34:11, 15-16).

King David is seen as one who will fulfill this role of godly king as good shepherd.  Maybe that’s why the lectionary gives us Psalm 23 the same day we hear about the anointing of David.  (We’ll pray Psalm 23 again in just a few weeks on “Good Shepherd Sunday” in Easter season when Jesus refers to himself as the Good Shepherd.)

Psalm 23 is certainly the most popular of all the psalms in the psalter.  If people only one piece of the Bible, it’s likely to be the 23^rd psalm.  One writer has called it essential for daily living for people of faith.

To help hear this familiar psalm with fresh ears, I want to read a different translation.  This is by a modern Hebrew scholar who tries to capture both the meaning and the spirit of the Hebrew poetry (The Book of Psalms, Robert Alter).

The Lord is my shepherd,

            I shall not want.

In grass meadows He makes me lie down,

            by quiet waters guides me.

My life He brings back,

            He leads me on pathways of justice for His name’s sake.

[My life He brings back.  Though “He restoreth my soul” is time-honored, the Hebrew nefesh does not mean “soul” but “life breath” or “life.”  The image is of someone who has almost stopped breathing and is revived, brought back to life.]

Though I walk in the vale of death’s shadow,

            I fear no harm,

                        for You are with me.

Your rod and Your staff—

            it is they that console me.

You set out a table before me

            in the face of my foes.

You moisten my head with oil,

            my cup overflows.

[You moisten my head with oil.  The verb here, dishen, is not the one that is used for anointment, and its associations are sensual rather than sacramental.  Etymologically, it means something like “to make luxuriant.”  This verse, then, lists all the physical elements of a happy life—a table laid out with good things to eat, a head of hair well rubbed with olive oil, and an overflowing cup of wine.]

Let but goodness and kindness pursue me

            all the days of my life.

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

            for many long days.

[for many long days.  This concluding phrase catches up the reference to “all the days of my life” in the preceding line.  It does not mean “forever”; the viewpoint of the poem is in and of the here and now and is in no way eschatological.  The speaker hopes for a happy fate all his born days, and prays for the good fortune to abide in the Lord’s sanctuary—a place of security and harmony with the divine—all, or perhaps at least most, of those days.]

The 23^rd psalm is one of just five psalms that are identified as “trust” psalms (Psalms, Walter Bruggemann, William H. Bellinger, Jr.).   (Probably the second most popular psalm, 121 “I lift up my eyes to the hills”, is another.)

We think of this psalm as a source of comfort.  But the perspective that the psalmist is expressing is one of deep trust.  Trust in the presence and goodness of God.

An important thing to note about psalms of trust is that they always start from a place of distress.  They are spoken and prayed out of a place of danger, threat, uncertainty or fear.  Trust is expressed in the midst of distress.

Another thing to note about Psalm 23 is that it starts out describing God in the third person.  “The Lord” is my shepherd.  Then it moves to second person, “You” are with me.  These words are spoken by someone who has a close relationship with God.  This is an intimate conversation.

You are with me.  In the midst of my distress, you are with me.

And because you are with me.

I fear no harm.

I shall not want.

In the presence of God I do not fear and I lack for nothing.  God’s presence stills my fears and fulfills my needs.

We spend a lot of time fearing and wanting. 

The psalm describes a different sort of life where fears are quieted and wants dissolve.  You are with me.  I fear no harm.  I shall not want.

Not surprisingly, there are lots of hymn settings of Psalm 23.  They describe this life in God’s presence.

I nothing lack if I am his and he is mine for ever.

The Lord my God my shepherd is; how could I want or need?

How do we make the psalmist’s words our words?  How do we truly pray this psalm in our own first person?

First, we need to face and acknowledge the places of distress or anxiety in our own lives.   We need to see and name the fears and threats we face and our longing for God’s presence with us.

And then, with the psalmist’s words to guide us we may grow in trust.  Our own trust in God’s presence and goodness and care will grow out of the psalmist’s experience and conviction.

I think also about the Communion of Saints.  We’re talking about saints in the Lent study class.  And I think of all of the voices past and present who pray this psalm.  The millions of voices who have said these words with conviction and hope, their voices affirming the deep truth of their trust in God.  For me, those voices are both reassurance and invitation.  An invitation to join with them in faith and trust and prayer.

For these words to be ours, we also need to know them.  If someone didn’t make you memorize the 23^rd psalm when you were younger, now is the time.  The translation doesn’t matter.  If the King James is your favorite, it’s easy enough to find.  Learn the words and make them yours in daily life.

The Third Sunday in Lent - March 19

A Conversation

John 4:5-42

I have a set of books that are commentaries on different books of the Bible.  They are written by Biblical scholars, but specifically intended for preachers.  The one on John’s Gospel (Gerard Sloyan, Interpretation Commentary) says this about today’s Gospel reading about Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well:

Belief in Jesus by a religiously ostracized group is what the story is about.  Hence all moralizing about the woman’s irregular life or Jesus’ relations with women, interesting as they are, are not especially useful as an exposition of the text.  The story is about religious tensions and a church which, in its origins, sought to overcome them, even while the attempt itself caused new tensions.  John 4 should be preached in the spirit in which it was written.  If it is not, the Gospel is betrayed.

The Gospel story is about coming to faith and about reconciliation in the midst of religious tensions.  Jews and Samaritans had a common heritage but they had become estranged over religious practice.  The Samaritan women and other Samaritans came to faith in Jesus and the healing of a deep family feud over religion was begun.

But what actually happens in this morning’s long Gospel reading?  Jesus and the Samaritan woman have a conversation.  They have a conversation.

No demands are made.  No judgment is passed.

It’s a conversation.

When was the last time you had a meaningful, significant conversation?

Two things make this conversation meaningful and significant.  First, they both bring themselves to the conversation—both Jesus and the woman express some level of authenticity, need, vulnerability.  Both are thirsty, deeply yearning for refreshment.  And both need help and express that need.  Second, they listen, acknowledging the personhood of the other.  So often we seem to have lost the ability to listen, to respect the words of others.  The woman in particular asks good questions, and listens, trying to understand the answers.

We need more of those sorts of conversations.  Certainly in our political lives right now.  The church can and should be the place to model these sorts of respectful, meaning, significant, conversations.  But we need them, too, in our personal relationships and, perhaps most to the point this morning, in our spiritual lives.

Karoline Lewis teaches preaching at the Lutheran Seminary in St. Paul.  She describes some of the qualities of what she calls “holy conversations” (Working Preacher, HERE).

1)   Mutual vulnerability.

2)   Second, questions are critical to conversation. Not questions that have already decided on the right answers. Not questions that are asked only to feign manners. No, questions that communicate curiosity, an interest in the other, a longing for information and understanding. The woman at the well is full of questions, thoughtful questions, questions that matter and lead Jesus to reveal to her who he really is. Jesus affirms questions, even invites them. God wants us to ask questions because it is questions that strengthen relationship.

3)   Holy conversations take time.  I couldn’t find the reference this week, but I read once that this is Jesus’ longest conversation with an individual that is recounted in Scripture.  Holy conversations cannot be rushed.

4)   In a holy conversation, we should expect to be surprised, to learn something we did not know before.  And we should expect to be changed, to grow.

So I encourage you:  have a conversation about faith with someone.  If we were to model Jesus’ practice in this morning’s Gospel, that conversation should be with a conservative born-again Christian or a strict Catholic, someone with whom we share a common heritage of faith but have become estranged over religious practice.  A holy, meaningful, conversation, though, does take mutuality.  And that can be a challenge, but don’t let that deter you (or serve as an excuse).

Consider a friend or family member.  Have a conversation about faith.

If you have a hard time thinking about getting started, I want to tell you about a neat organization—Story Corps.  Some of you are probably aware of it.  They record and preserve conversations and stories, meaningful and significant conversations and stories.  If you listen to NPR in the mornings you have heard some of the recorded conversations.

It began in 2003 with a recording booth in Grand Central Station.  There’s one now here in Chicago, too, at the Cultural Center downtown.  Here’s their mission statement (From their website, HERE).

StoryCorps’ mission is to preserve and share humanity’s stories in order to build connections between people and create a more just and compassionate world.  We do this to remind one another of our shared humanity, to strengthen and build the connections between people, to teach the value of listening, and to weave into the fabric of our culture the understanding that everyone’s story matters.

They don’t mention Jesus, but that’s a pretty Christian mission statement.

They talk about how they have found, over the years, that the key to great conversations is asking great questions.  So they have suggestions.  For conversations about family, school, relationships, war, or religion.

• Can you tell me about your religious beliefs/spiritual beliefs? What is your religion?
• Have you experienced any miracles?
• What was the most profound spiritual moment of your life?
• Do you believe in God?
• Do you believe in the after-life? What do you think it will be like?
• When you meet God, what do you want to say to Him?

Good questions are the beginning of holy, meaningful, significant conversations.  Meaningful, significant conversations are beginnings for much more.  The beginning or deepening of relationships.  The beginning of faith for the Samaritan woman.  The beginning of reconciliation amid religious tension and difference.

So give it a try!  Have a conversation about faith with someone.