Praising in the midst: February 28, 2021

 Year B, Lent 2                                                 Psalm 22: 22-30                                                         

            I remember in the first few months of the pandemic reading the predictions of the number of deaths. They were saying 100,000 to 200,000 people would die.  At the time, that was unfathomable. Yet now such predictions seem almost quaint and optimistic.  This week, we reached 500,000.  500,000 people have died from COVID in one year.  That is four times the population of Hampton.  And this isn’t over. 

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”     

            I am sure you recognize those words. That is the first verse of Psalm 22, the psalm that Jesus quoted from the cross as he died.  I imagine those words, or words like them have been expressed far too frequently over the last year.  “Why have you forsaken us?” We always read Psalm 22 on Good Friday—not the whole psalm, the first 21 verses. 

Our psalm appointed for today, the 2^nd Sunday of Lent, is Psalm 22, verses 22 through 30.  It’s almost like a different psalm entirely.  The first 21 verses of Psalm 22 contains memorable verses like: “But as for me, I am a worm and no man” or “I am poured out like water; all my bones are out of joint; my heart within my breast is melting wax.” It is a lament psalm at its best and most dramatic. I mean, it had to be powerful for Jesus to quote it from the cross. 

This portion of the psalm that is appointed for today is far different.  It would be classified as psalm of praise and thanksgiving.  The author is encouraging, all the world to praise God, even those not yet born!   It’s not uncommon for the author of a psalm to go through dramatic shifts in perspective.  It makes my 4 year old’s mercurial moods seem tame.  It’s one of things I have always appreciated about the psalms.  They aren’t tame or predictable.  They don’t fit nicely into a genre. They are wild and erratic, which is true of life.  It is certainly true of the last year. 

2020 was a rollercoaster of experiences and emotions—but it was one of those wooden
rollercoasters that you think might just fall apart at any moment.  The thrill isn’t in the ride itself, it’s in coming out alive.  Let’s set aside for a moment the fires, the hurricanes, the locusts, the divisive politics and racial tension and violence.  Let’s focus on COVID (which I know we have talked enough about, but stay with me).  One moment things are fine.  Then you learn you have been exposed to someone with COVID, then you start trying to figure out all the people you have potentially exposed, then you are planning your funeral and theirs, then you are getting a Q tip up your nose and 3 days later you get your test result and learn you are negative.  So many emotions over 5 days. And that is the best case scenario.  Those are the lucky ones. In my lifetime, the psalms have never felt as realistic and appropriate as they have in this year. 

While many of the psalms have dramatic twists and turns—Psalm 22 stands out.  What’s striking to me about this psalm is how we have artificially divided it.  While I have read it many times and preached on it a few times, the end always surprises me.  Just this week I read the appointed portion and thought, wait, that’s not Psalm 22.  Where did that come from?  Despite my delight in the dramatic shifts of the psalms, I have always ignored the 2^nd part of this one.  Why?  Because it’s the Good Friday Psalm.  It’s the psalm Jesus quotes as he chokes on his own blood.  It can’t end with praise and hope.  That comes on Easter….not Good Friday.

Yet that is the beauty and poignancy of the Christian faith. The suffering and triumph---the pain and relief---the agony and the joy-- all exist on the same exquisite plain. And while that is poetic and transcendent, it’s not easy.  It’s so so hard.  It’s why Peter (in our Gospel reading) could not accept that Jesus had to suffer.  He’s the Messiah.  He’s not supposed to suffer and die.  He’s not supposed to carry the cross that he will then die on.  For those of us raised in the church, or even near the church, we forget how truly crazy the idea of a crucified Messiah is.  We know the end.  The crucifixion is just what we have to get through to get to Easter.

However, what this psalm reminds us is that neither our lives nor our faith are linear.  The moment we think we have suffered enough, the moment we think we have been through the rough patch and reached the other side, is the same moment when a fresh horror appears.  It is tempting in such times to assume that God has abandoned us.  It’s ok to feel that.  What this psalm teaches us is what it is to praise God in the midst of the suffering.  “Praise the Lord, you that fear him; stand in awe of him…and those who seek the Lord shall praise him.” 

There have been many times when I have envisioned the grand and spectacular worship service we will have when this is all over. There will be lilies and poinsettias, there will be music.  There will be praise and thanksgiving.  And God willing, that will happen. But we can’t wait for that moment to rejoice.  We cannot put our praise and worship on hold.  You might be thinking, yeah, but we can’t be together inside the church.    I get it.  It’s hard to praise God without the people and the sacred space.  It’s hard sitting in front of a computer.  It’s not impossible. 

People have praised God under much more difficult circumstances.  People have praised God in underground churches under the threat of persecution.  Enslaved people praised God even when their identity as children of God was denied.  We can do it.  We don’t do it because things are going swimmingly, we do it because we have a God who continues to love us.  We have a God who understands what it is to suffer and feel abandoned.  We have a God who created us and longs to redeem us.

And I have seen you all do it.  I have seen you show up outside on a freezing day to pray and receive ashes in a baggy.  I have seen some of you log on to facebook in the evening, the morning, anytime you can to participate in worship. I have seen you continue with zoom Bible study. I have seen you drop off food for the hungry. I have seen you come and pick up communion to deliver to your friends and family. We can do it. We are doing it.

We will find a way to do it on Palm Sunday and Easter, even if the weather doesn’t cooperate, even if we are not allowed to worship inside, we will find a way.  Because that is what we do as Christians. We praise God.  We worship God. We do it even when we don’t necessarily feel the words we are saying.  We might find that in saying the words or just hearing the words, that they inspire us to praise more, to find more ways to pray and worship---with action as well as words. We have found ways to do it and with your help, we will find more.

REMEMBER THE BIG PICTURE: September 27, 2020

Year A, Pentecost                                                                               
Philippians 2:1-13                                                                           

                                                                             

           The Apostle Paul was in intense man. He was not the kind of person you wanted to bring over for dinner for casual and enjoyable conversation.  Sometimes I like to imagine what he would have been like in an age of e-mail and text.  There probably would have been a lot of ALL CAPS, and cross emoji✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞. For Paul, everything was urgent and significant. Most points that he made eventually came back to the cross. 

 Paul was most likely writing to the Philippians during one of his imprisonments in Rome. He knew the community he was writing to and was obviously fond of them. He had been to visit them before and was hoping to return. It doesn’t appear that they had any major issues like other communities Paul wrote to.  He commends them for their obedience.  But they weren’t perfect. There was clearly some dissension in the group.  There is evidence of that in our reading for today.  Paul is even more explicit in the 4^th and final chapter of this letter when he mentioned two women and encouraged them to “come to an agreement in the Lord.”  Paul was incredibly concerned about the unity of the Christian community.  We see that theme over and over in his letters.  He didn’t need everyone to agree all the time, but he wanted people to care for one another and live alongside one another, even when they were disagreeing.

In our reading for today, it’s not clear what the dissension is. He says, “be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.  Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves.”  He goes on to talk about the importance of considering the interests of the other above your own interests.  This has come up a lot lately in our readings from Paul.  For him, it was always about the other, never about the self.  That was something he was continually preaching.

That’s a tough pill to swallow because it is contrary to everything we experience in this day and age.  I mean, most of us walk around glued to a device called an “iphone.”  However, we know from reading Paul’s letters that even before Apple products, people were preoccupied with themselves.  Otherwise, Paul would not have had to talk about putting the needs of the other above your own as much as he did. 

What makes this text distinct from the ones we have been reading over the past few months is verses 6-11.  They are familiar verses because we hear them every Palm Sunday.  “Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited but emptied himself…he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death---even death on the cross.”  This is often referred to as a Christological hymn, which means it was essentially a statement of belief about who Jesus was.  It’s an interesting thing to put in the middle of a letter—it almost seems out of place.

But that is the beauty of Paul.  Paul felt that every problem, every disagreement could be solved by knowing Jesus and knowing the sacrifice that Jesus made for God’s people.  You don’t agree on what traditions to follow in this new community, remember that Jesus died for you.  You are having some leadership disputes, remember that Jesus was a born a human and died a horrible death, for you.  It almost seems a little manipulative, as if nothing we face compares to Jesus’ sacrifice.

It was more than that for Paul.  For Paul, every issue was theological. In other words, it always came back to Jesus Christ—but not just the name of Jesus, but who he was and what he did.  How can we squabble about who gets to make decisions or be in charge when Jesus (God in the flesh) agreed to come down to the earth, be born in a barn, live like one of us, then be betrayed, denied and ultimately killed by humans who he was trying to save.  He truly emptied himself of privilege and to some degree power by living with us on earth.  So when Paul says, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus…” he is talking about embodying Christ by emptying ourselves from selfish ambition.  It’s the opposite for being full of oneself. 

            Apparently there has been significant debate about what Paul really meant when he said, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”  Was he saying that we have to follow his example, perhaps even make the same kind of sacrifice?  I think it is more than that---because it is so easy ignore that.  Who wants to follow Jesus’ example of death on the cross? It’s impossible.  If that is what we have to do, it’s tempting just to give up.

 What if Paul was talking about something deeper…the idea of being in Christ.   It comes back to the mission statement of St. John’s: “To live in the Spirit of Christ.” That is more than following an example.  It is living the Christian life knowing deep down what Jesus did for us.  It is being transformed by that understanding of radical love and acceptance. 

Jesus is not a role model to follow.  Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.  Often times when I am facing a difficult decision, I start combing through the Bible, hoping I can find the verse to convince myself and ultimately everyone else.  But you know what, that almost never works.  What might be more effective is too back up and look at the big picture like Paul does.  Don’t ask what would Jesus do.  Ask: What does a person transformed by Jesus’ sacrificial love do?

Throughout our Sunday morning liturgies and virtually every other liturgy of the church, we have reminders of who God is and what has done for us.  If you just look at the Eucharistic Prayer, it is full of prayers to remind us of who Jesus is and what he did for us. What if we extended that idea beyond Sunday morning and found a way to remind ourselves of the way and the truth and the life, every day. The last verse of our reading reminds us that God is at work in us, enabling us to do God’s will.  God is at work in us---- but we also need to make space, empty ourselves so God can do that work.  We need to remind ourselves of the sacrificial love that God poured out for us, his children. 

In a time of our lives where everything is different—nothing goes according to plan—hold fast to Jesus Christ.  Perhaps find a Christological hymn for yourself, something you keep coming back to.  It could be the one we had in our reading for today.  It could be “Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again” from our Eucharistic prayer.   Write it down, put it on your iphone as a daily reminder. Embrace it as the part of our world that doesn’t change, that remains true and holy.  Embrace God as not simply part of the world, but a part of who you are, the best part.  Don’t let anyone or anything take that part away from you.  God is bigger than any disagreement or conflict the world will ever see, as long as we give him the space.

Good Friday: April 10, 2020

Year A, Good Friday                                     

Psalm 22                                                                               

            I have often lamented the fact that in the Episcopal Church (and a lot of churches) we tend to overlook Good Friday. We cram everything into Palm Sunday because people are too busy to come to Holy Week Services.  I have come to believe that to fully appreciate Easter, you have to first experience the betrayal, denial and abandonment of Maundy Thursday and the utter desolation of Good Friday.  The church adorned with lilies and azaleas is that much more stunning after you have experienced it completely stripped of adornment on Maundy Thursday and then bare on Good Friday.  But….this year is different.  This year, I feel as though we have spent far too long in Lent-- and Easter can’t come fast enough.  We have been waiting and waiting, anticipating the worst and hoping that it won’t be as bad as they say it will be. 

That feeling of dread and anxiety has given me a better appreciation of what Jesus must have felt.  Since he was all knowing, he knew exactly what was going to happen. He knew that he would die a horrible death and not only did he have to bear that horrible weight, but he had to continually explain to his disciples what was going to happen.  It’s like those experts today who are constantly warning us of the impending deaths in our nation and warning us about what not to do.  Can you imagine having to explain that horrible truth over and over again? Jesus had been anticipating this moment his whole life.  I am sure he handled that better than we are handling our current fears, but maybe, just maybe we now have an inkling of what that might have felt like, what Lent is really about. 

Much is made of Jesus’ final words in the Gospel of Matthew and Mark.  They echo the first line in our Psalm for today, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me.”  Some people conclude that despite the fact that Jesus was God incarnate and all knowing, he felt forsaken for that moment.  We can never really know.  I think he was in agony and expressing something that many around him were experiencing. I don’t think he ever lost his faith.

In the Gospel of John, the Gospel that is typically read on Good Friday, Jesus never asks, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  His last words were, “It is finished.”  Now, here is something kind of interesting.  The first line of Psalm 22 is: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”  The last line is: “They shall come and make known to a people yet unborn the saving deeds that he has done.”  You see, the psalm doesn’t end with a desperate cry, but with a reminder that God will finish what he started.  God will save.  So when Jesus proclaimed, “It is finished.”—it wasn’t a cry of defeat it was a testament to God’s work.  God finished what God started. 

We are in a dark and scary place in our nation and our world.  Here in Virginia, we are still anticipating a peak that could happen in late April or May.  We’re really not sure.  Either way, I am waking up with chest pains in the middle of the night because of the anxiety around it all.  But here’s the thing, the Psalm doesn’t end in defeat and neither does Jesus’ life.  The last word for God is always salvation.  Yes, the anticipation is a bit of hell on earth, but it will end and in the end, God will save.  God will finish what he started.

By Bob Harper

*I found a great deal of information and inspiration in many commentaries, but particularly: Connections: A Lectionary Commentary for Preaching and Worship: Year A, Volume 2, Lent through Pentecost

Where do we look: March 8 2020

Lent 2, Year A                                                                        

Psalm 121                                                                             

Like many of you, I have a newsfeed option that pops up on my phone.  Lately, especially because of the primaries, I have gotten in that very bad habit of checking it as soon as I wake up. I tell myself I am only checking the weather, but then I find myself scrolling through the trending news stories before I even get out of bed.  The problem with this habit, is the news is rarely good news.  It’s usually dismal and slightly terrifying.  It’s just not a good way to start the day.  It’s been even worse lately because the majority of the stories are about the coronavirus.  I mean, how many articles can you have about how important it is to wash your hands? So many…. I’ve read about how to prepare.  I have read about recent outbreaks. I have read about what regular doctors are saying, what our national leaders are saying, even what foods to have on hand when stockpiling for a quarantine.  And this isn’t me searching for articles.  These are just popping up, because they are trending…which means that everyone else is reading them and therefore I too must read them.  It is maddening. 

            While this virus is scary, a lot of news has been scary recently.  I am not sure if life is more scary now than it was 20 years ago, or it’s simply that the 24 hour news cycle and multiple ways that we have access to news, is making us more aware of all the terrifying things happening in the world.  But here’s the thing about so much of the crazy stuff going on right now-- there is not much we can do about most of it.  I am not saying that we should just sit back and let the world descend into chaos.  There are all kinds of places where we can take action—where we can make our world better.  But for some things, well a lot of things, there isn’t much we can do, except pray.  At some point, when you are feeling anxious or worried, make a list of all that you are worried about.  Then put a mark next to the things you have absolutely no control over. My guess is that the majority of the things you are worrying about are things you can’t control.

            That can be both comforting and frightening.  For instance, let’s consider traveling.  If you are flying somewhere and you want to make sure you arrive safely, there are a few things you can do.  You can arrive at the airport in plenty of time.  You can make sure you have everything you need for the flight. You can fasten your seat belt and read the safety brochure.  But you can do nothing about the pilot, or the plane, or the weather.  Once you get yourself buckled in, all you can really do is pray.  And that’s where the psalms come in. The psalms are wonderful tools for prayer.

Psalm 121 is referred to as a Psalm of Ascent.  Biblical scholars believe it was written for people traveling or even going on pilgrimage.  In the time when this psalm was written, people were not worried about planes falling out of the sky.  But traveling was still a very dangerous thing.  There were animals that could attack.  You could get lost.  You could be robbed or killed. You could get stuck in a horrible storm. You could run out of food or water.  Of course, there were things you could do to prepare, but there was so much that was unknown.  Because of the fear of the unknown and their faith in an all knowing God, the Hebrew people prayed before and during a journey.  When the journey was over and they had returned safely, they gave thanks.

            The psalm begins with “I lift up my eyes to the hills; from where is my help to come?” When I have read or heard this psalm, I have imagined someone looking heavenward.  Isn’t that where we imagine God?  We imagine God in heaven, looking down on us.  That might be what this psalm meant.  But it’s also possible that it was warning people about looking for help in the wrong places.  Much like today, the world then was full of false gods, false assurances of safety and control.  There was the God of the Hebrew people, the God who we pray to.  Then there were the other gods.  The Sun god, the fertility god, the god for good crops.  These were the gods that people turned to in weaker moments, moments when it was tempting to forget the one true God.  These gods lived in the high places. Altars were placed on these high places so people could worship them.

Thus when the psalm says, “I lift my eyes up to the hills…” it was imagining people in their time of need looking up to these false gods.  Now we might wonder, why look to a false god when they had the one true God? Because the false gods were easier.  They were easier to conceptualize, easier to encapsulate. They had human attributes and human expectations because they were created by and for humans.   The one true God is a lot more mysterious, more difficult to understand.

            While we are wise enough now to know that there are no moon gods, sun gods, or fertility gods resting on our hills, we still find false gods to cling to. We find them in our politicians, the Hollywood stars, the newsfeed on our phone, and even---ourselves.  When we are in trouble--when we need help and direction, it’s astounding how many places we can turn to before we turn to God.  So often, God is the last place we turn to, when all else has failed. “From where is my help to come? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.”  It doesn’t say that our help comes from earth, or even heaven. Our help comes from the one who made heaven and earth.  Our help comes from the creator of all the places we turn to first.

            Psalm 121 is a pilgrim’s prayer.  It is a prayer for people who are on a journey. We are in the season of Lent, a season that leads to another hill, not one of the high places where altars to false gods are placed, but Golgotha, the hill where Jesus was crucified.  That is where our journey leads.  Because it is the season that leads us to the cross, perhaps we can bypass the false gods of worry and fear and instead place our fears and concerns at the foot of the cross.  I am not saying all problems will go away and you will be free from all stress, but your heart might feel a little lighter.

It’s all about perspective.  When you stand at the cross and you look up to see our God suffering for us, then sometimes our concerns and fears seem more manageable, not because they are any less of a concern, but because if we look close enough, we will see that they are already hanging there on the cross.  Jesus died carrying our burdens so that we could be free to worship him, free to serve him, free to look to him when we are in need. Remember the journey never ends at the cross.  It always ends with the resurrection.

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. 

 

September 4, 2016: Hard Truths

Year C, Pentecost 17                                                                       
Luke 14:25-33                                                                                    

             If you have read the September newsletter, you will know that we are starting a campaign here at St. John’s called the “Come and See” campaign.  It is based on a very simple concept, invitation.  The idea is that if you love your church and you love Jesus, you will want people to come and see what we are all about here.  It is our call as Christians to share the love of Jesus Christ.  That is what Jesus told us to do. After his resurrection and before he ascended to heaven, Jesus told his disciples to, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations…”  They did and as a result this small group of people touched the entire world.  Christianity spread across the continents in a very short period of time.   Clearly, Jesus wanted and still wants the church to grow.

            However, if you read our Gospel reading for today, that does not seem to be the case.  It seems as though Jesus was trying to make his group of followers smaller, not bigger. The first line of our reading said that large crowds were travelling with Jesus. That sounds like great news.  People liked him.  People were following him.  His message was spreading.  This is what was meant to happen.  This is how we make disciples of all nations.  Jesus must have been thrilled by this.

 He did not seem thrilled.  Remember where we are in Jesus’ life. He was on his way to Jerusalem, on his way to his crucifixion.  He knew what was happening.  He had been trying to explain it to his disciples, but even the disciples, the people who were closest to him, did not appreciate what was about to happen—the horror they would soon experience.  Jesus knew that this large crowd was probably not in it for the long haul. 

He took an interesting tactic.  Instead of trying to encourage them or soothe their fears, he went for the unvarnished truth. "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”  Who here would want to sign on to that? Now you might think, well I am sure that there is something I am missing here and once Samantha puts it in context, well then I will be ready to sign on.

It’s true, Jesus was known for occasional hyperboles.  He liked to get people’s attention and speak on a grand scale.  He was a master story teller. I don’t think that was what was happening here. The word that seems to concern most people is the word “hate.”  God is love.  It says that somewhere in the Bible.  The Bible talks a lot about love and Jesus even said that we are to love God and love our neighbor as we love ourselves.  How can we love our neighbor as we love ourselves if we hate our family and our own lives? 

The word hate has a slightly different meaning than we expect.  It’s not an emotion.  When Jesus used the word hate, it probably meant something along the lines of detaching or turning away from. Jesus was not telling people they had to actually hate their family.  They simply had to detach from them.  They had to be willing to choose Jesus over their families. 

While that is better than hate, it’s still a pretty serious request, especially during this time.  Today, it is not uncommon to move away from your family for a job, a spouse, or just to start fresh.  In Jesus’ day, family was everything.  If you had no family, you had no support system.  If you left your family, you would most likely be ostracized by the community.  Not only was there a social and emotional impact, there was a financial impact. In these days, your economic well-being was dependent on your family.  Your family was you identity.

Why was he telling the crowds to detach from their very identity?  He must have known this was going to turn people away.  I imagine the disciples looking at one another and muttering, “There he goes again. This man is a public relations nightmare. We are never going to get more followers this way.” It’s true, most people shook their heads and walked away because this guy was just a little too intense.  We know they did. The crowds turned against him and demanded his crucifixion when that time came.  Even his own disciples were not able to follow him to the end.  Jesus was essentially saying, “Being my disciple, following me, is not an easy road. If you are not ready to choose me and make me the most important thing in your life, then walk away now.” That’s what they did. 

            I imagine that most mega churches are not preaching this text-- because they know it’s not popular. It will not appeal to the masses.  I have to admit that I was slightly relieved that this text was coming Labor Day weekend as opposed to next Sunday, Kick off Sunday, which is the day we have encouraged you to invite your friends.  These words of Jesus are not exactly a rallying cry.  These are Jesus’ words.  We cannot water down this text just because it is inconvenient to our hope for church growth and evangelism.  However, I feel like saying to Jesus, cut us some slack.  The church as a whole is declining.  Fewer and fewer people are coming to church at all and you want me to tell the people who do show up that they need to turn away from the people and things they love and focus on you? That’s not going to work.

            Here is the amazing thing, it did.  It had to or we would not be sitting here today listening to these words.  If these words turned everyone away, they would never have made it into the Bible.  We would not have a Bible.  It makes you wonder, what the secret sauce was.  How did Jesus create such a loyal following?  This answer is both simple and painfully difficult. He defeated death.  He was resurrected and after that happened he came to his disciples who had denied and abandoned him.  He returned to them and he gave them another chance.  Jesus was not the only one who was resurrected. 

When Jesus came back from the dead, he gave us all a second chance. He did not preach to the masses after his resurrection.  That would have been the easy thing to do.  It would have left no doubt.  No, he went to his disciples and he said, it’s your turn now.   He spent some time with them and then told them to make disciples of all nations.

            While that happened about 2000 years ago, in some ways we are in a very similar position here and now.  The church, especially in the United States gets smaller every year.  The fate of the Christian community rests with each us. We have the opportunity to live into the resurrection, this land of second chances.  You might think this is too hard.  It is hard, but it’s not impossible.  Consider the things that really matter to you. Perhaps you always attend your kids’ games, meets, recitals, or plays.  You never miss it because you care deeply about your child.  Or you rarely miss a sail boat race because that is what gives you joy.  That is what fuels you.  Or you take a walk or exercise almost every morning, or you never miss a Virginia Tech football game.  Most people have something in there life that is like that for them.  It’s part of their identity. 

Now imagine God being that important thing in your life.  This does not mean you do not have those other things.  It’s just that God comes first.  Here’s the thing.  If you are able to make God your number one priority in life, those other things in your life that you truly love, most of that will still happen.  Furthermore, those things will mean more than they did before.  If you choose God, you will not hate your family or your friends, your relationships will very well improve.  When God comes first, there less is space for anger, jealousy, and bitter emotions.  God fill that space with love. God is love.  By making God our number one priority, we share that love.  What could be more important than that?

Christ the King & Flower Power: Nov. 22nd

John 18:33-37                                                                                                                

                Like many of you, I have been following the response of the French community to the recent attack in Paris.  As one might imagine, much of response has been grief and fear.  Yet there are also people speaking from a place of hope and faith.  Not all of them are calling it faith, but it sounds a lot like faith to me.  There is one interview that went viral.  It was viewed more than 15 million times on facebook alone.  In it a reporter is speaking to a man and his son who cannot be more than 4 years old.  The son is saying that he is afraid they will have to move because there are bad guys with guns.  The father, whose name his Angel, tells his son that it is ok, because they have flowers. The son wisely responds that flowers cannot do anything. The father says that they can and points to all the flowers and candles that people have placed in the midst of the rubble and ash of their city.  The child then asks, “So the flowers and the candles protect us?”  The father tells him they do.  Then the child smiles, not a big smile, but one that makes you think that maybe he understands something—something that even we as adults cannot.

                Today is Christ the King Sunday and it is a Sunday that many people approach with ambivalence.  On the one hand, we know that Jesus was referred to as a king in the scriptures.  But we are also a nation that was founded when we rebelled against the very notion of having a king.  We are a democracy because we didn’t trust monarchies.   God wasn’t a big fan of earthly kings either. In the Old Testament, God encouraged the people not to have a king.  He warned them that kings would not serve them.  A king would only take advantage of the people. They needed to rely on God, not some earthly power.  So it seems odd, that we have come to use this king language for Jesus.  He didn’t really act like a king.

                Pope Pius XI established Christ the King Sunday in 1925.  It was right after World War I and he felt that with the rise of nationalism and dictatorships, people needed to be reminded that regardless of the apparent power of our earthly leaders, there was only one king that mattered, the king of kings...Christ the King.   While I admire the effort, I am not sure it was the most effective strategy.  When we try to compare Jesus to our earthly understanding of kings, he will never really compare. Even in the time that Jesus lived, many of his followers wanted him to be a king, the kind of king that would help them overthrow the Roman government, the kind of king who would display his glory and power in battle.   He was never that king.

                Had that been his desire, Jesus could have been that king.  He could have done anything that he wanted.  He had the power to defeat the Romans, but he chose not to wield his power in that way.  Obviously, that had been done before.  The Israel people had some wonderful kings, like King David, who made them victors in war. But that kind of power was ephemeral. It did not last.  Jesus was the kind of king who would live amongst those who were suffering, who would insist that we love our enemies, even when they hate us and mean us harm.  He was the kind of king who would demand that his followers put down their swords when he was taken away by armed guards.  He was the kind of king who refused to wield his power over those who were weaker, even when those people were people like Pilate, who thought they had the power to kill him. 

                That is why we have this Gospel reading for Christ the King Sunday.  This is one of the scenes in the trial of Jesus.  He was being accused of blasphemy because he claimed to be God.  This was not a punishable offence according to the Romans, but claiming to be king was.  Claiming to be a king was an offense and threat to the Roman Emperor. Part of what Pilate was trying to determine was whether this man was really a threat.  It would appear that Pilate did not think he was much of a threat.  And how could he be? He had no army.  His own followers had betrayed him.  Even his people had turned against him.  There was no way that he was a threat to the Roman Emperor.  Despite all of this, Pilate decided that he needed to be crucified. 

What is interesting to me is that Pilate insisted on putting a sign on Jesus’ cross that proclaimed him as king of the Jews.  In many ways, it was one of the most profound acknowledgments of the power of Jesus.  A Roman leader officially acknowledged him as a king.   Jesus was a different kind of king.  He was a king who suffered for the sins of the world and that was never more evident than when he died on the cross under a sign that proclaimed him “King of the Jews.” 

                Many people felt that this was a defeat for Jesus and his followers. A real king, a powerful God would never allow himself to be crucified.  However, because we know the end of the story, we know that Jesus did in fact display ultimate power when he died on the cross.  He displayed power over death.  Once you have conquered death, no one can claim power over you. 

                I don’t know why this video of a father and his son has been viewed over 15 million times.  At first, it just seems like a display of innocence and hope in the midst of evil and suffering.  I think it is more than that.  Obviously, we know that any gun can destroy all the flowers and candles of this world.  What a gun cannot destroy is what the flowers and the candles represent.  It’s the hope that comes with people wanting to remember and honor those who have died.  It’s people who respond to hatred with love.  It is faith that evil cannot have the last word; that candles will always burn when we mourn those who we have lost; that flowers will bloom even in the most dismal of places.  It’s a king who conquers not with violent displays of power, but with sacrificial love and vulnerability.  When we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, we are not celebrating a king who sat on a throne with a crown of gold, but a king who was nailed to a cross with a crown of thorns.  This is the king we honor.   

During Holy Week, we have a bare cross that stands in our cemetery.  It has a sign that reads, “King of the Jews.”  On Easter Sunday we have another cross that we cover with flowers. A symbol of fear, hatred, and pain becomes a beautiful vision of joy and triumph.  We don’t just do that because it’s pretty.  We could just take the cross down and stick with the flowers if all we wanted was something pretty.  Instead we cover that hate with love.   We transform death into life because that was what Jesus did.   We stand here as a church…so that candles will always burn for the loved ones we have lost, flowers will always bloom even on the darkest and coldest of days, and the cross will always stand as a reminder that we have a king who refused to sit on a throne and instead lives among us.