This Is the Night!

Sermon for SMHP, Easter Vigil 2018

John 20:1-18

           Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. ²So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.’ ³Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went towards the tomb. ⁴The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. ⁵He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. ⁶Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, ⁷and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. ⁸Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; ⁹for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. ¹⁰Then the disciples returned to their homes.

           But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; ¹²and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. ¹³They said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ ¹⁴When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. ¹⁵Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ ¹⁶Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew,^* ‘Rabbouni!’ (which means Teacher).

           ¹⁷Jesus said to her, ‘Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” ’ ¹⁸Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

This is the night 

in which the darkness of sin has been purged away by the rising brightness.

This is the night 

in which all who believe in Christ are rescued from evil and the gloom of sin, are renewed in grace, and are restored to holiness.

              This is the night!!!

           This is the night!!!

           Tonight we stand in the shadow of death, hearing the stories of our God. 

           Creation.

           Deliverance.

           Salvation

           Wisdom

           Hope

          

           We tell each other these stories to poke at memories hundreds and thousands of years old.  Memories of God doing wonderful, miraculous things.  A long reminder that God can do wonderful, miraculous things!

           We need the reminder this night, because we have entered into the space between death and life.  We can still remember the rough wood of the cross, the story of betrayal, pain, and death.  We were here, not long ago, gathered around the cross, remembering the agonizing death of Jesus. 

           And we will be here tomorrow, hearing the amazing story of the greatest thing God ever did, that time when incarnation gave way to resurrection.  And tomorrow there will be cake, and ham, and Easter baskets and the shared joy of Easter.

           But this is the night…when we stand at the edge of joy.

           Until fairly recently, I would have struggled to find an image of what I just said to you.  What does it mean, really, to stand “at the edge of joy”?

           [Start slide show]

           I’m still not sure I can adequately describe what it means, but I can show you what it looks like, since I see it most every morning.  Every morning, we open the door to the bedroom directly across from us, and there, standing in his crib, is this child, poised at the edge of joy.  When he sees you, his face lights up, and his arms stretch out, and you feel your heart start to sing.

           Every once in a while I wonder, “Will he be that boy [point to slides] this morning?  I mean, he can’t be a bundle of joy every morning, right?”

           I’m just going to let these slides run.  They don’t need any commentary.  We shall instead talk about Mary.

           Mary of Magdala went to the tomb of Jesus on the day after the sabbath.  According to Mark, she had spices for the anointing of his body.  John doesn’t tell us why she went, only that she saw the stone rolled away and went straight to Simon Peter, who then raced “the other disciple” to the tomb where they went in, one at a time, saw that the linen cloths were still there, but Jesus was not.

           Then, John tells us in the most matter-of-fact way…they went home.

           But Mary stood outside the tomb.

           Weeping.  Both feet firmly planted in Good Friday, and the horrible death of Jesus.

           And she looks in and sees the same grave clothes, and a pair of angels, and is still in a Good Friday place.  “They must have moved the body,” she tells the angels, nonplussed by the fact that there are angels in the tomb.

           She sees Jesus himself and stays in that sad, terrible Good Friday space.  “Oh, Mr. Gardener,” she beseeches, “Tell me where you have put Jesus.”

           I believe that it happened just like that, because I know that it is possible to get stuck in a Good Friday space, despite ubiquitous evidence that resurrection has, in fact, happened.  That it is, in fact, Easter.

           Sometimes we need a little nudge.  Sometimes we need a big nudge.

           Mary’s nudge comes as Jesus calls her name, and his recognition breaks through her lack of recognition and they share a moment which heaves her out of Good Friday, and toward the joy of Easter.

           She sees him, finally, and she is so excited that she latches onto him.  That’s pretty much what happens to me every morning in my house.  I want to grab hold of that and just hang on.

           But you can’t hang on.  You have to trust that the source of your joy is for real.  That Jesus is resurrected.  That the little boy is smiling on the other side of that bedroom door. 

           The best thing about living with Dominic is that he not only showers us with his own joy every morning…he reminds us to be joyful ourselves.

           The best thing about being Easter Christians is that we can remind each other that our joy is for real.

           Say that to the people around you:  “Your joy is for real!

           Our God has triumphed over death!

           Come into the joy of Easter, friends.  Our God has triumphed over death.  Let our joy be complete, and let us be about the work of sharing our joy with one another, with all those we meet, and with a hurting world.

           This is the night!

           Christ is the light!  Let him shine in us, and cast out all darkness, for our joy is for real.  Alleluia!  Amen.

We Are the Ones

Sermon for SMHP, Good Friday, March 30, 2018

                ¹⁶Then the soldiers led him into the courtyard of the palace (that is, the governor’s headquarters); and they called together the whole cohort.¹⁷And they clothed him in a purple cloak; and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on him. ¹⁸And they began saluting him, ‘Hail, King of the Jews!’ ¹⁹They struck his head with a reed, spat upon him, and knelt down in homage to him. ²⁰After mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cloak and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.

                ²¹They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross; it was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus. ²²Then they brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). ²³And they offered him wine mixed with myrrh; but he did not take it. ²⁴And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take.

                ²⁵It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. ²⁶The inscription of the charge against him read, ‘The King of the Jews.’ ²⁷And with him they crucified two bandits, one on his right and one on his left.²⁹Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, ‘Aha! You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, ³⁰save yourself, and come down from the cross!’ ³¹In the same way the chief priests, along with the scribes, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, ‘He saved others; he cannot save himself. ³²Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe.’ Those who were crucified with him also taunted him.

                ³³When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. ³⁴At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ ³⁵When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, ‘Listen, he is calling for Elijah.’ ³⁶And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, ‘Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.’ ³⁷Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. ³⁸And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. ³⁹Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, ‘Truly this man was God’s Son!”

                ⁴⁰There were also women looking on from a distance; among them were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. ⁴¹These used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee; and there were many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem.

                ⁴²When evening had come, and since it was the day of Preparation, that is, the day before the sabbath, ⁴³Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of

the council, who was also himself waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus.⁴⁴Then Pilate wondered if he were already dead; and summoning the centurion, he asked him whether he had been dead for some time.⁴⁵When he learned from the centurion that Jesus was dead, he granted the body to Joseph. 

                ⁴⁶Then Joseph bought a linen cloth, and taking down the body, wrapped it in the linen cloth, and laid it in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock. He then rolled a stone against the door of the tomb.

                ⁴⁷Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where the body was laid.

           I am always encouraging us to find ourselves in scripture, because it isn’t just a historical narrative.  It is the story of our relationship with God, which begins at creation and continues to this very moment in time.

           It is a bit easier to do when you are named in the story.  If, say, your name is Joseph, or Mary.  Or Rebecca. Or Stephen.  Or Simon

           In the part of the Passion narrative we have before us tonight, we Simons hear our name twice.  We are the one given the whole church, the one whose name is Peter in the story now, but who will always be Simon.

           Simon Peter, who denies Jesus…three times.

           Then we are the one who carries the cross for Jesus. 

           Of the two, I know which one I want to be tonight. 

           Not Simon Peter, who follows Jesus “at a distance,” and then stays in the courtyard of the high priest with the guards, keeping himself warm at the fire.

           I want to be Simon of Cyrene, who picks up his cross, as Jesus has been urging us to do throughout Mark’s gospel.  Simon, the father of Rufus and Alexander, who by tradition became early Christian missionaries.

           I want to be that Simon…but the truth is that at any given time, I am the other one, too.  I stay where it’s safe and warm.  I follow Jesus, but not too closely, not into the really tricky places.  At least not all the time, and he didn’t call me to be selective in my following.  He called me—he called all of us to carry the light of Christ into the darkest corners of this earth.

           And it’s probably safe to say that none of us do it perfectly.  In fact, at any given time, we play all the roles in this Passion Play. 

           We are the ones who appeal to Jesus for healing, and the ones who question his authority. 

           We are the ones who demand signs and the ones who pick him up when he falls.

           We are the ones who tease and the ones who confess his divinity.

           We are the ones who ask why he lets bad things happen, and we are the ones who follow him everywhere, even to the cross.

           We carry his burdens and we deny Jesus and we seek him out when we need stuff.

           We are disciples, in other words.  The same ones described in Mark’s gospel.  We answer the call to follow Jesus, but we sometimes don’t follow too closely and sometimes we don’t follow at all.

           None of us do it perfectly.  And if we did follow Jesus perfectly, we wouldn’t be here tonight at all.  Because there wouldn’t be a Good Friday.

           If we were perfect, there wouldn’t be a cross.  There wouldn’t be a savior.  God wouldn’t have become incarnate for us.

           But we aren’t, and there was, and God did.

           God became incarnate in the person of Jesus Christ because our propensity to play every role in the Passion Play means that sometimes we will struggle to hear God’s call and to live together in the harmony God intends for us. 

           So God took on our nature and dwelt among us.  God’s became incarnate for us, the us that are really good at following, and the us that are really good at betraying.

           Whether you heard your name in the story, it is there.  God called your name when God decided to become human, even to the point of death.  To take on all of our nature, including our suffering, in order that we might know that God loves us more than anything.

           God has said your name.  From the manger, from the dusty streets of Nazareth, and from the cross.  God became human in order that you might know a love beyond any other—the love that is ours, no matter who we are, or what role we are playing in this story of hope and pain and glory.

Expectations

Sermon for St. Mark Hope and Peace, Year B, Palm Sunday, March 25, 2018

Mark 11:1-11

          When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples ²and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. ³If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” ⁴They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, ⁵some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” ⁶They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. ⁷Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. ⁸Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields.⁹Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,

“Hosanna!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
¹⁰Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

                ¹¹Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

“Expectation is the root of all heartache.”

          --William Shakespeare

“High expectations are the key to everything.”

          --Sam Walton

          Expectations are a funny thing.  A lot of sages will tell you not to have them at all. 

          The patriarch of the Walmart dynasty will tell you that you should absolutely have them, and they should be high!

         

          How many of us have them?  Expectations?

          Pretty hard not too, isn’t it?  Any time we are taking on something new—new job, new relationship, new restaurant—we have a set of expectations.

          “Maybe this time, they’ll recognize my full potential.”

          “Maybe she’s the one!”

          “Maybe they’ll put the correct amount of Thousand Island Dressing on the Reuben Sandwich.”

          It’s important!  Hardly anyplace gets it just right.

          We have expectations for our church, don’t we?  Certain things we believe should be happening here?  I expect that every one of you will all come to every Holy Week service, and that so doing will change your life, in measurable ways.

          That is my normal, reasonable expectation for the coming week.  You probably have some as well.  I recommend expecting to be changed, because your expectation will likely bear fruit, whether or not your pastor’s expectations are reasonable.

          Palm Sunday is about expectations.  We have them.  And they are apparent in the story of that day that Jesus rode on palm-strewn streets into the holy city.

         

          What were the people lining those streets expecting from Jesus?

          A king.  They threw down their cloaks.  They put “leafy branches that they had cut from the fields” along his path.  As you would do for the king.  They cried out “hosanna!” which means a couple of things.  Originally, it meant “save us!” Now it is more a term of adoration and praise.  In Jesus’ day it likely had both uses.

          They were expecting a king.  A powerful king.  A king in the line of? 

          David.  God’s king. Verse Ten:  “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

          And the things Jesus did that day played right to their expectations.  A lot is made of the fact that Jesus rode in on a little donkey, but the image of a donkey which had never been ridden is a kingly image.  Especially when the people make a saddle for him on said donkey out of their cloaks. [slide]

          So he did ride in like a king.  And then he went straight to the temple.  Who hangs out in the temple? 

          Those priestly guys.  [slide]

          So a king who also hangs out in the temple?

          Messiah!!!  [slide]

          The people in Jerusalem that day expected that Jesus was the one they had been waiting for.  The one who would take on the oppressive empire AND lead a spiritual revolution from the Temple Mount.

         

          And so he did…sort of.  And that’s the thing about expectations, isn’t it?  Sometimes we have big expectations and things don’t work out exactly the way we wanted and as we move on and look back, we realize that we got what we needed.  It just wasn’t exactly what we asked for.  God knows that what you need most isn’t actually “smoky green eyes and a tight butt.” 

          On the Day of Palms, Jesus rode into town like a superhero Messiah and went straight to the temple built by King Solomon and rebuilt by King Herod. And there, Mark tells us, Jesus looked around.  And what did he see?  People changing money and selling doves to poor people and bulls to the very rich.  A marketplace, rather than God’s house.

          But, it was late, so he went back to Bethany and Martha cooked a nice dinner and they all got some sleep and the people in Jerusalem spent one night thinking that the Messiah had come and was very pleased with everything.

          Then the next day, Jesus went back to the temple and tore that place up!

         

          Expectations. 

          The portico Jesus entered that day is gone.  The arches and the gates and the inner sanctum—the Holy of Holies.  All gone…except for one wall.  The Western Wall.  Still the holiest place on earth for Jews, and a great pilgrimage site for Christians.

          I stood there, a couple of weeks ago…a bit overwhelmed.  There are always people praying at the Wall, but on Friday evening it comes alive, and if you want to pray at the wall itself, you have to make your way through people standing and sitting and dancing and singing, come close to the wall itself, and wait your turn.

          So I did that and I got to the wall itself.  The remaining wall of the Second Temple.  The Temple in which Jesus schooled rabbis when he was twelve, and where he and his family went, year after year, for Passover, and where he threw down that “holy week” so long ago.

          I got up there and I placed my hand on the wall, and it was a deeply spiritual experience until I thought “now what?”  I expected that I would have a really profound prayer to pray at the holiest wall in the world.  But as happens sometimes—maybe not to you, but to me, sometimes—I didn’t have a custom set of wise petitions to add to the buzz all around me.

          Usually when that happens, I just hold still and let God look into my heart.  Because that’s what I’m trying to put into voice by the always imprecise means of language.  The stuff in my heart.

          So I stood at the wall, with one hand touching, and then two, and then my head and let God look into my heart and then I knew what I was really doing there.

          So I said your names.  I started at the front of the sanctuary and named you from where you sit.  “Ruth Ellen, Jone, Layney, Becca, June, Ronnie,” and so on.  I added Kris and David, and Noe and Sherry.  And a prayer for those to come.

          I knew that I was in Jerusalem because of you.  Because of your trust and your love, and your faith that this community is an important beacon of light in a community and a world that is getting far too accustomed to darkness.

          I was there because of you and for you and I wanted to make sure that God heard your names in that place that has been the center of faith for three thousand years.

          As I reflect on that moment now, I realize that my expectations are just like those of the people lining the streets of Jerusalem that day long ago.  They aren’t misplaced.  They might be framed wrong, but they are right.

          God sent a Messiah to a people living in an empire.  He showed them how to build a new world, together.  A world with love at its center.

          Our lives will be changed this Holy Week.  Because we will move through this week of joy, trust, betrayal, agony, and triumph together.

          We will encounter the holy together.  And there we will here Jesus saying our names. 

Amen

We Wish to See Jesus

Sermon for SMHP, Year B, Lent V, March 18, 2018

John 12:20-33

                ²⁰Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. ²¹They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” ²²Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. ²³Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. ²⁴Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. ²⁵Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. ²⁶Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.

                ²⁷“Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. ²⁸Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” ²⁹The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” ³⁰Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. ³¹Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. ³²And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” ³³He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.

           So the Holy Land is an interesting place to go in a season in which we’ve decided to talk about peace.  Historically, it is the most contested piece of ground in the world, owing mainly to the fact that it is the crossroads between so many of the world’s cultures and nations.  Oh, and religions. 

           Roads to the east and the west pass through Israel and Palestine, as does the only road to Africa, a bridge over the Suez Canal.   

           There is an uneasy peace in the Holy Land right now, though war is never far away.  Our guide took us down a winding road one day…in a charter bus driven by a wonderful man named Ali who has nerves of steel.  At the end of the road was the point at which Israel meets both Jordan and Syria.  Also some Israeli soldiers, whose job it is to keep an eye on Syria and Jordan.  The situation in Syria is dire, he said.  Tens of thousands are dying.  And it’s all happening in plain view of a world which is doing little.

           And that is an old story, isn’t it?

           Throughout history, human beings have been willing to look away from atrocities and horrors in our midst…or just across the border.  We inhabit this very ground because it was wrested from the hands and feet of those who lived here first.  And we aren’t unusual.  Nearly every culture sits upon ground that once belonged to someone else. 

           Here’s something else true of nearly every culture on earth:  its people have claimed faith in a power higher than themselves.  For most of the world today, that’s Yahweh.  2.4 billion people in the world claim Christianity.  Add to that 1.8 billion Muslims and 17 million Jews, and we have a world in which nearly two thirds of the people claim to follow the God of Abraham.  And most of those also claim to follow Jesus.  Jesus.  I’m just gonna leave that there.

           Because…looking around the world today…and our own beloved nation…I gotta ask…what the hell?

           And I mean hell in the cosmological sense.  In the sense in which it appears—not in words but in concept—in our lesson for this morning.

           What the hell?  How is over a third of the world claiming faith in Jesus—you know, the guy who said “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you?”  And “blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”  And we can’t seem to keep from killing each other?

           There were things on our itinerary which I didn’t understand.  Names of towns which have new names.  Jaffa—the biblical Joppa from which Jonah set sail to escape God.  Capher Naum.  Want to guess that one?

           Then there was something called Yad V’shed, during the part of the schedule when we were in Jerusalem for almost a week.  Anybody know what Yad V’shed is?

           It’s the holocaust museum and memorial.  Laid out by an artist, who created a long triangular hallway, with a film playing at the beginning with scenes from life in Jewish communities before the holocaust.  That film plays behind you as you walk along the long triangular hallway of remembrance.  It’s not that long a hallway, and there’s not that much in it, which is puzzling at first.  But the museum isn’t in the straight ahead hall.  It’s in the detours to the side.  In order to get to the end, you have to cut across, from one side to the other, mirroring the path of those who thought they were going one place—a place where they would stay for a while before returning to their homes and their former lives—but ended up somewhere else, a place which can only be described as Satanic.

           By about halfway through, one experiences a longing to go back to the film scenes of happy people, just living their lives.  Each step leads one further along the road to the hell that was Auschwitz and Dachau and Terezin and any of the thousands of camps which held Jews…and gay people, and disabled people, and Romani, and prisoners of all kinds.

           At the end, there is a room, with music playing.  All the way up the long conical ceiling are the faces of people who died in the Holocaust.  One stands, craning one’s neck and trying to understand.

           There is no understanding that horror.  There is no understanding any ideology which determines that innocent people should be sacrificed for the sake of dogma, or territory, or profit.

           Indeed, the horror is the result of a fundamental failure to do just what we did at Yad V’shed:  look up.

           As Ruth Ellen showed us in hir most excellent sermon (http://brigids-cross.blogspot.com/2018/03/sermon-jesus-is-disappointing-snake-god.html) for last week, when Jesus was raised up on the cross, he became the antidote for the world’s evil.  Just as the Israelites in the wilderness gazed upon a serpent on a pole to survive snakebite, gazing up at Jesus on the cross becomes our cure, our true hope.

           On the cross, Jesus absorbed the evil of the world, in a shame not his own, but one he bore on our behalf, in order that we might see it and know the truth, know God’s love, know the way.

           Ruth Ellen said it best at the end of hir sermon:  Because God so loved the world that God gave God’s only son to hang high on a cross for the world to see, and, in seeing, be saved.

           We are saved by Jesus on the cross.  We know that, right?  But there is another element, which John the evangelist makes clear in frustrating repetition from Chapter one to Chapter Twenty-one. 

           We are saved by seeing Jesus.  We are saved by making the request made by some Greeks in our gospel lesson:  “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

           They wanted to see Jesus.  Jesus the teacher, Jesus the healer.  Jesus the savior of the world.  They wanted to see him, because it is in seeing that we begin to understand.

           It was in seeing Jesus upon the cross that a centurion—a man who bore in his body and in the breastplate he wore the image of empire—that centurion made the first public confession:  “truly this man was the son of God.”

           It is in our seeing Jesus that God is glorified, and the evil of this world is cast out.  “³¹Now is the judgment of this world;” Jesus tells us this day, “now the ruler of this world will be driven out. ³²And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”

           Who is the “ruler of this world”?  Satan

           How is he driven out of the world?  When Jesus is lifted up, and draws all people to himself.

           That didn’t happen once, two thousand years ago.  It happens every time we look up and see our Lord, taking the evil of the world into his body on our behalf.  It happens every time we actively seek to see Jesus, and to follow him.

           And we want to see Jesus, right?  Do you want to see Jesus? 

           Holy week comes near.  This is our time to see Jesus and to know him.  When we do that, when we gaze upon him, the evil in this world can be driven out.

Set Free for Peace

Sermon for SMHP, Year B, Lent I, Feb. 18, 2018

Mark 1:9-15

                ⁹In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. ¹⁰And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.

                ¹¹And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” ¹²And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. ¹³Jesus was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.

                ¹⁴Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, ¹⁵and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

           So why a season devoted to thinking about peace? 

           Well, it is part of our name.

           And it is part of our tradition…in a pretty complicated way.  As Christians we inherit a tradition of Christian peacemaking that goes back to…anyone?

           Jesus.  Jesus taught us everything we need to know about living together in peace, and as his followers, we have inherited his teaching.

           We have also inherited the Crusades.  And the doctrine of “manifest destiny” which exterminated hundreds of thousands of Native Americans in the name of an imagined call for Christians to possess this land.

           We have inherited the Holocaust, which killed six million Jews during World War II, again under the inspiration of false Christian doctrine and a selective reading of our own Martin Luther.

           We inherit that Holocaust and our own American Holocaust.  1.5 million Americans have been killed by gun violence since 1968.  Again this week, seventeen innocent lives were cut down by a troubled fellow with an AR-15 assault rifle which he purchased legally, despite having a clear history of violence and instability. 

           1.5 million people in the last fifty years.  That’s more than the number killed in every war this nation has ever fought.  As one pundit wrote, “we are at war with ourselves.”  And we are losing, friends.  It is too late to rewrite that history, so we will need to live with the shame.  Perhaps we should get the ashes back out.  And add a little sackcloth.

           Anything.  Anything to open or eyes to the destruction we have loosed on one another and our nation.

           We don’t just need a season devoted to peace.  We need a decade, a century, a millennium devoted to peace.  So peace is on our minds this Lenten season, but it will remain on our minds beyond the season.

           Still, we are taking the opportunity to delve deeply into the way of peace and the call to be peacemakers.

           We begin this week at the beginning—the holy point of embarkation for Christian faith, which is…?

           Baptism.  It all begins with baptism.  Baptism marks us for peace.  Baptism washes away the difference and discord that leads to violence and war and makes us one people.  Not by making difference disappear, but by teaching us that our differences make us beautiful.  We are all beautiful creations of a God who made us to be unique and also to be the image of our Creator.  In baptism we are joined to one another and to God, which is highlighted in the promises we make.  When a child is baptized, the parents and sponsors promise to raise the child within the community of the faithful, and to introduce the child to scripture and the teachings of the church,

so that your child may learn to trust God,

proclaim Christ through word and deed,

care for others and the world God made,

and work for justice and peace.

           We are baptized into peace.  It is a promise we make on behalf of our children, and one which should stay with us forever.  That is why the last words Jesus said to the disciples—at least according to Matthew—were “go therefore, and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.”

           Jesus commanded the disciples to baptize the whole world in the river of peace!

           How’d that work out?

           Baptism is tricky business, isn’t it?  If it becomes forced conversion, which it did, the moment Christianity became the empire’s religious and not the people’s religion—forced conversion doesn’t make the converted a member of an egalitarian religion of peace.  It makes one a subject of paternalism.

           Baptism is tricky business, which we should know, because of how that first Christian baptism turned out.

           Each of the synoptic gospels tells the story of the baptism of Jesus—in slightly different places in the narrative, but the same.  What follows each is exactly the same, except Mark adds the word “immediately,” because Mark does that.

           ¹²And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.

           The baptismal pattern is the same throughout:  Baptism leads to the wilderness.

           When we are washed clean by God and joined into the one community of love, it doesn’t mean we are through with the devil.  In fact, if the baptism of Jesus is any indicator—and it is—baptism is the doorway to the wilderness, and we are a people called to venture into the wilderness for the sake of conversion.  Not conversion of others, but our own conversion. 

           What this world needs is some good old fashioned conversion…of the heart.  What this world needs is to look the devil in the eye and say “No, devil, I will not heed to your temptation to hate my neighbor because of the color of his skin, because she wears a burka, because ze will not conform to antiquated gender norms.”

           What we all need is to look the devil in the eye—any mirror will do—and realize that the peace into which we were baptized is in our hands.  The peace into which we were baptized depends upon each of us, upon our ability to breathe peace into a world delighted by war…to breathe love into a world delighted by hate.

           My friends, we have been baptized into the love of God and the peacemaking power of Jesus Christ.  We have received that power in our bodies, which is good, because we will be spending some time in the wilderness.  The wilderness has gotten dark and thick with evil, prejudice, hatred.  But we shall make it through, because the power of baptism is the power of conversion—the power to convert closed minds and hardened hearts to the love of God.

           We are set free in baptism.  Free to love.  Free to be loved.  Free to make peace through love.  Amen

          

           

Post-"Post-racial"--Race and Reconciliation. A Lenten Devotion for the Central States Synod

Post “post-racial”:  Race and Reconciliation

           On October 3, 1971, a group of about seventy politicians and academics formed The Southern Growth Policies Board in Durham, North Carolina.  According to a New York Times article published the next day, the members of the board believed their region had “entered an era in which race relations [were] soon to be replaced as a major concern by population increase, industrial development and economic fluctuations.” Duke University President and former North Carolina governor Terry Sanford described the meeting as an opportunity to move forward as a “post-racial South.”

           From our excellent vantage point, nearly fifty years hence, it is clear that neither the South nor the rest of the United States of America is enjoying a “post-racial” existence.  Over the last year, white supremacy has been on display in our nation from Charlottesville to Kansas City to Berkeley, California—that bastion of inclusivity.  Within the boundaries of our synod in 2014, the sin of racism became a clarion call for activists from across our country, who gathered in Ferguson, MO to ask why it is that young black men are so often the target of police bullets.

           We are not “post-racial,” and neither is that a realistic goal.  The eagerness to put away our past without endeavoring change our hearts is indeed the impulse which has gained us this moment of national shame.  Perhaps “shame” seems harsh.  After all, we didn’t march on Charlottesville, right?  Indeed, those displays of utter hate and vile sloganeering seem to make it easier on the rest of us.  We could pretend that we are the ones without sin, if we are not marching with tiki torches and embarrassing ourselves on national television.

           We could do that…if we were not the inheritors of a tradition which reminds us each year that we stand in need of repentance.  We could do that if we did not know that in our hearts beats the devil’s call to see the color of another’s skin before we know the content of the other’s character.

           As this Lenten season begins, let us heed instead the call of the prophet Joel, the call to return to God, who is endlessly merciful and eternally forgiving.  Our God created human beings in God’s image.  If someday we learned to see all of our neighbors as gorgeous reflections of God’s face, we could indeed live into the dream of Dr. King, the dazzling hope of Archbishop Tutu, and the deep and abiding love of our Lord Jesus Christ.

           In this Lenten season, let the color we see be love, which adorns itself in a rainbow of hues and tints that combine to make us one body—the body of Christ.  Let us find ways to work for reconciliation between all of our neighbors, the reconciliation Dr. King dreamt his children would see.  Perhaps it can be the reconciliation which our children will see.

Ideas for further reflection:

1.  As you encounter your neighbors this Lent, try to see God’s reflection in them.  Notice how that changes your sense of who they are.

2.  Pledge to work toward racial reconciliation wherever you are.  Speak out when you hear racist language or see bias and prejudice in action.

Standing in Awe--Sermon Written for St. John, Pittsburg, KS, Transfiguration Sunday, Feb. 11, 2018

Note:  I was assigned to preach at St. John in Pittsburg on Transfiguration Sunday, but there was an ice storm south of KC that prevented the drive.  So this one never saw the light of Sunday morning.  

Sermon for Year B, Transfiguration, St. John, Pittsburg, KS, Feb. 11, 2018

Mark 9:2-9

                ²Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, ³and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. ⁴And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. ⁵Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” ⁶He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. ⁷Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” ⁸Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.

                ⁹As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

           So we don’t know each other yet, and I don’t want to spend any sermon time giving you my bio.  I do want you to know this about me, because it relates to today’s gospel lesson:

           I am an introvert.

           Other introverts in the room?

           A lot of pastors are introverts which doesn’t make sense, since we spend a lot of time with people…and does make sense because we also spend a lot of time with books, and ideas.  And hopefully we spend a lot of time deep in prayer for our world and our community and our church.

           We spend a lot of time delving deeply into scripture so that we can notice things that might be helpful to our congregations.  Or to other congregations, if, perhaps, you are preaching at St. John Lutheran in Pittsburg, rather than St. Mark Hope and Peace Lutheran in Kansas City—which is where you will find me most Sundays.

          

           There’s a ton of stuff to notice about this morning’s gospel lesson.  I always enjoy preaching on Transfiguration Sunday, because every year, no matter who is telling the story—this year it’s Mark—no matter who it is, it’s a weird story.

           It’s a super weird story, right?  They go up the mountain and Jesus turns all glow-y and Peter wants to build booths and a voice booms out of the clouds, and this is a really weird story.

           And if you really unpack the story, parts of it will begin to make sense, but it’s actually best to let it be weird.  It’s sort of like Austin, Texas.  Have you seen the bumper stickers?  “Keep Austin weird.”  Well, I think we could make a bumper sticker about this text:  “Keep Transfiguration weird.”

           Jesus took with him Peter, and James, and John, up on a mountain, and there they had a profound experience of the holy.  Do we really want to explain it away?  Could we, if we wanted to?

           Probably not.  This is the story of the ordinary juxtaposed to the extraordinary.  In order to understand it, we have to pay attention to both parts.  It begins and ends pretty ordinary. 

           “²Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves.”

           Now, there’s not time in this one sermon to give you Jesus’s whole bio, but you should know this:  Jesus was an introvert.  You can argue with me on this, but I am right.

           In general, introverts like to hang out with a few close friends, rather than big crowds of people.  Jesus spent a lot of time in crowds—mostly because they hunted him down wherever he was.  But then every so often, he had to go off and recharge his batteries.  Sometimes by himself.  And sometimes with the guys—which usually means Peter, James and John.

           Just them, though.  Mark makes a point of it.  Did you notice that?  He “led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves.

           Kinda redundant for the pithiest of the gospels, isn’t it?

           They were all alone up there.

           It’s important that we understand that.

           In fact, I think that might be the point of this whole weird lesson.

           Sometimes, we need to stand, by ourselves, in awe of the Lord.

           Sometimes we need to make the space in our hectic lives to simply stand and gaze upon the majesty of Jesus.  And hear the voice of God.  Reminding us that Jesus is God’s beloved child.

           And in so doing, reminding us that we are God’s beloved children.  God sent the Son into the world in order that the world might be saved, through him.  John 3:17, which for whatever reason never gets hoisted in football stadiums.

           God sent Jesus that we might be saved, through his body and through his words.  They are good words, right?  Words of love and hope that we need to hear all the time, but especially right now. 

           Because this is a weird time.  Our nation is at odds with itself.  And increasingly with the rest of the world.  No matter what political camp you reside in, people are uneasy.  A whole bunch of them are downright angry, and more than a few are pretty hateful about anyone who doesn’t agree with them.

           This is a weird time.  A scary time.

           Fortunately, for us, in the church, it’s also a special time.  This weird old Transfiguration lesson always arrives at just the right time, this year in particular, as we stand upon the threshold of the season of Lent.  Lent is a time for us to stand transfixed before the Lord.  A time to make space in our lives to heed the words of the prophet Joel:  “return to the Lord your God, for God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.”

           This Lent, this year, would be a good time to remind ourselves not only that God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love…but that we are called to be those things as well. 

           Couldn’t our world use a little grace right now?

           Couldn’t we all use a little mercy?  And don’t get me started on “slow to anger.”

           And what the world really needs now, to borrow from a great old song, is love.

           This Lent, I invite you to find your inner introvert—for some of us it is easy, for others, not so much—find your inner introvert and stand before Jesus.  Listen to the voice of God reminding us to listen to his clarion call of love.  Come to church on Ash Wednesday and as those ashes are marked upon your head, feel the cross being marked upon your heart.  A reminder that God so loved the world that God sent the only begotten Son…in order that the world might be saved through him.

           He can save this world.  He can lead us into that love and peace that truly surpass all understanding.

           This Lent, let us stand before the Lord.  Let us find space to hear his word of love.  Let us carve out the room to find the healing we need for our own lives, and then let that healing loose upon the world.

           God knows we need it.

           Jesus knows we need it.

           And I truly hope and believe that we know we need it.

Love Looks Like Service--A Sermon for St. Mark Hope and Peace--Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, Feb. 4, 2018

Mark 1:29-39

                ²⁹As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John.³⁰Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once.³¹He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

                ³²That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons.³³And the whole city was gathered around the door.³⁴And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.³⁵In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.³⁶And Simon and his companions hunted for him.³⁷When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.”³⁸He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.”³⁹And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

           I’m going to ask you to do something, and I want you to pay attention to the emotions you feel about doing it.

           Turn off your phone.

           How many don’t have a phone on you?

           Think about that.  Two decades ago-which is a blip in history—two decades ago, most of you would have raised your hands.  Now most of us have a phone on us or nearby at all times.

           How many felt some anxiety about being told to turn it off?

           I mean, you aren’t going to look at it during my sermon, of course!  But you still want the option.

           About the only time I turn my phone off any more is in an airplane.

           And I wanted to ask about that because I want to talk a bit more about Mark’s gospel.  It’s related.

           How many of us struggle to keep focused?  We are working on Task A, but Task B, and Task G, and Facebook and Instagram and checking messages, and “I wonder what’s in the fridge,” and any number of distracting thoughts and ideas and stuff intrude.

           IF you have trouble focusing, Mark’s gospel can be a challenge.  We’ve been working our way through Chapter One in the first gospel, and already it is clear that we will need to hone our focusing skills.  Because this gospel has a lot to teach us about Jesus, and about the call to be his disciples.  Stuff we need to learn, and we will learn, multiple times in every single lesson we get from Mark’s gospel.

           We’re gotta focus.  And take in a lot of information. 

           This morning’s lesson, for example. 

1.  Jesus leaves the synagogue (scene of last week’s lesson) and goes to Simon Peter’s house. Cures the mother-in-law who jumps up and starts serving them—we’ll talk about this in a minute, so don’t get hung up on it now.

2.  At sundown, they bring him a bunch of people who are sick and have demons and he cures them and tells the demons not to talk to him.

3.  He tries to take a day off.  People hunt him down and won’t let him have a whole day off.

4.  He says, “Fine, let’s go and preach the message.”

5.  Verse Thirty-nine:  “And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.”

           We gotta focus, right?  But on what?  There’s so much going on there. 

           Doesn’t life feel like that these days?

           I’m gonna suggest that there is one line in this lesson should command our attention.  Jesus does a lot of stuff, but he says one thing that is clearly about mission.

           Look at verse 38.  When the disciples found Jesus, in the deserted place where he was trying to be alone, they said everyone had been looking for him.  And he responded, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.”

           In the midst of a gospel in which Jesus is a Man of Action, teaching and healing and casting out demons right and left!—in the midst of that gospel and this chapter of that gospel in which Jesus is doing so much stuff…

           …he declares that what he really came to do was proclaim the message.

           He came to proclaim the message.  Which is?

           Love one another.

           And not just as a nice warm fuzzy feeling…but, of course, as an action.

           Put your love into action.  Love one another…by serving one another.

           That is the message.  That is the most important thing a person can do with their life:  SERVE. YOUR. NEIGHBORS.

           When Jesus healed Simon Peter’s mother-in-law, he was freeing her to serve.  Because serving was the most important thing she could be doing.  It was her place in the household, and we might be a little uneasy about the power dynamics of that, but it is what it is.  The highest value in that culture, and in the world which God created for us to live in and created us to continue creating—the highest value is love proclaimed as service.

           Jesus came to proclaim that message.  That was the crux of his ministry, no pun intended.  (Think about it.)

           But don’t I always say there are two primary ministries of Jesus, and thus of his disciples?

           We are called to proclaim the word of love and…

           …to heal.

           Why is healing just as valuable as proclamation?

           Why is Jesus travelling through the Galilee healing people right and left, curing their illnesses and casting out their demons?

           Because illnesses and demons are barriers to loving and serving.

           It’s hard to focus on serving when you can’t get out of bed.  Or when some demon is talking to Jesus and you can’t get a word in.

           Peter’s mother-in-law can’t serve because she has a terrible illness which has kept her confined to her bed.

           By healing her, Jesus freed her to serve. 

           Demons get in the way of our ability to love other people, and to serve them in love.  We know that’s true, right?

           What are some demons that get in the way of loving each other?  [racism, homophobia, transphobia, classism, busy-ness]

           Those demons get in the way.  And when we cast them out, we are freed to serve.  When we quit asking whether people deserve our help, and we quit seeing them through the lens of their race or the outward and inward expression of their gender or financial well-being—when we can just look at another person and see a child of God, created in the image of God and therefore beautiful—then we are freed to serve.

           When we cast out the demon of busy-ness—all that stuff we do that gets in the way of serving our neighbors the way we do when we’re just imagining it in our heads and not trying to make it fit on the calendar…when we vanquish the demon of busy-ness, we are freed to love and serve our neighbor.

           Lent is coming.  And as I do each year, like clockwork, which it is, I will remind you a couple of weeks before Lent, which is, oh, now, that Lent is a time for reflection. And action.  Action and reflection.  One way we turn our hearts and minds to God in the season of Lent is to take up a Lenten practice.  Give up something that is getting in our way.  Take up something that will draw us closer to God and closer to the message of love and service.

           As you think about what to do this Lent to help you draw closer to God and to the gospel, perhaps you might think about what gets in the way of serving others, and cast it out.  Skip a couple of those Starbucks double mocha lattes and give the money to the ELCA hunger appeal.  Or St. James Place.  Or find some time and use it to serve people in need.

           Do something that helps you focus.

           I will engage in my annual Facebook fast as one of my Lenten practices this year.  Because I want to focus on God, and Facebook encourages me to focus elsewhere.  I haven’t decided what to take up yet this year.  Perhaps we can decide together.

           Community is great for focusing and accountability.  We have church at this time each week because it makes us accountable to each other.  We agree that together we are going to pray and learn about the gospel, and share the sacraments.  We focus on what God is saying to us and how God is calling us…

           …to serve.  There is no more important focus for a Christian life than service to the neighbor.  Let it be our focus this Lent, and every day after.