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.

The Seventh Sunday of Easter - May 8

Hospitality
Acts 16:16-34

Hospitality seems to be the result of conversion.  Sharing hospitality is an inevitable consequence of becoming a Christian.

At least that is what happens in the stories from Acts which we had as readings last week and this week.

You remember in last week’s reading Paul received a vision to go to Macedonia, to take the Gospel to Philippi.  Picking up the story as it is recounted in Acts:

On the sabbath day we [Paul and his companions] went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, "If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home." And she prevailed upon us (Acts 16:13-15).

This week’s reading follows immediately after last week’s.  Still in Philippi, Paul and his companions have been jailed.  That’s an interesting story in and of itself, but not my focus today.  They are praying and singing hymns when an earthquake breaks their bonds and opens the doors of the prison offering them freedom.   Continuing from Acts:

The jailer called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them outside and said, "Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" They answered, "Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household." They spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. At the same hour of the night he took them and washed their wounds; then he and his entire family were baptized without delay. He brought them up into the house and set food before them; and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God (Acts 16:29-34).

It’s too bad he doesn’t have a name, and surprisingly, tradition hasn’t given him one. 

Regardless, the first thing the unnamed jailer and his family do after they are baptized is to offer Paul and his companions hospitality.  And the first thing Lydia and her household do after they are baptized is offer hospitality.

The very first thing they do as Christians is share the Christian life with others.  There is never a moment, as baptized Christians, that they are alone.

The Christian life is shared with others.  Always. 

Offering hospitality is one way to think of that shared life.  But I think maybe that word limits our perspective on what Christian hospitality can be.  For us “hospitality” tends to mean dinner parties or having the in-laws stay for a week.

Hopefully, those are acts of Christian hospitality.  But the hospitality of sharing the Christian life is much broader.

Last Sunday in the adult education class we explored what Spirit-filled hospitality might look like.

It involves offering and inviting.  Offering something of ourselves to others.  And inviting them to share something of themselves with us.

It means noticing other people around us and offering what we have to them and inviting them to share what they have.  Things like:  Stories.  Needs.  Hopes.  Prayers.  Time.

Christian hospitality might sound something like this:  Tell me a story about your mother.  It may be joyous or sad, happy or difficult.  Or:  Can I pray for you?  Let’s get a cup of coffee.  Let’s walk together.  Here, take my coat; Keep it.

Of course, there’s another aspect of hospitality.  It’s not just about the things we initiate, whether that’s offering or inviting.  It’s also about accepting the hospitality of others.  Accepting the offerings and invitations of others.  For some of us, I think that’s often harder.  Yes, let’s walk together.  Thank you for your offering in my time of need.  I am grateful for your prayers.

So think about it as you encounter people as today unfolds.  People you know well, people you know a little, or people you don’t know at all.  Look for opportunities to offer and accept Christian hospitality.

Let us pray that the spirit will inspire us, as it did the Philippian jailer and Lydia, to share our life in Christ with others.

The Sixth Sunday of Easter - May 1

Tourist or Traveler on the Way?
Acts 16:9-15

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Ever since I was in seminary, I’ve subscribed to the Christian Century.  It’s actually published here in Chicago.  It’s a great source for religious news, faithful analysis and thoughtful reflections.  Its subtitle is “Thinking Critically. Living Faithfully.”  I want to share with you a commentary that appeared in the most recent issue.  It is related to today’s readings, especially the reading from Acts.

I found it very thought provoking.  And I hope it will provoke thought for you.  Or provoke conversation.  Or provoke soul searching.  It’s meant to be provocative, I think.  And if you find yourself reacting, maybe that’s a place to look prayerfully at your own life.  It’s by the relatively new publisher, Peter Marty.   He also serves as Senior Pastor of a large Lutheran church in Iowa.

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Tourist and Traveler

Early Christians used the Greek word hodos, or "the way," to describe the literal and figurative paths their lives followed. The wise men returned to their home country "by another road." Jesus' disciples spoke of what happened to them "along the way” to Emmaus.

Hodos could also refer to a way of life. Jesus points to John the Baptist as one who came “in the way (hodos) of righteousness.” By the end of the book of Acts, we find Christians referring to their whole communal life in Christ as “the Way."

According to John's Gospel, Jesus told his followers, "l am the way." This expression contrasts sharply with "I am the answer," something many Christians assume he must have said but didn’t. The difference between the two self-descriptions is huge.  The former invites grand adventure and openness to all of the ambiguities and doubts that go with a journey along uncertain paths. The latter suggests a packaged arrangement-a relationship involving little risk.

In his book Hidden History: Exploring Our Secret Past, Daniel J. Boorstin explains the historical difference between a traveler and a tourist. In previous centuries, travelers were those interested in unfamiliar settings and wild encounters that enlarged perspective. "The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience," writes Boorstin. In contrast, "The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him. He goes sightseeing." Tourism, in this historian's assessment, is a spectator sport full of contrived, prefabricated experiences.

The root words for travel and tourist informed Boorstin's study. Travel comes from the same word as travail, meaning trouble, work, or even torment. A traveler takes risks, plunges into diverse cultures, and seeks to learn local customs.  Unplanned experiences are the traveler's norm, sometimes involving challenging exploits. Travelers eat whatever food is placed before them. They aim to learn as much of the language as possible. Shopping for souvenirs plays no role in their ventures.

A tourist sacrifices less. The word tour from the Latin tornus— tool for making circles—literally means "one who goes in circles." A tourist is a pleasure seeker who passes through different exotic experiences only to return to a comfortable bed at night. Insulated from the noise, the smells, and the local people, a tourist's circle is complete once back home unpacking mementos and sharing photos.

I wonder if congregations are full of travelers and tourists. Travelers would be those who come to immerse their lives and refocus their values. They want to breathe the language of faith and know the way of Christ, even if travail may be part of the bargain. The tourists show up for a more passive experience, happy to drop in when they are in the mood. They spectate and consume, glad that the donuts taste fresh.

I suppose we all have to choose the spiritual road or path that works for us. Will ours be a journey rich in wild mystery, full of unknowables and incomprehensibles? Or will it be a safer path where we pick up a word here and a phrase there, making a few social connections along the way?

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Paul was clearly a traveler.  In today’s passage from Acts he receives a vision calling him to take the Gospel to Macedonia.  So he leaves where he is, gets in a small boat, and sets out across the Aegean for a foreign land.

This reflection really challenges us to ask just one question:  What way, what path is Jesus calling us to follow?  For each of us, as individuals, there is an answer to that question.  What path is each of us to follow as a disciple of Christ?

At first I thought the challenge was just to take the road “less traveled.”  But all we know about that way is that it is unpopular, not necessarily that it is the Christian way.

Or maybe, when we face a decision point, we are to take the more challenging road.  Maybe, maybe not.  Just because it is challenging does not mean Jesus leads us there.

The question is:  Where is Jesus leading you?  What path are you called to take as a follower of Christ?  And, yes, it may be an unpopular or challenging way.  But it will also be full of grace, rich in mystery, abounding in wonder and accompanied by Christ.

So let us pray that, as we follow the way of Christ today, we may be travelers, not tourists.

The Fifth Sunday of Easter - April 24

It Takes Others
John13:31-35

Throughout the Easter season, the Gospel readings are taken from John’s Gospel.  They come from different parts of the Gospel, different parts of Jesus’ life, but all teach us how to be Easter people.  How to live as followers of Christ in this time after his death and resurrection.

Today’s reading comes from near the end of Jesus’ life.  Jesus and his disciples are gathered at the last supper.  Judas has just left.  And, with that, those of us who know the story know that the final sequence of events leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion have inexorably begun.  The end is near.

We may assume that Jesus also knows that the time he has left with his disciples is short.  “Little children, I am with you only a little longer,” he says.

So the words of today’s Gospel are some of the last words he shares with his followers.  These are words to live by after I am gone.  This is what you should do as my disciples going forward.

Love one another as I have loved you. 

I think it’s easy, without giving it much thought, to assume that Jesus means: “be loving amongst yourselves.”  We imagine he is talking only about relationships between the disciples.

It seems much more likely he meant:  Love others, all sorts of others, in the same way I have loved you.

Love others as I have loved.  A very straightforward command.  Not so easy always to put into practice.

I’ve said it over and over and over.  In church, in this reading love is not a feeling.  Love is not a feeling of affection.  In fact, we don’t have a clue how Jesus felt most of the time.  The Scriptures don’t tell us.   When there is some allusion to how he might have felt, it isn’t “loving” or “affectionate,” it’ exasperated, tired, angry…

We don’t know how Jesus felt.  We do know what he did.  And his ministry was broad, not limited to the disciples.  Not limited even to the Jews.   His actions, his deeds, brought God’s presence and care and new life.  He acted to show care for people.

He touched outcasts.  Literally touched lepers, who were defined as unclean.  He sat down eat with tax collectors and prostitutes, people shunned by society.  He brought fellowship and healing.

He fed people who were hungry.  One of the stories of feeding the multitudes does say that Jesus felt compassion.  Not affection, but compassion.  He acted to meet their needs, to show God’s care, to feed people who were hungry.

His words and his actions forgave Peter.  Peter, whose personal denial of Jesus was profound.  Jesus rebuilt that relationship.

He taught reconciliation and forgiveness to anyone who would listen and many who wouldn’t.

He calmed storms.  I’ve always cherished the metaphorical, as well as the literal, aspect of that action.  Jesus brought calm and peace into situations that were full of storms or conflict.

Love others as I have loved you and them, Jesus says.

For a while earlier this week I was thinking about preaching on Earth Day.  Environmental stewardship is important to me.  Caring for God’s wonderful creation is something we are all called to do.  As I was thinking about it I was reminded how often I’ve heard people say:  I don’t need to go to church, I can find God by the seashore.  Or:  I don’t need to go to church, I can find God in the mountains, or in the forest or on the golf course.

I speak to you as someone who has found God in all of those places (except the golf course).  But Jesus reminds us today that being a disciple involves more than individually finding God, whether out in creation or here in church.  Love others, as I have loved you.  That takes others.

To follow Jesus’ command requires us to interact with others in ways that show care.

It means even more than being civil to fellow parishioners.  Although I certainly recommend that.  It means seeking out those people who need us to love them.  Seeking out the people we are called to care for in Jesus name!

The person at coffee hour who needs someone to listen.  Seek her out.

The widower in your neighborhood who is profoundly lonely.  Seek her out.

People who are hungry.  Seek them out.

I am more and more concerned about the many people who are victims of violence over which they have absolutely no control.  Victims of domestic violence.  Victims of political violence.  Victims of the gun violence that plagues Chicago streets.  How can I act to bring God’s life and care into these peoples’ lives?

It takes others for us to be disciples of Jesus.  Love others as I have loved you.  Seek out people who need our care.  That’s what it means to be Easter people today.

The Fourth Sunday of Easter - April 17

God's Power
John 10:22-30

Apparently factions formed among Jews who knew of Jesus and there was debate about whether or not he was the Messiah.  We might imagine that it had become a heated, partisan debate.

So they said to Jesus:  “How long will you keep us in suspense?  If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.”

We also might imagine, that no matter what Jesus said, the partisan debate would go on.

Jesus, perhaps in some exasperation, said:  I have told you.  I have showed you.  “The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me…”

Personally, I am not in suspense about whether or not Jesus is the Messiah whom the Jews of his day were expecting.  To a large degree the question has been answered.  Also, it isn’t a pressing question for me.  But that charged social/political atmosphere is the context for this portion of John’s Gospel.

This Fourth Sunday of Easter is unofficially called Good Shepherd Sunday.  On this Sunday we always pray the 23^rd psalm and we always have a reading from the tenth chapter of John.  John 10 is that extended discourse where Jesus describes himself as the Good Shepherd.

As familiar and cherished as this image is, there are complications and complexities.

A commentary on John’s Gospel, written specifically for those whose task it is to preach warms:  “In expounding the text, wariness is the homilest’s best posture” (Sloyan, Interpretation Commentary on John).

One issue is the political setting of this passage.  Jesus’ words were not offered as individual pastoral comfort.  (Not that they can’t serve that purpose today!)  The “Good Shepherd” is a leadership model offered specifically and only for the people in Jesus’ “flock.”

Belief is a central issue in this passage.  There are clearly people who do not believe that Jesus is the Messiah.  To them Jesus says:  “You do not believe because you do not belong to my sheep.”  This passage and others in John 10 raise the huge and long-debated question of divine election.  Does God determine or predetermine who will be saved?  Predestination versus the power of human beings to choose or secure their own salvation or favor with God.  Is access to God, through belief, only available to those whom God has already foreordained as “his sheep?”  In John 10 “the mystery of divine choice seems to be why some believe and some do not” (Sloyan).

Important as this issue is, I’m going to dodge it today.  John 10 presents divine election as a given.  For us, it is a broader question and worthy of a more thorough discussion at another time.

This same commentary, speaking to us today says, “All we can say from this passage with certitude is that deity is far more powerful than humanity.”  And we could add that that power is life-giving for us.  God’s power is far greater than anything we can muster, individually or as a group.

Do you believe that?  Really?  I think this is a much more relevant and important question of belief than whether or not Jesus is the Messiah.  Do you believe that God’s power is far greater than ours?  Do you order your life based on that belief?  We probably all think we “should” believe this. We “want to.”  But do you really believe that deity is far more powerful than humanity?

It is a glorious truth for people who have known or who need the saving power of God’s love.  It’s really bad news for people who like to be in charge.  Which are you?  Today?

This sort of belief is not so much a choice of the mind, a reasoned decision.  It comes from experience.  Knowing, seeing, experiencing God’s power is the source of belief.  To believe in the power of deity, the power of God, isn’t gained by anything Jesus could have said then or might say today.  But his works, then and now, testify to that power.

So if you seek belief, seek experience.  Seek experience of God’s power.

The power of life overcoming death, as we heard in today’s reading from Acts.  Certainly a power greater than humanity’s.

God’s power to generate hope and new life in the midst of despair, when no human power could succeed.

The power of recovery overcoming addiction when all human power had failed.

The power to create peace where there had been only conflict in settings where human efforts at peace had not and could not succeed.

The power of reconciliation to heal estrangement beyond all human imagining.

Have you seen or experienced God’s power at work in the world?  In other people?  A power greater than human power?  Look for it. 

Have you let God’s power into your life?  It only takes the tiniest crack.

It is a life-giving power.  So strong that for those in its power, nothing can snatch them away from the life and love of God.  Nothing.

The Third Sunday of Easter - April 10

Charcoal Fires
John 21:1-19

This morning’s Gospel reading comes from near the end of John’s Gospel. We read John throughout the Easter season. You may remember that we also read John on Good Friday. The lectionary appoints John’s version of the Passion story for Good Friday.

I want to remind you of part of that reading:

Simon Peter and another disciple followed Jesus…. The woman said to Peter, ‘You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?’ He said, ‘I am not.’ Now the slaves and the police had made a charcoal fire because it was cold, and they were standing round it and warming themselves. Peter also was standing with them and warming himself. 

A few verses later Peter is still standing by the fire…

...warming himself. They asked him, ‘You are not also one of his disciples, are you?’ He denied it and said, ‘I am not.’ One of the slaves of the high priest, a relative of the man whose ear Peter had cut off, asked, ‘Did I not see you in the garden with him?’ Again Peter denied it, and at that moment the cock crowed (John 18:15-18, 25-27).

Did you catch this one detail from this morning’s reading? The disciples have seen the Lord and when they had gone ashore, “they saw a charcoal fire there” (John 21:9).

How have I missed the charcoal fire all these years? Peter again being questioned next to a charcoal fire.

Jesus said to Simon Peter,

"Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep (John 21:15-17). 

The parallel between these two scenes is powerful and intentional. There’s no particular significance to the charcoal fire except to cement the parallelism between these two passages. We are definitely meant to remember Peter’s three denials as we listen to his three affirmations of love.

The third time Jesus asks Peter if he loves him, Peter is a bit annoyed. And he says, Lord you know that I love you, you know everything. We might wonder if Jesus was tempted to say: Yes, Peter, I do know everything. And I remember exactly what you said the last time you were standing next to a charcoal fire. I wasn’t there, but I do know everything, and I know what you said. So, are you sure that you love me?

Many people who have read and studied this passage have observed that in this encounter, Jesus isn’t just being a pest when he probes Peter over and over and over again—three times. He’s actually reassuring Peter. And Jesus is giving Peter the chance to be just as emphatic in his expression of love as he was in his denial. What’s really happening here is Jesus is saying, Peter I love you. Over and over and over again. Peter I love you. I know what you did. I do know everything. I know exactly what you said and did by that first charcoal fire. And I still love you. And I’m giving you the chance to put right what you did… To replace each of your denials with an expression of love.

Even the depth of your denial, Peter, cannot estrange you from me. I love you and I will always welcome, always invite, your renewed love in return. No matter what you’ve done or said in the past. I will always come back to you and say: I love you still, do you love me?

Easter is not just about life renewed after death. It’s about love renewed. It’s about the restoration and renewal of love between Peter and Jesus, between each of us and Jesus.

Thinking about charcoal fires brought to mind the Easter Vigil. Pretty much every Episcopal clergy person I know will tell you that the Easter Vigil is their favorite service of any throughout the year. It’s the most powerful, the most meaningful, the most spiritual. If you weren’t there, you’ve missed it this year, but come sometime if you never have.

It begins gathered around a charcoal fire. We gather in the dark out in front of the outdoor altar. We gather around a fire, called “the new fire.” It is a new fire, kindled just for this Easter. And we say these prayers:

Dear friends in Christ: On this most holy night, in which our Lord Jesus passed over from death to life, the Church invites her members, dispersed throughout the world, to gather in vigil and prayer. For this is the Passover of the Lord, in which, by hearing his Word and celebrating his Sacraments, we share in his victory over death. 

Then we bless the new fire.

O God, through your Son you have bestowed upon your people the brightness of your light: Sanctify this new fire, and grant that in this Paschal feast we may so burn with heavenly desires, that with pure minds we may attain to the festival of everlasting light; through Jesus Christ our Lord. 

That’s cool enough, but that’s just the beginning. Then we light this candle, the Paschal candle, from that new fire. The Light of Christ. Lighting individual candles, we spread the Light of Christ among ourselves and carry it into the darkened church.

The Paschal Candle obviously isn’t a charcoal fire, but we do gather around it. One of the times we gather around this holy flame is for baptisms. When God says to the newly baptized: You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever. The Prayer Book reminds us that the bond which God establishes in baptism is indissoluble.

No matter what we may say or do in our lives. No matter how often we may deny Christ or how far we may stray, Jesus will always be right with us, waiting and eager to say to us what he said to Peter. You are mine. Forever. I love you. I still love you. Do you love me?

The Second Sunday of Easter - April 3

Help Our Unbelief

John 20:19-31

The church is still full to the brim with flowers.  The aroma of lilies is everywhere. Outside, spring daffodils are still blooming, although after yesterday, they are a little chilly.  We are still very much right in the midst of Easter.  Our celebration of Easter last Sunday is still vibrant all around us.

The reading from John’s Gospel that we heard this morning begins later the very day of the first Easter.  Some of Jesus’ disciples have seen the empty tomb.  Mary has seen Jesus!  Alive.  Risen from the dead.  The joy and awe and wonder of the resurrection are right there.

And then, barely a moment later, fear and doubt have begun to sneak in.  There was barely a moment of Easter joy before the disciples began to experience fear and doubt.

In this reading, the focus is on “doubting” Thomas, but the fact that the other disciples were cowering in fear behind locked doors suggests to me that they weren’t terribly secure in their faith, either.

Along with joy and hope comes fear.  Yearning and awe go hand in hand with doubt.

We always read this Gospel on the Second Sunday of Easter, the day that, for us, at least in terms of our worship life together, represents the next moment after Easter.  We hear about the disciples’ fear and doubt.  The potent and powerful message of today is that, historically speaking, there has never been “pure” Easter faith without fear and uncertainty and doubt.  I say that to be reassuring.  Even back among the people who knew Jesus best, who had seen him risen from the dead, fear and doubt followed the resurrection virtually immediately.

So we shouldn’t feel guilty or ashamed of our own uncertainties and doubts.  We don’t need to deny or hide our fears or our questions.  In fact, I and many others would say that a living faith is always seeking, always questioning…  that the doubts and uncertainties that are a part of most, if not all, of our lives of faith are actually blessings.  Opportunities for our faith to deepen and grow.  Regardless, we should not feel guilty or ashamed of uncertainty and doubt. 

I think I’ve shared this prayer with you before, some time ago.  It’s written as a poem.  I know nothing about the author except his name:  Bernard, SSF.   SSF would be Society of St. Francis.  So he is a Franciscan monk, someone who has faithfully chosen to follow Christ as a Franciscan.  I know the prayer from an anthology of prayers I have (The Oxford Book of Prayer, ed. George Appleton).

Lord, I want to love you, yet I’m not sure.

            I want to trust you, yet I’m afraid of being taken in.

            I know I need you, yet I’m ashamed of the need.

            I want to pray, yet I’m afraid of being a hypocrite.

            I want to belong, yet I must be myself.

            Take me, Lord, yet leave me alone.

            Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.

O Lord, if you are there, you do understand, don’t you?

Give me what I need but leave me free to choose.

Help me work it out my own way, but don’t let me go.

Let me understand myself, but don’t let me despair.

            Come unto me, O Lord—I want you there.

            Lighten my darkness—but don’t dazzle me.

            Help me to see what I need to do and give me strength to do it.

O Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief.

The phrase “Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief,” comes to us, of course, out of the Gospels.  In the ninth chapter of Mark when a father is seeking healing for his son and cries out to Jesus, “I believe.  Help my unbelief!”

I think perhaps Thomas’ most admirable quality and the one we should seek to emulate, is his openness and honesty.  Thomas doesn’t hide his doubts and just go along with the disciples.  He doesn’t pretend a certainty he doesn’t feel.  He is open and honest with the other disciples, and, ultimately with Jesus.  In that, he is a model for us.

Be open and honest about your fears and uncertainties and doubts.  Be open and honest with God.  Like Thomas (and the poet monk).  Don’t ever think you have to have a perfect faith before you can talk to God.  Don’t for a moment think that you have to have a perfect faith before God will listen to you.

Bring your fears and uncertainties to God.  Like Thomas, demand an answer.  After all, it is Christ alone who can strengthen our faith, who can lead us into deeper understanding.

Remember, it was into the very midst of the disciples’ fear and doubt that Jesus came.  Into our fear and doubt Jesus brings his presence and his peace.