Easter 6, A

Acts 17:22-31
1 Peter 3:13-22
John 14: 15-21

What’s your confidence level with ancient Greek philosophy? Would it surprise you if I told you that you can all quote a Greek philosopher-poet from the 6th century BCE. Epimenides. You know his work – you just don’t know that you do. Epimenides was an interesting fellow, said to have lived for 300 years. (It’s possible that might be a slight exaggeration) Legend has it that at some point in that lengthy lifespan, he fell asleep in a cave and awoke 57 years later blessed with the gift of prophesy. It proved a mixed blessing, perhaps, as the gift of prophesy is wont to be. After being taken prisoner in the war between the Spartans and the Knossians, he was executed by his enemies for refusing to prophesy favorably for them. You know his ancient, prophetic words….

“They fashioned a tomb for you, holy and high one,
Cretans, always liars, evil beasts, idle bellies.”

Not sounding familiar yet? Not an expert on Cretan moral habits? The verse continues…

“But you are not dead: you live and abide forever,
For in you we live and move and have our being.”

“For in you we live and move and have our being.”

Penned centuries before Jesus was even born, appropriated by Paul, and reported by Luke in the book of Acts, these Greek words form the underpinning of a great deal of contemporary Christian thought. Not only do we find the words in the Book of Common Prayer’s Collect for Guidance, but we repeatedly encounter the concept in the writings of theologians. It is suggestive of Paul Tillich’s concept of God as the “ground of all being”. It is easily seen in the writings of Marcus Borg: “This concept [panentheism] imagines God as the encompassing Spirit in whom everything that is, is. The universe is not separate from God but in God” (Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity: Rediscovering a Life of Faith)

Epimenides was writing about Zeus. The Athenians worshipped an unknown God. Paul recognized in both a more universal sense of belonging to something bigger, of an intimate relationship between creator and created. Abandoning his usual scripturally based approach to evangelism (what do pagan Athenians know from Moses and the Torah anyway?), he recognized their longing, their search, their “groping for God” as something universal. He shared his own spiritual food; his own sense of the ever-present creator God.

Some of you may know my year old. Linnaea is interested in numbers. Addition, subtraction, what is bigger and what is smaller than what. What is the biggest number, Mumma? What is smaller than zero? What is bigger than infinity? She came up with an interesting answer on her own. (No coaching, I promise) “God.” she said. “God is bigger than infinity. God is bigger than everything. God is in everything.” Out of the mouths of babes…

A correspondent of mine tells a story of a mother and child on their way home from church. Apparently the daughter has actually been listening to the service because she says to her mother, “I’m confused. You know how the pastor said in her sermon that Christ is much bigger than any of us?” “Yes, I remember,” said her mother. And she said that Christ lives in us, right?” “Yes,” said her mother. “If that is so, if Christ is bigger than we are, and if Christ lives in us, then why doesn’t Christ show through? (Pam Laing, Midrash, personal communication)

Why doesn’t Christ show through?

More philosophy – this time from the 17th century. Arthur Schopenhauer was a grumpy fellow with a gloomy if rather descriptive view of humankind. He described us as porcupines in the cold. “The colder it gets outside, the more we huddle together for warmth; but the closer we get to one another, the more we hurt each other with our quills. And in the lonely night of the Earth’s winter eventually we begin to drift apart and wander out on our own and freeze to death in our loneliness.”

Suffering happens. Peter knew it. “For it is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil”. That may be true, but it is not terribly comforting while the suffering is happening. This is Memorial Day Weekend. We remember lives lost, lives given in service. We honor the lives of those who have died, and the suffering of those who have lost them. No one goes through this life without suffering.

We search, with all our fellow porcupines for comfort, for meaning. Jesus offers respite from the prickles. You know [the Spirit], because he abides with you, and he will be in you. I will not leave you orphaned.” Jesus asks us to embrace the love He offers. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” This is not analogous to the emotional threat of a power-based relationship – “If you are my friend, you’ll let me copy your homework”, “If you love me, you’ll keep my secret” and so on. Jesus invites us to a love-based relationship. His commandments – Love god. Love your neighbor. Love each other as I have loved you. He is not setting out conditions for love, he’s laying out logical consequences.

Father Pedro Arrupe said:
Nothing is more practical than
finding God, than
falling in love
in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination, will affect everything.
It will decide
what will get you out of bed in the morning,
what you do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read, whom you know,
what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in love, stay in love,
and it will decide everything.

Our porcupine quills may never completely disappear. We role ourselves into prickly balls in defense, in protection. Jesus does not demand a change in sentiment, but a change in action. He would have us mindfully soothe our bristles, exposing our soft underbellies, day after day, time after time. If we love God, if we embrace that active, vital, organic love Christ gave the world; a love that fed the hungry, healed the sick, comforted the lonely, a love that treated women and outcasts with respect, a love that challenged the power structure, a love that suffered and served, even unto death – if we embrace that love, we love.

Christ will show through.

EASTER 5

John 14:1-14

Let me begin by letting you know that much of this material comes from David Lose on a website called Working Preacher.org

When is a promise a promise and when is it a veiled threat? Think back to the various covenants of the Old Testament. When God says, “I will make your descendants more numerous than the stars,” that is a promise. But what if he says, “If you obey my commandments, I will be your God.”

This is a conditional promise and it carries an implied threat, does it not? What happens if you don’t obey God’s commandments? The implied threat is that God will no longer be your God or that God’s wrath will somehow ‘get’ you.

The part of today’s Gospel that I want so badly to ignore, but am not, is this: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

I want to ignore it because it has been used by many preachers to condemn other faiths, to claim that only Christians have access to God, that only folks who accept their interpretations can be saved, etc. etc.

I can’t ignore it because I would never want any of you to use this text as such a weapon against others. So let’s see if we can understand it in a different way.

This lesson is taken from what is called in John’s Gospel the Farewell Discourse, the words John shows Jesus sharing with his disciples after he has washed their feet and before he goes to Gethsemane. He begins with another form of fear not: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

Jesus has told the disciples that he will be leaving them and so makes this promise: “Though I go away, it is to prepare a place for you in the presence of my Father. I will come back for you, and we will be united again in time.”

Notice two things about this statement. One is that we will be united again in time – not in eternity. The implication is that Jesus will be with us in the here and now. Second, this is clearly a promise with no conditions.

Of course, the disciples don’t quite get it. Thomas, thinking that Jesus’s reference to the many dwelling places in his father’s house is some actual place, asks for directions. “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way.” He seems to want coordinates to plug into his GPS. And I can sympathize with him! Stop all this metaphorical stuff and tell me where to go!

Instead Jesus says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” That sounds like pure promise. Then “No one comes to the father except through me.” That sounds conditional and therefore seems to carry a threat. And that is how it has been used.

Here is a great example of how important context is, and how passages of scripture taken out of context can be misused. Because Jesus goes on to say, “If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” The Greek tense of these statements is not conditional, but rather states an already existing reality. Lose say the sense of this is promisory: “If you know me, and you do know me, you will know the Father.

Jesus’s words are not therefore meant to keep people out, but to assure his followers that they are really IN. Thus, “And from now on you actually do know him and already have seen him.” Another promise statement.

Then Philip questions Jesus, playing the same role as Thomas had earlier. “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus says, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.”

Here John is replaying the theme introduced in the first verses of his Gospel, that Jesus is divine and has existed since before the world was created, so that if you have seen him you have seen God.

Now the debate over the nature of Jesus was a major issue in the early church and it’s no surprise if you read the Gospels carefully. In Mark, Jesus appears to be wholly human – no stories of strange happenings at his birth, no post-resurrection appearances or stories. By the time John wrote his Gospel Jesus identifies himself as the same as God.

Whether you agree that Jesus was fully human or fully divine, or whether you instead agree with the Nicene Creed that Jesus was both, fully human and fully divine, you are welcome here. This is no longer a debate that holds any interest for me. What I do consider significant is that Jesus came to show us the truth about God. This is a truth that people had mostly been getting wrong for a very long time and that we have pretty much continued to ignore down through the centuries.

If we want to know what God is like, all we have to do is look carefully at what Jesus is like and what he taught his followers. The image of God that emerges from this is an image of love for everyone, unconditional love, without threats and without violence. Yes, God may get angry, God may be disappointed with our behavior, but God will do all in God’s power to bring the sinner back, to redeem the unrepentant, to gather all of the flock into God’s fold.

Knowing Jesus should convince us that we have nothing to fear, even when we have doubts about our faith, even when we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Jesus, or if you prefer, the risen Christ, is with us now, walks with us through time, in trouble and sorrow as well as joy and happiness.

Remember that God is God, I am what I am. As Christians we come to know God through Jesus. Other faiths have other access points to God. All faiths have sometimes misunderstood or misused the name of God. But this is the God of creation and all of us belong to God. I always think of the book written by Matthew Fox called “One River, Many Wells.” That’s a metaphor that so aptly captures what I’m trying to convey. One God, many ways of accessing God.

We gather round the Christian well or the Episcopal well, if you prefer, but there are man other wells that also connect people to the Great Spirit. What we know of Jesus should help us accept our place as beloved and to recognize that everyone else is beloved too. Do not let your hearts be troubled. God loves you. AMEN

Easter 4, A

Acts 2:42-47

Psalm 23

1 Peter 2:19-25

John 10:1-10

Today I stand before you joyous to give testimony to one of the most singular, most miraculous, most extraordinary events of all time. The sun came out in Northern Minnesota.

We actually had the windows open yesterday – oh, that gentle breeze felt so nice, smelled so fresh. Sunbeams dancing of the surface of the lake. Ok, they’re dancing off ice crystals, but they are dancing.

And it’s Mother’s Day today. Happy Mother’s Day! And – Happy Good Shepherd Sunday. 4th Sunday of Easter – it’s always Good Shepherd Sunday.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. And from the Gospel “the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.” Hence, Good Shepherd Sunday.

Sunshine breaking through the gloom, Mother’s Day, that most sentimental of all holidays, and fat, woolly, social, bleating bundles of cooperative fluff. Could you find a day any more suited to warm fuzzies? Safe and protected within our fold – the courageous shepherd laying down his life for our welfare. We may have to work on our bleating skills just a titch; but otherwise, oh, it sounds nice, doesn’t it?

Or does it? What’s all this talk about thieves and bandits, killing, stealing, destroying? They’re not outside, they are inside the fold. The thieves and the bandits – calling the sheep away from the gate, away from the shepherd. These are the things that call us from Jesus’s teachings? But let’s be honest, shall we? Not all of following the Way seems all that warm and fuzzy anyway, does it?

Look back to Acts, “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.” Generosity – great. Sharing with our neighbors – of course. Distributing to all in need – what higher calling? But “all”? All things in common? All things to those in need? And by all, do you think he means “all”? Like the real all? My lovely flannel sheets, thick and warm and soft? And my books. What about my books? They are practically friends – how do I give those away?

My warm fuzzies are cooling off a bit here.

And Peter. Peter is so far off the warm and fuzzy beat. “It’s a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly.” Really? Can I just go back to my nice, safe sheepfold, please? This is not sounding good at all. 1) Give everything away. 2) Trust the future to fellow believers and to God (presumably without first setting up a prudent retirement plan and insurance policy), 3) suffer unjust abuse without so much as objecting, much less retaliating. This makes no sense.

Before you head back to your safe, familiar, spiritual sheepfold, consider the possibility that we, we the church, have been missing something. We traditionally read this Gospel and its synoptic counterparts the warm and fuzzy way. Jesus is the gate. Jesus is the shepherd. He said as much. By extension, we are the sheep. We walk through the gate; we are guarded by the shepherd. Baa. Life is good, predictable. We know who we are. We know our fellow sheep. We are confident in our safety. Baa.

According to the Rev. Delmer Chilton, Peter holds the key to a deeper, richer understanding. “‘For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps. (emphasis added)’ Jesus suffered for us; we are called to suffer for others. It is a recurring theme with Jesus. The father sent me, I send you. I forgive you, you forgive others. I feed you, you feed others. I heal you, you heal others. I suffer for you, you suffer for others. I shepherd you, you shepherd others.”

What if Peter was right? I know, Peter wasn’t right all that often when Jesus was alive, but he did have his moments. What if Peter was right here? About that whole footsteps following thing. What if it is our turn? What if we have been shown the gate, passed into the fold, been held safe, and now we are called to follow Jesus’s footsteps and shepherd?

There is a world of sheep out there. I don’t mean that to be in any way insulting, despite the ovine reputation of dim-wittededness. In point of fact, sheep have shown an ability to problem solve and have excellent memories. They can remember at least 50 individual sheep and humans for years. Depending on the day, this may be more than I can claim for myself with any confidence. Sheep display emotions, have clear facial expressions (at least clear to other sheep), even make vocalizations that can communicate specific emotions. Sheep have been known to find and eat appropriate medicinal plants when ill. Mother sheep (back to that Mother’s Day theme) form deep and lasting bonds with their lambs.*

The bad rep of sheep comes not from true stupidity, but rather from a truly horrible sense of direction (I can relate to this). This horrible sense of direction is combined with a strong need for social belonging and a unenviable venue at the bottom of the predator/prey food chain. Consequently, sheep will follow the crowd anywhere just to try to stay safe. Again, sounds disturbingly familiar.

So I say this without any sense of condescension – there is a world of sheep out there. There is a world of the lost: the frightened, the wandering, the lonely, the ill, the hungry, the preyed-upon, the suffering. We have been lost and shepherded – are we now called to shepherd, to follow the footsteps of The Shepherd?

Jesus never promises warm and fuzzy. That is our construction. Jesus promises life abundant. A life replete with love and caring. A life rich in compassion, not STUFF. A life worth giving for.

Again the Rev. Chilton, “There is a world full of hurting and needy people walking through the valley of the shadow today. Will you take up your rod and your staff and walk with them? Will you give up your comforts so that they may have necessities? Will you suffer so that their suffering might end? Will you help Jesus shepherd the world?”

*Sheep facts from OneKind.org
Thanks to the Rev. Delmer Chilton, Lectionary Lab, for the basic concept

EASTER 3, A, 5/4/14

Luke 24:13-35

On Easter Day we celebrated the resurrection of Jesus as Christ with joy and confidence. But just imagine what that day must have been like for the disciples and all the other followers of Jesus. In spite of his teachings and warnings of what was to come, many of them still expected the Messiah to restore Israel to its former glory – after all, wasn’t that the point of his being from the house and lineage of David?

The Jews had yearned for Messiah for so long that these hopes and dreams of a worldly kingdom were deeply imbedded in their culture. The people following Jesus had proclaimed him Messiah, but then he was crucified and died. No wonder they were in disarray, lost and confused. How could they reconcile this event with their expectations.

Then the events of Easter unfold. The empty tomb brings more disbelief, then astonishment, hope, and more questions. So now imagine two of his followers, Cleopas and maybe his wife, walking home to Emmaus late in the afternoon of resurrection day. They are talking of all they had seen and heard, trying to make sense of it. They fall into conversation with a man on the road that they take for a stranger. And they tell him all about Jesus. “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”

They tell him of the empty tomb, but no one has seen Jesus.

Clearly this puzzles them. So the stranger says – “but doesn’t the scripture explain all this?” – and then lays it all out for them. They take the stranger home with them for dinner. When the stranger “blessed the bread and broke it, then their eyes were opened and they recognized him” as Jesus.

Imagine their surprise to suddenly see Jesus at their table, and how much more so to have him disappear without their having a chance to speak. Even so, it seems evident that they now believe that Jesus lives, because they immediately walk the seven miles back to Jerusalem to tell his disciples.

What are we to make of this miracle on the road to Emmaus? Does it speak to any of our experiences today? When I preached some of this sermon material back in 1999, I had talked about how all the Gospel stories of Lent in this year had to do with seeing and not seeing Jesus for who he was – and of seeing beyond the surface of reality to the underlying truth.

For most of us, believing is tied to seeing, much as it was for Cleopas. He didn’t take quite as much convincing as Thomas, but certainly this experience on the road changed his understanding of the Easter event.

If we believe in the resurrection, whether literally or metaphorically, where do we look for the risen Christ? Where do we seek him out? The most obvious answer may be – in church. We come to church to encounter Christ. Well, where do you see Christ this morning? Can you find him here? Now? Where?

One of the songs I’ve quoted before speaks directly to this. The chorus says this:

“Have you seen Jesus, my Lord? He’s here in plain view. Take a look, open your eyes. He’ll show it to you.”

And here are two of the verses:

“Have you ever stood at the ocean, with the white foam at your feet; felt the endless thundering motion? Then I say, you’ve seen Jesus, my Lord.”

“Have you ever stood in the family, with the Lord there in your midst; seen the face of Christ on your sister? Then I say, you’ve seen Jesus, my Lord.”

How do you suppose we see Christ in the face of another person or in other aspects of our daily lives? Try it out this week. Let’s cultivate our awareness. Let’s stop racing from task to task, wearing blinders. Let’s be alert for those things seen from the corner of the eye. Let’s give ourselves some time and space to just enjoy the arrival of spring, enjoy our friends and families, and enjoy the beauty around us. Let’s cultivate our ability to see beyond the surface.

I believe the song got it right. We’re meant to see the face of Christ on the faces of the people we meet. If I can see His face on yours, how can I possibly treat you badly? If I can see his face in your face, how can I help but love you? How could I refuse to help you when you are in need? How could any one of us think that we are any better than the others?

If I can recognize Christ’s spirit in you and you can see it in me, we are bonded like a family is bonded. Whatever hurts one of us hurts all of us. Whatever builds up and encourages one of us helps all of us.

But seeing Christ in others is not easy. It requires that we give up things that most of us cling to – I certainly do – things like control, ego gratification, and judgmental attitudes.

My mother and grandmother used to make a sound to indicate disapproval. You know, that sound that is written “TSK” but sounds like this: “ tsk, tsk, tsk.” It often preceded statements like, “Look at the mess you have made!” Or “What a shame to be all dressed up for a party with dirty nails!”

I don’t know how often I made such statements to my son, but I well remember the first time I caught myself and realized what I was doing. I had pulled an old scrapbook from high school off the shelf, causing a wedding invitation to fall out of it. I looked at it and said, “Tsk,tsk,tsk and now they are divorced. Oh,Wait a minute! So am I!”

I have never completely cured that tendency to be judgmental, but I’ve learned to curb it most of the time, and I must say that I feel better when I can look at someone and see the spirit of God in them, somehow.

Imagine that next Sunday we all arrive at church as we did today. Someone we know greets us and gives us a bulletin. We assume our usual places in the church. But then comes the surprise. Three new people join us.

One of them is a middle-aged man in very shabby clothes with visible dirt on his hands and neck. He comes in like anyone else to worship and slips into the last pew. He smells bad. The second visitor is a young woman, dressed in slacks and a sweater. She blends right into the congregation, but most of us know she is a lesbian. The third visitor is a young man in his late teens wearing very baggy pants, a huge T-shirt hanging out and a baseball cap. He’s not wearing earphones, but walks down the aisle as though he’s listening to some kind of groovy music. He sort of boogies into a pew half way to the front.

NOW – Can we see Christ in these people? If it’s sometimes hard to recognize Him in our friends and family, how much harder is it to see Him in the stranger and the outcast? How would we speak to these visitors? Would we ask them to stay for coffee? Would we introduce them around and include them in the conversation? Could we see them as brothers and sister? Could we ever love them as Christ loves us?

Remember, there are really two purposes in cultivating our awareness of the living Christ. One is so that we can see the face of Christ on others, but also, maybe even more important, so that others can see Christ’s face on us. Would they walk out of church feeling that they had seen Christ this day? Actually, I think they would, but we must still continue to cultivate our ability to see beyond the surface of the things and people around us. Christ has promised to be with us always, but it’s up to us to pay attention! AMEN

EASTER 3, A

Easter 2, A

John 20: 19-31

Alleluia! Christ is risen. The Lord is risen, indeed. Alleluia!

(If enthusiastic response) – Oh, I so missed hearing that resounding proclamation here last week. I love getting our Alleluias back. After the journey of Lent this bold declaration sweeps in like a breath of spring air, clearing out the cobwebs and ushering in a sense of hope and light and life….

(If lackluster response) – Mmm. Ok. I know that time flies. I know that the cadbury cream eggs and the peeps and the egg dying kits are 75% off now. Only a week ago it was 60 degrees and sunny and lovely, and this resounding proclamation sounded forth from these very pews. Now it’s forty and cloudy and Easter seems a lifetime away, but I know that you remember that sense of fresh hope and light and life in our bold Easter proclamation, so we are going to try that one more time – Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen, indeed. Alleluia!….

The disciples, huddled in their fortified little room, were decidedly not feeling that joy, that exaltation, that sense of life renewed. They were hoping against hope to make it to the next hour, the next day, the next week.

I grew up hearing about the tornado that flattened the nearby city of Xenia in 1974. One day, when my parents were out, I heard the siren go off. I knew the plan – I knew where to go. I also knew exactly how much good it would do to go there if a tornado actually flattened my house. Just the same, I went to the small, windowless utility room. I chose the most fortified looking spot and sat down. I sat. I waited. I waited to find out if my world would end. I remember even now – so many years later that profound, bone-chilling, penetrating fear – a palpable weight at the pit of my stomach.

The disciples knew fear. They had followed a man that they knew was the messiah, the savior. They followed him right up until they didn’t; until they scattered and ran, denying their friend, their teacher. They saw their hopes of salvation savagely beaten, tortured and murdered. They knew that the forces which destroyed their hopes would happily destroy them as well. They saw their world ending. They fortified the doors, locking out the danger. Locking out the disappointment. Locking out the threat. Locking out the grief. But they had carried their fear in with them, palpable and cold. It permeated the room and hovered among them, a thick miasma.

Shalom aleichem. Jesus stood among them, undeterred by their locks and fortifications. Shalom aleichem. Peace be with you. The traditional Jewish words were at once greeting and blessing – connoting not just peacefulness but a deep and abiding tranquility, a holistic sense of well being (Working Preacher). With the breath of the spirit, the disciples are freed from their self imposed prison built of fear.

Thomas was not among them at the time. Maybe he was not as frightened as the rest and ventured out into the world. It would not have been the first time he had shown courage – it was Thomas who cajoled the frightened apostles into accompanying Jesus to see Lazarus saying “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Maybe he had drawn the short straw and was sent out for bagels and blintzes. Maybe he just needed to go to the little disciples’ room at an unfortunate time. The text gives no hint. We know only that Thomas the Twin was absent. He did not have the same benefit of viewing the wounds of Jesus’s hands and side that the others received. He wanted the same opportunity.

Thus he earns his historical name, “Doubting Thomas”. “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” “Doubting Thomas” Not Thomas the Twin, as the Gospel writer dubs him. Not Thomas the Brave or Thomas the Faithful for his earlier act of courage and loyalty. Not even Thomas the Understandably Skeptical. I believe that the vague disdain in which the church has held dear Thomas is unfortunate. We seem to imply that doubt threatens faith, and only blind adherence to inherited dogma can save it. Apathy threatens faith. Indifference threatens faith. Doubts give faith new life. As Frederick Buechner points out, “Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith. They keep it awake and moving.”

“I do not feel obliged” said Galileo, “I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason and intellect has intended us to forget their use.” We live in the age of the scientific method, of proof beyond a reasonable doubt. Far from preserving the faith, forbidding skepticism, vilifying doubt is rather to close and lock the doors against the freshening breeze of perspective and to smother in the stagnant air of orthodoxy. Denying doubts is as much a way of pushing away the fear that still lurks as locked doors. It means closing our minds, closing our hearts, hiding from truth.

Jesus does not rebuke Thomas for his doubts. Far from it. Jesus comes back. Jesus meets Thomas within his skepticism. Jesus offers Thomas what Thomas needs in an encounter so powerful that Thomas answers with one of the most powerful christological statements in all of scripture, “My Lord and my God!” Tradition has it that Thomas went on to proclaim the Gospel far and wide, scoping beyond the vast Roman Empire and as far as India. Would that all our doubts took us so far.

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” This is not a rebuke to Thomas. This is a message to us. To you, to me, to our children and our children’s children. To those of us born 2000 years too late to put our fingers in the mark of the nails and our hands in his side. To those of us who have built fortifications against our fears; constructed locks against the threats of the outside world.

Shalom aleichem. Peace be with you. Jesus joins us, stands among us where we live, where we hide, where we fortify our lives against the fear. He breathes his spirit upon us if we will receive it and bids us live. Live our doubts, live our questions, live our faith, live His love, live abundantly in Him.

Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen, indeed. Alleluia! Amen!

LENT 5, A

John 11:1-45

Because the Gospels are about Jesus, our preaching each week usually focuses on the Gospel and on the action to and by Jesus. This is appropriate, and then we ask what does this story or the behavior of Jesus tell us about Jesus or God and how we are to live in the world today.

In reading the story of Lazarus this week, what struck me is how all the lessons we’ve heard through Lent are preparing us for the experience of resurrection. The seminary trained clergy all say that Lazarus was not resurrected, but only resuscitated, because he will, in fact, die again. But I say that what Lazarus experienced was a resurrection event. The Gospels seldom tell us how the people involved with Jesus feel, but can you imagine what it would have been like to experience death and return as Lazarus did?

Since no one knows for certain what happens when we die, especially if we’re dead for several days, we can only imagine what Lazarus experiences when he “wakes up” in his tomb, realizing where he is and that he is wrapped in funeral linens. How would that feel?

Jesus orders him to come out and he somehow manages to emerge, so that the community of people can unbind him. He is then free to rejoin them and his family in a new phase of his life.

Maybe it would help us to think of resurrection as a process of unbinding. Certainly resurrection, as we know it in this life, is an unbinding of the tethers that held us captive in our old life, allowing us to step into an opportunity for new life. These might be tethers of sin or grief, anger or depression; they may be tethers of fear, or clinging to the past, or longing for what is no longer possible.

It strikes me in looking back at the Lenten lessons that they can be seen as variations on this theme. Jesus emerges from his testing in the wilderness unbound from his past and focused on the future. He is no longer a carpenter, son of Joseph and Mary. He is now a teacher and a prophet, a man called by God to take a new path.

In the story of Nicodemus, Jesus is calling him to new life through a new understanding of the spiritual reality in which his earthly life is embedded. We get that Nicodemus is confused by what Jesus says, but we don’t get to see the results of their encounter from Nicodemus’s point of view.

Jesus calls the Samaritan woman to a deeper understanding of a spiritual life, but their encounter also opens to her new opportunities in her material life. Meeting Jesus is a resurrection experience on multiple levels, because his treatment of her gives her the self-assurance to run tell the villagers, and may thereby give her new status in their eyes. It is through her that the village meets and accepts Jesus.

Think of experiences you’ve had that either boosted or deflated your self-esteem. These should remind us that there can be no resurrection without a death. Now the death of old habits, or sins, or griefs may be considered a good thing, but they are not pleasant to experience! An event that deflates our self-esteem can be felt as a death-like experience. I suspect that the Samaritan woman had had more than her fair share of these. So how would she feel after meeting Jesus?

The story of the man born blind who was cured by Jesus, comedic as it may be, is most clearly a resurrection story if we look at it from the man’s point of view. As a blind man he had no choice in life but to be a beggar. His marriage opportunities were as low as they come. He would not have children. His healing changes all that. Not only can he work at a real job, live a normal life, he can now also worship at the temple, because he has been made whole.

Even being driven out by the Pharisees does not repress his joy and enthusiasm. He gladly turns to Jesus as his new teacher and savior.

The more I study the Gospels, the more I am astonished about seeing new things, new connections, and new implications in them. It now looks to me like Jesus was trying to prepare his disciples for his own resurrection as well as opening their eyes to the possibilities of resurrection experiences in their own lives and in the lives of all God’s people.

There are lots of examples. When I walked out of the house one day last week, I felt resurrected because the sun was shining and it was in the 30’s and I could smell spring coming. I felt unbound because I could put my Michilin Man coat away for the season and I didn’t absolutely have to have gloves on.

What about a person who has had a successful heart transplant or someone who has survived cancer? Haven’t you heard them say that they have a whole new outlook on life or that they treasure every day in new ways?

I know two women who have beaten their addiction to crystal meth, and either one could take my place here and give you an hour’s talk on what it’s like to live in the resurrection, about becoming unbound, and the community that helped to unbind them.

I hope you will take some time this week to think about the various resurrection events in your lives. In what way were you unbound by the experience? When did you realize it as a resurrection or a chance for new life? How did you feel? Who helped to unbind you? How long did it take for the unbinding to be completed?

Christians are sometimes referred to as Easter people, but that also means we are resurrection people. We can, and should, and do participate, like Lazarus’s community did, in helping to unbind others. Whenever we boost someone’s self-esteem, whenever we treat everyone with respect and listen to them, whenever we love one another, as Jesus called us to do, we are helping to unbind those around us.

We may not know it at the time; we may have no idea what they are being bound by; we may have no sense of the other person being in need of a little resurrection. It doesn’t matter. We just do what we can to help unbind them.

I believe we are meant to live resurrected lives here on earth. Yes, we will have many death-like experiences in life. Yes, we’re still going to die some day, but living a resurrected life while we are still alive means we can indeed, even at the grave, make our song, “Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!”

LENT 4, A

John 9:1-41

Do you remember that old skit done by Abbott and Costello called “Who’s on First?” If not, you can see it on Utube – it’s something everyone should be familiar with. It’s a brilliant piece of comedy and draws on many traditions from the Italian Commedia dell’Arte to Shakespeare to opera. It raises confusion and misunderstanding to new levels.

Today’s Gospel reminded me of this skit and at one level it really is a comedy. Here is a blind man, who could only make money by begging. Jesus returns the sight to his eyes and what happens? The neighbors who used to see him begging begin to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” Meanwhile the man himself kept insisting, “I am the man. I am the man!”

The neighbors bring in the Pharisees, taking the formerly blind man to them for questioning. They immediately get hung up on the fact that this healing took place on the Sabbath, therefore the healer could not be from God.

Then the Pharisees go ask the man’s parents. They admit that he was blind from birth and now can see, but they don’t know how he was healed and tell the Pharisees to ask him. He is of age. Of course, they have already done that,

but didn’t like the answer.

So they return to the once blind man and declare that the one who healed him is a sinner. The man replies, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”

This goes on for several more repetitions. Really, if the issues involved weren’t so important, this would be funny. In the end, the man loses all patience with the Pharisees and answers them, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.” And the Pharisees promptly drove him out – probably meaning out of the synagogue.

Notice that throughout these exchanges the Pharisees and the man are talking at cross-purposes. For the Pharisees the basis of their theology is tradition. The basis of the man’s theology is his own experience. It makes me wonder how many of our discussions with friends, family, or the church don’t work because of this same difference. Remember how often you’ve heard people say, we’ve always done it this way.

There’s nothing wrong with tradition – in fact, as Episcopalians we rely heavily on our tradition to guide us, but when tradition becomes cast in concrete and refuses to accept any new data, then it becomes a detriment.

There are times in all of our lives when we need to alter our worldview. It may be a long and sometimes painful process, but as we gain experience in the world we are not well served to ignore it and insist on sticking with the old world view. If we do, we have to twist the facts to fit, which is what creates the comedy of this story.

The Pharisees, instead of considering what the man said, react with anger and defensiveness. This is often the case with those in power when faced with anything that doesn’t fit, as I’m sure most of you have noticed.

The other thing that enforces this idea of cross purposes, is that in the beginning the Pharisees represent the most educated and learned people in their society. The man is a blind beggar. In the course of the story, the man regains his sight and he is shown to be a better thinker than the Pharisees. In the end they are the ones who are most truly blind. They have switched places.

This is further emphasized by the progression of the man’s understanding of Jesus. At first the healed man refers to Jesus as “the man called Jesus.” Then when the Pharisees ask what he has to say about the healer, he says, “He is a prophet.” Later, when Jesus goes to the man and confesses that he is the Son of Man, the man says, “Lord, I believe.” And he worships him. So while the Pharisees make them selves look ridiculous by refusing to accept new information, the man becomes a disciple of Jesus.

How many times has our church done the same sort of thing as the Pharisees? The church censured Galileo and threatened him with death unless he recanted his scientific findings that the earth moved around the sun, not vice versa. It is said that he recanted, but muttered under his breath, “Yet still the earth turns.”

There are Bishops of the Anglican Communion who support the death penalty for gay or lesbian people because they are “choosing” a depraved way of life, in spite of the scientific data to the contrary. Not to mention those who continue to deny the possibility of evolution or global warming.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to give up division for Lent? Oh wait a minute. That was last week’s sermon, wasn’t it. Still, the issues of division between people are rife in this lesson too. Why don’t the neighbors KNOW if this is the same man as the one who used to beg in their village? Why don’t we SEE the beggars or the homeless people on our streets? And if we’re used to seeing them on that corner, in that condition, why would we not all celebrate their escape from that life? We not only like to separate ourselves from others, but we often want to keep it that way, don’t we.

A blind beggar who suddenly turns up with his eyesight and can now do useful work and wears ‘decent’ clothes upsets the established pattern of the neighborhood. Who does he think he is to argue with the Pharisees? Is he going to take a job from someone else? Does getting his eyesight back make him think he’s as good as us? If accepting him back into the community is difficult, what about accepting back a recovering alcoholic or a reformed prostitute?

I’m afraid the painful truth is that we often don’t want to revise our view of someone we’ve been able to look down on. And of course the solution to that is not to look down on anyone. Giving up divisions means giving up looking up or looking down on anyone. All, and I do mean all of us, as children of God, are on the same level. It may not always feel that way, but in truth, there is only one playing field and we’re all on it together. AMEN