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.