Light

 John14:23-29

Revelation 21:10; 21:22-22:5

There is a question that is often in my mind – a question that I spend much time mulling over and wondering about: What is the place of the church in this nation?

We have a long history of understanding our nation to be one that separates religion from government, for the purpose of ensuring freedom of religion for all people. It has, generally speaking, served us quite well. And we have a unique point of view on this matter, because of our history.

Wicomico Presbyterian was first established in 1672, and that was well before we were a nation, well before we had a constitution that established freedom of religion. In 1672, when this was a colony ruled by the king of England, we were granted permission to gather at the Wicomico River for Presbyterian worship. And so we did, and Wicomico Presbyterian Church has been a congregation ever since, worshiping week in and week out for more than 350 years.

But it has always struck me that, way back then, we had to be given permission from the government, and this might not have happened. By the grace of God, it did.

The people who came to this land fought for their right to worship freely, and that right was granted. But at some point along the way, the church grew complacent about it all. Not this church in particular, but the American church grew complacent – just as it did in other nations too, I think. We were content with the way things were.

After all, we had a proud tradition – America was established on the foundation of religious freedom. We were a city set on a hill, the light to the world! We, the church in America, were given a high calling. Although I’m no longer sure what they thought this calling was.

Now we are not as content as we used to be. It is harder for us to be content when we see that things are not quite the way they were. Many fewer people are coming to church. Many more church buildings are closing down.

There are surely a lot of reasons this is happening. But in a society in which all people are free to worship, or not, as they desire, we can only assume that we are failing, somehow, to rise to our calling. That we are failing to be that light to the world.

And I wonder if, perhaps this vision of John – the revelation – can help us to better see what our calling is.

In Revelation 21, we see the beginning of the new heaven and new earth, a vision in which everything is renewed, and God dwells with humankind in this place. In this place, the sea is no more, removing any hindrance to peoples living together and knowing one another. In this place, there is no crying or pain or death. There is life; there is peace. And it is here in this place.

There is no more “us” versus “them.” There is no fear of the other.

In this place, there is no temple, nor, we can assume, is there a church building. There is no need, for worship is everywhere.

There is no longer sun or moon, because the glory of God is the light, the Lamb is the lamp that shines everywhere at all times.

It is a glorious vision, and not to be treated like a fantasy or fairy tale. This is a vision for the church, to teach us and guide us in finding our place.

As I said, these have been hard times for the church in our nation, not entirely different from the churches of John’s day. And for us, just as for the first century churches, we are not without fault ourselves.

I have been hearing for some years now, that the middle seems to be falling out for the churches in America. Mega-churches are doing alright because they have the critical mass, and then some. And some small churches are doing okay – even though they are getting smaller, because it doesn’t take a lot of resources to maintain a very small church – what they are now calling micro-churches. But the mid-size church, which includes everything in between mega and micro, is having a tough time carrying on. It’s becoming harder to know if we have a place anymore.

But maybe it’s not so hard. Maybe our place is everywhere.

As I look at John’s vision of a new heaven and earth, the holy city where God dwells with us, I imagine the church as being a totally integral part of the city, serving the city – glorifying God throughout the city. In many ways we see it already.

On any ordinary Tuesday we serve lunch to a hundred or more people from our kitchen. Just as many people, or more, walk into HOPE’s offices to have their other needs addressed: an ID card so they can get the benefits they are entitled to; clothing; referral to shelter.

I told you last Sunday about a woman who has been sleeping outside. She is a little old and frail to be sleeping outdoors and there was nothing she wanted more than to have a room to call her own. She showed up at the HOPE Resource Fair and found transitional housing. Last Wednesday she stopped by the church to show me her new glasses and to tell me about her new place – inside. with a bed. Life is good again, by the grace of God.

The power of God can make all things new. The church is a part of that. Here is a place you can come to fill your needs, and to find community.

People find community over at our Langeler building, where there are many organizations working to serve the needs in our city seven days a week. They find food, health care, spiritual care, education, a safe space. Here is the power of God at work to make all things new.

Church, I am telling you today that this is our purpose: to participate in the work of God, the new heaven and new earth, the city of God. When I ask what is the place of the church in this nation, I hear God telling me that this is it: in the city. In the community. This is what the church is for.

Centuries ago, when our ancestors established the church in this land and envisioned a city on a hill, a light to all the world, they weren’t wrong. But if they envisioned a process of using hard power to force compliance with their rules; if they envisioned shutting out people who were not just like them; if they envisioned building a safe space for “us” and building a wall against “them” – then they were wrong. In the city of God the gates are always open and the Lamb in our lamp.

We, the body of Christ, are called to be the light to the world. The Spirit, sent by God to be with us, empowers us to weave ourselves into this community with love and care. This is who we are. This is our place. By the grace of God, for the glory of God.

photo: Adobe Stock Images 

The Home of God

 

John 13:31-35

Revelation 21:1-6

One of my great privileges as a pastor is to walk with those who are making the final leg of their journey on this earth. A sacred journey. And, while there are plenty of things to dislike about a long, drawn-out death, there are sometimes gifts in that process.

I will never forget being in a hospice room with a man who was dying, while he was experiencing a vision. He was able to describe it to us; in the moment it was happening. He said, “There is a white picket fence. And there are people on the other side of the fence. There is a church there, too. And the people are talking to me.”

He was experiencing a glorious vision, and he very much wanted us to see it too. His description of it was extraordinary, although I have no doubt that it could not have been but a pale reflection of what he saw in that moment.

A few days later I was with him again. He was very quiet, lost in thought. Suddenly he said to me, “You know, you can talk to them.” I wasn’t sure I understood, so he said, “The people on the other side of the fence, you can talk to them.” It was not too long after that he died.

I have thought of that so often over the years, wishing that we could all have an experience like that: a clear vision of the new heaven and new earth; an invitation to come and enter into it.

I know there are others who have an experience – a glimpse of the new creation in the time of their transition – and it seems to come in different forms.

I once sat with three sisters as they recalled their last hours with their mother before her death. While she was lying in her bed, she was transported to another place: outside, reclining in a lounge chair beside a pool. She spoke to her daughters about the pool, telling them she was thinking about taking the plunge. She wasn’t quite ready, though. She wasn’t afraid; it was a vision that enticed her. She just needed a bit more time.

Having spent many hours myself at the pool, sitting comfortably in a lounge chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun, until it is the right moment to take the plunge into the water. I imagine that this woman knew when it was time. But in that moment, she said to her daughters, “let’s just sit here and relax for a little while longer.” And they did – for a little while more, before she departed.

In this vision of John’s, we hear a loud voice that says, “See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and be their God.”

In this, we hear echoes of the very first things – the story of the garden in Genesis, Chapter 2. God created a perfect world and made humans to live in it. And there in that perfect world, God dwelt with them.

For a while. Things happened. Humans broke stuff that we couldn’t fix, and the world became a pale shadow of what it once was. Of what it could be. Of what, John says, it will become.

A new heaven and a new earth, here where we are. And the holy city coming down out of heaven. The first things have passed away; all things are made new.

And in that transition, the sea is gone. No more watery chaos that separates people from one another, that causes storms and floods and all kinds of destruction. The waters that separate us from one another and from God are no more.

Many things are gone in this vision. There are no longer tears; there is no death, no crying, no pain. All this must go; the old order has passed away. The one who sits on the throne says, “I am making all things new.”

There is no dire threat in this. It is none of the Left Behind nonsense that fills us with terror and dread. This is a vision of God’s final act for us at the end of this age. God heals all things, renews this creation, and comes down to dwell with us on earth. And this will be an upgrade for us all – because, you know, this is God’s home.

This vision John shared with the church gives us assurance that God has not, and never will, abandon us. God has not, and never will, abandon all that God created. It gives us a glimpse of the glorious future to come, and invites this future to shape the lives we live now.

The home of God among mortals. And he will wipe away every tear from their eyes, death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more. We see a fully restored world, healed of all that has caused pain and suffering, death and destruction. And it is right here.

It is not necessary to get too far into the weeds about how it will look. It is less than helpful to try to nail down the details and transcribe a vision into a user’s manual. Such efforts could never do it justice. The realm of God is only a vision to us now, but the vision gives us what we need to begin, in this life, to live into it.

Sometimes, when it comes to death, we have questions. I spent a good deal of time with a woman in the months before her death – a woman who had lots of questions: How will I find my loved ones? How will I recognize them? Will they recognize me? Do they know I’m coming?

Many of us have questions about death. But the vision of John, along with the visions I have described to you today, leave me with some important questions about life.

Such as: What is our calling in this life now, if God’s ultimate desire is for this world to be restored to goodness, a realm with no pain, no tears? There is potentially great harm in the notion of leaving this world behind. In the Left Behind universe of thought, those who are saved are snatched away, and they watch the wretched ones left behind as they suffer; they watch from their comfortable seats in the balcony, as this world is destroyed.

But this is the world in which God desires to dwell with us. It is not a disposable that you throw in the trash when you are done with it. People and animals who live on this earth are not disposable, to be used for our satisfaction until we are done with them. Everything God has created is beloved by God. Everything God has created is all a part of where God expects to dwell – with us. Who are we humans to treat it all with disdain?

It is essential that we rethink our ideas about salvation if those ideas separate us from the world in which we live. Salvation is not being swept away and watching the poor losers and suckers left behind as they suffer. Salvation is more about being co-creators with God in making a permanent and life-giving home for us all right here. Jesus is our teacher in this work.

Two thousand years ago, God came to us in the form of an infant, and he was called Immanuel, which means “God with us.” He taught us by his words and his actions to heal sickness, to feed the hungry, to love without condition.

And in the revelation, a vision of a new heaven and a new earth, we see the fullness of Immanuel, God with us, with all creation.

The home of God is among mortals. The realm of God, in all its fullness, is as near as the next breath, on the other side of a thin veil. It is our calling to live in this world as though this new age is already here. To love one another. As we hear Jesus say in the Gospel of John, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.”

This is our commandment, this is our calling. To love, one person at a time, one critter at a time; one flower, one mountain, one river at a time. And in this, inch by inch we move toward the glorious realm of God. 

Picture: Churchart.com

A New Kind of Power

 

John 10:22-30

Revelation 7:9-17

Last week at the Vatican the Roman Catholic Church selected a new pope to succeed Francis. This one took the name Leo. The name chosen by a new pope says something about how he might want to frame his ministry. The last Leo was Pope Leo XIII, who sat on the papal throne from 1878 to 1903.

Leo XIII is known as the father of Catholic Social Teaching, a doctrine of the church that concerns itself with the common good in society and basic human dignity.

It’s worth taking a minute to look at these teachings. It begins with prioritizing the common good. It affirms that every human being is made in the image of God and therefore has worth and dignity. It teaches that we all have the right and responsibility to work together in society for the common good – caring for others and for all of God’s creation. And it lifts up the poor and the marginalized, affirming that how a society cares for the least of these is a reflection on the society’s moral state.

You could say these teachings are really a reflection of just exactly who Jesus was – and is. And that is a focus in our readings today.

Our scriptures today move us away from the Easter readings – those days after the resurrection when Jesus appeared to his disciples here and there. These passages both take us backward and forward – to an earlier time in his ministry in John, and a future time in the book of Revelation.

I will say at the start the Book of Revelation is a difficult book. It is written by a man named John, but most likely not the disciple John. Scholars believe that Revelation was written near the end of the first century, during a period when the church was suffering persecution from the Empire. The memory of the Jewish-Roman War and the siege of Jerusalem was strong, where the temple was destroyed, and a great many were enslaved or killed.

When John wrote his Revelation, he was in exile on the island of Patmos. He experienced a powerful vision, which he then attempted to describe in this book – a message of hope for a besieged church.

Because it is a vision, a sort of a dream, everything about it is symbolic. Everything in it presents the challenge of interpretation to make any sense of it. This means trying to understand the cultural references as well as the historical meaning of the symbols he was invoking.

One thing jumps out at you when reading Revelation: violence. It can be a distressing experience just reading it. Because there were severe persecutions at the time, we might gather that John is referring to trials and tribulations of the faithful. And so, to a people feeling largely defeated by the powers of the world, John was speaking about a greater power. And it is a different kind of power. And that is what we must be clear about. We must not lose sight of.

It is unfortunate that in our present age there are popular interpretations of it that are way off the mark. About 30 years ago a very popular book series came out called Left Behind. Many people read the books because they were fun and exciting. But even if you didn’t read them you probably know something about the storyline.

It is all about the end times, the apocalypse. It draws from the theory of rapture, which is the notion that those who are saved will be snatched up from earth and taken into heaven. And that everyone else will be left behind. And then, according to the theory, all hell will break loose on earth.

You have probably heard of this idea – the rapture. When I was in high school youth group we watched a film called Thief in the Night, which was a kind of Christian horror film. The point was to scare us into faith.

But the problem with the rapture idea as it is popularly understood is that it is so flimsy. It has no real credibility. The whole thing was fabricated in the 19^th century by a man named John Darby, who based the theory on a couple of verses from the epistles – 1 Thessalonians 4, where Paul uses an image of all the faithful, living and dead being caught up in the air with Jesus, and 1 Corinthians 15, where Paul says that we – the faithful – will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet sound. Paul is, of course, speaking of the resurrection of the dead. Not the so-called rapture.

The problem this theory of rapture, also called dispensationalism, is trying to resolve is a desire to make perfect literal sense of the Bible. I sometimes say that people go through some pretty impressive mental gymnastics to make the Bible fit into a logical, literal, comprehensive framework. It just isn’t meant to be.

For most of the years of my ministry I wouldn’t have bothered talking about this. Even though back in the day I knew plenty of Presbyterians who were devouring the Left Behind books, I just let it go. It hardly seemed worth talking about. And it wouldn’t matter so much to me now if I still felt it was pretty harmless. But it isn’t. Both the ideas and the sentiments of the Left Behind saga have permeated all aspects of the world in which we live. Even worse, they have permeated the Christian faith in America.

It is a mindset that sees the world as “us” and “them.” The strongest concern I have about it is the way it interprets Christian faith through a very worldly lens. In the Left Behind world, divine power looks a lot like the worst kind of worldly power. It looks like rock’em sock’em payback. Vengeance.

And that notion of divine power as brute force, of “might makes right,” is enjoying a surge in popularity now with churches that are anxious to impose their particular beliefs on others – by any means necessary. Some of whom are looking back with nostalgia to the ages of the crusades, as if it were a golden age of glory for the church.

But it does not sit well with the Jesus we know from the gospel. This Jesus who called out Peter for trying to defend him with a sword. This Jesus who called himself the shepherd who protects the sheep, who guides them to springs of the water of life, who will wipe away every tear.

There is more than one kind of power.

There is the power of the sword, the gun, the bomb – the power to cause destruction and death. That is a hard power, a zero-sum power that only sees winners and losers. That is a power that pits us against them and uses the ends to justify the means. It is a power that says to the downtrodden, “It sucks to be you,” – that is, if it even sees you.

But there is another kind of power.

There is power in the blood, as the old hymn says; the power in Christ’s suffering and death, the power to wash clean those who have been through trials and tribulations, the great ordeal as Revelation has it. There is power when the one who has the privilege makes a sacrifice for the one who has nothing. Which is what is emphasized in that wonderful body of work called Catholic Social Teaching.

There is more than one kind of power. There is hard power and there is soft power. The kind of power that provides others with what they need, power that protects others from harm – this is soft power. It doesn’t knock people down, but it lifts people up, and we know that the world is a better place – a safer place when people have what they need fundamentally. Food, shelter, safety. The right to control their own bodies.

You might say it is the more feminine side of power, which feels fitting on Mother’s Day. But, of course it is not solely a female kind of power. Jesus is a model of such soft power.

In a world, much like ours, where power was snatched by any means necessary, Jesus introduced a new kind of power. He is both the Good Shepherd and the Lamb who was slain, who shed blood that has the power to wash us clean. His sheep know his voice. They follow him. And in the glorious scene in John’s revelation, they worship him waving palm branches in their hands – just like on Palm Sunday. Only, this time they know he is not a military leader come to rescue them from the Empire. He is the Lamb who gave his life to rescue them from sin and death.

They sing praises to the one who has and will shelter them and provide for them; the one who will be their Shepherd. He will guide them to springs of the water of life and wipe away every tear.

Amen! Blessings and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever.

We Begin Again

Acts 9:1-6

John 21:1-19

If you have ever experienced a point in life that felt like an ending, then you know something about how the disciples felt in these post-resurrection days. They are trying to figure out how to begin again.

Because they have been following Jesus a few years now, continuously. They walked away from the lives they had before and began something new. It was a jarring, abrupt experience for all of them. Peter, James, and John walked away from their boats, their nets, the catch of fish waiting to be sold; their families, their community. Jesus said to them, “Follow me,” and that was that.

Matthew walked away from his booth, leaving his business behind – accounts receivable, accounts payable, and so on. Jesus said to him, “Follow me,” and that was that.

Philip, Nathanael, Andrew – in every case it was the same: Jesus said, “Follow me,” and so they did.

It is difficult to become acclimated to a change as radical is this, to leave behind something and to begin something else. I have heard that it takes at least three weeks, 21 days, to feel invested in something new. But just to make sure of this, I asked Google. Google said it takes somewhere between 18 days and 254 days, with the average being around 66 days. So there you have it. Because Google said it, I don’t question it.

In any case, let’s just acknowledge that, for these disciples, following Jesus was a well-established habit by now. Their previous lives of fishing, tax collecting, and whatever other vocations they had been in, were now in the distant, hazy past.

Still, it wouldn’t have been that hard to return to the old practices, like fishing. It’s like riding a bike, as they say. For Peter, his hands knew the nets better than anything else. The knowledge deep in his body was easily reawakened, and so at that moment when it felt like everything was ended, Peter got up and said to the others, “I’m going fishing.”

And so they all went fishing.

There was certainly some comfort in it for these men. Those who had been fishermen in their prior lives would have felt soothed by the familiarity of these actions. For the ones who were less familiar with fishing, it would have been a distraction from the disturbing sense of aimlessness of recent days.

What happened next in the story should sound familiar to us. Earlier this year we heard a very similar story from Luke’s gospel about the calling of Peter. Peter and the others had just come ashore after a long and wearying night of fishing. They had caught nothing. While they cleaned their nets, Jesus sat down in Peter’s boat, and continued teaching the crowds flocking to him. Later he asked Peter to go out into deep water and let down his nets. Peter was tired, disheartened, and skeptical. But he did as he was asked, and the catch was enormous – more than the nets could hold. Remember what Jesus said to him: From now on you will be fishing for people.

But “fishing for people” is a strange concept, one these men might have struggled to make sense of. Catching fish is a simple thing. Catching people is not so clear. Perhaps they still did not know what it meant.

Once again on this night, they were unsuccessful. They fished all night and came up empty. And, once again, there was Jesus. He called out to them. “You don’t have a thing, do you?” They admitted as much, not yet very attentive, not yet aware that this was the Lord. Until Jesus said to them, “Try casting on the right side of the boat” and when they did they repeated the biggest catch of their lives.

The men came ashore, where they joined Jesus around the fire he had ready. They cooked some of the fish they had caught. And they ate.

There are so many stories in the gospels of Jesus sharing food with others. He sat at the tables of rich Pharisees and Tax collectors as well as humble fishermen. He sat outside on hillsides and plains sharing abundant picnics of fish and bread with thousands. He shared an intimate dinner at an inn with Cleopas and another disciple, giving thanks and breaking the bread. And he shared this breakfast on the beach with the men who were closer to him than any others, yet in this moment more distant and unsure that ever.

But isn’t it the case that mystical things happen around the sharing of food. Suddenly there is more than enough for everyone. Suddenly, they see God in their midst, suddenly lives are renewed, perspectives are changed, everything is seen through the lens of divine love.

And during that particular meal, Jesus turned his attention to Peter, with whom he had some unfinished business.

It was only a few days earlier that Peter had denied knowing Jesus three times. Someone asked him, “Aren’t you one of his disciples?” but Peter answered, “I am not.” Another said, “Yes, I have seen you with him,” but Peter said, “I do not know him.” A third person said, “Surely he was with him,” and Peter cried out, “I do not know what you are talking about!” and as the cock crowed, Peter wept in shame.

Here, by the fire, Jesus asked, “Peter, do you love me?” Three times Jesus repeated the question. Do you love me? Yes, Lord, I love you. Then feed my sheep.

Feed my sheep. Tend my lambs. Fish for people.

And so we begin again. These disciples are called again to follow Jesus in caring for others, feeding people, strengthening the flock against any and all evil.

New beginnings are not an uncommon thing. For each time we stumble, we need to regain our balance and begin again. Each time we stray off the path, away from the light, we need to regain our bearings, find the way, and begin again. Each time we drift away from an old, good habit and fall into a new bad habit, we need to acknowledge where we are and begin the process of rebuilding. Praying that the process will be closer to 18 days than 254 days.

There is always a chance to begin again. A chance to hear Jesus calling us – cast your net on the right side this time! Try again. Jesus will be there waiting for you. 

Grief & Hope

Luke 24:1-12

It is almost always the same. When I attend a funeral as a mourner or lead a funeral as a pastor, I hear all the things people say about the one who has died. They tell stories about how this person changed their lives. They speak about the qualities of this person with emotion – wonder, pride. There is always some humor mixed in with it all, because how can there not be when you are speaking about love? 

I love listening to the stories, whether it is someone I knew well or very little, at some point I find myself feeling a kind of holy amazement and inspiration. I walk away from there thinking, “What a wonderful life! And then I think, “Goodness gracious – what the heck have I been doing with one precious wonderful life?”

When someone dies, there is always grief. But there is also love. It is the love that keeps us moving forward.

Moving forward is what the women did. After Jesus died, as they stood at a distance and watched. While Joseph of Arimathea made arrangements for the body of Jesus to be taken down from the cross, wrapped in a linen cloth, and carried to a tomb, the women were there too. In their grief, love carried them forward.

As the sun set, the sabbath day began, and the women carried out their duties according to the law of Moses, their grief was with them. They knew that, after the sabbath, they would return to the tomb to care for his body in the tender ways they had not been able to do the day before. They prepared the spices and ointments they would take with them – talking about their plans as they worked. Talking about Jesus, talking about the events of the past few days, but then going back to the little things they recalled. Remembering how he liked this particular dish they made him. Remembering something he had once said to them, or the way he had stood up for them when they needed it. The women, no doubt, talked as they worked.

Then in the morning, in the early dawn, they walked back to the tomb, still talking. As they got closer, their talk would have turned to some logistical matters. Who will roll that big stone away? Do you think we’ll need some help? 

I imagine they were still talking when they approached the tomb – and when they looked up and saw the gaping hole where the stone should have been, they stopped, speechless. This was unexpected.

Their first thought would not have been Christ is risen. Their first reaction would have been fear, and pain. Has someone messed with his body? Was it grave robbers? They gathered their courage and stepped in to see what there was to see. But there was nothing to see.

The worst that could have happened has happened – this is what they would have thought. They were afraid, they were heartbroken. Luke says they were “perplexed,” but that hardly suffices to describe what they were feeling. They were shattered, because their grief has now been compounded, amplified, by the devastating sight of the empty tomb.

Grief is unpredictable. It can sneak up on you sideways. You’re trying to keep busy. Days go by, weeks, months – then you hear a song. You see something, or you feel the pain of another loss, some little thing, inconsequential by itself – and then the tears fill your eyes, your breath catches, and there you are. 

There is no getting over it. There is only learning to live in a new way, but how? How do we live with this companion grief?

During Holy Week and Easter Sunday I often think of a woman named Julia Esquivel. She was Guatemalan; a poet, a theologian, and an activist for peace. During her life, Guatemala suffered through 30 years ruled by dictators. Many thousands of people were brutally murdered. It was 30 years of terror. The people went through a collective trauma over these decades of torment. Many of them put their heads down in hopelessness. Some took up arms to fight. But Julia looked for another way.

She would not give up hope and surrender to the terror. She would not turn to the same violence the dictators used. She used her faith and her ministry to bear witness to God’s justice and compassion. She used her poetry to give voice to the poor and oppressed in the land. She became a voice for hope in a nation that was at risk of losing all hope.

Julia would not be cowed. She would not be silenced, and for this she was subjected to many death threats. There were kidnap attempts, assassination attempts. She went into exile for a decade where she continued to speak and write and work on behalf of the suffering.

In 1980, around the time she went into exile, Julia wrote a poem called “They Have Threatened Us with Resurrection.” A strange, moving, and unforgettable phrase. It is a poem about the restlessness that will not let go, the tenacity that clings to life, the hope that persists in grief.

It comes from the memories of the ones lost too soon, the ones who really can’t be taken away from us though, because we still feel them inside of us. The poem says:

They are more alive than ever before,
because they transform our agonies
and fertilize our struggle,
because they pick us up when we fall

I think of the agony of the women at the tomb that early dawn; the struggle to keep moving through their grief – an agony and grief that was interrupted by the angels. Luke calls them men, but we know they are angels. The women knew, too, as they bowed their faces to the ground. The angels spoke: “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, he has risen.” 

The ground shifted for these women. Yes, he is not here, he has risen; they remembered the words he had said to them. He has risen. And now it was the aliveness of Jesus that picked them up and carried them forward.

They returned to the men and told them everything, but to these men it seemed an idle tale. Which is not surprising, of course. Who would expect the dead to rise in new life? 

But still, a little stab of hope penetrated Peter. And he stood up. He walked out of the house. He ran to the tomb where he saw for himself – there were the linen cloths his body had been wrapped in, lying alone. 

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

It would take some time before all these disciples came to believe the news. It would take their own personal experiences of Jesus with them – walking and talking with them, teaching them, breaking bread with them.

It takes that personal relationship, you know.

It would take the community of disciples, the shelter of one another, to keep moving forward, to pick one another up when they fell down. 

It takes a village, as they say.

It would take the power of the Holy Spirit, whirling through their midst, lighting a fire in them, giving them the passion to care and share, as Jesus had done, to expand their circle, as Jesus had promised. And to keep moving this circle forward, one step at a time, not always in a neat linear fashion because life is messy. We press on, as the Apostle Paul said, toward the prize to which God has called us in Christ Jesus, carrying the refrain, “Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!

He has risen! The almighty God has raised Jesus from the dead to give us life. Resurrection. Yes, we too are threatened with resurrection.

Which is to say this: Jesus reaches out a hand toward us, open palm. He sees us, he calls our name and he says to us, “Follow me.” He makes us promises that we cannot begin to understand and so we make our excuses. Not today, Jesus. I have too much work to do. Not today, Jesus, I have a business to take care of, I have funds to manage, storehouses full of grain to protect. Not today, Jesus. I just like this life too much. Maybe tomorrow. Later.

But Jesus doesn’t pull his hand away. Jesus persists. He will not let us go. He says to us, “Come with me into this new life I have called you to.” Resurrected life.

We are threatened with resurrection because it seems to ask a lot of us. And we are afraid and tired and, well, comfortable – comfortable enough. We can learn how to adapt to all kinds of shocking things if it means we can avoid the great unknown.

And so we cling to what is unhealthy. We become collaborators in our own diminishment, as one writer said, all to avoid the risks of being fully alive.

Still, Jesus calls us to follow him into resurrected life. Our ancestors in the faith call to us, do not be afraid! The hope that is carried forward, passed on from one to another, generation to generation, will carry us over the threshold into new life.

Here’s the kicker: we don’t have to die to know it. Resurrected life is here, now, for us. 

The poet says,

Join us in this vigil 
and you will know what it is to dream!
Then you will know how marvelous it is
to live threatened with Resurrection!

To dream awake,
to keep watch asleep,
to live while dying,
and to know ourselves already resurrected!

And so we move from death to life. This is how we deal with grief. We look for life among the living. We do not stop at the cross, we do not make our home there – but we live, even while dying, knowing ourselves already resurrected.

Picture: ChurchArt.com

Shouting & Silence

 

Luke 19:29-40

For over five weeks we have been traveling with Jesus toward Jerusalem. Now we are, finally, almost there. We can feel the excitement of this glorious day, there is momentum! But they pause, unexpectedly, near Bethany and Bethphage. There are a few final details to take care of.

Jesus turns to two of his disciples: “Go ahead into the village. You will find a colt tied up. Untie it and bring it here.”

And here we might wonder a few things, including: Is this really okay? That they should just go in and take a colt that belongs to someone else? Might someone object to this?

Yes, actually, Jesus anticipates this, for he also tells them, “If anyone asks you what you are doing just tell them this: ‘the Lord needs it.’”

So they went in and they found the colt. They untied it and, sure enough, someone asked them what they were doing. They followed his instructions to the letter, saying, “The Lord needs it,” and apparently that was good enough.

The whole scene has an air of mystery to it, where somehow Jesus knew just where to find a young donkey. It is an intrigue where there are code words that need to be spoken: The Lord needs it. Well, so it shall be. They come back with the donkey and the procession into Jerusalem begins.

It is a boisterous procession – a parade! As he comes down the road, crowds of people are flocking to him. Many of them lay cloaks out on the ground before him, pretty much like laying down the red carpet for a celebrity. Jesus is a star!

Multitudes came near and “began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, ‘Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!’”

Careful listeners might have noticed that there are no palms in this version of the story. Nor are there any hosannas, which means “save us!” Those elements we will find in the other gospels. But, no matter, Luke’s version of the entry into Jerusalem is just as triumphant. Maybe a bit more political than divine. A message is being sent and received. Jesus enters the city like a king –

Something that is particularly dangerous for Jesus. Because Jerusalem already has a king and his name is Herod.

This was the time of the Passover, which was a huge event in Jerusalem. It was a time when Jews from all over the diaspora were making their pilgrimage to Jerusalem. The city was packed, and tensions were high.

The Roman authorities were there, too. As much as the Jews loved Passover, the Romans hated it. Too many people milling about, too high a risk for a disturbance of the peace – the Pax Romana.

The Romans prized peace above all things. But for Rome, peace meant something different than what it means to me and you. For Rome, peace was their unquestioned, unchallenged authority. For Rome, peace meant that there was no dissent, that there was total obedience and loyalty to the empire. Rome prized their peace and was more than willing to use violence to keep this peace. The irony of this should be self-evident. 

The Romans dreaded the Passover – because of the large crowds, of course, but also because of its meaning. The Passover is Israel’s remembrance and celebration of their liberation story. At this time of year Israel remembers that many centuries ago God freed them from the bond of slavery in Egypt. Many centuries ago God chose Moses to lead them out of Egypt, through the wilderness, and to the promised land. They remembered that God had given them freedom. But how could they celebrate this freedom, while suffering under the oppressive boot of the Roman Empire, and not be inspired to resistance? Rome dreaded the Passover for very good reason; they knew there was a heightened risk of uprising.

Around this same time, King Herod was also arriving in Jerusalem. He made a grand entrance through the northern city gate, on a war horse, with his soldiers, armed and astride their horses. He was not there to celebrate the Passover; his presence there was to ensure law and order.

Imagine King Herod making his grand entrance on one side of the city, representing the might of the empire, while Jesus makes his entrance from the eastern gate, near the Mount of Olives, on a donkey. 

Everyone knew that this was a dangerous time in Jerusalem. Jesus knew that this was a dangerous time in Jerusalem. Yet he and his entourage entered the city gates, boldly, singing their praises to God and songs for peace – not the peace of Rome, but the peace of heaven.

These are the voices of resistance rising up.

Some of the Pharisees lose their cool; the tension is rising too high. Jesus shouldn’t be making an entrance like this. There are already reasons enough for the Roman authorities to be tightening the screws on the Jews, they don’t need another reason. The Pharisees order Jesus to quiet his disciples. But he says to them, it would make no difference.

It would make not one bit of difference, because the stones would shout out, all of God’s creation would shout praises to God, shout prayers for peace. This is what the Lord needs: the crowds, the shouts, the blessings, the parade, the song of all creation rising up –

Blessed be the king who comes in the name of the Lord! The king.

Now pause for a minute as we look back a few verses. Just before this entry into Jerusalem, Jesus tells a parable about kings:

There was a nobleman who was traveling to a foreign land hoping to be granted a kingdom for himself. He was a despicable man, and the people of his own country went to the trouble of sending a delegation to testify against him.

Before departing he called together his servants and distributed his property among them, instructing them to carry on his business while he is away.

Sometime later, he returned triumphant. He was granted the kingdom he desired and was ready to rule. He called his servants to whom he entrusted his money to find out how profitable they had been for him. The first two had success stories to report. He rewarded them, in exact proportion to how much he profited from them.

But the third man made no profit for the detestable new ruler. He honestly told the ruler that he was afraid, because he knew him to be a harsh man. The king took the money back from this man in disgust, then he ordered all his enemies, of which there were many, to be brought before him and slaughtered in his presence. Proving just how harsh he was. Vengeance is the order of the day.

It is a story that his listeners recognized, because they had seen many such cruel kings. The king in this parable had many names, and the people knew them.

As Jesus continued walking toward Jerusalem, an uneasy question hung in the air: Do you understand the difference between a king of this world and a true king? Will you recognize a true king when you see him? Or will you content yourselves with the kings of this world?

The crowds shout out songs of praise toward Jesus as he rides into the city. They scatter their cloaks on the ground to honor him and lay them on the donkey’s back to make a saddle for him. They sing praises to God and they turn to Jesus and cry out blessings to the one who comes in the name of the Lord. It is a joyful moment.

They shout, even in defiance of the Pharisees who order silence.

At the end of the parade, Jesus sees the city of Jerusalem before him, and he weeps. “O Jerusalem, if you had only recognized the things that make for peace – but now they are hidden from you.”

Now it is too late. The lamb will be sent to the slaughter.

Sometimes all you can do is bear witness. But bearing witness is what we must do.

Now we bear witness to dreadful things. In our nation we are seeing massive, erratic, sometimes sloppy changes being made, all for the sake of improvement. It is a choice our leaders have made, a choice that some of us call necessary and good. I do not disagree that change can be very good, that problems ought to be fixed when possible. I like change and I like making things work better. But in this process, there are things we are witnessing that are very wrong.

We see vengeance and greed and gleeful cruelty. We see lives carelessly cut down. We see our neighbors haphazardly picked up by authorities and taken away to places unknown. We see our friends randomly fired from their jobs, without notice. We see the very notion of treating people with dignity regarded as a sign of weakness.

We have seen these kings before. This king has many names. But is this the kind of king we choose? Is this the kind of king we need?

Two thousand years ago, on the day they approached Jerusalem, the Lord needed the colt, and he needed his disciples to go and get it for him. He needed the people lining the road with their cloaks and shouting, making a loud noise for him, proclaiming the arrival of the king. He needed this loud and insistent act of bearing witness to the world.

And if that failed, he needed the rocks and stones to take up the shouting on his behalf. The Lord needed all of creation to proclaim his name. Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!

Many bad things have happened, and more bad things will happen. Will we bear witness to the suffering? Or will we be silent?

What does the Lord need from us?

Picture: I Believe, by Steve Prince, A Sanctified Art, LLC 

Righteousness and Mercy

Luke 19:1-10

As we continue through the Gospel of Luke, the story of Zacchaeus gives us another opportunity to see how Jesus interacts with those individuals who are lumped into the large category of “sinners.” Individuals who get a surprising amount of facetime with Jesus. Again and again, we are told of Jesus sitting at table with sinners and tax collectors, teaching them, and even calling them to be his disciples. 

While we are never told exactly who these sinners are, we do know something about the tax collectors. These men worked for the occupying government. Rome hired Jews who were willing to do this job, as hated as it was by the people. The system was set up for money to flow upward. The local tax collector would demand payments that would allow them to cover their own expenses, and it seems as though it was up to them to determine what amount that was. At least some of them would take as much as they could get. 

Zacchaeus was the chief tax collector, which was a position that made him exceptionally wealthy. But every bit of it was gained at the expense of his fellow Jews. Zacchaeus and other tax collectors were regarded as sinners for turning against their brothers and sisters, working to further their oppression and poverty.

Most of the people who were there that day to greet Jesus as he came into Jericho would have liked for Jesus to shun Zacchaeus, just as they did. Most of them would probably have loved to be singled out by Jesus for some one-on-one time. So when Jesus stopped in his tracks and called Zacchaeus’ name, when he said, “Zacchaeus, I am dining at your house today,” most of the others were miffed.

How appalling that Jesus would go to his house rather than someone more deserving. How offensive that Jesus would share a meal with a sinner like Zacchaeus. The people grumbled and murmured their discontent. They disapproved, once again, of Jesus’ mercy. And they felt quite righteous in their disapproval.

As Christians we are always somewhere along a continuum between righteousness and mercy. We tend to judge others according to our understanding of what is holy and right in the eyes of God. But we also know that God is merciful and forgiving. And so we want to be merciful as well. We just sometimes don’t know how to find the right balance.

But I think that something that has become a particularly troubling matter is the way we judge people whom we don’t understand, people who seem to have values that are very different from ours. People who vote democratic when we vote republican. Or vice versa.

There is a rather unconventional Lutheran pastor I have been following for quite a few years now. Her name is Nadia Bolz-Weber. She founded a congregation called House for All Sinners and Saints, which was Lutheran to its core, but probably different from most any other Lutheran Church, in terms of who it attracted. Nadia, as a recovering addict, has always had a strong pastoral connection to others who have suffered addiction and are trying to find wholeness. 

She has written several books, done lots of speaking tours, and blogs. She is always kind of out at the edge, working with people who don’t usually show up in our churches, speaking in ways you don’t usually expect a pastor to speak, and sharing viewpoints that are often unique.

So this past fall, after the election, she announced that she was going to do a series of what she called Red State Revivals across the country. Red State, because she lives in a Blue State, and because if we were to stick a label on her we would call her a Liberal. So focusing on the red states takes her away from her “tribe,” out of her comfort zone.

Her purpose in doing this is so that the opinions we form by what we read online, or hear on the “news,” might instead be formed by real life experience. And her hope is that people will come to these gatherings and be “revived” in the sense that their hearts and spirits will be opened to others whom they have judged. And that a sense of authentic community may be revived in all these places.

She is in the middle of this tour now, holding revivals at churches in Nebraska, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, Iowa, South Carolina, Mississippi, Alabama. The invitation on her website says, “Bring a friend. Bring an enemy. All are welcome.”

She said it terrifies her to do this. I would be terrified too. 

It is really hard these days for us to step out of our safe zones, cross the vast divide between left and right, or whatever set of labels you think of. We are terrified of having conversations about some things, because we can’t seem to find any common ground.

And so we label other people as sinners, or stupid, or incompetent, or a waste of life, or other horrible things. But it does not have to be this way.

Jesus shows us over and over again a different way, as he steps out toward the ones who are shunned and shamed by society. Like Zacchaeus. Notice that he doesn’t call him out. He doesn’t publicly shame him or humiliate him. He doesn’t say, “Zacchaeus, I don’t know how you can do what you do. I don’t know how you can look yourself in the mirror. You are disgraceful.” He doesn’t do that. Instead, Jesus offers him an invitation. He offers him mercy.

That seems to be a little bit of what Nadia is after. Her decision to go on a Red State Revival tour comes out of her sense that, while we may not have much common ground in most aspects of our lives, those of us who call ourselves Christian have something important in common. And maybe we can sing and pray and read scripture together, worship and rejoice together. And who knows? Maybe the Holy Spirit will do something in that space that we can’t do ourselves. If we are open to it.

Nadia is not the only one who is trying a new thing. There are journalists, artists, poets, all sorts of people who are crossing divides and making themselves available to listen. And then they take what they see and hear and feel and share it with us using whatever creative means they have. Jeff Sharlet is one. He writes a blog called Scenes from a Slow Civil War, where he writes about what he gathers in the places where he goes. One of the things he aims to do is to create moments, pauses between the battles of our culture wars, when we take stock of what we know about the world and how we know it. And perhaps we find that statements like “All liberals are retarded,” or “All republicans are evil” are simply not true statements.

Once he has Jesus’ full attention, Zacchaeus says something that no one expected to hear. He says that he will give away half his wealth to the poor. And that to anyone he has defrauded, he will make restitution of four times the amount he took. Perhaps, in fact, Zacchaeus has been misjudged and was never as money hungry as everyone assumed. Or perhaps his heart has been changed in the instant it took for him to hear Jesus calling his name.

Jesus answers him, “Today salvation has come to this house.” There is a way for Zacchaeus to be restored to his community. This man who was lost is now found.

In the Christian dilemma over the matter of righteousness and mercy, there is an answer for us here. There is a way to righteousness, and it turns out that the way is through mercy.

Picture: Zacchaeus, by Lauren Wright Pittman. A Sanctified Art, LLC