Forgiveness is Self-Preservation: John 20:19-31

Year A, Easter 2     
 April 23, 2017

            On March 28^th of 2010, Conor McBride shot his girlfriend of three years.  Conor and Ann had been fighting for over 38 hours and he simply broke.  He immediately regretted it and turned himself in. When her parents were notified, their first question was whether Conor was with her in the ICU where she struggled for her life.  They were shocked to learn that the boy they considered a son, was the one who shot her.   When Ann’s father (Andy) sat with his dying daughter, he felt her say, “Forgive him.”  He said “No,” but he kept hearing the voice of his daughter telling him to forgive the man who shot her.  After four days on life support, her parents realized they would have to let her go.  Her father later said, “I realized it was not just Ann asking me to forgive Conor, it was Jesus Christ, and I hadn’t said no to him before, and I wasn’t going to start then. It was just a wave of joy, and I told Ann: ‘I will. I will.’ ”[1]

            As Andy described what happened, he mentioned that the wounds on his daughter reminded him of the wounds of Jesus Christ.  Apparently she put her hands in front of her face when her boyfriend raised the gun, giving her wounds on her hands and her head.   The author of the Gospel of John reminds us of the scars that Jesus bore when he appeared to his disciples after his resurrection.  He showed them his hands and his side. The scars on his hands were from the nails.  His side bore the mark of the sword that pierced him.  There is no reference to scars on his head, but we know that his head was undoubtedly wounded when the crown of thorns was forced onto his head.  Even if those scars were not present, the disciples would have seen them in their mind’s eye as they looked at the risen Christ for the first time.

            The Gospel of John says that the disciples were hiding for fear of the Jews.   I have a hunch that they were hiding from more than just the Jews.  Remember that when Jesus appears to them this first time, they have already found the empty tomb and Mary Magdalene already reported that she spoke to the resurrected Christ.  What do you think they were more afraid of, the fact that he was dead and gone, or the possibility that he was alive and they would have to face him?  The disciples had not performed very admirably in the last days of Jesus’ life.  Peter had denied him.  Most had abandoned him.   To make matters worse, instead of combing the streets looking for Jesus, they were now hiding in a locked room.  Yes, they were hiding from the Jews.  They were the Jews and they were hiding from their own shame.

Suddenly, Jesus appeared in the room. Before anyone had time to react, he proclaimed, “Peace be with you.”  With those four words, he showed them his hands and his side.  Then he breathed on them.  Normally, I am not too keen on people breathing on me, but this was not just any breath.  This was the breath of God, the Holy Spirit.  With it came joy, hope, and forgiveness.  “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”  With this breath and these words, Jesus was not only forgiving them, he was giving them the authority, the responsibility to forgive others.  All of that makes sense to me.  What does not make sense is the part about retaining sins.  Did Jesus mean that the disciples could withhold God’s forgiveness?

            Ann’s parents did more than just forgive Conor, the man who murdered their daughter.  They visited him in prison every month.  They worked with Conor’s parents and the district attorney to minimize the sentence that was given to Conor using a model called “restorative justice.” This was not easy for anyone, but they felt that was what Ann would have wanted, and what God was asking of them.   When asked about it, Ann’s mother said, “Conor owed us a debt he could never repay. And releasing him from that debt would release us from expecting that anything in this world could satisfy us... I think that when people can’t forgive, they’re stuck... Forgiveness for me was self-preservation.” 

            The disciples weren’t just literally stuck in a locked room.  To some degree, their hearts were locked, buried in a place that was so deep, it was only the breath of God, the forgiveness of God that could bring air to their suffocating lungs.  With the forgiveness of Jesus, they could start coming up for air.  However, it could not end there.  Jesus was forgiving them, so that they could proclaim that forgiveness to others.   Being forgiven only got them half way there.  They might have come up for air, but if they wanted to truly open their hearts, they would have to forgive others.

            We often think that in forgiving others, we are making some sort of sacrifice, or giving them a gift.  Yet that’s the thing about gifts, they are only good if you release them.  Furthermore, we do not own this gift. It is God’s gift.  He just asked us to share that gift with others. A theologian wrote, “When you forgive you set a prisoner free. And then you discover the prisoner was you.”[2]

            I believe that is what Jesus meant when he said, “If you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”  If we choose not to forgive someone, we then take on their sin.  And unlike Jesus, we cannot absorb sin without having it affect us.  Another word for forgiveness is “to free” or to “let go.”  In giving us the power to forgive, Jesus gave us freedom, from not only our sins, but the sins of others.  If we don’t use that gift, we will find that while we might not be stuck in a locked room, we might as well be.  Because when we hold on to all of that sin, all of that shame, all of that anger, then our hearts are locked.  Do you think the disciples stayed in that room after they received the Holy Spirit…the breath of God? No, they opened that door and they claimed their freedom.  I think that most of us have little locks on our hearts.  We have them to protect us…but really they are just imprisoning us.  It’s time to open the doors. It’s time to claim our freedom.

 

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[1] http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/06/magazine/can-forgiveness-play-a-role-in-criminal-justice.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

 

[2] Lewis Smedes   (from article by Craig Barnes called “Crying Shame”)

Approaching God: Matthew 28:1-10

Easter, Year A                                                                 
April 16, 2017

            One of my favorite hymns is “Were you there.”  If you do not know the hymn, it is about the crucifixion.  It repeats the phrase “were you there” adding various parts, like were you there when they nailed him to the cross….were you there when they pierced him in the side?  Singing it this week, I started to think about what makes it such a powerful hymn…why it gives me goosebumps every time I hear it. 

I still remember the first time I heard it.  It was my senior year of high school. My friend’s church was doing a passion play.  One of my friends was playing Jesus and he was one of the last people you would expect to play Jesus, but he did an amazing job and then there was the song. It was sung from the balcony by one voice. It sounded almost haunting.  I can remember it that vividly.  This year, one part struck me more poignantly than the others. After we ask, were you there, we sing, “Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble…”  That was when I got goosebumps this year.  I thought of those words again when I considered the Gospel reading for today.

            Each Gospel has a slightly different interpretation of the resurrection story.  Mark’s is very simple.  It ends too quickly, as if Mark’s pen just ran out of ink.  Both Luke and John contain more detail about the tomb itself and Jesus’s interaction with the women or apostles.  There is a little more drama.  There is a lot more information of Jesus’ actual appearance and interactions with the women and the disciples. It’s almost like there is an epilogue to the resurrection in Luke and John. 

Matthew’s story appears almost start by comparison, except for a few unique details.  Since it is relatively stark and brief, these unique details seem extremely important, especially when contemplating a sermon on Matthew.  One of the biggest differences between Matthew’s story and the others is the earthquakes.  The first earthquake happens right after Jesus dies.  It’s not a huge earthquake. Matthew says, “The earth shook and rocks split.”  Apparently it got the attention of a few people, but not most. 

The second earthquake happened as Mary Magdalene and the other Mary approached the tomb.  They did not go in. They did not knock on the tomb door.  They just approached it and the earth began to shake.  Here the Gospel writer says, “There was a great earthquake.”  This one was more significant than the last.  As the earth quaked, an angel descended from heaven and his appearance was like lightning. The angel immediately rolled back the stone. 

            What seems odd to me about this whole thing is the timing of the second earthquake.  The first earthquake happened right after Jesus died. That makes sense.  That was a big moment—a life changing moment.  The earth should have shook. The second earthquake happened as the women approached the tomb.  The angel tells them that Jesus is not there.  He has been raised.  He is already risen.   My question is, why didn’t the earth quake then?  It should have quaked as Jesus left the tomb...or perhaps the moment when he took that first breath.  There should have been quaking, a bright light, angels singing.  Yet it seems as though the actual resurrection went unnoticed.  The event that rocked the earth was not the resurrection itself, but the women approaching the tomb. 

            There is one thing that has always struck me as odd about each resurrection story in all of the Gospels.  There is never a description of the actual resurrection, or Jesus’ departure from the tomb. The logical explanation would be that the authors of the Gospels could not write about that since no one had witnessed it.  Yet it is surprising that no one used creative license to fill in the gaps.  Jesus could have told the story later. It seems like a story people would have wanted to hear. Another explanation is that the Gospel writers felt like some things could not be explained.  The moment was so sacred that it could not possibly be described by words. That seems plausible to me.

            The hymn, Were you there is asking not if we were actually there at the crucifixion…but if we can imagine ourselves there.  Can we put ourselves in that moment, at the foot of the cross?  If we can, would be tremble?  Presumably we would all have different reactions, but I think trembling would be a fairly reasonable reaction. I is important to consider the moment of Jesus death…that moment when the earth shook.  It’s almost like the earth, the ground felt the weight of the moment and so it trembled. 

Therefore it makes sense that it would happen again at the resurrection.  This time it was not grief that caused the earth to tremble, it was the moment when heaven and earth touched.   They touched ever so briefly, but there was a moment that transcended time and space, the moment when two women opened their hearts and minds to the possibility that Jesus was alive.  In that brief moment, everything changed for these women and ultimately for humanity as a whole.  Their world was shaken.  It was rearranged in a way that seemed almost unrecognizable.  The crazy thing is that they had not even seen Jesus yet.  All they had done was approached the tomb…because in approaching the tomb, they took a chance so that when the tomb opened up, their hearts and minds did as well.  They saw a world transformed.

            The reason it is important to imagine ourselves at the foot of the cross is because we need to feel the depth of that grief.  When we do, we will know the hope of the resurrection that much more powerfully.  If we tremble when we consider the death of Jesus, then we should be shaken in body, mind and spirit by the hope of the resurrection.  I know that is a not an easy thing…not an easy leap to make.  You might think, well if I was there in Jesus’ time, that would be different. I could have believed if I was there.  Yet the only reason that we know about the resurrection is because a few women were willing to approach the tomb.   They had to approach it. 

Sometimes we think that if we cannot wrap our heads and hearts around everything that the Bible and the church say about God and faith, then we have fallen short---it’s really not worth bothering at all.  That is not true. Remember, the earth did not quake when Jesus appeared.  It quaked when the women approached the tomb.  Before we can have a real relationship with Jesus…maybe even before we have any relationship at all, we have to be willing to approach God, to come face to face with our hopes and fears.  It is only then when we will find the strength to open our hearts and minds to the reality of the resurrection. It is only then when we can be shaken. 

The logical question is how can one approach God.  It’s not like he’s standing on the corner.  He’s not on social media.  It’s not easy.  But in the Episcopal Church, we have a way to start. Come to the altar.  Come to the heart of the church.  You don’t even have to take communion.  You might not be ready for that.  Just come, kneel, leave your doubts and fears in the pew. You can get back to them later.  It might not be an earth shaking moment.  I can pretty much guarantee there will not be an earthquake (although that would be awesome if we could have just a little one at a pivotal point in the service).  You have already taken a huge step.  You are in church.  Take the next. Approach the tomb.  Approach the altar.  If you can take that first step, you will always find the living God.  

Good Friday: Mary at the foot of the cross

 ^{Good Friday Reflection                                                                                                                               April 14, 2017}

            They told me not to come.  They said it would only make it harder….as if staying home while my son hung on a cross would be anything less than torture---no matter where I was.  Since he was making this sacrifice for a world of people who had spat on him, betrayed him, abandoned him, mocked him, ignored him, and now slowly killed him… well then it seems to me that I can make this sacrifice for him.  I can sit at the foot of the cross as my son slowly dies.  I can do that at least. 

            I am so close I can smell his sweat.  That smell brings me a strange comfort.  It is as familiar to me as my own sweat.  I smelled it after he came inside after running around with his friends and lay down with me at the hottest part of the day, when all you could do was rest.  I smelled it as he worked with his father on various projects.  I know that smell as well as I knew his voice and his face. 

            As soon as he started this crazy journey…trying to help people understand and know God, understand and know him---as soon as he started that, I have been spending more time with him.  Sometimes I have stood at a distance as he has taught. Sometimes I just watched him sleep.  I don’t ever want to forget his face.  When I watched him sleep, I would remember who he was as a child, that sweet baby I held in my arms so many years ago.  It feels as though  thousands of years have passed since he was born. But now that sweat is mixed with a different smell.  Blood. 

            That combination of blood and sweat reminded me of another time years ago when I lay on the floor in a room of hay with animals walking in and out. Joseph pacing by my side, trying to be helpful. Blood. Sweat. I was there at his birth and I will be there when he dies. I will stay. 

            I look up and I can see him looking at the soldiers as they divide his clothing.  It makes me angry.  He just looks sad.  Sad and tired.  Then he turns to me and his eyes meet mine.  A fresh pain courses through my body.  I did not think the pain could get worse, but it does.  I am reminded of that time when he was just 8 days old. Joseph and I were so happy. We had been through so much but now we had this beautiful boy.  We went to the temple with our small sacrifice of 2 pigeons.  We offered this sacrifice to the Lord.  As we prepared to leave an old man approached us. While he was old and walked with difficulty, his face emanated joy. 

            He came and took Jesus out of my arms.  At first I was afraid he was going to take him from me, but then he spoke and I knew there was something special about this man.  He said something about seeing salvation and how Jesus, our baby, would be a light for all people.   He then blessed us all and said something I will never forget. “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

            It did not make sense to me then.  How could he be a light to all nations, but also be hated and opposed?  Why would my soul be pierced? I had listened to God.  I had said yes when he made that crazy request of giving birth to a baby who was to be the Son of God.  I said yes.  Why would my soul be pierced?  But I understand now.  I understand what it is to have your soul pierced.  I felt it long before this moment.  I felt it when the people tried to stone him because he said things that were contrary to what everyone believed, when he disagreed with the great religious leaders and even the Romans.  I begged him to stop, stop causing a stir.  There had to be a better way.  He did not listen. He just gave me that look.  I felt my soul pierced again when he was arrested, then again when the crowd shouted, “Crucify him.” I felt it over and over again.  Now, it was complete.  My soul was in pieces.  There was nothing left to pierce. 

            There is that look again.  He looks into my eyes.  I expect to see pain, maybe even anger.  But as I search his eyes, I see something else.  I see love. Though it must be so painful to speak he says, “Woman, here is your son.”  Then he looks at John, the only one who is here with me and says, “Here is your mother.”  Even at this horrible moment, he is still trying to take care of us.  Now is says that he is thirsty and I want to bring him something, but they will not let me. He looks at me one last time and then looks at the sky as if searching for something.  We all look up as well.  I don’t see a thing.  I hear a gasp and I get up so I can be just a little closer.  He says, “It is finished.” And it is.

            I fall into the arms of John and we weep together.  We stay until they take his body from the cross. They let me hold him one last time.  While my grief feels overwhelming, more memories started to flood in while I hold him.  I remember the people who followed him.  I remember the people he cured and how they looked at him. He turned water into wine. He opened the eyes of the blind. He even brought a man back to death. 

            Then I hear his voice so clearly I think he must still be alive, but he remains limp in my arms.  I hear him say, “‘A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me’?  You will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy.”  He was always saying things like that…things that no one really understood.  But those words come to me now with renewed clarity.  Maybe my pain will turn into joy. My pain will turn to joy.  I say that over and over as I watch them carry my boy away. 

 

When God's People are Displaced: April 2, 2017

Year A, Lent 5                                                    
Ezekiel 37:1-14                                                                      

 

            Recently I came across several articles regarding the efforts in Iraq to regain cities that were lost to ISIS.  For so long, the news about the fight against ISIS had been all about their power and progress.  It appeared hopeless.  No one seemed to know how to fight these extremists who represented no country and operated with no moral code whatsoever.  Yet recently, there are indications that they are being driven out bit by bit, mile by mile.  People are returning to the towns that ISIS had control over.  There was one article about a town called Bartella, which is not too far from Mosul.   Bartella is one of the oldest Christian towns in the world.  Thousands were forced out after ISIS came in.  It was over 2 years before the town was reclaimed by American and Iraqi soldiers.   In the article I read, some of the displaced people said that they planned to return, but many were afraid to do so.  Many were worried that there was nothing to return to.  They were afraid that ISIS would regain control or some other extremist group.[1]

The people or Bartella were forced out of their homes for a little over two years.  It’s a long time to be displaced, especially when you don’t know if you will ever return to your home, or if there will be a home to return to.  The people of Israel were exiled for over 50 years…more than a generation.  That 50 years is known as the Babylonian Exile and is a defining moment in Jewish history. To put it in context, it was approximately 500 years before Jesus was born.  

The Book of Ezekiel begins with the prophet warning people of what was to come. There was a great deal of judgment and anger.  By the time we get to chapter 37, which is where our Old Testament reading for today comes from, Jerusalem had been destroyed and most of the people were forced to leave their home and live in another land.  Ezekiel was one of those displaced people.  He was there with the others in Babylon.   While he was a little hard on them before the exile, his tone shifted after the exile.  They didn’t need judgment anymore.  What they needed was hope. 

You see it wasn’t just that they had been defeated.  It wasn’t just that they had been forced from their homes.  It wasn’t just that they had seen so many of their people die in battle.  Any of those things would be enough to leave a person in despair.  Yet for the Hebrew people, it was that much worse because they were away from their spiritual home.  For the Hebrew people, God was in the temple in Jerusalem.  That was where God lived.  What did it mean that the temple was destroyed?  How could they worship God when they were no longer near him?  They felt as though they were completely cut off from God. Even though they were no longer fighting a bloody war… even though they were not living in this valley of bones, they might as well have been.  Their home was destroyed.  Their God had abandoned them.  Hope was buried under the rubble that was once their home. 

God knew what the people were feeling. He knew their grief.  Thus, he gave Ezekiel a remarkable vision to share with these displaced people. In this vision, God brought Ezekiel to this valley of bones and he showed him how to bring life back to these bones. As you heard in the reading, the rubble of bones became people of flesh and blood and even breath.  There was new life in the valley.  After showing Ezekiel this, the Lord said to him, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’  God told Ezekiel who these bones represented and what the vision was in response to. 

The Psalms have all kinds of prayers of people who were living through the Babylonian Exile.  In these Psalms, the people who were crying out often referred to their bones.  In many ways, references to bones, is like a reference to our deepest self.[2]  We still use phrases like, “I can feel it in my bones.” Or. “I’m bone tired.” It’s almost like referring to our core or our essence, much like it was in the time that Ezekiel was writing. 

When the people said, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost…” God took that dreadful image of bones piled up and he transformed that image. God showed how these bones could have life.  It was/is a way to show that hope is not lost…not as long as you have the breath of God.  Because that is what made the difference. Ezekiel said, “I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.”  It was the breath of God, the Spirit of God that allowed them to live, that gave them the power to stand together.

It is important to note that they stood together.  When these bones came to life, it wasn’t just a couple of them.  It was this whole community, the multitude.  It had to be because it was the whole community who had been exiled.  It was not enough for one of them to have hope.  They all needed to be inspired.  They all needed this breath of God.  It was the only way they would find the strength they needed. The people of Israel were exiled for a long time, but eventually they returned to their beloved city of Jerusalem.  Much as they feared, their city was in ruins.  There was no temple. There were no homes to return to.  Once again, they had to find a way to bring life to a place that seemed to be lifeless.  They had to do it together.

The town of Bartella in Iraq was liberated in October of 2016. That Christmas, about 200 people returned to the town to celebrate Christmas Eve in their church.  For most, it was the first time they had returned to their home.  While it was uplifting to celebrate that holy day in their sacred space, their church, they were surrounded by rubble. The church had to be guarded by snipers so they could celebrate in relative safety.  Many said that while it was nice to have this experience and good to be back home, they would not be returning for good because it was not safe.  They could not take that risk.  Yet one woman who was interviewed said, “Daesh (ISIS) came to kill the soul. But they couldn’t. They killed the body. We are back now.”[3]  ISIS thought they could take the life from the town, from the people.  They thought that they had left only rubble and bones.  But there was still life there.  The breath of God remained with the people of God.  When the soldiers reclaimed that city, one of the first things they did was to go to the church and ring the church bells. 

Christmas Eve Bartella

Both the people of Israel, the people in Iraq, and people everywhere who have been forced to flee from their homes, they survive on hope…a hope that God will continue to breathe life into them and a hope that when God does breathe that life into them, there will be a community to stand with them.

After the Civil War, the St. John’s community returned to find their homes and their church in rubble.  Yet they found a way to rebuild, to survive so that we could worship here today. They did not do it alone. They did it with the help of people from around the state, even the country.  That is what we are called to do as Christians, to help others rebuild, to be the breath of God for communities and people who have lost hope. I will be honest.  I am not sure how. Ezekiel had a wonderful vision that changed him and helped him inspire others.  But he had to first be open to that vision and then act on that vision.  I suppose that is the first step for all of us, a willingness to envision the world transformed….and to see ourselves as the agents of that transformation.

                                                                                                                                                                             

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[1] http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/10/22/near-mosul-church-bells-ring-out-in-a-christian-town-freed-from/

[2] https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=39

[3] http://www.latimes.com/world/middleeast/la-fg-iraq-christmas-20161224-story.html (above picture is from this site)