Palm Sunday - Sit Up

 

John 12: 12-16   

It was the time of the Passover Festival. As always, the Passover would bring great crowds of Jews into Jerusalem. This was a major event in the life of Israel. The Passover is the annual remembrance of how God freed the people of Israel from their centuries of enslavement in Egypt. The story of how God used Moses to lead the people out of bondage and into the land of promise. The directions God gave to Moses, if you recall, were surprisingly straightforward, and bold. To stand before the Pharaoh and say to him simply, “Let my people go.”

Certainly no one thought that Pharaoh would just say, Okay. And he didn’t. So there was a series of plagues sent to afflict Egypt, to encourage them to let the Israelites go. The plague of turning the river to blood, the frogs, gnats, pestilence, boils, hail and fire, locusts, and total eclipse of the sun. And the final plague was the death of every firstborn Egyptian boy.

The Lord instructed the Israelites to mark the doorways of their houses with lamb’s blood, so that the angel of death would know which houses to pass over. A mark on each door that would cry out, Save us, O God. Save us, we pray. Every year the people of Israel celebrate this mighty saving act of God.

So on this particular Passover, Jesus is coming to Jerusalem, along with so many others. Undoubtedly, he has been in Jerusalem for many Passovers before this one, but on this year it is a particularly touchy situation. As John tells the story, Jesus has only recently raised his friend Lazarus from the dead. People have been talking about it ever since. So much that, as John says, Jesus can no longer walk about openly. Such an extraordinary sign has attracted far too much attention. He has become too great a danger in the minds of the religious authorities. They put out a warrant for his arrest.

He does not hide, however. He returns to Bethany, to the home of Lazarus and his sisters, Martha and Mary. Bethany is only two miles outside Jerusalem, and when the people who had come to Jerusalem for the Passover hear that Jesus is in Bethany, they all rush out there to see him. They wish to see Jesus. And, of course, they also wish to see Lazarus, who is quite famous now, too.

The next day, they hear that Jesus is coming to Jerusalem, so the crowds who flocked to Bethany now rush back into the city, ready to give him a hero’s welcome. They take branches of palm trees and they go out shouting “Hosanna,” which means “save us!”

They give him a royal welcome. They call him the King of Israel. And Jesus does not run away from this. He lets them do it. Under the watchful, critical eye of the Chief Priests and the Pharisees, he lets them do it.

And while this little procession is going on around Jesus on the little donkey, entering the city gates, there is another processional on the other side of the city. Pontius Pilate always came to Jerusalem for the Passover – not to celebrate, though. His presence there was meant to be a show of force. No one should forget that the Empire is watching. No one should forget that the Empire will be quick and ruthless with their punishment, should there be any disturbance, any threat to the Empire’s power.

The force of the Empire in all their regalia, sitting up high on their war horses, parades through the city gates, prepared to stifle dissent. Keep everyone in their place. Remind them all who is in control and whom they should cower before. And then, the procession of palm branches and joyful praise surrounding the man sitting on a donkey; great crowds of people calling out, Hosanna, save us, O King of Israel! Save us, they cry out.

All of this made the Chief Priests and Pharisees very nervous. One way or another, they knew, this will have to come to an end, very soon.

One way or another.

The crowds are ecstatic, jubilant. The disciples are confused. The Pharisees look at one another and say, “You see? You can do nothing. The whole world has gone after him.”

And what they say is, in fact, true. Absolutely true.

In all of the signs Jesus has performed, all the healing and the feeding and the resurrection of Lazarus from the tomb; in all these things we are being shown who he is. In all of it; the lifting up of the poor, the preference for the powerless and downtrodden, the bold rejection of the powers of this world who would oppress and crush life; in all this Jesus shows us who God is.

No one could understand it, not even the ones who had been with him every step of the way, but each one of them who was present that day were playing their part in this. The crowds of people singing praises. The Pharisees and Chief Priests trying to stop him. Pilate, who will condemn him. And the disciples bearing witness to it all.

The question I will ask you to consider is this: Where are you in all of it?

It is a question worthy of asking ourselves every day. Where are we?

Are we fighting against him because we just don’t like what he says – which is often inconvenient and uncomfortable?

Are we trying to silence his voice out of our fear of the powers of this world, the ones who condemn all that he stands for? and we want to be on the safe side, on the side of power?

Are we denying him, because a grown man sitting on a humble little donkey colt, feet dragging on the ground, is just embarrassing? To a lot of the world our faith looks like foolishness, and who in the world wants to look foolish?

Are we ignoring him, which is what Pilate seemed to do, until he just couldn’t ignore him any longer? He had to make a choice.

Are we, like his beloved disciples, simply confused by him? Where are we?

Perhaps we are in all of these places at one time or another. But I hope we will be with the crowds of people, following him, calling out to be saved. Even though they didn’t understand it all, were probably confused as well, they professed their love for him, and they followed him right into Jerusalem. Followed him through the week to come. Followed him, perhaps, even up to Golgotha, to the cross. Will we?

Or will we run away? Will we avert our eyes? Will we find something else terribly important to do while his body is beaten and nailed to the cross to die?

When the authorities gather together to discuss this problem called Jesus, the High Priest Caiaphas says in a shrewd way, “It is better to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed.”

 And so it will be.

May we, too, sit up and take notice. May we each make a decision and follow Jesus to the cross this week. In the name of the One who saves. Amen.

Photo: Laura Snapp

Lent 5 - Lift Up

 

John 12: 20-33

During my second year of seminary, I went on a cross-cultural trip with my class. This was something my seminary required of all students in the Master of Divinity program. Three weeks in another country, time spent immersed in the culture, learning about the Christian faith from a very different perspective. The destination varied from year to year. In my year, it was Cuba.

This was in a time when internet and cell phone service were not universally available, so I was completely separated from Kim and our four children for three weeks. When we finally returned home, Kim and our two little boys met me at the airport. I can remember clearly how I felt. Elated, grateful, tears of joy. A classmate told me later, “The look on your face when you saw your family? That’s the way I think we will all look when we see Jesus.”

And I think of that moment often, and always in the context of seeing Jesus.

There were people who came to the festival in Jerusalem during that Passover week who wanted this – to see Jesus. They approached Philip, one of his disciples, and they said simply, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

They did not say why they wanted to see him. They gave no indication of their intentions or desires, other than that they wished to see Jesus. And I wonder if that simple request speaks to you as it does to me. Do we also wish to see Jesus?

Talking with fellow pastors this past week, some of them expressed their doubts about this. We don’t all come to church wanting the same thing, I am sure this is true. Our wishes are often complicated, this is also true. But among all of the other complex desires of our hearts, is there a desire to see Jesus?

It is in the songs we sing, in the prayers we say. Come, Lord Jesus. Be with us Jesus, we want to see you, Jesus.

Do you wish to see Jesus?

For some, the answer might be, “Yes, but not yet!” Because, if it means dying, most of us are content to wait a while longer. We look forward to seeing him someday in the sweet by and by, but we can wait.

We’ll wait. Even though the hunger is with us now.

There is a part of us that yearns for him every day – to feel his presence, his love, his peace. Each week we stand up and share the peace of Christ with one another – what is it we think we are doing in this moment? What is our intention if not to share Christ, himself, with one another? Do we desire to have Christ with us, before us, behind and above us, beneath us and in us, as the Prayer of St Patrick says?

If we wish to see Jesus, must we wait until we die?

It is a troubling thought. And in this passage, we hear that Jesus is troubled too. “My soul is troubled,” he says to his followers. He knows that he is approaching his time, his hour. “The hour has come,” he says, “for the Son of Man to be glorified.” And in this we hear something bitter and sweet. Because his glory comes through his death. He will be lifted up, high on a cross. And when he is lifted up, he says, he will draw all people to himself. In his death. In his resurrection.

The hour has come, he tells us. It is the time of peak tension in this city – there are those who want to see him enthroned and those who want to see him dead. Both sides fail to comprehend what they are hoping for.

No one seems to realize what it will take for them to see Jesus lifted up.

Jesus, himself, tells them in a parable, as is his wont, “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains but a single grain; if it dies it bears much fruit. Lose your life to gain eternal life.”

This is, of course, a frightening prospect. He asks us to cast off all that we know and step into the unknown with him. To die with him. To be lifted up with him.

There is a demand that we change our attitude about death. That we look at death in a different way.

I have been thinking about a sentence I read this past week, written by an Episcopalian minister, Debie Thomas. “I am dwelling in the land of many dyings.”

She writes about accompanying her parents through the frailties of age. Her father with dementia, her mother suffering the lingering effects of a stroke. Through this journey there are many dyings along the way.

For her, there is the dying of childhood, for even though her parents are still living, she is no longer the child in the relationship.

There is the dying of the future, for her parents, but also for herself. There is the dying of memory, as dementia takes its toll.

We live in the land of many dyings, as well, I don’t have to tell you that – you know. We have experienced fresh waves of grief again and again.

But it is also true that every person lives in the land of many dyings through all of life if the truth be told. If we walk the way of faith, there are many dyings along the way. There is the dying of certain beliefs and visions we may have long held: what it is to be whole, to be well. There is the dying to the luxury of holding grudges and withholding forgiveness.

Debie Thomas prays the Anima Christi (Soul of Christ) prayer, which says:

Let me not run from love which you offer,
but hold me safe from the forces of evil.
On each of my dyings shed your light and your love.

In each and every life, there are many dyings – those she mentions and so many others. You and I have passed through some of our dyings; there are others yet to come. This is what I want you to know: In each one of our dyings, there is something to be born into.

Christ says to his friends, “When I am lifted up from the earth I will draw all people to myself.” And we are his friends, too. Christ bids us come, too, to die with him and be resurrected with him, in this world and in the next.

In this life, there are many dyings that we experience, by necessity. And in it all, in every one, Christ calls us to himself. He draws us to him so that in each of our dyings, whatever their form, there is the light of glory, the taste of grace, the quickening of new life. We have this assurance: in all of it, in whatever comes next for us at any stage of our living and dying, we may see Jesus there too.

This is his promise. This is our hope.

Do you wish to see Jesus? Draw near to him, if you will. Catch a glimpse of what he reveals to you: the life you can have, even now, even here. Come and die to the old life and be lifted up into the new life in Christ. Come, and see Jesus.

Photo by Gift Habeshaw on Unsplash

Lent 4: Light Up

 

John 3:14-21      

In the 1970s there was a man named Rollen Stewart who started attending sports events and doing big gimmicky things to get in front of the camera. He said later he didn’t care at all about sports, but it was a way of getting a lot of attention, which he did care about. Then he became a “born-again” Christian and his purpose changed. Now he wanted to draw attention to the gospel. So he started carrying in sheets or banners with “John 3:16” printed on them in big bold print. A lot of people didn’t have any idea what that referred to, but it sparked their curiosity. It became a thing. And John 3:16, which Martin Luther, centuries ago, called the gospel in miniature, came to stand in for the whole of it.

For God so loved the world that God gave God’s only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

It’s a very good verse. But, just as the meaning of life is bigger than a bumper sticker, the gospel of Jesus Christ is more than a single verse. So let’s give it some context.

This verse, John 3:16, comes in the middle of a story in John’s gospel about a man who visits Jesus – a Pharisee named Nicodemus. He has questions.

But as a prominent leader in the community, he has some concern about his reputation, too. He comes to see Jesus at night. How would his colleagues react if they knew he was seeking guidance, enlightenment, from Jesus? This was something he didn’t want to have to explain, so he came in the dark of night.

He begins by acknowledging that Jesus is empowered by God. He says, “we know you are a teacher who comes from God, because no one could do these things you do apart from God.” That much he knows. But it quickly becomes clear that Nicodemus is really struggling to make sense of it all. Because Jesus doesn’t fit into any of his categories.

Jesus says to him, no one can see the kingdom without being born from above. Jesus says, no one can enter the kingdom without being born of water, born of the Spirit, and this becomes all too much woo-woo for Nicodemus. He gets bogged down in the details. Born again? How can anyone re-enter his mother’s womb after he has grown? Born from above? From the wind? From the Spirit? How can any of this be?

Jesus continues talking to Nicodemus, but Nicodemus never says another word. For all we know he is already slinking away back into the shadows of his ignorance. There is a part of Nicodemus, right now the stronger part, that does not want to know. Nicodemus would rather remain in the dark than step into the light.

But light is not an either/or thing. Light is a full spectrum thing, with an infinite number of shades.

In this story, we see Nicodemus taking little baby steps into the light. He opens with the offer, “We know you are from God’ – little step into lightness. But then, “How can these things be?” – a little step backward. When Nicodemus walks away from Jesus and returns to his life, he carries little sparks of light, but not much more. For now, anyway.

It is a struggle for Nicodemus to understand because he is unwilling to let go of what he already knows, and what he is hearing from Jesus doesn’t fit in with what he knows. As one writer has put it, he cannot “let go of the ordinary to make room for the extraordinary.”

And maybe we should ask ourselves if we would be any different. If we were to encounter something that challenges all that we hold dear, everything we believe, how willing would we be to step right into the light of this new thing?

The fact of the matter is that, when you step into the light, you have to give up a lot. Nicodemus would have to give up the framework of his beliefs and values. He would have to give up his status in the community. He might have to give up some relationships that are important to him. He would give up a lot. And, for what?

Maybe Nicodemus has a glimmer of an idea that there is something extraordinary to be gained, if only he were able to let go of all the other things. Maybe there is a very small voice inside of him saying that this man, Jesus, truly is the way to life, and that everything he has known of life so far is a pale comparison to the life Jesus can offer him. But then, he might think. Can I trust this? Can I, Nicodemus, actually have this life? Do I believe in it?

The matter of belief is central in this passage, as it is throughout John’s gospel. Believing is the key. But in Nicodemus we recognize just how hard believing can be.

Throughout much of the history of the church, we have understood this word, belief, as solely a thing we do with our minds. An intellectual assent to an item of doctrine. Do you believe Jesus is Lord – it sounds like a yes/no question. Black and white. Light and dark.

But we misunderstand this gospel when we set such limits. The Greek word in the text, pistis, which is actually closer to the word faith than belief, might open us to other possibilities. What does it mean to have faith in Jesus? What does it mean for our lives? right here and now?

The analogy Jesus offers may help us to see a bigger answer to the question. “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up.” This is not a pithy little saying like John 3:16. It is definitely going to require some context.

The story of Moses and the serpent is found in the book of Numbers, the fourth book in the Old Testament. This is pretty late in Israel’s 40-year wilderness exile – an exile which is necessary because of all the unlearning and relearning they need. It’s something that doesn’t happen all at once. Like most of us, they need to be hit over the head with a 2x4 many times before they get it.

In this situation, they are bickering because of a detour they are forced to take in their journey. They complain, as they have done many times before about various things. So, the story goes, God sent venomous snakes among them, and many were bitten and died. Then the people cried out, “Oh wait, we’re sorry!” and so God instructs Moses, “Here’s what you can do: create a poisonous snake out of bronze and set it on a pole. Anyone who is bitten can look up at the snake and will live.”

It’s bizarre. But it’s also an old familiar pattern: The people complain against God. God sends them a wake-up call. The people confess their sin and their need of God. Moses intercedes for them and they live. The details change, but the story is the same.

But here is one distinction. In this story, God does not do as they ask and take away the snakes. Instead, God sends an antidote. Look up at the snake on the pole and you will live. Look away from the immediate problem. Look up and see how the problem has been transformed into the solution. How death has been transformed into the means of life. Look up and see how evil is transformed by goodness and you will live.

And as long as there are poisonous snakes in our midst, there is always a need to look up.

And so it is, Jesus says, just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up. Like the serpent, Jesus is the means of judgment and death becoming the means of forgiveness and life.

Jesus, lifted up, invites us to bring everything we are and all we have into the light. He invites us, like Nicodemus, to search ourselves and see all the ordinary things that keep us from fully entering this extraordinary light with him. In the light, we will see what is broken and what breaks us. We will be invited to let go of these things and be healed.

Jesus lifted up is the sign of healing of all the brokenness in this world. Jesus lifted up is the hope of life in all its fullness.

John calls us to believe. Believe in the forgiveness that is ours for the asking. Believe, have faith, in the power of love that Jesus bears in his body – and be saved.

Live in this light and lift up that light for all the world.

Photo: hudson-hintze-vpxeE7s-my4-unsplash

Lent 3: Raise Up

 

John 2: 13-22     

When I was a campus minister, one year I had a couple of students who were planning to walk in the local Crop Walk. They had their registration forms, but they didn’t have any donations. Maybe they didn’t really know how to get them. Their pastor, however, was a seasoned veteran of asking people for money, so I put these young women in my car and I hustled them over to a church I knew well. It was after the worship service ended. We crashed their fellowship hour, and I challenge the good people of this church to lend a helping hand by opening their checkbooks. I knew they would respond. I took advantage of these Christian people and their sense of responsibility. Was it for a good cause? Of course. But did that make it right? I leave that to you.

I was not the only person who did this sort of thing. There were always kids and their parents walking around this church with their fundraisers and their missions, hitting church members up for a few bucks. Some days it did feel like being at the temple in the midst of the merchants and money changers. Which, we know, Jesus does not like. And that is a little bit puzzling because it’s not totally clear that what they were doing was wrong.

We need to examine what was going on outside the temple that day. It was business, but in service to religion. There were merchants there, selling cattle, sheep, and doves because there were people coming to the temple to make their offerings. An offering required a sacrifice, and so they needed cattle, sheep, and doves to hand over to the priest.

And there were money changers there because these pilgrims who were arriving had come from all the surrounding lands, and they needed to exchange their various coins for a currency that would be acceptable at the temple.

Certainly, there were some very frustrated and bewildered Jews watching Jesus throw a fit and toss the tables and their wares all about the place. They wondered what they were supposed to do now. Where would they get their cow, or sheep, or dove to make their offering? Where would they exchange their currency, so they could make their temple payments?

These merchants and money changers were doing a good thing, performing a needed service, according to the religious system of the day. So it is not clear if Jesus took issue with the merchants and money changers, or if it was the whole temple system, itself, that bothered him.

Or, perhaps, both. In any case, I think it is safe to say that it had something to do with the people losing their purpose, because their institution was losing its grounding.

Institutions are important, because they keep people together, working toward the same things, grounded in a set of shared values. The institution of the temple in Jerusalem was very important for the people of Israel at that time; it was the center of their faith and the way in which they practiced their faith. No matter where they lived, the people had to make these pilgrimages to the temple because this was the way they practiced their religion. Very much like the way we attend church services.

We know now that the temple truly was in decline at that time. In the year 66, the Jews revolted against the Roman empire, which lasted about four years. It ended when the empire came in and destroyed Jerusalem, including the temple. The temple was never rebuilt.

When Jesus entered the temple on that Passover week, the temple was near its end. Within a few decades it would be gone. The institution of the temple would crumble.

Now let’s fast forward to the year 2024. We have come through the COVID-19 pandemic, which threatened all our institutions. Every way in which we were accustomed to coming together for work, for worship, for service, for play, all came to a crashing halt.

But, if we look back to a few years before we even heard of COVID-19, we know that many of our institutions were showing signs of distress, crumbling. Fewer people joined clubs and civic societies. Union memberships dwindled. Schools struggled to meet their missions. And church numbers were falling off dramatically. As our culture has changed, our institutions have been damaged. Many people have said that COVID-19 did not instigate these changes but simply hastened them along. And if things continue in this direction, it is conceivable that these institutions will meet their end just as the temple met its end.

But –

When the temple was destroyed, Judaism did not end. It was re-invented. The Jews found a new way. And the religion shifted from its central focus on the temple to a focus on the home and the community synagogue, away from the priestly leadership toward the rabbinical leadership. Which was something that probably seemed unimaginable before it happened. But it was a change that needed to happen.

The temple system that existed back in Jesus’ day had been compromised. Some of the leaders worked in league with the Roman empire for their own benefit. The system of offerings and sacrifices had become compromised, enabling some merchants and money changers to profit handsomely from it, exploiting people who had no choice but to do business with them.

A change needed to happen.

Jesus said the temple would be destroyed and in three days he would raise it up. And as John very helpfully tells us, he was referring to the temple of his body. On Good Friday, his body was destroyed, and three days later raised up again. This is good news. Jesus lives; in every work of compassion done in his name, Jesus lives. Through our hands and our feet and our hearts Jesus lives.

I believe what we need to hear today is that buildings can be destroyed, but we will continue. Bricks and mortar will crumble, but the church will continue. Even systems that we cherish, systems that hold us together and help to give us a sense of meaning and purpose, these can fall, but the church of Jesus Christ will continue. And the church will thrive if we care enough to defend it.

If we care enough to defend it. And sometimes defending it requires tearing down and throwing out what has been compromised, what does not serve us or glorify God.

Perhaps there are things that need to be torn down or thrown out.

The church systems, we can clearly see if we are looking, have been compromised. By church leaders who abuse, embezzle, and exploit. They have been compromised by churches that sell out their mission in all kinds of ways, from coercing members to vote for certain candidates to renting their electronic sign to firearms businesses. They have been compromised by churches that cut their mission budgets because they are afraid to ask people to support them. The church has been compromised by congregations that worship their buildings more than their God. The church has been compromised by people who care more about having the right language – whether we are talking about political correctness or legalistic dogma – than having a right heart. Let us count the ways the church has been compromised.

And maybe it is time for some things to be torn down. The important question we must ask is what will be raised up in their place?

We don’t really know what the church will look like in the future. But no one will ever know, if you and I don’t care enough to wonder about it and dream about it and try to live into it. If we don’t care enough to keep one foot firmly planted in the realm of God while we tend to the life of the church in this world. For all I know, this beautiful building may not last through the century. But the church, you and I, will find a way to carry on Christ’s ministry to the world if we care enough to do it.

We are the ones, you and I. Tell me: what will we, with God’s help, raise up together?

Photo by youssef naddam on Unsplash