Homeward Bound: May 14, 2017

Year A, Easter 5                                                  
John 14:1-14                                                              

            As some of you know, my parents moved here just last week.  It is wonderful to have them here.  I could not be happier for so many reasons.   Therefore it surprised me at how hard it was for me to say goodbye to their house.  My dad was in the Navy for almost all of my youth.  I was a late addition to the family and did not move around nearly as much as my brothers, but I never had a house or a place I was really attached to.  When we moved to a tiny town in upstate New York when I was 16, I was kind of miserable.  Yet I made amazing friends there and became very attached to the life my parents created. I loved that house. Even as a priest, my husband and I returned every year a few days after Christmas.  Driving up the road, I would see the Christmas lights hanging from the balcony of the deck and every light lit. The house sat on a hill and from the road it seemed like a tree house. 


Painting of the house at Christmas by my brother, Bill Vincent

          As soon as I walked in, I felt safe. I felt like I was home even though I had spent so little time there. This Christmas, as I packed up my old photo albums and yearbooks I could not stop crying.  I kept thinking, what is wrong with me??? They are coming to live near me! This is just a house. Besides, you know what they say, home is where the heart is.  That means a home can move. Yet even knowing that, it was still heart wrenching driving away for the last time.

            The words of John 14 are familiar to me and probably familiar to many people.  Those first 6 verses are the most common verses you will hear at any funeral…perhaps second only to Psalm 23, which we heard last week.   While I have never asked anyone why they chose those verses, I assume it has a lot to do with the first line, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”  It’s something that we all need to hear when we are grieving.  It’s not saying, “Don’t be sad.”  It’s saying, “Don’t let your heart be troubled.”  To be troubled is a more permanent condition.  It’s the kind of sadness that has no hope. Jesus is saying, if you believe in me, there is always hope, even in grief. 

However, the part that sees to really resonate with people is, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.”  Jesus then goes on to tell his disciples who are gathered around him, desperate for words of comfort and hope-- that he is going to prepare a place for them so that “there you may be also.”  Many of us hear this and envision Jesus up in heaven in a magnificent mansion fluffing the pillows and opening the shades to let the bright effervescent light of the sun in.  What could be more comforting than knowing that when this life is over, there will be a place for us that Jesus has prepared, a place where Jesus waits to greet us?  It is an incredibly comforting image and one that I have preached at many funerals. 

            I suppose that the only thing that could be more comforting than knowing that there would be a place for us after death, would be knowing that  there is a place for us while we are alive as well.  Another way to read this text is: “In my father’s house there are many abiding places.”  If you look through many of the readings for this Sunday, you will find this theme of abiding, or living with the Lord. It would seem that Jesus was not just referring to our final home, but the place where we can abide here, in this life. Jesus was telling his disciples (and that includes us) that there is a place here on earth where we can feel the presence of God, feel as though we are safe, at home. 

            When I was at college, there was one place where I always felt safe. It will be no shock to you to know that it was the college chapel.  Yet it was surprising to me at the time.  You see, before college, I had never felt at home in a church. Church was a nice place to go.  I liked the music.  I liked the essence of church.  But it never felt like home.  It was never a place I sought.  Yet in college, the chapel was always open.  There were rooms in the basement where we could study.  One fridge was always stocked with Diet Dr. Pepper.  And no matter what time you came (whether it was 10am or 1am) someone was almost always there.  I studied there. I made friends there.  I worshipped there.  It was a safe place.  It was a place where I felt that I belonged.  The reason I felt like I belonged there was not just that there were people I knew and comfy chairs, but I felt close to God.  It was like God was right there and I could pop in anytime.

            When Jesus told the disciples about a dwelling place that was prepared for them, he wasn’t just talking about a future place where we all congregate after death. He was talking about the place where God abides.  God isn’t just waiting for us in this mysterious place called, “life after death.” God is here with us now. This was important for the disciples to know because Jesus wanted them to understand that even after he died, was resurrected and ascended into heaven, he was still there with them. There was still a place for them, on earth, a safe place where God dwelled with them.  They did not quite understand it at the time.  It was only after Jesus spent time with them after his resurrection when they were able to fully comprehend what it was to abide with God, even though Jesus was not present in bodily form.  Once they started to understand that, they were able to help other people have a sense of that abiding presence of God here on earth.

            My parents moved last week.  I helped them a little bit on their move.  Even when their stuff was still in boxes….even though it was only the 2^nd or 3^rd time I had been there…I had this overwhelming feeling that I was coming home.  It is nothing like where they used to live.  It has none of the familiar smells, sounds, or views. But they are there. That is their dwelling place, which means it is a safe place for me.  I feel the same way about St. John’s.  When I walk into the sanctuary….it does not matter what day it is.  It does not matter whether it is full, empty or mostly empty…it feels like home.  It feels like the place that I belong, not because I am the rector here, not because I know the people here, but because this is a place where I can feel God.  That is my prayer for all of you; that you can find God in this place, that this can be a home for you in your joy, in your grief, and in your doubt.  There is always a place for you here.  But more importantly, there is a place for you anywhere you go.    When you experience the love of God, you are home.  Welcome home.

             

Inviting Jesus: April 30, 2017

Year A, Easter 3                                                                               
Luke 24:13-35                                                                                    

 

            I often find myself wondering why Jesus had to be so inconspicuous in his appearances after his resurrection.  He could have used a little more fanfare.  Perhaps he could have descended from the sky with a cape and angels escorting him. It would have gotten everyone’s attention.  It would not have left anyone in doubt that he was resurrected from the dead.  Alas, he was resurrected much like he was born the first time. Very few people witnessed it and even fewer recognized him for who he was. That made sense when he was born the first time.  He was a baby for goodness sake.  However, in his resurrection appearances, people should have known exactly who he was.  He was not appearing to random people. They were his friends and followers, people who had spent hours and hours with him. How could they not know who he was? There are many theories on why people did not recognize him.  I think the reason that most people did not initially recognize him was because they did not expect to see him. They were not looking for him. They were grieving his death, not searching for the living Christ.

Our reading from the Gospel of Luke is a perfect example.  We have two individuals walking down the road.  They were not one of the 12 apostles.  They were followers of Jesus, disciples of Jesus.  They were walking away from Jerusalem.  Jerusalem is where everything happened.  It is the Holy City.  Yet these two people are leaving.  Luke does not say why. He just says they are leaving.

While these two travelers are talking, a stranger approaches them and joins the conversation.  He asks them what they are talking about.  They are flabbergasted that this strange man does not know what just happened.  They tell this stranger that Jesus, a great prophet mighty in word and deed, has been crucified.  They tell him that some people in their group have reported that they saw angels and an empty tomb.  Angels were not a common occurrence. If they had believed this account, they would have almost surely stayed and waited to see what was going on.  But they didn’t believe. 

Notice the words they used.  “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”  They had such high hopes for Jesus, who was mighty in word and deed.  He was going to be the one to save them all---deliver them from the Romans, ensure that they were once again in God’s favor.  But he hadn’t.  He was killed by the very people who he was supposed to defeat.  It was a tragic ending to a great life.  While there were rumors that he was back from the dead, those were only rumors, wishful thinking of a few misguided people.  So they were leaving.  Where they were going really did not matter.  What mattered was that they were putting as much distance as they could between them and their unfulfilled hopes—the happy ending that never was. 

Because of their grief and inability to open their minds to the possibility that Jesus was alive, they could not recognize the Messiah who walked beside them.  While Jesus was a little frustrated and called them foolish, he remained patient.  He went back to the beginning and told them the stories that they had known since their childhood, of Moses and the prophets.  He told these stories in such a way that they were able to see the death of Jesus in a different light and perspective. 

This was not enough. They still not recognize him.  But just because they were not quite there yet, did not mean the story was over.  They asked Jesus to stay with them. They were worried about this man who was traveling alone.  They wanted to make sure that he had a good meal and a safe place to rest.  They invited Jesus to stay.

Jesus was never one to say no to dinner, no matter who invited him.  He agreed to have dinner with them.  He broke the bread and blessed it.  He didn’t do it with any fanfare.  He probably did not hold it over his head like we clergy tend to do. There was no altar or fancy silver.  He just broke the bread.  Then everything fell into place.  They saw Jesus, the Messiah, the one they had been hoping for not only for their lives, but for all of history.  And before they could even say, “Hey it’s you!”---he vanished.  What I find fascinating is that they do not seem troubled by this vanishing act.  Perhaps what he had given them in that short time was so fulfilling, that they could not possibly want for more.

            We expect a lot from Jesus.  We expect him to love us. We expect him to forgive us.  He loves us and forgives us beyond our expectations.  We also expect that he will be there when we need him.  He is.  He is always there.  Yet what we forget, is that Jesus has some expectations of us as well.  He walked with these two individuals on the road to Emmaus.  He walked with them for miles.  He listened to them and taught them.  But there came a point when these two individuals had to do something. They had to invite him to stay.  If they had said, “Well it was nice talking to you.  We have reached our destination and no longer need your company” they would have never recognized him.  They would have had an educational and perhaps inspirational conversation with a kind stranger, but they would have never experienced what it was to be with the risen Christ.  Yet even though they did not quite understand what was going on, they were willing to take a chance with this strange man.  They invited him to stay.

            I believe that Jesus is always with us, even those of us who do not believe. Yet to fully recognize Jesus, to know him, we need to invite him to stay with us. We have to be willing to take a chance that things might not go as expected.  Our lives might not work out exactly as we want.  Our prayers might not be answered in the specific way we requested that they be answered.  But just because things have not happened as we planned, does not mean that God is not on the journey with us.  Even though he is our constant companion, we still need to invite him to stay.  We have to show some initiative in this relationship.  It’s not a one way thing.  If we are willing to invite him in, our eyes will be opened and we will see him in all aspects of our lives.

            Those two disciples of Jesus did not merely recognize him in that moment.  Once they had that moment of recognition, they were able to identify his presence and his impact before they really knew who he was.  They said, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road…” That is what happens when we ask Jesus to stay with us.  We are given a new lens in which we see our whole lives. Perhaps that is why Jesus was so inconspicuous in his resurrection appearances. Maybe that is why he did not come down with a cape flanked by angels.  Because he knew that it would be much more fulfilling for us if we learned how to see him in our ordinary, everyday lives.   

There is a beautiful prayer on page 139 of our prayer book.  It is a prayer for the early evening.  I would like to end the sermon reading it together.   

Lord Jesus, stay with us, for evening is at hand and the day is
past; be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and
awaken hope, that we may know you as you are revealed in
Scripture and the breaking of bread. Grant this for the sake
of your love. Amen.