The Why of It

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

Matthew28:16-20

Taylor Swift wrote a song called happiness. In it she says, “There will be happiness after you. There was happiness because of you. Both of these things can be true.”

So, I am thinking about the sentence, “Both of these things can be true.” Because as confounding as it can be sometimes, it is so often the case in life. Two things that seem to contradict each other can both be true, at the same time.

We say that God is three – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And we also say that God is one. There is one God – God alone. Both these things are true.

We say that Jesus is fully human, just like us. And we also say that Jesus is fully divine. Both these things are true.

And in the scriptures, we read that we are made in the image of God – Genesis chapter 1. And that we are made from the dirt of the earth – chapter 2, when God formed man, Adam, from the dust of the ground and then breathed life into him. We know that we are fallen, broken, earth-bound creatures and that we are little less than divine. Both these things are true.

It is true that we find a lot of things to be contradictory in the scriptures and in the language of our faith. It is not because the scriptures are sloppy, or carelessly written. It is because of the deep complexity of all of it.

But complexity and uncertainty are uncomfortable, so humans have a strong urge to simplify things as much as possible as quickly as possible. As that old gospel song has it, God said it, I believe it, that settles it for me; we sure do want things to be settled.

And so in the literal reading of Genesis 1, we hear that God created everything in six days, followed by a day of rest. And, if we are not inclined to embrace the poetic beauty of it, we can get bogged down in the details of this spare description of creation.

And worry over explanations for how there could be day and night before the sun was created. And whether the length of a day was the same then, in the beginning, as it is now. And if it is possible to mesh this first creation story with the one that follows in Chapter 2, the story of Adam and Eve in the garden.

And if we are seeking simplicity and certainty, then settling these questions is of the utmost importance. To understand this opening passage as poetry – an ode to the breathtaking beauty of creation – is not an option.

God created the world, and all that is in it, and called it good. To me, this is sacred truth of the highest level. But some find it too worrisome because we also know that we are broken by sin, and this is the problem that our faith is meant to solve, we think. Not by making us good but simply forgiven.

It is quite a bit more complex than that.

I remember participating in an intergenerational Sunday school class in which we asserted that God made us good. And there was a man in the class who was deeply disturbed by that assertion. He called it bad theology.

The class leader said, but that’s what the Bible says in Genesis chapter 1. And he said, I know, but we shouldn’t say it; it just confuses people.

Above all, we don’t want to be confused. We would much prefer to have certainty.

And so we dig into the “what” questions. What did God create first? Light. See verse 3.

And if we are really feeling adventurous, we will dip a toe into the “how” questions. Such as, how was there any light before God created the sun. The answer we might find is, God is light. See 1 John 1:5.

But the “why” questions – the richest, most meaningful and edifying questions – we might fail to ask at all.

Very young children have a habit of asking “why.” Again and again and again. Each response leads to a repetition of the same question: Why? Until eventually even the most patient adult will answer, “Because I said so.”

But today I will lean on the words of Jesus when he said we should become like children, and I will ask the question “why.”

Why did God create this good world? Why did God separate the light from the dark, the day from the night, the earth from the sky, the waters from the solid ground? Why did God create so many different species of animals and fish and birds and plants?

Why are we, in the words of the Psalm, so fearfully and wonderfully made?

There is an overwhelming amount of diversity in this world God created. Why?

The problem with the “why” questions is there is often not one certain answer. But when we start asking the questions, we start seeing many things that are true. And we can see that all this beautiful difference in the world is made to work together. Day is in relationship with night, water is in relationship with earth, humans are in relationship with animals and with other humans. When we say that God created order out of primordial chaos, we are saying that God created the potential for fruitful and blessed relationships. So,

Why did God create the world? Maybe for the intention of being in relationship with us – all of us.

Why did God create so much diversity? Maybe because this allows for so much more creativity in the world.

And why did God send the Son, Jesus, into the world to live and die and defy death? Why did the resurrected Jesus give his disciples a mission – to go out to all the nations of the earth, bringing the goodness of Christ to them? Why have we been called to reach beyond borders, to reach across aisles, across race and creed and even political preferences?

Why have we, who call ourselves followers of Jesus, been sent, by Jesus, to care for the others whose needs are such that we can hardly comprehend, whose choices baffle us, and appearance alienate us?

Because, though we are distinct and different in so many ways, we are the same – beloved children of the Lord, made in God’s very own image.

Both things can be true. Praise be to God. 

With the Eyes of Your Heart

Ephesians 1:15-23 

Luke 24:44-53 

When we think about where God resides, we have a tendency to think “up.” Humans understand things spatially. We know where things are in relation to other things. So this kind of spatial thinking extends to our thoughts about other-worldly things too. Heaven is up in the sky. Whenever we think of God, or our loved ones in heaven, we want to look up. 

There is an old movie made in South Africa called The Gods Must Be Crazy. A man named Xi lives in a hunter-gatherer society, far away from the industrialized world we live in. One day an empty glass Coke bottle falls at his feet – a pilot threw it from his plane. Xi has never seen anything like this before. He assumes it is a gift from the gods, because it fell from the sky.

So Xi takes it back to his village where everyone is curious about this strange gift. Soon they begin to find all kinds of uses for it. Everyone wants this wonderful thing – but unfortunately there is only one bottle. This gift becomes the source of much new stress in their relationships around the notion of scarcity. Lots of arguing about who gets to use the bottle how much and when – and pretty soon Xi has decided this gift is not worth having, so he takes the bottle and sets off on a journey to dispose of it once and for all. He plans to take it to the edge of the world and drop it off.

The film is about the journey and all the different people and difficulties he encounters along the way. But, in the end, he does find a place that looks like the end of the world to him. He drops the bottle into the abyss and feels the satisfaction of ridding himself of a big problem. Then he begins his journey back home. And he, presumably, lives happily ever after.

You and I know that the earth is not flat. And we know that heaven is not up in the sky. But still, don’t we act as though it is?

In the story from Luke’s gospel, we read that Jesus was carried up into heaven. Again, in the first chapter of the book of Acts, we read that he ascended right before their eyes, and that “they were gazing up toward heaven.” 

Perhaps, like me, you don’t often think about the ascension of Jesus. It often seems like a detail that I just gloss over on my way to the story of Pentecost. What’s more, the story, brief as it is, makes it sound as though heaven is the same thing as gone. Jesus withdrew, we read; he was taken from their sight. Heaven, we read from this, is somewhere else. So I don’t spend much time on it. But maybe it’s worth taking a minute to wonder about.

 Jesus actually talks a lot about heaven – the kingdom of heaven or, sometimes, the kingdom of God. It frequently comes up in the gospels. But he often speaks about it in parables. 

What is heaven like? It is like a mustard seed; it starts out as the smallest of seeds, but it holds within it enormous potential.

It is like a hidden treasure, or a pearl of great value; a person who finds it will recognize that its worth is greater than anything and everything else in the world.

It is like seed sown in a field; it is like yeast that, when mixed into dough, will cause everything to rise.

It is like a net thrown into the sea that catches every kind of fish.

It is like the landowner who forgives great debts.

It is the place that belongs to the children, to the poor, to the vulnerable.

The kingdom of heaven has drawn near; the kingdom of heaven is at hand.

And if we hear the words Jesus says about heaven, and we can stop looking up long enough to listen, we might realize that he seems to be talking about something very real, very present, very much available to us here and now.

This was something his first disciples had to find out after he ascended. Their great immediate concern was about where he had gone and when he might come back because, of course, they missed him terribly. They felt lost and without direction when he was gone. But gradually they began putting the pieces together, the things they had learned from him, and what they grew to understand was that he left them responsible, in some sense, for this beautiful kingdom.

He left them responsible for building the church, so every person on earth might have a taste of the kingdom of heaven.

And this is our inheritance too. This is our responsibility and gift. To uphold the body of Christ – the church; to share the vision we have been given; to offer to others the kingdom of heaven.

During this season of Easter, we have been looking at all the elements that are at the heart of being church. And we have also been in the midst of our annual stewardship season. That is not a weird coincidence. Because good stewardship is at the heart of being church.

According to Genesis, God created humans to be stewards over the whole of creation – to care for it, protect it, and nurture it. I believe that caring for creation is about doing what we can to ensure its continuance for future generations. 

In the gospel, Jesus made his followers the stewards of his church. In the same way, I believe that caring for the church is about doing what we can to ensure its continuance for future generations. To ensure that the church carries out its mission in the world.

This means that while we look back, with gratitude, we also look forward with a sense of commitment. 

When I was a seminarian, I heard the Reverend James Forbes preach in our seminary chapel. The Senior Minister at the Riverside Church in Manhattan, Reverend Forbes was a powerful preacher, full of the Spirit. After the service I approached him, and, apropos of nothing, I started telling him about my father-in-law, Peter Hill, who had also been a preacher. Peter was someone who inspired me on my journey, someone who meant a lot to me. He had died several months earlier at the time I was meeting Reverend Forbes. 

Reverend Forbes held on to my hand and listened to me intently. And then he leaned in and said to me, “And now it’s on you.”

I really did not know what the future held for me in that moment. But I knew what he was saying to me: step up; take on the mantle; give your life in service to Christ’s church.

And because in the Presbyterian Church we do not order ourselves hierarchically, I can say to you that the calling for each one of us is the same: step up. We are all called to give of ourselves in service to Christ’s church.

We are called to give freely, from a desire to see the church be the best we can be. We are called to give generously, from the knowledge that we receive God’s gifts freely and abundantly. Like the character Xi, we may know that a sense of scarcity brings harm to a community in all kinds of ways. But trust in God’s good abundance empowers us to do more than we might have imagined.

It is our calling as Christians to work together to carry out the mission of the church, sometimes working through tension and disagreement. We allow love to carry us through any conflict, seeking understanding and reconciliation, because our wholehearted commitment is to Christ’s church. It is our duty to support the church with our time, with our talents, our energy, our particular gifts of the Spirit, as well as our material possessions. Our giving to the church, in all its forms, is an act of faith, an act of gratitude, an act of love, knowing that all we have to give is pure gift, given to us by our Creator.

Now it’s on me and you.

Because 2000 years ago Jesus left his church in the hands of a few disciples. He could see the potential that was in them. Through the eyes of our hearts, we can see it too: what might be. We can see the possible.

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

For Keeps

1 Peter 3:13-22

John 14:15-21

One Sunday years ago I took a small group of college students to a little Quaker church. Actually, it’s called a meeting house.  This was in Millville, Pennsylvania, the Millville Friends Meeting, which has been there a long time – since 1795.  It is a very small, simple, old building with plain wooden pews.  In the front of the room there’s no pulpit because most Quakers don’t have preachers.  They are known for worshiping in silence and waiting on the Holy Spirit to speak to them. When someone feels inspired by the Spirit to share something, he or she will simply stand up and say what is on their heart and mind.

There were a couple of long benches in the front of the room that faced the pews, sort of like a choir loft, I guess.  We were invited to sit there so that we could watch things as they unfolded, so we did. The worship hour began and there was a long period of silence.

Then, someone stood and spoke briefly. Shortly after, another person stood and said something. It was all very calm and mostly quiet. From my seat in front, I found myself most interested in a family sitting toward the back. A father and mother with three young children. The children sat, leaning against mom and dad, all quiet and serene.  And I thought it was amazing.

After the worship ended I told the mother how impressed I was that her children were able to sit so calmly and quietly during the hour. She told me the whole family really treasured this time together – to be able to sit with one another, to just hold one another and rest in the silence. During the rest of the week, they led busy, active lives just like every other family we knew. But for this one hour of the week, they really valued the quiet.

So, I guess that’s something the Quakers have going on. They are offering something that we need – quiet. But most of us probably don’t even realize we need it, because we are so used to its absence. It’s not easy to find quiet in our world.  Even in our homes when we are sleeping, our appliances are still humming away. Even when we are not talking to one another, our TV’s and phones, and computers are making noise, talking to us. But without the quiet we are missing something we need.

This was something I had in mind when I was serving a church with a preschool on site. I wanted to offer Children’s Chapel. It was something I learned about from a colleague, who developed it in her congregation. It is a way for very young children to participate fully in the spiritual life of the church. 

Once a month the children and the teachers would walk in straight lines from their classrooms to the sanctuary. I wanted to do it every week but settled for monthly. When they arrived at the door, I would remind them that in this place we move more slowly, and we talk more softly; that in this place we are meeting God. This was just to help them transition, to quiet their spirits, to ready them for worship.

We would sit in a circle on the floor. I would guide them in taking a couple of deep breaths. 

Then we would greet one another with the ancient words of the church – 

The Lord be with you. And also with you.

We always lit a candle and I would remind them that God is here, and God is the light of the world.

And then we would begin to do the most amazing thing – we shared our joys and concerns. Because we all cared about one another and all the good and bad things that were going on in our lives. Here is something very important for us to know: Children understand that life holds both joys and sadnesses. It is the adults who think we can, somehow, prevent any sadness from impacting their lives.

After we shared our joys and concerns with one another, we shared all these things with God, who is with us, loves us, and cares for all the little and big things in our lives. Just like we do here.

Before sending the children back to their classrooms, we did one more thing: we blessed one another with these words: God made you, God loves you, and God is always with you. Now and then, parents would tell us that their children were taking this practice home with them.

When we come together in this place, we draw close to one another and we draw close to God. For many reasons, all kinds of reasons that matter. We come here because we have friends here whom we love – or we come here because we are looking for friends.  We come here because we have a need, a hunger, we are looking to fill – a hunger for love, for purpose, for joy, for peace. And maybe we will find what we need here. 

We come here because the spirit in us is calling out to the Spirit of God in this world – it’s like a little dog tugging on the leash when they see another dog and want to be closer. Maybe your spirit is the little dog that senses the Spirit of God here and wants to draw near. 

We come here because that same Spirit of God is whispering to us, calling us to be a part of God’s work in the world – somehow.

When we come together in this place we breathe deeply, knowing that with each breath we are filled with God’s Spirit. That it is like Jesus said, “I am in the Father, and you are in me and I am in you.” That God is as near to us as our breath. 

And a little bit of quiet sometimes is what you need to know this: that God made you, God loves you, and God is always with you. For keeps. 

With Steadfast Love

Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16

John 14:1-14

Lyndon Johnson had a long and prolific career in elected politics before he became president. He represented Texas in the House of Representatives for 12 years, then the Senate for another 12 years. 

Johnson was well-loved in Texas for serving his constituents well, especially in and around Johnson City. Back when I lived in Texas, driving through this area of the Texas Hill Country, I noticed a surprising number of little rest stops along the road. They weren’t fancy like the rest areas we are used to now, with all kinds of amenities for weary and bored travelers. These rest areas consisted of a couple of picnic tables and benches, a trash can. They were well-tended and attractive. And they popped up about every mile or so. 

One could argue that this was excessive, a profligate number of rest stops. But no one could ever accuse LBJ of neglecting the needs of his constituents. If they needed work – well, there would always be jobs building rest stops. And this ensured there would always be a place to stop and rest for the weary traveler.

I thought about this unusual feature of the Hill Country landscape as I was thinking about the words Jesus speaks in our passage from John’s gospel: In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. Because a dwelling place may be temporary as well as permanent. A dwelling place is a place to rest.

And Jesus offers this as comfort: In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. 

I have often been drawn to this passage for funerals. The image of God’s many dwelling places, or rooms, gives us some comfort when we are trying to imagine where our dearly departed ones are now. 

I sometimes let my imagination run with this and try to envision just what this person’s dwelling place might be like. I think about the special gifts they had in their life here on earth and how might God continue to allow room for those gifts to flourish in heaven.

It’s an image, a promise, that many of us are hungry for. Many times I have been asked by someone to help them understand where we go after we die. We wonder for our loved ones who are no longer here with us. We wonder also for ourselves when the time comes. 

I remember several conversations with a woman thinking about her own death, which she knew would come soon. Her overwhelming fear was that she would not know where to go, how to find her loved ones, how to find her way in a strange place. For times when we are anxious or confused about life after death, something we simply cannot know in this life, these words of Jesus give comfort. There is room for you. I will be there with you. You know the way there. And so I have found this passage from John 14 to be a wonderful source of comfort and hope at the time of death.

But as useful as it is for imagining eternal life, this is not the only way for us to understand these words of Jesus. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. I go to prepare a place for you. You know the way to this place because you know me.

And I wonder: Do these words offer any guidance, hope, or comfort for our earthly sojourns? Because even if in the great scheme of things our individual lives here are brief, it doesn’t really feel that way while we are living. Every day of our lives provides new opportunities to wonder how to go forward. To be searching for the way. To desperately wish we had an operator’s instructional manual. Perhaps you, too, have cried out in prayer, “Lord, how can I know the way?”

We may feel that ache of longing for home, knowing deep in our hearts that home is just beyond our reach in these mortal bodies. We deeply desire a resting place, a safe and peace-filled room where our worries and fears dissipate, our needs are filled, where there is joy. Contentment for our souls. And we worry, often, that we don’t know how to get there. 

Thomas and Philip were worried. They stood in the same room with Jesus as he spoke these confident, assuring words: this is where I am going. It will be good, for all of us. You know the way there. Yet they were not convinced. Just show us the Father. Which sounds a little like, “I want to see the manager because I don’t believe you have the final word here.”

They were uneasy, because they didn’t feel like people who know the way. Actually, they felt so very far away from home.

This is a feeling that resides within people of faith, more or less – like this earth is not really our home, that we are aliens here who long more than anything to return home. It isn’t that we want to leave all that we love in this life. We would just sort of like to be re-situated, with all that we love, in a better place.

I think the feeling comes through in the verses of Psalm 35. In you, Lord, I seek refuge. From all that is threatening and harmful in this world, I seek my refuge – my safety and peace – in you, O Lord. God as a living and moving fortress.

Yet, there is something even more that Jesus wants to say to his followers. You know the way, he insists, because you know me. Has he not shown them, throughout the time he has spent with them, the way to live? And is this not living in Christ Jesus himself? The way, the truth, and the life?

We do not just follow him, we find our life in him. And when we live in him we live with the Father. When we live in him, in this dwelling place created for us, we are a part of the work he came for.

It seems to me that it is our mission then, as the church, to be such a dwelling place for those who seek it. Even in this place that is not our heart’s home, together we create something like home – a dwelling place for all who seek God in this world. And, in one way or another, we are all seeking to fill that God-shaped hole within us.

What does that mean for us, the church? To seek out the least ones, the lost ones? Those who are most in need of a dwelling place are the ones who suffer most on their journeys through life. 

There is a little story by Gloria Naylor about a woman whose longings were simple, very modest, much like our own: she longed for a place to call home. She dreamed of a little bungalow with a picket fence, green in her imagination. She envisioned geraniums all around the house, because they are so bright and strong. She liked the idea of flowers that weren’t too delicate. Geraniums were durable, able to withstand all kinds of adversity.

It was a dream she held for her whole life. It was amazing that she managed to hold on to the dream even while everything worked against her. No matter how hard she tried to be good, to work hard, to overcome – still, the world was hard on her and in the end, she could only find that dream of home in a bottle of cheap wine. Night after night she would go looking for that home.

This is someone who needed a dwelling place – a safe place, a caring community, a place to rest. Home.

In the Father’s house there are many dwelling places, a place for every one of us, built and sustained with God’s steadfast love. Let us be shaped into such a place.

In the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

With Glad and Generous Hearts

Acts 2:42-47

John 10:1-10

The book of Acts is really special to me because it is the only book in the Bible that tries to give us a glimpse of just how it all began. It says to the reader, come along with me and I’ll show you what it was like, how this great thing we call the church got started. As I read it, I feel like I can hear the narrator saying, “Man, wasn’t that a time!” Day by day, wonderful things were happening in their midst.

This reading from the second chapter is in the very beginning of the beginning. The resurrected Jesus has ascended, the Holy Spirit has descended, and the church is alive. Peter preaches a sermon that everyone understood in their own language – and I take that to mean simply that the Spirit was breaking through all the barriers. People were hearing and, as the narrative says, they were “cut to the heart” by this message of salvation. “What should we do?” they asked. What should we do?

The answer is unfolded in the rest of the book. This is the story about how the church became the church.

First, they were baptized. Baptism was the way in for them, and it is still understood as the entry into the church. A rite of initiation, if you will. But, of course, there is more.

There is a sense we have that we will be changed somehow by baptism. That we might feel the power of the Spirit flow through us, or that we might feel cut to the heart as did the Jews who were in Jerusalem on Pentecost. But actually, most of us don’t feel that special something at the moment we are baptized. And most of us were very young when we were baptized, anyway.

I guess if you were looking for a wow factor, your baptism might have been disappointing. It’s not there for most of us. You might not feel a bit different.

But that doesn’t mean that you are the same old person you were before. The real change that comes to you when you are baptized is a change by choice.

If you think of baptism as a doorway – a threshold – then we can imagine that in baptism we cross a threshold into a new home. This is where we live now – in the church.

There isn’t anything magical about the ways we may change when we enter a new place. But we learn new ways of being with others. New ways of being in relationship with others. Because this is who we are now – the church.

And this is exactly what we see in the pages of the book of Acts. All these people have, all at once, stepped into the same metaphorical house together. And they are all figuring out together these new ways of being.

But how can they do that? I found myself wondering, who is there to teach them? They are all new at this thing. You have probably had the benefit of mentors, as have I – elders in the church who taught us how to be a Christian, how to worship, how to give, how to serve. But who was there to teach them at the very beginning?

There was the Spirit, who had descended on them that day in Jerusalem. The Spirit guided them that day and continued to guide them every day after. In the same way, we have the Spirit guiding us every day. And, Lord, do we need her. Because being a Christian is not something you get figured out, but something you are always figuring out. Every single day.

In these few verses from Acts 2 we see a few of the things the Spirit was helping them to figure out: they shared what they had, giving to others what was needed. They broke bread together, prayed together, learned together, and fellowshipped together – they did it all with glad and generous hearts. And day by day the Lord added to their number.

In this Easter season we are discovering the things that lie at the heart of being the church. It begins with recognizing our very foundation of love. Everything that follows is built upon that foundation. We are a community that lives to love God and our neighbors. We take care of one another and we reach out beyond our walls to the greater world.

Here in the stories of the church’s beginnings we see it all unfolding, laying us a pattern to follow. These are the things that matter. These are the things that are at the heart of the church.

When I was growing into adulthood I began to learn about the value of family. Because there were many ways I needed help, even though I didn’t particularly want help. I wanted to do it on my own. But I couldn’t. And there were plenty of times I was blessed to be given help I didn’t even know I needed. There were people who did this for me because I was family. And if everything is working reasonably well, family takes care of one another.

People of all faiths do this – taking care of family is in our human DNA. But when you become a part of the church, stepping over that threshold, through the baptismal waters, you begin to learn a radically new way of being: there are no boundaries around family. Every person you meet can be a member of this family. And we care for them all.

Thankfully, no one has to do it by themselves. Because if the church is everywhere then everywhere you go there are people working together under the Spirit’s power and grace to share what they have, to care for one another.

At least that’s the way it should be.

There are some churches that don’t actually preach the same gospel we know. There are churches that seem to want to make it their mission to persecute people they deem lesser beings. There are church leaders who are more like thieves and bandits than shepherds, to use Jesus’ words.

There is a growing concern now about the dangers of the Christian Nationalist movement and church leaders influenced by that who are doing great harm to the gospel of Jesus Christ. One of them, in fact, will be the keynote speaker at the Salisbury National Day of Prayer Breakfast.

All this makes it that much more important for us to be the church as we know it and lead with love. For each one of us to do our part in supporting and strengthening the church we love. To do it with glad and generous hearts, just as the first church did.

May we follow the voice of our Good Shepherd, who leads us into life abundant.

May we open our hearts to the Spirit who guides us into faithful community.

And day by day, with the Spirit’s help, may we have the goodwill of all people. 

Straight from the Heart

 

Luke24:13-35

The poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote a beautiful line: Christ plays in ten thousand places. And it seems to be so in the Easter season. In these days following the resurrection, it seems like he is everywhere at once. Better than when he was bound by human flesh! He is in the garden, in the upper room, at the lakeshore, on the road to Emmaus. Apparently, all at once.

Here we are still in the same day we were in two weeks ago. For you and me, the Easter lilies are starting to die back, and the jellybeans are all eaten. But the gospel still has us on the day of Christ’s resurrection.

One of the things that happened on this day was a couple of the disciples walking to a place called Emmaus. I wish I could tell you something about this place called Emmaus.

I have done some searching to learn something about this place, but I came up with nothing of use. Some have proposed that it is a place about seven miles northwest of the city of Jerusalem, known as el-Khubeibeh. Others have suggested it is a place about eight miles southwest of Jerusalem, known as Khurbet Khamasa. And there are other places that have been suggested. So one thing I know for sure is that we have no idea about Emmaus.

But it doesn’t really matter where Emmaus was. It doesn’t matter why they were walking there because it is more important that they are walking away from Jerusalem than that they are walking toward a place called Emmaus.

Cleopas and the other disciple are walking away from the scene of the crime. In the past three days they have been witness to fearsome things. Their teacher, Jesus, was taken from them, arrested by the Roman soldiers. Once in the hands of the soldiers, they surely knew that things were unlikely to get better. He was beaten, interrogated, beaten some more, then crucified.

He died, and a few of his followers asked permission to take his body down. They wanted to give him a decent burial. It is, perhaps, surprising that the authorities permitted his body to be taken. The Romans liked to keep bodies up in the crosses lining the road for a good long time, to make sure everyone saw what they could do.

He was buried on Friday afternoon. But they were hurried since the sabbath was upon them. They knew they would have to come back to finish the work later.

And they did. Before sunrise on the day after the sabbath, some of the women returned to the tomb. But incredibly, something else terrible had happened. His body was gone.

Imagine this for a moment. Consider your own experience with the burial of loved ones and try to imagine just how that felt.

It had to feel truly awful. However, even this, it seems, would not be enough. The women reported to the others that they had seen an angel who told them Jesus was alive. He was not in the tomb because he was alive.

Still, there were others who were saying the body had been stolen, or hidden. By whom? It depended on who you asked. It could have been grave robbers. Or it could have been some of his followers.

The disciples of Jesus had been on some wild roller coaster ride of emotion during these few days. For a brief moment it seemed as though everything ended on Friday afternoon when Jesus breathed his last. But their mourning was interrupted by these other events and reports.

One thing I am certain of, among all the things they were feeling there was fear. They were afraid of what had already happened, and they were afraid of what might happen next. They were afraid for their future.

And so, in fear, these two disciples are walking away from Jerusalem. But they are also just walking.

Walking is something we do when we have a lot to think about. When you have some big feelings to process. The action of walking, left foot, right foot, over and over actually helps your brain do the work of processing something hard. The rhythm, the symmetry, encourages healthy brain activity. It helps relieve stress and fear.

And we can be sure these two disciples had some stress, some fear, and a lot of stuff to think through. So they did what many of us would do – they walked. And they talked.

While they walked and talked someone came alongside them. A stranger, and whether he was welcome, I do not know. But when the stranger asked them, “What are you guys talking about?” they stopped dead in their tracks. Sad. And they proceeded to lay it all out for this stranger, the whole sordid story of all that had gone on in the past few days. It was painful to talk about, but they needed to talk about it.

The stranger’s response was surprising to them. “How slow of heart you are to believe,” he said.

When they arrived at Emmaus it was near evening. Somehow, they just didn’t want to take leave of this stranger, so they urged him to stay with them. Stay, eat with us, stay the night, for the day is almost ended.

And it was when they sat at table together, these three; and when the stranger took the bread and gave thanks and broke it and gave it to them – it was then that these two disciples recognized him. Jesus. And in that same instant, he was gone.

The disciples turned to each other in amazement. Now they were putting it together. Were not our hearts burning within us as we were walking and talking with him? Things are clicking into place. Now it didn’t matter that the hour was late, they ran back to Jerusalem to tell the others what had happened – that the Lord had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

And this, of course, is part of our story and part of our ritual. It is part of our identity. We often call ourselves people of the book, of the word. But as great as words are, they only take us so far. And then it becomes about what we do. What we do will carry us the rest of the way.

It is not just words but also actions that strengthen and deepen our faith. It is not just words but also actions that deepen and express our love. There is a point at which the power of faith and the power of love have to go beyond words. 

And so when we have big overwhelming feelings we might take a walk. When we have great joy we might run or dance. When we are in need of Christ’s presence, we have holy communion, the bread and the cup.

When the words were spoken, and the bread was broken, then their eyes were opened. Actions can break through where words are not quite enough. When we partake of the holy meal we are in his presence. Meet you at the table – I promise, is what he said. But I feel that this is something we don’t avail ourselves of enough. The bread of heaven, the cup of salvation, these are always nourishing to our souls, and I will take them any time they are offered.

This sort of reminds me of the story in the book of Acts where the apostle Philip encounters an Ethiopian on the road who needs someone to open the meaning of the scriptures to him. So Philip does just that. Then the Ethiopian wants to be baptized. He points to a body of water nearby and says to Philip, “Look – here is water. What is to prevent me from being baptized?”

What, indeed.

Well, we have rules about the administration of the sacraments, which are meant to prevent their misuse. But the rules are not meant to limit our access to these life-giving and life-sustaining elements.

When we gather together to share the Lord’s Supper, we know that Jesus is right there with us. Christ plays in ten thousand places, and the table is definitely one of them. This is one place he has promised to always meet us. Just as he was there with the two disciples on the road, he is there with us whenever we gather at the table. Watch, next time. Watch and perhaps you will see. As we share the bread and the cup, you may see him as a spark that lights between us. As you look in someone’s eyes, you may feel Christ’s presence between you. Heart to heart.

Words are necessary, I know this is true. But just as necessary are the actions of faith. There comes a point where our actions are just what is needed to give life to our faith. Things will click into place and we will know. The actions of faith are sacred, because they come straight from the heart.

 

Full of Gladness

Acts 2:14a, 22-32

John 20:19-31

There is a cute scene in the middle of The Sound of Music, when Maria and Georg first express their love for each other. They are sharing their memories of the moment when they each knew they loved the other one. When I was little, I thought it was embarrassing, but as an adult I think it is my favorite scene.

Don’t we just love to remember exactly when something good first began? The moment I knew I loved you. The moment I knew I wanted to be a mother, or a father. The moment our friendship began. These are moments that stick in our memory and we visit them now and then, for the pleasure of them. The moment when we experienced the beginning of a new thing – a life-changing thing.

Occasionally, the new thing is really big, bigger than a personal relationship but a movement that we are a part of. Like the moment when the church first began.

You and I weren’t there. But, still, we can wonder about it. When did it all begin? Was it the moment when the women at the tomb first heard, “He is not here” and ran to tell the other disciples? 

Was it the moment Jesus appeared to the men who had followed him through his ministry, breaking through the locked door, busting into that upper room?

How do we pin it down? Because the gospels give us several of these moments to choose from. In addition to this one about the upper room, there is the story of Mary alone in the garden with Jesus. And there is the story of the two disciples who encounter Jesus on the road to Emmaus, and the one where Jesus cooks them breakfast on the lakeshore. And there are more such stories, apparently, John tells us. So is it possible to pin it down to a moment?

When was the church first born? The answer I have given many times is that it happened when we received the Holy Spirit. This is actually part of this story from John, when Jesus says to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit,” and he breathes on them. But, of course, there is another version of how they received the Spirit. It was on the day of Pentecost, which happens to be the day when Peter is giving this sermon we heard today from the book of Acts.

We have, you might say, an abundance of origin stories. So the question I have is, what can we make of all this?

There is one thing that I know from this; although it may not be the most obvious thing, I think it is essential. It is about community. People come to faith in community; people grow in faith in community; people nurture their faith in community; people live out their faith in community. The church was born in community.

I say this, in part, because the value of community is disappearing in this world today, the understanding of how much community is a part of being human. But I also say this precisely because there are so many of these origin stories. What was the exact moment? There were multiple moments. It happened for Mary at the tomb; it happened for Thomas in the upper room; it happened for the two disciples walking to Emmaus while they sat at that table watching Jesus break the bread. It happened for thousands more when Peter, surrounded by the first disciples, spoke the good news to the Jews gathered in Jerusalem for Pentecost. 

And, yes, the church is born when the Spirit of life is given and received – the Holy Spirit of God.

The church is born when people get moving. The women at the tomb ran back to tell the men what they have seen and heard. The men in Emmaus ran back to Jerusalem to tell the others what they have seen and heard. The 12 men gathered in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost stepped out into the gathering to tell anyone who is listening what they have seen and heard.

The Church is born when people of faith start walking and talking.

Like Peter. He stood up and said to the crowd, listen to what I have to tell you about Jesus, the man God raised up; the one whom death could not hold down. Peter reached back to the words of David, their shared history, saying, The Lord is at my right hand, so I shall not be shaken. I will live in hope, for he has made known to me the ways of life. And I am full of gladness.

“My heart was glad and my tongue rejoiced,” Peter repeats these words from David’s psalm. Because, the moment you know, the moment faith is born in your heart, is a moment of gladness, of joy.

Like the words from the beloved hymn, Amazing Grace: “How precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed.” 

I know what you are thinking now – many of you, anyway. You’re thinking, I don’t remember the moment, the hour, I first believed. I came to faith by osmosis – I was born and raised swimming in the waters of the church. I can’t remember a time when I did not believe.

This is the story for many of us. And perhaps there are moments you wish you did have such a memory, a moment when you felt the spark of something new and wonderful. But this doesn’t suggest a deficit in your faith life. It is only something to be deeply thankful for, to know that you were cradled in the arms of the church all your life long.

There isn’t just one moment you can point to when your faith was born. And there isn’t just one moment we can point to when the church first began. Because it was the collective words and actions of a community of people. We do this thing together.

And just like those first followers of Jesus, in our gladness and rejoicing we don’t erase the pain and suffering. The women ran from the tomb experiencing both fear and joy. The men rejoiced as they bore witness to Christ’s wounds, which were still there. The suffering and death of Christ become the center of the Apostle Paul’s gospel that he carries throughout the land. It is as we read in Isaiah, “By his wounds we are healed.”

This is probably the paradox that is hardest for us to live with, but it is an essential truth of the gospel: Because of the sin and suffering of the world, Christ died. Because he suffered, we may find healing. Through his death and resurrection we may have new life.

For us, this is indeed good news, filling our hearts with gladness. But this good news will lead us to open our eyes to all the suffering that exists in the world, to open our hearts to it – just as Jesus did. Just as his early followers did. Just as the church has always done. 

This is at the heart of the matter: We follow in Christ’s footsteps, knowing ourselves to be wounded healers. We carry out his mission: to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed. 

And we do it together, as the community of Christ. That, too, is at the heart of the matter. The church is born and lives in community.

I am glad you are here, a part of this community. And if you are joining us by livestream, I hope you will consider joining us in-person, to be a part of this community, getting to know us and letting us know you.

Remember that rhyme we used to say as children? Here is the church, here is the steeple; open the doors and see all the people. Only, sometimes children fold their hands together the wrong way and open the doors to find there are no people inside. If there are no people in the church, there is no church – at least not in the building. The church is the people. The church is the community we find in Christ.

We are the church – wherever we go. Drawing strength from one another, breathing in and out the Spirit of God, meeting fear with love and joy.

Photo by Chang Duong on Unsplash