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.

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.

 

---

[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)

No Shame: March 19, 2017

Year A, Lent 3                                                                                   
John 4:5-42                                                                            

            Usually when someone says, “I know what you did” or “I know all about you” it’s not a good thing.  It’s a threat or an attempt to induce guilt or shame.  Thus it has always confused me that this woman at the well went and told the whole town, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done. He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” Why would that be the thing that proved he was the Messiah? Furthermore, why was she so excited about it?

            This Gospel reading is a long one and that is because it was a long conversation.  In fact, it is one of the longest conversations Jesus had that is recorded in the Bible and it was with a Samaritan woman who was alone.  That is three strikes against her already.  Let’s begin with the fact that she was a Samaritan.  To say that the Samaritans and the Jews did not get along well would be like saying the people of Israel and the Palestinians don’t get along.  It’s a huge understatement.  This hostility between the Jews and the Samaritans was centuries old. Some of it had to do with what happened in the past and some was related to how and where they worshipped, which was a big deal at that point. 

            The second and third strikes were that she was a woman and she was alone.  Women typically did not travel far without a male to accompany them.  If they were not with a man who was related to them, they were with other women. Most women went to the well in the morning and the evening when the sun was not so high.  This woman was there in the middle of the day, the hottest part of the day.  Many have assumed that she was avoiding people.  Thus there were many reasons Jesus should have avoided this woman.  Jewish men (especially rabbis) were forbidden to speak to a woman alone who was not related to them.  If seen by others, this would have been a scandal.  She knew all of this which is why she asked, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?”  She already knew that this man was different.

            Things got even stranger as Jesus began to engage her in a theological conversation.  He wasn’t just telling her what to do.  He was not merely making a demand. He was forming a relationship with her.  She must have felt relatively safe because she responded and even argued a little, which was a risky move on her part. Then this theological debate took an unexpected turn.  Jesus asked her to call her husband.  When she told him she had no husband, he conceded that she was telling the truth.  He added that she had five husbands and the man she was living with right now was not even her husband. 

For millennia people have interpreted this statement by Jesus as an accusation of sin.  He was confronting her for her sinful behavior. Clearly this woman was a harlot.  She had five husbands and now she was living with someone she was not married to.  No wonder she was there alone in the middle of the day.  She was avoiding people because she was an outcast.  She knew they were talking about her.  She didn’t need to see their critical gaze.  That is one theory anyhow.  In my opinion, it’s wrong. 

In the time of Jesus, women did not have many rights.  A woman could not ask for divorce.  If this woman at the well was divorced five times, it was because five different men divorced her.  Men did not need a reason to divorce.  There was no extensive paperwork.  All they needed to do was to put it in writing.  There was nothing the woman could do to salvage her marriage. Since there were not many occupations available to woman, the only options for a divorced woman was to remarry, move in with a male relative, beg on the street, prostitute herself or starve.  

While a man could divorce his wife for any reason, there was one situation when divorce was recommended.   Because procreation was a so important in the Jewish faith, if a woman could not bear a child in the first ten years of marriage, it was recommended that the man take an additional wife or divorce and then remarry.[1]  It is very possible that the reason she had been abandoned by so many men was due to barrenness. 

Even if the divorces were a result of her being barren and not an adulteress, people would have thought that there was still something fundamentally wrong with her.  She had been abandoned by the men in her life.  She had been abandoned by God.  The respected women and men of the town were almost surely talking about her and judging her.  More than almost anyone, she needed this living water that Jesus was talking about.  She needed this living water because she was barely alive.

Because of her thirst for hope, love and a relationship with God, she was open to Jesus’s words.  She was ready to hear them.  Instead of hearing what most people hear in this conversation (accusation and shame) she heard a man who knew her and wanted to know her more.  He wanted to share the most important thing in the world, his love and acceptance.  He revealed that he knew her story--some of which was shameful to her because she had likely come to believe what others believed about her.  More important than the fact that he revealed what he knew of her, he also revealed a love and compassion for her.  He didn’t care what others said about her. He knew the truth. He knew her heart, before it was corrupted by pain, shame and fear. 

In addition, he also revealed himself, as the Christ—the Messiah. Jesus did not reveal himself to the most important men of the town.  He did not go to the place of worship and announce that he was the Messiah.  No, he went to her, a Samaritan, a woman, a person alone and abandoned.

Thus when she ran and told the whole town of people who had likely ostracized her to: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done.” ---she was saying that she had met someone who truly knew her and saw past the assumptions and stereotypes.  Because this man, this Messiah had reminded her what it was to feel love and hope, she did not care that she was running into the middle of this town of people who had cast her off.  She didn’t care that they considered her a shameful person.  She had known what it was to live a life of shame.  But now she knew the Messiah and he knew her.  And once she knew that, there was no way she could hold it in.  She had to tell the world.

            People have occasionally told me that they don’t feel comfortable in church because they feel judged.  Others tell me that they worry that if people know the truth, they would not respect them and that is something they don’t want to be reminded of. I think the reason so many people fear being part of a community of faith is combination of those things.  I think people---we---have begun to judge ourselves based on what others have assumed. We have started to believe everything this culture is telling us, that we are not enough.  We have forgotten that the truth lies not in the hearts of others, or even our own, but the heart of God.  More than anything, God wants a relationship with us. God wants to know us and be known by us.  There is no room for shame when it comes to our relationship with God.  No shame.

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[1] Biblical and Jewish law regarding divorce: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3140621?seq=7 and http://www.biu.ac.il/JH/Parasha/eng/toledot/shi.html