The Fifth Sunday of Easter - April 28

Agape Priorities
John 13:31-35

The first line of today’s Gospel, as printed in our Scripture inserts, reads: “At the last Supper, when Judas had gone out, Jesus said…” They’ve added a bit. “Now when he had gone out…” is how John 13:31 actually begins. But the context is important. It is Judas who has just gone out. The Last Supper is ending. Jesus has washed the feet of all (and remember Judas was there for the supper and the foot washing). Jesus has intimated that someone will betray him. A few of the disciples, whispering among themselves, ask Jesus who it is. Jesus replies that it is the one to whom he will give a piece of bread after he dips it in the bowl. Then we come to John 13:30, the verse before today’s reading: “So, after receiving the piece of bread, [Judas] immediately went out. And it was night.”

Then Jesus offers the teaching to his disciples that we heard this morning. It includes the well-known phrase: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples. If you have love for one another.” These are probably some of Jesus’ best known words. But, even among active Christians, I don’t think we often place them in context.

These are some of Jesus’ final words, his parting instructions. He knew that he would soon be leaving his disciples, and this was what he said to them. David Lose, whom I have quoted before, finds it striking that he said these words and not others. For example, he didn’t say, as a fiery revolutionary might have, come die with me! Nor did he say, keep the faith, or believe in me. Nor, as others have pointed out, did he endow or establish a religious institution.

He said to his disciples: Be people who do what I’ve been doing. Go out and do what I’ve been doing.

What he has been doing, of course, in the Greek is agape. Self-giving love.

At the 10:00 service today, the children and young people will be in church for the sermon. I’ve been thinking of how to explain agape. It is different from the feeling of love that we have for people we are close to, like family or people with whom we might “fall in love.” Agape means putting yourself second. It means doing things to make someone else’s life better always your first priority.

Agape means putting yourself second to someone else’s needs.

I think many Christians, confronted with the challenge of Jesus’ command, feel overwhelmed and become paralyzed with a sense of Christian inadequacy. And yet we do fulfill Jesus’ command. Many of us, in small ways and in large, do put ourselves second to the needs of others.

We do it in how we choose to spend our time… spending time in activities that we maybe don’t enjoy in order to bring joy to others. I know I’ve told the story before of the man I met at a conference who said he went to coffee hour each Sunday because he knew there were people there who needed someone to talk to. I don’t know, but I imagine he would have rather gone home to watch football, but he stayed for coffee hour because there were people there who needed someone to listen to them.

Or I think of all of the caregivers who again and again and again put themselves second to provide care and comfort to others.

Or every time we make a choice that helps sustain the earth’s environment and resources, often at least at some cost or inconvenience to ourselves. Those choices put ourselves second to the goodness of God’s creation and the rights of others now and in the future to enjoy that creation.

We do, in small ways and in large, obey Jesus command, putting the needs of others first in our lives.

And we all also fail again and again to put ourselves second to others’ needs.

It’s hard. It goes counter to our deepest instincts. The instinct towards self-preservation. Our selfish clinging to those things we think of as our personal rights. The urge within to build fences to protect ourselves from those things we fear. It is hard to prioritize yourself second. (For an interesting commentary on the nature of our priorities, check out a recent piece on Episcopal Cafe: What the “FAA fix says about our priorities”).

To some degree also putting others first runs counter to the modern model of therapeutic health which urges us first to “take care of ourselves.” Believe me, I’m in favor of mental health and all of the therapeutic tools that help us function, but Jesus challenges us to think twice about our priorities.

We find it easiest to put ourselves second to another in those situations where we FEEL love. In fact, self-giving can be a rich part of a close, loving relationship. Prioritizing yourself second can also come with training. Think of the first responders in the recent tragedies in Texas and Boston, who ran towards danger to help others. But ultimately, it is a choice. Priorities are always a choice. Our priorities are always a choice. And as Christians we are commanded to prioritize others first. To put ourselves second to the well-being of others.

 And it’s doable. Not everywhere, all of the time. But it’s doable. And we can pray for God’s help to get better at it. To get better at giving of ourselves for the good of others.

God, after all, is pretty good at self-giving for the good of others.

That’s pretty much what Jesus was about. Throughout his life and ministry and his death on the cross. Jesus gave of himself for us.

One commentator I read pointed out that, despite the prominence of the word “new” in today’s readings and in Jesus’ own words about a “new” commandment, in one sense Jesus’ death on the cross was NOT something new. Jesus’ death for us was an expression of who God is. Who God is and always has been, giving of himself for us.

And giving of ourselves for others is how we are to be expressions of God in our world. I am absolutely sure that when we put ourselves second to the needs of others, when we act to meet the needs of others, we are doing God’s will. No matter what it feels like, when we act to serve the needs of others, we are doing what Jesus did and what we, as the Body of Christ, are supposed to be doing.

Easter Day - March 31

Good Friday Alleluias

We’ve waited a long time to say Alleluia.

Jesus Christ is risen today. Finally. The Lenten journey is ended. Alleluia.

The forty days of Lent are long. In the Bible forty doesn’t literally mean forty; it means “a very long time.” I don’t know why that came to be. The Israelites wandered in the wilderness for forty years. Actually it would have undoubtedly been much longer.

At the time of the flood, it rained for forty days and forty nights.

 Jesus was tempted in the wilderness for forty days.

Forty means “I can’t imagine a human being could endure that long…”

The real forty days of Lent can seem very long, almost beyond endurance.

But the waiting is done. The time of endurance is over. The church is bursting with the beauty of spring’s new life. Alleluias resound from the rafters. The season of penitence, fasting, self-examination and self-deprivation is done! Thanks be to God! The Lord is risen indeed.

The days and weeks of Lent and Holy Week do make us yearn for Easter. They strengthen our appreciation for the gift that is given on Easter. Endurance produces character, Paul says in Romans. He meant Christian character, of course. So I am grateful for Lent. And I am even more grateful that it is over.

Or is it? Is Lent truly over?

There will be dark days ahead; times that seem beyond human endurance. Temptation and sin still abound. Death still confronts us. Despite the joy and glory of this day, Lent is never far from us.

But because Jesus died and rose again then, on that first Easter, we never have to wait for resurrection again. It is always with us. That is very good news. Easter is every day.

Even when our mornings aren’t “happy,” and we are not eager to welcome them, the risen Christ is still alive and with us. That’s the gift of Easter.

Even when the church is not filled with the aroma and brightness of Easter lilies, Easter lilies still bloom in the graveyard. Metaphorically, at least, every day on every grave an Easter lily blooms. Easter is about the lilies in the graveyards, not the ones at the altar. The gift of Easter is the gift of eternal life beyond death, offered to us all. Even at the grave we make our song alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Last night at the Vigil, I quoted St. John Chrysostom’s Easter sermon. One of my favorite lines in Chrysostom’s sermon is this: “Let no one mourn that he (or she) has fallen again and again; for forgiveness has risen from the grave.” When we sin, when we fall, again and again and again, God is eager with forgiveness. And we are reconciled to God. That is the gift of Easter.

Whenever we feel captive or powerless in a dark place in our lives, even if we are very far from this Easter day or that Paschal candle, the light of Christ burns for us and within us. The light of Christ, the Easter light, brings light into our darkness, no matter when or where we are.

Easter isn’t about just this one day. It is about every day. It is about being given the power to say (and experience!!!) alleluia throughout this life we’re in.

For those of us steeped in church tradition, at least Episcopal church tradition, it would have been really, really, really hard to say “Alleluia” on Good Friday. But that is Easter’s gift. We live our live our lives now, every day, even our Good Fridays, in the presence of the risen Christ. As partakers in Christ’s resurrection.

I’m glad we don’t say Alleluia during Lent (and please don’t say it next Good Friday), because abstaining helps us remember the potency and significance of all of the resurrection reality that Alleluia symbolizes. But the gift of that first Easter is Alleluia every day… even in Lent… maybe especially in Lent.

Today is a glorious Easter. Today is also at least a little bit of Lent. So today, in the midst of Easter (and Lent) we proclaim: Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed!

The Great Vigil of Easter - March 30

Golden Words

I was all set to preach on a somewhat strident poem by John Updike, "Seven Stanzas at Easter." It’s good. And challenging. Updike, of course, is probably best known as a novelist, but he wrote poetry as well. He died a few years back.

Undoubtedly that poem will show up in a sermon in the near future, but along the way I got sidetracked from the twenty-first century to the fourth century.

Episcopal Café recently published a contemporary remix of John Chrysostom’s Easter sermon (you can read it here.)  I realized the original was one of those many things I had heard about for years, but didn't know.  So I looked it up.

Chryostom was patriarch of Constantinople in the late fourth century.  He was born around 354 in Antioch, Syria. After ordination to the priesthood, became patriarch in 397. "Chrysostom" is an English version of a Greek word that means “golden mouthed." Of course, it was not actually his mouth that was golden, but his words.

Many Episcopalians know his name from the prayer in the Book of Common Prayer that begins, "Almighty God, you have given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplication to you..."  But well beyond that prayer, he is considered one of the church’s greatest preachers.  His sermons are eloquent and show a surprisingly contemporary sensitivity to the situations and concerns of people in the pew.

In at least one parish I know of, it is the custom to read his Easter sermon every year at the Easter vigil. At least for now, it is not my intent to adopt that custom, but it is too good not to be shared this year.

So hear the golden words of John Chrysostom, much cheerier than Updikes’ I assure you.  Written around the year 400.

Are there any who are devout lovers of God?
Let them enjoy this beautiful bright festival!

Are there any who are grateful servants?
Let them rejoice and enter into the joy of their Lord!

Are there any weary with fasting?
Let them now receive their wages!

If any have toiled from the first hour,
let them receive their due reward;
If any have come after the third hour,
let him with gratitude join in the Feast!
And he that arrived after the sixth hour,
let him not doubt; for he too shall sustain no loss.
And if any delayed until the ninth hour,
let him not hesitate; but let him come too.
And he who arrived only at the eleventh hour,
let him not be afraid by reason of his delay.
For the Lord is gracious and receives the last even as the first.
He gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour,
as well as to him that toiled from the first.

To this one He gives, and upon another He bestows.
He accepts the works as He greets the endeavor.
The deed He honors and the intention He commends.
 Let us all enter into the joy of the Lord!

First and last alike receive your reward;
rich and poor, rejoice together!
Sober and slothful, celebrate the day!
You that have kept the fast, and you that have not,
rejoice today for the Table is richly laden!

Feast royally on it, the calf is a fatted one.
Let no one go away hungry. Partake, all, of the cup of faith.
Enjoy all the riches of His goodness!

Let no one grieve at his poverty,
for the universal kingdom has been revealed.

Let no one mourn that he has fallen again and again;
for forgiveness has risen from the grave.

Let no one fear death, for the Death of our Savior has set us free.
He has destroyed it by enduring it.
He destroyed Hell when He descended into it.
He put it into an uproar even as it tasted of His flesh.

Isaiah foretold this when he said,
"You, O Hell, have been troubled by encountering Him below."
Hell was in an uproar because it was done away with.
It was in an uproar because it is mocked.
It was in an uproar, for it is destroyed.
It is in an uproar, for it is annihilated.
It is in an uproar, for it is now made captive.

Hell took a body, and discovered God.
It took earth, and encountered Heaven.
It took what it saw, and was overcome by what it did not see.

O death, where is thy sting?
O Hell, where is thy victory?

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

Christ is Risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead;
for Christ having risen from the dead,
is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep.

To Him be Glory and Power forever and ever. Amen!

Good Friday - March 29

Always We Begin Again

Good Friday has a powerful, overwhelming feeling of finality. Despair.

I think of the old movies where at the end darkness closes in from the sides until only the tiniest point of light is left and then it is gone. Nothing.

Or it’s like a catastrophic slow-motion wreck that we are a part of and are powerless to stop.

Some of the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ passion say that the world went dark when he was crucified. I imagine that experience, not as the shadowy twilight of a solar eclipse as we now know it, but as total darkness. An “I cannot see where I am or where I’m going” darkness. And I am completely powerless to create light.

The end. There is nothing more and there is nothing you or I can do. It’s over.

And yet, as I live into Good Friday this year, for some reason I feel like I have been given some words from St. Benedict. They come from his instructions for monastic life, written in the early 6th century, to guide and order the common life of monks.

Always we begin again, St. Benedict wrote.

Good Friday is about an end as real and as total as beyond our repair as death. And yet, always we begin again.

Maybe that is one of the great gifts of the discipline of the monastic life. To enable us to internalize the assurance that always we begin again. By God’s grace, each day we begin again. Each Advent. Each time the entire psalter is read in worship and then begins again. Each time a monk strays or fails and, by God’s grace, is reconciled and returned to the common life.

The pervasive and holy routine of the monastic life insures that always we begin again.

This isn’t about human perseverance or steadfastness or optimism or even hope. This isn’t about human anything. This is about an end that it is beyond any human ability or power to change or avert. An end that is complete and that we are powerless to overcome.

And yet, always we begin again.

I think we come to this liturgy, do this common work of worship together… immerse ourselves in this day, not just to experience its finality. But also to reassure ourselves that even from this final end, beyond all hope or expectation we are given a place to begin again.

There is nothing partial or qualified about Jesus’ death. He is dead. We killed him.

But we have come to know that there is a beginning even in Jesus’ crucifixion. Therefore we cling to the assurance that there is a beginning in the midst of whatever the darkest place in our lives or deaths may be.

By God’s grace and only by God’s grace, we begin again. Out of guilt, out of despair, out of sin, out of loss, out of failure, out of death, by God’s grace, we begin again.

This liturgy brings us to the cross. But this liturgy does not end at the cross. At the end of our common worship today, there is no dismissal. This liturgy does not reach its completion or fulfillment until the end of the Vigil, after the first Eucharist of Easter.

These words aren’t reported in John’s account of the passion which we heard today, but they are in Luke which we heard on Palm Sunday. From the cross, looking down on those around him… From the cross that we now face, Jesus says, “Father forgive them.” Forgive them.

Always we begin again.

Maundy Thursday - March 28

The Stripping of the Altar

Depending upon your personal preference or parish custom Maundy Thursday is either about a meal or a bath (well, maybe, a sponge bath). Just an ordinary meal and a bath.

The first letter to the Corinthians, actually written before John’s Gospel, tells about the meal. A meal that Jesus shared with his disciples.

John tells how, presumably at that same meal, Jesus bathed the feet of his disciples. It was a servants’ task, but not an unfamiliar one. It was an act of hospitality and everyday cleansing in a land where roads were dusty and much travel was done on foot.

From our vantage point in history we can say that that night and the events of that night had unimaginable significance for all human kind.

But really it was just a meal and a bath. It may be helpful to remember that in many ways it was an ordinary night. The meal maybe was not quite as ordinary as fast food on the run, but it was just that year’s Passover meal shared with good friends. Surely, many other rooms in Jerusalem were filled with shared meals that night. All that was unique about this particular meal was Jesus’ presence.

And in the foot washing, Jesus was teaching his disciples. He was teaching them about servanthood. But it was really just an ordinary act of hospitality. Except that it was Jesus who served.

The readings and the chronology of Jesus’ last days determine that this night shall be about a meal and a bath. But I have had many, many people tell me over the years that the most meaningful and powerful part of this service for them is not something the Gospels or Paul say anything about. It is the much later tradition of the stripping of the altar.

Bit by bit, as all of the trappings of worship are removed, it’s as though all beauty and grace are sucked out of the world. The horror of Jesus’ death becomes inevitable. Only darkness, sadness and loss are left. God is snuffed out. All is barren.

That is what a life without Jesus looks like and feels like.

It was the presence of Christ in ordinary events that made them miraculous, wondrous, full of meaning and grace. Then and now.

When we strip Christ from our daily lives, they are as stark and desolate as this altar will be in an hour or so.

Jesus is or can be just as real, just as much a part of the ordinary events of our daily lives as he is real in the vestments and fancy trappings of the altar. Actually, of course, we all know he isn’t in the trappings at all. But he is at our daily breakfast tables and our family holy-day dinners. He is with us on the thresholds of our homes as we welcome guests. He sits beside us on the shower seat as we sponge bathe an elderly or infirm relative.

If we turn away from or neglect Jesus at our everyday meals, in the midst of our everyday tasks, or in the encounters we have with one another in our daily lives, then our lives will be stripped barren indeed.

Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday in Holy Week - March 25-27

From the prologue to Cyril of Jerusalem's Catechetical lectures to new converts who would be baptized at Easter (language modified and updated slightly):

Already there is an aroma of blessedness upon you, O you who are soon to be enlightened: already you are gathering the spiritual flowers, to weave heavenly crowns: already the fragrance of the Holy Spirit has breathed upon you: already you have gathered round the vestibule of the King’s palace; may you be led in also by the King! For blossoms now have appeared upon the trees; may the fruit also be found perfect! Thus far there has been an inscription of your names, and a call to service, and torches of the bridal train, and a longing for heavenly citizenship, and a good purpose, and hope attendant thereon. For he does not lie who said, that to them that love God all things work together for good. God is lavish in beneficence, yet He waits for each person’s genuine will: therefore the Apostle added and said, to them that are called according to a purpose. The honesty of purpose makes you called: for if your body be here but not your mind, it profits you nothing.

Palm Sunday - March 24

Palm Sunday: The Sunday of the Passion

Our worship together today began with a commemoration of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We cried “Hosanna!” Even the stones cried out welcome. The voices of children made sweet hosanna ring. Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord. It’s a wonderful celebration, full of enthusiasm and joy, eager shouts of welcome as Jesus arrives.

I sometimes wonder about the people who came out to welcome Jesus back then, to cheer along his way. Who were they? Why did they come to lay their cloaks along the road and wave leafy branches as they cheered?

Probably some of them had been with him along the way, his disciples. And for them to see this teacher, healer, prophet, Messiah… ride into the great holy city of Jerusalem was very exciting, a great triumph.

Maybe some of those cheered hoped that Jesus would bring political change, freedom from the Roman oppressors. Not so much in Luke, but in other Gospel accounts Jesus is identified as King David’s heir as he enters Jerusalem.

Undoubtedly many were just curious. Who is this guy? What’s the fuss? A parade is always fun.

Then, once Jesus had passed and gone on his way, what did all of those people do? Did they just go back about their lives? They had been a part of the great excitement of Jesus’ arrival. They had cheered in welcome. But what would happen next?

There must have been expectancy but uncertainty. What were the next days like? Many had welcomed him, but they had all sorts of different expectations of him.

Some people certainly stayed with him, wanting to be near his presence. I imagine some went home, thinking their part in the story was done… We’ve cheered in welcome, now we’ll wait and see he does. Actually, I expect a lot of people went home after the parade, sparing only a passing thought towards Jesus over the next few days. Wondering what would be the result, the consequences of his coming? Would it mean anything to them?

He had been triumphantly welcomed. But what would be the consequence of his coming to Jerusalem?

Of course, the direct consequence of Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem was his crucifixion. Probably not what anyone back then expected. The direct consequence of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem was his crucifixion.

This odd holy day that we call Palm Sunday – colon – The Sunday of the Passion commemorates both the jubilant welcome and the consequence of Jesus’ arrival in the holy city Jerusalem. The triumphal entry and the crucifixion.

And we who live in this day and time live our whole lives in the midst of both the joyful welcome and the crucifixion. We cry hosanna, but we also know what the consequence of Jesus’ arrival is. And we also know that the triumphal entry and the crucifixion are linked; they are inseparable. We are the link.

Today’s liturgy reminds us that our voices are both the voices that joyfully welcome Jesus and the voices that cry for his crucifixion. In many of the dramatic readings of the Passion Gospel the congregation takes the part where the people cry for Jesus’ crucifixion. And our voices sang hosanna.

Essentially we say to Jesus: Welcome, Jesus. In triumphant joy, I say welcome. But in a few days, I am going to crucify you. We cannot welcome him without acknowledging our participation in his death. To raise our voices in welcome is also own that is our voices calling for his crucifixion. That’s who we are. That’s how the story ends.

The deep yearning and the excitement for Jesus to come into our hearts, into our lives… that’s a part of us. And our inescapable sinfulness is a part of us. That’s who we are every day. Jesus, I desperately need you; I love you; I welcome you. And I know I will crucify you. Again and again and again.

Back then as Jesus triumphantly entered Jerusalem, he knew that the consequence of his arrival in the holy city would be his crucifixion. Jesus knew that the people who welcomed him would kill him, and still he came. Jesus knew that the voices that cried hosanna would also cry for his death, and still he came. That’s the good news. He also knew then, as we do now, that his crucifixion was not the end of the story.