Following Jesus: Making Mistakes

Today we make a huge leap in John. Five chapters from Chapter 13’s reading last week of Jesus washing his disciples feet. To chapter 18, today. In these chapters between, Jesus offers his final words to his disciples, where he literally tells them goodbye. It’s where we see Jesus at his most pastoral: as friend, mentor, teacher, lover. The relationship between Jesus and his disciples - the mutual relationship between them - has deepened over the first half of John. This first half spans three years of their life together. The second half of the gospel of John will span one week. 

Most, if not all, of these stories in the second half of John are typically read during Holy Week. But, in this fourth year of the narrative lectionary, we slow it down. Dramatically. Stretching out each of these scenes that we call the passion of Jesus. The suffering of Jesus. We dive deeply into each one of them. As we try to make meaning from them for our own lives.

Then the company of soldiers, the commander, and the guards from the Jewish leaders took Jesus into custody. They bound him and led him first to Annas. He was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the high priest that year. (Caiaphas was the one who had advised the Jewish leaders that it was better for one person to die for the people.)

Simon Peter and another disciple followed Jesus. Because this other disciple was known to the high priest, he went with Jesus into the high priest’s courtyard. However, Peter stood outside near the gate. Then the other disciple (the one known to the high priest) came out and spoke to the woman stationed at the gate, and she brought Peter in. The servant woman stationed at the gate asked Peter, “Aren’t you one of this man’s disciples?”

“I’m not,” he replied. The servants and the guards had made a fire because it was cold. They were standing around it, warming themselves. Peter joined them there, standing by the fire and warming himself.

Meanwhile, the chief priest questioned Jesus about his disciples and his teaching. Jesus answered, “I’ve spoken openly to the world. I’ve always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all the Jews gather. I’ve said nothing in private. Why ask me? Ask those who heard what I told them. They know what I said.”

After Jesus spoke, one of the guards standing there slapped Jesus in the face. “Is that how you would answer the high priest?” he asked.

Jesus replied, “If I speak wrongly, testify about what was wrong. But if I speak correctly, why do you strike me?” Then Annas sent him, bound, to Caiaphas the high priest.

Meanwhile, Simon Peter was still standing with the guards, warming himself. They asked, “Aren’t you one of his disciples?”

Peter denied it, saying, “I’m not.”

A servant of the high priest, a relative of the one whose ear Peter had cut off, said to him, “Didn’t I see you in the garden with him?” Peter denied it again, and immediately a rooster crowed.

I’d like you to visualize a place for just a moment. It’s a happy place - the place where you feel most loved and accepted. A place where you are surrounded by those who are your closest friends and family, with whom you have the deepest of relationships. It’s also a beautiful place, a garden that has the loveliest of flowers and green trees. A place that seems Eden-like. Where, when the breeze blows you can hear it gently moving through the leaves of the trees. And feel it cooling your skin. Where, with your loved ones, led by a beloved mentor, you’re able to talk about the most important things of life- to learn from one another. The most stunning thing about this is that you have come to the realization that this mentor, this teacher and shepherd, is God in the flesh.

Now imagine that, one day, while you are there together, one of your group suddenly shows up with a cohort of nearly 600 soldiers, who’ve come to arrest your beloved mentor and teacher. Can you imagine the emotion in that moment? The hurt and the betrayal you feel? The anger that begins to burn inside you? Can you feel the fear in your gut, as you watch him taken away, wondering if you’re next? But, then, your mentor, who seems completely in control of this situation, steps in and convinces the soldiers that he is the one they want. “I am he,” he tells them. Not once, but three times. He convinces them to leave everyone else behind. They take him away. And all the others leave. Except for you. And one other disciple.

You’re name is Peter. That’s right. Peter. Petros. Meaning rock. You don’t know it yet, but you are the one who will become an important leader in building similar communities. These will be so different from other communities in the world, because they will be open and accepting of everyone. A place of deep love and intimacy. Just as you experienced that first time. Communities so countercultural that, in fact, you will lose your life, killed by a world that resists the transforming power of love.

But, you’re not there yet. Because you have mistakes to make. A huge mistake, really, that will make you feel ashamed. For which you will grieve deeply. But, it is a mistake for which you will be forgiven and that will change you in ways you cannot yet fully understand.

That day, friends, after the incident in the garden, Peter and and the other disciple followed Jesus to the home of Annas, then to Caiaphas. Two trials are interwoven in the story of that day. One trial is that of Jesus. But, the other is that of Peter. The disciple in last week’s story who, first, refused to have his feet washed by Jesus. But, then, quickly was “all in.” 

We see these two stories interwoven in our text today, which begins with Jesus being questioned by Annas, a former high priest. Outside, at the same time, another story is taking place. Peter is being questioned about who he is. Three times he’s asked, “Aren’t you one of his disciples?” 

But, back inside, when Jesus is asked about who he is and what his teachings are, he says, “Ask those who heard what I told them. They know what I said.” We see that statement being fulfilled outside. Where Peter, the prime apostle, is being questioned about Jesus at that moment in the courtyard. Here is his big chance. But, instead of confessing Jesus, he denies him. And, particularly, denies that he is a disciple of Jesus, thus, denying his own identity.

Who are you in this story? This story holds a mirror up to each one of us. 

Are you Jesus, willingly being arrested, knowing what is to come? That’s perhaps a little doubtful. But, if you think you are living as Jesus would, perhaps, it’s time to look more deeply inside yourself. At the hubris that exists within you. 

Are you Peter, the disciple that is “all in”? Well, most of the time. But not when it really counts. Who, when the pressure is on, denies his own discipleship of Jesus. His own identity as a follower and seeker of Jesus. Now, for some of us, that’s maybe more likely.

Or are you, perhaps, Annas or Caiaphas? Religious leaders that are so concerned about protecting established religion, established denominations, that they are in danger of denying the very essence of what worship of God is all about. I wonder who of us are guilty of this?

And there’s one more character. The unnamed disciple with connections. Who is able to accompany Jesus, but unable to - or unwilling to - stop what is happening or what will come. To change the outcome.

Perhaps there’s a bit of all of these characters in us. We try to be like Jesus, but are often more like Peter. Or the unnamed disciple. Or like Annas and Caiaphas. 

This is who we are. This is what we do. We try. But we make mistakes. Big ones at times. Denying our own identities in Christ. Unable to fully follow him. Hung up on the trappings of religion so that we lose sight of what it really means to worship God. 

The thing is God knows this. God knows that this is who we are. That we cannot do this alone. That there are deep gaps in our own ability to do this. Not that we don’t try to follow and continuously seek out Jesus. But, that there are times and places where we fail. Mistakes. Gaps. 

God fills in those gaps. And only God can fill in those gaps. Fully. This God we follow, mistakes and all. Who overflows with grace. Who is rich in love. For us. Who fills in the gaps and smooths over our mistakes. And who welcomes us back to that garden. That place of deep relationship and belonging. That place where we might have abundant life. Now. And later. Scars and all.

Thanks be to God!

Preached March 20, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville, and New Goshen Presbyterian, Prospect.

Third Sunday of Lent

Readings: John 18:12-17, Psalm 17:1-7

Following Jesus: An Extravagant Life

As we began the gospel of John at the beginning of the year, I mentioned - if you remember - that this gospel was written at a time when the Christian community had likely been expelled from the synagogue. Up until then, they had been likely seen as one sect within Judaism. Their expulsion is one of the reasons why we find, so often, in John, this phrase, “The Jews.” It seems to be a reference to all of the Jews, when, most likely, it is used simply to refer to the religious leaders. This language has often been used as a basis for anti-Semitism in our world. It’s why, as we work our way through John, I often offer correctives, so that the text isn’t misunderstood in this way.

John was written for this early Christian community as it was trying to differentiate itself from Judaism. It was a young community, still trying to fully comprehend who Jesus was and, also, trying to find its own identity apart from the Jewish faith. It’s why we often find Jesus portrayed in opposition to the religious leaders. The wounds were fresh for these early Christians. The only way to make sense of who they were was, once again, in opposition to the leaders of the synagogue who had expelled them.

Tonight’s lesson, on this Ash Wednesday, is actually part two of the story we heard this past Sunday - the story of Jesus healing the blind man and how this angered the Pharisees, ostensibly because he had done this good deed on the Sabbath. We read tonight, beginning with the last verse of Sunday’s lesson and continuing, then, on into chapter 10.

Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you wouldn’t have any sin, but now that you say, ‘We see,” your sin remains.

I assure you that whoever doesn’t enter into the sheep pen through the gate but climbs over the wall is a thief and an outlaw. The one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The guard at the gate opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. Whenever he has gathered all of his sheep, he goes before them and they follow him, because they know his voice. They won’t follow a stranger but will run away because they don’t know the stranger’s voice.” Those who heard Jesus use this analogy didn’t understand what he was saying.

So Jesus spoke again, “I assure you that I am the gate of the sheep. All who came before me were thieves and outlaws, but the sheep didn’t listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters through me will be saved. They will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief enters only to steal, kill, and destroy. I came so that they could have life—indeed, so that they could live life to the fullest.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. When the hired hand sees the wolf coming, he leaves the sheep and runs away. That’s because he isn’t the shepherd; the sheep aren’t really his. So the wolf attacks the sheep and scatters them. He’s only a hired hand and the sheep don’t matter to him.

“I am the good shepherd. I know my own sheep and they know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. I give up my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that don’t belong to this sheep pen. I must lead them too. They will listen to my voice and there will be one flock, with one shepherd.

“This is why the Father loves me: I give up my life so that I can take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I give it up because I want to. I have the right to give it up, and I have the right to take it up again. I received this commandment from my Father.” --John 10:1-18 (CEB)

My dad was a shepherd, of sorts. Many of you already know this. Raising sheep was a central vocation for him. And, even though we eventually added cattle to our stock, it was sheep that produced the primary income for our family ranch.

Honestly, my dad always thought sheep were a little stupid. He would get frustrated and yell at them. Quite often. They were easily led astray. Would frequently get out of the fence. And they, just generally, made him a little crazy.

In the winter time, even though they were out to pasture, my dad would supplement their feed with alfalfa that he’d grown and put up in the summer. I remember the first time I went out with him and my brother in our pickup to feed the sheep then. It was a bumpy ride across the pasture. My dad would drive in the direction he thought the herd might be, then he’d roll down his window and call them. He had a certain way of doing it. “Come boss!” he’d yell. “Come boss!” Over and over again. It wasn’t long before we would see them headed toward our pickup to be fed. As much as my brother and I would try to mimic our dad, they never came for us the way they did for him. Because they knew his voice. 

They are like the sheep in the parable Jesus is telling the Pharisees, as he tries to explain to them who he is. These sheep that hear and follow the voice of the shepherd. 

That Jesus uses a shepherd metaphor here is no accident. This image of a shepherd is borrowed from the Hebrew scriptures, where it is used to refer to God’s chosen leaders, called to tend the flock called Israel. The Pharisees - learned in the Torah as they were - would have caught the reference. 

They might catch the reference, but they didn’t understand the metaphor. So, Jesus tries again, with another. This one about a gate. It’s all very confusing. Perhaps not only for them, but maybe also for us, too.

Finally, Jesus, as he so often does, has no other choice but to more fully explain. He is the Good Shepherd. He will lay down his life for the sheep. Willingly.

For the early Christian community for whom the gospel was written, this begins to make sense. Like the blind man, in last Sunday's story, whose pilgrimage of faith eventually resulted in his expulsion from the synagogue, so, too, their pilgrimage of faith ended up with an expulsion from their place of safety. A step for them into a religious unknown. Not a step that they took willingly, but one forced on them. Yet, even so, they respond to the call of Jesus - the Good Shepherd - to follow where he leads.

Isn’t this our pilgrimage, too? Isn’t this the path of true faith - faith that requires moving into an unknown future? We as believers in Christ can no more remain complacent in our places of safety than the sheep can remain in the fold and not respond to the call of the Good Shepherd to move to new pasture.

But, here’s the thing. It’s a dangerous world out there. Full of voices and pressures and other things that would seek to confuse us - to turn us away from the voice of our shepherd. Their aim is not for our benefit, but to destroy the flock for their own self-interest, rather than lead us along the true path.

This is why the season of Lent is so important for us. It’s a call for us to return. To come back into the fold. Because, only the Good Shepherd has our best interest at heart. Only the Good Shepherd will lead us through the darkest valley. Only the Good Shepherd will give up his life - willingly give up his life - for us.  

Why would he do this? So that we might live, our text tells us. Not just after we die, but, especially, here and now. Isn’t that the image we hear in Psalm 23? “You set a table for me right in front of my enemies. You bathe my head in oil; my cup is so full it spills over. 

Can you hear the voice of the Shepherd calling you to this amazing and extravagant life?

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that we’ve been in the wilderness over these past few years. It feels as though so much in our world is broken. It feels as though we are so broken. We are broken. We don’t need Ash Wednesday to remind us of our own mortality. We are living it daily.

But, sometimes, doesn’t it take being immersed in the wilderness to begin to see the beauty in it? To notice the wildflowers? The life that finds its way through? 

Tonight, in the wilderness and amidst the dust of our mortality, the Good Shepherd invites us in as we are. Our brokenness, our joy, our gifts and our doubts - all belong to him. He promises to protect us. To guide us. And to love us. Extravagantly. Willingly.

May you hear his voice. May this shepherd's love fill you up and spill over. And may it expand you to overflow with God’s goodness and faithful love. All the days of your life. Amen.

Preached March 2, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville

Ash Wednesday

Readings: John 10:1-18; Psalm 23

 

Invitation to Abundant Life: Living Water

Over these past several weeks, we’ve been hearing stories about Jesus welcoming people into a life filled with abundance. Let’s review those stories to help us remember. You may wish to open a Bible to the Gospel of John to help in the remembering. 

The first place to turn is John, chapter 3. In this story, we heard Jesus’ invitation to Nicodemus. Can you retell that story? Take a look at it to refresh your memory.

Next, we learned about Jesus meeting the woman at the well. That story is found in John, chapter 4. Remember that story? Can you summarize it?

Last week, thanks to Pastor Ron, you learned that Jesus is the Bread of Life. This story is found in John 6:35-59. Can you also remember that story? 

This week, we hear about Jesus being life-giving water. And we also hear about the Holy Spirit. In this story, Jesus continues to invite people into a life of abundance. But, there is an undercurrent of tension that is beginning to follow his movements. Even as Jesus is talking about the Holy Spirit, we also hear in the background about plotting and deception.

Today's story is from John, chapter 7. After you read it, close your eyes and picture in your imagination what is happening. Feel the mood. How it changes as the story progresses.

We read from John, chapter 7. 

On the last and most important day of the festival, Jesus stood up and shouted,

“All who are thirsty should come to me!
    All who believe in me should drink!
    As the scriptures said concerning me,
        Rivers of living water will flow out from within him.”

Jesus said this concerning the Spirit. Those who believed in him would soon receive the Spirit, but they hadn’t experienced the Spirit yet since Jesus hadn’t yet been glorified.

When some in the crowd heard these words, they said, “This man is truly the prophet.” Others said, “He’s the Christ.” But others said, “The Christ can’t come from Galilee, can he? Didn’t the scripture say that the Christ comes from David’s family and from Bethlehem, David’s village?” So the crowd was divided over Jesus. Some wanted to arrest him, but no one grabbed him.

The guards returned to the chief priests and Pharisees, who asked, “Why didn’t you bring him?”

The guards answered, “No one has ever spoken the way he does.”

The Pharisees replied, “Have you too been deceived? Have any of the leaders believed in him? Has any Pharisee? No, only this crowd, which doesn’t know the Law. And they are under God’s curse!”

Nicodemus, who was one of them and had come to Jesus earlier, said, “Our Law doesn’t judge someone without first hearing him and learning what he is doing, does it?”

They answered him, “You are not from Galilee too, are you? Look it up and you will see that the prophet doesn’t come from Galilee.”

As I read, I invite you to close your eyes and to picture in your imaginations what is happening. Feel the mood and how it changes as the story progresses. (John 7:37-52 CEB)

This story begins with promises. It is set during the Feast of Tabernacles, which we also know as the Festival of Booths or Sukkot. The Feast of Tabernacles was one of three festivals that required, under Jewish law, a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. It was a festival of remembering for the people of Israel. Taking them back to their time in the wilderness, after they had been liberated from Egypt. It was a place where they were completely dependent upon God. This festival had two ceremonies, one centered around water and the other around light - two necessities that provided by God in the wilderness. God, who provided their every meal. Who ensured that they had water to drink. Who led them, even in the darkness of the wild places. Without God, Israel would not have survived. With God, Israel had life

As we’ve seen him do earlier in John around other Jewish festivals and practices, Jesus is using this opportunity to re-contextualize this festival around himself. And around who he is. He begins with a promise. Jesus calls out for all who are thirsty.  And, then, he invites them to drink of him. He promises to be life-giving water. This water, he then explains, is the Holy Spirit. Inviting you to use your imagination once more, if you were in the crowd, how might you have felt or what would you have been thinking if you’d heard this invitation and promise from Jesus? Be honest. Time for responses.

Now, let’s think about the second half of the story. We hear voices in the crowd that question the validity of Jesus’ claims - just as some of us might have, too. The temple guards return to the Jewish leaders and tell them what’s been happening. The only one to stand up for Jesus is Nicodemus. But, then, he is quickly outnumbered and put down. Now what are you feeling? What are your thoughts? Are you asking the same questions? Are you getting uncomfortable?

It is easy for us to fall into a pattern of giving pat answers. What I like to call Sunday school answers. But, I wonder if you or I were present that day, which side we would be on and whether we would claim so quickly to be followers of Jesus. 

Over these last two weeks, I participated in a two-week intensive with my doctoral cohort. The first week, the title of our class was “Not Your White Jesus: De-Centering Whiteness and Nurturing an Anti-Racist Community as Christian Formation.” The second week, the class title was “Risking Attention to Embodied Life Together.” Both of these classes talked about who we are as the Church. And, honestly, about who we haven’t been as the Church. It was a hard two weeks with many hard conversations. Painful conversations.

You see, we, as Christians, don’t have a good history here. It really begins with the early Church who, like us, was influenced by culture. By a culture that teaches us to create our own identity by being in opposition to others. By comparing ourselves to others. By being better than others. Or by exerting more power than others. We saw this carried out in the anti-Muslim fervor of the Crusades. We saw this in Luther’s time and in the use of this very scripture against the Jews. We see this in the Church today - how one form of Christianity is more representative than other forms of Christianity. Or how Christians are better than people of other faiths. And, we see it in ways that are even closer to home.  How we have used scripture to exclude people from this abundant life that God offers for everyone and everything that God has created. 

We need this life-giving water Jesus offers, this Holy Spirit. We need to drink of it deeply. Because it is the Spirit - and the Spirit alone - who can transform our hard and divisive hearts. Who can help us, as in the example - the surprising example - of Nicodemus. It is the Spirit alone who can help us understand that discipleship is hard. That pushing back when someone makes a racist comment, or an anti-gay comment, or an anti-conservative or anti-liberal comment, or any comment that “others” people is hard. It is a way of life that requires us to be utterly dependent upon God. That God will guide us through, even in those wilderness moments. As God did for Israel.  

And just as Jesus does. He is the example for us. Jesus. He was willing to cross boundaries. To build relationships with those who had been tossed out or excluded by the community. To die because of it. So that all people - ourselves included - might experience abundant life. Together.

We are getting close to Lent. Over these next weeks, Jesus’ time with his disciples is about to change. His earthly ministry is nearing an end. Next week, we will celebrate the Transfiguration and then we will begin Lent with Ash Wednesday. Will you follow Jesus on this journey? Will you give up your life or even a portion of it to together travel this hard road with him - this road that leads, even in death, to abundant life?

I pray that you will. That you will drink and drink deeply of the life-giving Water Jesus offers. And that, in doing so, you, too, will experience the abundant life. Given by Jesus. For you. For all creation. Amen.

Preached February 27, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville.

Epiphany 7

Readings: John 7:37-52; Psalm 147:1-11

Encountering the Messiah: Abundant Life

We’re going to begin today as we did last week. With a little game. This is a game of seeking and finding. Behind me, throughout the space in my apartment that should be visible to you, you’ll find several crosses. I invite you to look for them and to count them as you look. I’ll give you just a minute to do that.

So, who found at least four crosses? You can give me a real thumbs up or use the “thumbs up” on Zoom. Who found five crosses? Six? Seven? There are seven paper crosses!

The reason there are seven different crosses is because in the Gospel of John there are seven signs or miracles that Jesus performs. Remember last week? When Jesus promised Nathaniel that he would see “even greater things?” These signs and miracles are part of the greater things that Jesus promised. In today’s lesson, we will see Jesus’ first sign.

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the celebration. When the wine ran out, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They don’t have any wine.”

Jesus replied, “Woman, what does that have to do with me? My time hasn’t come yet.”

His mother told the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Nearby were six stone water jars used for the Jewish cleansing ritual, each able to hold about twenty or thirty gallons

Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water,” and they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, “Now draw some from them and take it to the headwaiter,” and they did. The headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine. He didn’t know where it came from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew.

The headwaiter called the groom and said, “Everyone serves the good wine first. They bring out the second-rate wine only when the guests are drinking freely. You kept the good wine until now.” This was the first miraculous sign that Jesus did in Cana of Galilee. He revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him. --John 2:1-11 (CEB)

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

We might ask why the beginning of Jesus’ ministry begins at a wedding. Does anyone have any idea?

Let’s be honest - Jesus liked parties. He liked people. As we will see in the gospel of John, he especially liked sinners. The Jesus captured in John is a relational Jesus. Always in conversation with people. So, it makes sense that this first sign - this first miracle - should be at a celebration of relationships. The joining of two people in relationship. And their families, too. 

Weddings in Jesus’ day were a big deal. They lasted for days. Running out of wine was a huge problem for this wedding feast. The host had invited everyone to come and to celebrate. Many people probably traveled far to get there. And, now, there is nothing left for them to drink. They wouldn’t have been able to just go to the store or to make a quick run to Total Wine to get some more. Jesus’ mother - and notice that she is not named and, in fact, this is the last time we will see her until we meet her at the foot of the cross - Jesus’ mother notices that they have run out of wine. She knows that he can do something about this. So she encourages Jesus to help. Gives him a little nudge. “Come on, Jesus. It’s time for you to show the world who you are.”

But, Jesus’ response to her seems a little harsh. “Woman, what does that have to do with me?” A female clergy group I’m online with had a real problem with Jesus speaking to his mother in this way. It seems so impersonal, even unfriendly. And, while there may be many other theological reasons for this, I asked them online if any of them had a 33-year-old son. Because if you do, you know the comments that they will make to you, accompanied by the eye-rolls, right? Like, “Geez, Mom, gimme a break!” Or even “Woman, what are you talking about?” So, even with Jesus’ mother knowing his divinity, there’s something here, too, about his humanity. That he is both. Which also includes being a 33-year-old son.

But, Jesus listens to her. And then he takes these six large clay vessels. Each of them with a capacity of 20-30 gallons. And he transforms the water in them - water that was likely meant for washing and not drinking. He transforms this water into the best wine of all! But, it wasn’t just that it was the best wine of all. But, it was the amount of it. The abundance of the wine Jesus made. I did the math this week. We’re talking anywhere from 140-180 gallons of wine. That’s the equivalent of 700-900 bottles of wine. At 12 bottles per case, that’s anywhere from 58 to 75 cases of wine. So this wasn’t only the best wine. It was a huge amount - an abundant amount - of the best wine. 

The chief steward is blown away. He wonders where this wine came from. I bet the bridegroom was wondering, too. But Jesus’ mother knew. So did the servants, too. 

In the opening words of this gospel of John, what we call the prologue, we heard this witness of John: “‘He who comes after me is greater than me because he existed before me.’ From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace.” From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace.

I mentioned at the beginning that this is the first of seven signs. These signs that point the disciples and others (and us) to understand who this Jesus is and why he has come. If we continue in John’s witness we read that it is through him - God’s only Son, that God is made known to us. It is this God - revealed to us in Christ - that we learn desires only life for us. Abundant life. Bottles and cases and gallons of life for us.

I recognize that in these past couple of years and, especially, in these past few weeks it’s been hard to see that. Maybe even hard to believe this - that God desires only the most abundant life for us, a life that overflows with all of the goodness and relationships and love that you and I can imagine. 

But, as we work our way through John and through the remaining six signs it will be the last sign that will make all the difference. For Jesus’ mother. For Jesus’ disciples. And for us. That sign - the cross - will take the most hopeless of moments and transform it into the most abundant, life-giving, “grace upon grace upon grace” moment of all. For us.

May we recognize these signs that point us to God. And may we hold fast to the promise of abundant life that God promises for us, through Jesus. Amen.

Preached January 16, 2022, online with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Epiphany 2

Readings: John 2:1-11, Psalm 104:14-16

 

Unbound and Free

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. So 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.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and 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. They 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.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” 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.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus 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.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her. John 20:1-18 (NRSV)

Have you ever had a deja vu moment? Perhaps you know what I’m talking about. That moment when, for just a second or two, you have a feeling that you have previously experienced what you are experiencing in that exact moment. You have a name for it now. Deja vu. We didn’t. But, it was what I experienced that morning. That first day of the week. 

My name is Mary. No, I’m not that Mary--Mary Magdalene--the woman who was first to the tomb. First to see Jesus alive. First to tell all of us--the first apostle to the rest of the apostles. 

And, no, I’m not that Mary--Mary, the mother of Jesus--the woman who stood at the cross and watched her beautiful baby boy, now grown, being crucified. The mother who Jesus ensured would be cared for by the beloved disciple. The act of a devoted son.

I’m also not that Mary (There are a lot of Mary’s, aren’t there?). I’m not Mary of Clopas or, as you might better know her, Mary, the mother of James, one of the Twelve. Who also stood with Jesus’ mother at the foot of the cross.

I am the Mary of Bethany. Of “Mary and Martha” fame. Sister of Martha and lazarus. You know me. I’m the one who sat at Jesus’ feet while my industrious sister worked to prepare a meal and serve it to Jesus. The one who got into trouble with her. And with Judas, when I poured oil on Jesus’ feet, oil that cost nearly a year’s salary.

I know. I’m not very practical. My sister says my head is often in the clouds. That I’m too emotional. Not level-headed enough. But, it’s my way. And I wonder if it’s because I am the way I am that led to that deja vu moment that morning.

When Mary returned to the place where we had been staying, the place where the twelve and the rest of us disciples who had been close to Jesus over the three years we had followed him. When she returned to the place where we were hiding. And when she announced that she had seen Jesus. And as she continued to tell us the story of her experience. That, at first, she didn’t recognize him. But, then, when he called her by name. Mary. It was as though her eyes had been opened. And, as she was telling this amazing story, it was at that moment that I felt I had experienced this once before.

I had. It was only a week or so earlier that I had experienced all of these same emotions. The deep sadness I felt at the death of my brother Lazarus. The feeling of abandonment by Jesus--that he could have prevented Lazarus from dying, but that he didn’t. The anger I felt when, finally, Jesus arrived and it was too late. The deep grief as I watched him weep, just as I was weeping. And, then, the surprise, when Jesus called his name--just like Jesus called Mary’s name in the garden that morning--and Lazarus came out of the tomb. And, then, the ecstatic joy and freedom I felt for my brother, when Jesus told people to unbind him from the grave clothes. To unbind him and let him go.

When Jesus died on that Day of Preparation for Passover, I felt the same range of emotions. Sadness. Abandonment. Anger. Grief. But, there was one more I felt. One more we all felt. And that was fear. 

Our fear came early that morning after the Sabbath. Mary had gone to the tomb. When she arrived she saw that the stone that had been placed in front of the opening had been removed. She never went inside. Instead, she ran back to find Peter and the beloved disciple to tell them that “they” had taken the Lord from the tomb and that “we” didn’t know where they had put him. Do you notice how she reaches what one could argue is a very rational conclusion? They had taken his body. Grave-robbers at it once again.

That’s what we do, isn’t it? In the middle of irrational moments, we jump to the most rational conclusion. Trying to make sense of everything. Trying to make meaning in the midst of chaos. Trying to fit everything into a neat, little box. Into our neat, little box. Lacking imagination and refusing to be open to the possibility of something extraordinary. 

We should have known better. Because we had already witnessed the extraordinary with the resurrection of my brother. But, we forget all of this, don’t we? Even though, when we look back our our lives and our experiences and we see how God has continuously brought new life out of death and light out of darkness, we fail to remember. We limit our imaginations and the possibilities. We pack them tightly away. In our fear, we pack them tightly away in our neat. Little. Boxes.

Mary went back to the tomb after telling Peter and the other disciple. And, as she stood outside, weeping, angels appeared to her. “Why are you crying?” they asked. “Whom are you looking for?” And then the gardener--or the man she reasonably thought was the gardener--asked the same questions. “Why are you crying?” “Whom are you looking for?”

I wonder if, at that very moment, Mary had her own deja vu moment. Because, we had heard Jesus ask that question many times before. “Whom are you looking for?” Yet, she still didn’t recognize him. Only after he called her by name. “Mary.” It was then that she recognized Jesus. Alive. Standing right in front of her. “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.”

Whom are you looking for? How are you limiting the possibilities? Do you jump to worst possible conclusions, doubting the life--the abundant life--that God has promised? Do you limit your imagination from believing in the extravagance of God? In your fear, do you seek to control everything around you and keep it in your own neat, little box? Afraid to let loose. To let go and see what God might do? When the Good Shepherd calls you by name, do you follow?

Whom are you looking for?  

Set your imagination free. Unbind it and let it go. And experience the unexpected. Experience the freedom that Jesus gives. Freedom from everything that keeps us away from him. Freedom to answer his call. Freedom to live into your call and to be transformed by the experience. Freedom to let Jesus into your neat, little box. And to blow it to smithereens.

Come and see the possibilities. Come and see and experience what freedom looks like in the presence of Christ, our risen Savior. Come and see that those deja vu moments teach us to move out of our fear and into the joy and abundant life of the resurrection. 

Jesus called me. Jesus calls you. Calls each one of you by name. Come. And see. And be free. Amen.

Preached April 1, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Easter 1
Readings: Psalm 118:21-29; John 20:1-18

Invitation to Abundant Life: In Jesus (Part 2)

Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.

“Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”

Again the Jews were divided because of these words. Many of them were saying, “He has a demon and is out of his mind. Why listen to him?” Others were saying, “These are not the words of one who has a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?” John 9:39-41, 10:1-21 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from God our Creator and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

This past Sunday, we heard the first of the two-part episode of Jesus’ healing the blind man in the temple on the Sabbath. On Sunday, we were witness to the first six scenes. In the opening scene, we watched as Jesus took the dust of the earth, spat in it, made mud, and rubbed it on the man’s eyes. He then sent him to wash and, when he did, the man could see for the first time in his life. In the next few scenes, we saw the effect of this healing--the Jewish leaders questioning his parents and then the blind man himself, demanding to know who had healed him. We witnessed the fear of his parents--a fear grounded in the unspoken rule that if they named Jesus as the healer they would be cast out of the synagogue and away from their entire community, losing their security and entire support system.  We heard the blind man, when confronted by the Jewish leadership, confess Jesus as the healer, proclaim his divinity, and then, as expected, be cast out of the synagogue. Once again on the edge of society. Our episode on Sunday ended with Jesus finding the man, sight restored, who confessed his faith in Jesus, the Word made flesh standing right there in front of him.

As the second and final part of the episode opens tonight, Jesus confronts the Jewish leaders--”I have come into the world to exercise judgment so that those who don’t see can see and those who see will become blind.” The Pharisees respond, “Surely we aren’t blind, are we?” 

We, these 2,000 years later don’t have the benefit of hearing the inflection voices. Were they asking sincerely, perhaps questioning their own level of sight and understanding? Or was their question asked sarcastically, blind to their own ignorance and unwillingness to believe? Jesus’ response to them suggests the latter--”If you were blind, you wouldn’t have any sin, but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”

Jesus then moves into a discourse--a speech--that we commonly know as the “Good Shepherd” discourse. We’ve heard this many times before, haven’t we? “The one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep...the sheep listen to his voice...I am the Good Shepherd,” Jesus proclaims. “I came so that they could have life--indeed, so that they could have life abundantly,” or as the Common English Bible translates it, “so that they could live life to the fullest.” 

Have any of you ever been a shepherd? Or worked with sheep? A colleague of mine recently shared a video of Christopher Lange, a sheep farmer in Norway. The video, which was filmed by his friend Oyvind Kleiveland, was intended to test the question of whether sheep only obey their master’s voice. As it plays, we see several people attempt to call the sheep home, finishing with the shepherd, Mr. Lange, himself. Let’s watch. 

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day in Lent. It is the day in which we are reminded of our own mortality. Of the darkness of our existence apart from God. The blind man was also reminded of his own mortality. Of the darkness of his existence. He was living it in his daily reality, begging for sustenance, completely dependent upon others for his life. His was a dark, mortal, finite existence without God. 

Jesus broke into his darkness. And using the very dust and ashes that were the symbol of his mortality, restored his sight and with it, the ability to live life abundantly. To live life to the fullest. And, then, when he was cast out of the synagogue, Jesus sought him out again. Just as the shepherd in tonight’s video called his sheep, Jesus called the blind man by name, bringing him into intimate relationship. With Jesus, his Good Shepherd. 

On this day, our Good Shepherd calls us, too, just like the blind man. Our Shepherd calls us out of our own blindness with a voice we know. Calls us back into intimate relationship with him. Calls us into a deeper place, a place of sustenance, a place of community. A place of abundant life--where we might live life to the fullest. And, then, takes the dust of our own mortality and marks us with the cross. With his cross.

Sight. Intimate relationship. Sustenance. Community. Abundant life. These are all what God desires for us and what God promises to us as we journey through this Lenten season. May we continue to hear our shepherd’s call so that we might, along with the blind man, always proclaim, “Lord, I believe.” 

God grant it. Amen.

Preached on , February 14, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Ash Wednesday
Readings: Psalm 23; John 9:39-41, 10:1-21

Invitation to Abundant Life: Questions?

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

“Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

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

“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.” John 3:1-21 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, the Messiah, who is Christ, the Lord. Amen.

I like to go to the theatre. My apartment in Los Angeles was very close to Santa Monica Blvd. This boulevard, as it runs through East Hollywood, is home to a number of very small theatres. Average seating is around 25-30. They’re very intimate. They’re also very cheap. For $10-15, one can see a wide variety of plays, some very new and avant garde. Others more traditional. Every so often, I would trek to this area to see a play.

So, as I was preparing for this Sunday’s sermon, I read a commentary by Lindsey Trozzo, who is a professor of biblical ethics and rhetoric at Baylor University. In her opening paragraph, she suggested thinking of the Gospel of John as a multi-act play or a TV mini-series. That caught my attention and helped me re-think not only our story today, but also what we’ve already heard so far in the Gospel.

Think about it. By the time we get to today’s story, we’ve already witnessed a poetic opening monologue from the narrator of the Gospel. “In the beginning, was the Word…”

We’ve visualized a few short scenes that portray Jesus’ first interactions with John the Baptist and with the disciples. And we’ve experienced two rather heavy-hitting scenes that establish the identity of Jesus as the Messiah and as the One to initiate a new era of God’s work in the world--to usher in a radical shift. One who will challenge the status quo. One with the authority to challenge the status quo.

Last week, at the very end of the scene of Jesus’ cleansing the temple, we heard these closing words: “When [Jesus] was in Jerusalem for the Passover Festival, many believed in his name because they saw the miraculous signs that he did. But Jesus didn’t trust himself to them because he knew all people. He didn’t need anyone to tell him about human nature, for he knew what human nature was.” 

Blackout. End of scene. 

“Jesus didn’t trust himself to them...for he knew what human nature was.” What can we expect to hear or see in the next scene--in today’s scene--in chapter 3?

As the lights come up on the scene in John 3, we are invited to eavesdrop on a conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus. Now, Nicodemus, our story tells us, is a “Pharisee...a Jewish leader…[who comes] to Jesus at night.”

These details are important. They are important because this story of Nicodemus and our story next week of the Samaritan woman at the well are intentionally placed together by the Gospel writer. These two characters are unique only to John. They could not be more different.

Nicodemus is male. He’s a leader of the Jews, a Pharisee, likely a member of the Sanhedrin, the ruling body of the Jewish people, having authority not only the religious life of the Jewish people, but their everyday lives, as well. He has a name. And he comes to Jesus by night.

In contract, our next week character is female. She is a Samaritan. From the Jewish perspective, an enemy and a nobody. She is nameless. She meets Jesus at the well at noon--the brightest, lightest time of the day.

John places their stories--their scenes side-by-side. Purposefully. So, that we can see the contrast. The unique differences between them.

So, Nicodemus--this person on the inside of society with substantial power and authority--comes to Jesus in the dark. Remember that in John, darkness is synonymous with unbelief. Already, we have the idea that, if this is a nighttime conversation, the chances for a positive result will probably not be good.

“Rabbi,” Nicodemus says, using a title of respect.  “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God. Because no one could do these miraculous signs that you do unless God is with him.”

With this dialogue that opens our scene, it seems that Nicodemus has come to seek understanding. To learn from Jesus. But, Jesus’ response is confusing. Perhaps on purpose. His responses are often misunderstood or misinterpreted. But, as has happened before, they are meant to further the conversation. To generate even more questions. To invite one in to a new way of thinking. And, in the process, to lead one to a fuller understanding of who Jesus is.

The challenge for Nicodemus is that he gets hung up in the physical aspects of Jesus’ words. When Jesus is talking about a spiritual birth--being born again from above--Nicodemus misunderstands and thinks Jesus is talking about a physical birth. A physical birth that, especially for a grown man, would be completely impossible. 

But, that’s not what Jesus is referring to here. It’s about receiving new life in the Spirit--a new life that comes in a spiritual rebirth. A new birth that takes its form as faith. A new birth that brings with it a relationship with God.

Nicodemus doesn’t get it. Because Nicodemus, with all of his theological knowledge and training, thinks that what he does--how he acts and lives--is what will bring him into relationship with God. Instead, the radical shift in thought that Jesus is offering to Nicodemus is a new understanding for him. That it has nothing to do with what he does. But, that it has everything to do with what God does. Nicodemus is nothing more than a passive recipient of faith from above. A passive receiver of faith from God the Holy Spirit.

Nicodemus doesn’t get it. He is not yet prepared to see things differently. Or not yet, anyway. Because he shows up in a couple more scenes. And, although, we are left to fill in some of the details of those scenes, it does appear that the Spirit continues to work on him. And that, by the time of Jesus’ death, he is walking out of the darkness and toward the light.

What does your scene in this play look like? What’s your part in this story? What are your questions? What would you ask Jesus? What, like Nicodemus, keeps you away from fully experiencing the light? Or what is it about the darkness that seems to keep you safe--that keeps you away from a deeper faith? That keeps you from stepping out of your status quo and into a deeper relationship with God?

Come in. Come into the story. Ask your questions. Come into a deeper understanding. Come into a new life--a life that Jesus invites each of us into. A life of abundance. A life of relationship. A life of love. Forever and ever.

Blackout. End of scene.

Amen.

Preached January 28, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Fourth Sunday after Epiphany

Readings: Psalm 139:13-18, John 3:1-21

Questions

The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.” John 1:35-51 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh. Amen.

Happy new year to all of you!

I hope you had a restful time during the holidays, perhaps with family, perhaps busy doing a bunch of fun things, or perhaps, especially, with the cold weather we’ve been having, just staying at home where it’s warm, where you can bundle up on the sofa in your pajamas with a hot cup of coffee or tea and read a book. Or call up friends. Or watch a few football (or soccer) games.

How many of you binge-watch TV? Come on now, let’s be honest. I’ll admit it. I do.

It started back when my son was in high school and college. This was before the time we had Netflix or Hulu or access through our Smart TV’s to endless seasons of the vast variety of shows we now can watch. It was the time when you waited each year for full set of DVD’s to come out of the last season of your favorite show--whatever that was! The first time we sat and binge-watched like that was with several seasons of “West Wing.” Do you remember that show? My son and I loved it! For nearly 6 days we watched episode after episode after episode. We’d take little breaks to get up, go outside and walk--to get a little exercise. And to eat. Then, we go back at it. We watched hours and hours of television in the days between Christmas and New Year’s. It probably doesn’t seem like fun, but it was. It was a time for us to be together, doing something we could enjoy together.

Now I still like to binge-watch, although not quite at that extreme level. Over the past couple of weeks, in the evenings, I’ve been watching a show on Netflix called, “The Ranch.” Have any of you seen it? The show takes place on the fictional Iron River Ranch in the fictitious small town of Garrison, Colorado. It details the life of the Bennetts, a family consisting of a rancher father, played by Sam Elliott; his divorced wife, played by Debra Winter, and their two sons, played by Ashton Kutcher and Danny Masterson. 

I find it interesting because it reminds me so much of my own family and my upbringing on a ranch. It is the story of complex family relationships--the tug of war for attention that can take place in families, the unwillingness to bend or compromise, and, particularly, the inability to express feeling and emotion--how it’s so much easier to express judgment and criticism than love and pride. It’s the story of one family and their deeply-intertwined relationships, as they attempt to negotiate who they are in the midst of what seems to be constant turmoil and change.

It’s into a similar time that the Gospel of John was written. Historians believe that John was written much later than the synoptic Gospels--Matthew, Mark, and Luke. That it was written at the very end of the 1st century, soon after the destruction, for the second time, of the temple in Jerusalem by the Romans.

If you remember from our lessons last fall, the temple was the center of worship for all Israel from the days of King Solomon. It was first destroyed by the Babylonians and the Jewish people exiled. After they returned from that exile, the temple was built again. We call this the Second Temple period. Once again, the new temple in Jerusalem became the center of worship for all of the Jews. So you can imagine how devastating it would be to see, for a second time--to see this central spiritual place, this place where the Jews believed God was truly present, destroyed by Rome in the year 70. 

By the time of Gospel of John, the Jewish community was in the process of reevaluating what Judaism looked like without the Temple. One response was to reject those who weren’t “Jewish” enough, such as the Jewish Christians. Those who we identify as the early disciples. Many of them found themselves cut off. From their synagogues. Even from their families. They were forced to form new communities and to begin to define themselves apart from Judaism as a minority within a hostile empire. To figure out new relationships. And to negotiate who they were in the midst of what seemed to be constant turmoil and change.

Relationships. In John, it is all about relationships. In John, faith is about relationship. About building new relationships. About strengthening old relationships. About winding a path through the complexity of relationships. In John, when you believe in God. When you believe that Jesus is the Son of God--the Word made flesh. Then, you enter into relationship with God. 

This is what is happening in our lesson today. John the baptizer (except in the Gospel of John he’s not called “the baptizer;” instead, he’s called a “witness”)...In our lesson today, John knows that it is time for him to release his followers to Jesus. John knows that he is not the Promised One. John knows that he is called to witness to this Human One. And so, as Jesus walks by John and his followers, he testifies to them. “Look! Here is the “Lamb of God.”

For John’s disciples, these Jewish Christians, the phrase “Lamb of God” has great significance. What it instantly brings to mind for them is the Passover. The significant festival that celebrates God’s deliverance of Israel from Egypt. For them, the Passover signifies protection, lineage, deliverance. And, mostly, it represents God’s promise of relationship.

John’s disciples hear this in John’s words. It makes them curious. As a result, their attention is redirected away from John to Jesus. They begin to follow Jesus to learn more. Jesus sees them following, he turns and says, “What are you looking for?” This can also be translated as “What are you seeking?”

This is one thing about the Gospel of John. Words often have dual meanings. “What are you looking for?” can also be translated “What are you seeking?”

“What are you seeking?” Jesus asks them.

Their response? Not really an answer, but a question. “Where are you staying?” Which can be translated, “Where are you abiding?” 

You see, the defining thing in John is not the where but the who. With whom are you abiding. Because abiding has duration. It isn’t short term. It’s not unneeded or unnecessary. Abiding is what meaningful relationship looks like. It is there where the disciples will find what they are looking for. Where they will discover the person, rather than the location. Where, as the relationship unfolds, all of their needs will be provided. Their fundamental bodily needs. But, mostly, their fundamental need for relationship.

Jesus invites them in. “Come and see.” Do you notice that there is no judgment? No demand for repentance? Jesus simply invites them into this relationship. Jesus finds people and invites them in. And, soon, the disciples will do the same. Following Jesus’ own actions. Inviting others to “come and see.” 

Like the disciples, we, have a fundamental need for relationship. Jesus invites us in, too. 
Come and see. Come into this relationship and see the divine become human. Come and see God being revealed. Gradually. Not in one chapter or in a few months. But over a lifetime. Over an abundant life time. 


What are you looking for? What are you seeking? Come and see. Amen.

Preached Sunday, January 7, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Second Sunday after Epiphany
Readings: Psalm 66:1-5, John 1:35-51

Not the Same Anymore: What Salvation Looks Like

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. 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. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.  Acts 2:42-47 (NRSV)


As I’ve lived in various places around the western U.S., I’ve often discovered that each place has a history, each area has its own unique history. I’ve lived now in Kentucky for three months. What I’ve discovered here is that this place, more than many of the other places I’ve lived, has a much richer and deeper history. 

Perhaps some of this is because of its physical location, bounded by the Appalachian Mountains on the east, which provided access for early settlers, who were seeking more land and adventure as they moved west from the original 13 colonies. Perhaps it’s because of the rich native American history, a history that precedes that of the early settlers and that includes tribes so familiar to any student of history--the Cherokee, the Chickasaw, and the Shawnee, to name just a few. Perhaps it’s because of the Ohio River, sometimes considered the western extension of the Mason-Dixon line--the border that separated slave states from free states. This river that was called the River Jordan by those traveling the Underground Railroad from slavery to The Promised Land.

And, then, there is the Kentucky Derby. Over these past couple of weeks, I am learning about the breadth and depth of this great race, this “Run for the Roses.” This “Fastest Two Minutes in Sports.” This first leg of the Triple Crown. This grandparent of horse races that has been run consecutively every year since 1875. 

So, in honor of the Derby this week and of the history of this amazing place, I started reading a book titled The Sport of Kings, written by C.E. Morgan, an author who is a graduate of Berea College and a native Kentuckian. It’s one of those huge Southern Gothic novels, like Gone With the Wind. 

It weaves together characters from three family lines, three lineages. One that includes the son of one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Kentucky. One that includes the great, great, great grandson of a runaway slave who gained freedom by crossing the Ohio River. And one that includes Hellsmouth, a thoroughbred racing horse that comes from a long line of winning thoroughbreds. And, although, this book on it’s surface is about horse racing, it is about much more than that. It is mostly about race.

Throughout the novel, the author’s premise is that our genes don’t control our destinies, but that what is more decisive is the sheer unstoppable momentum of history. She believes that we can and we must refuse to perpetuate the sins of our parents. But she is also a realist, recognizing how nearly impossible this is, how hard it is to unbind ourselves from our own histories. From histories that keep us apart from each other.

Why is it so hard to separate ourselves from our own histories? Why is it nearly impossible to break down the walls, the barriers, that so often keep people apart? It seems that more and more frequently we are so divided from each other. Whether it is because of race. Or class. Or political persuasion. Or gender. Or sexual identity. Or whatever it is, doesn’t it just feel as though we are so divided? That our own histories are wrapped around us, keeping us bound and isolated. Keeping us apart from each other.  

Perhaps that’s why, when we read our Acts text today, it seems so unrealistic. This idea of holding everything in common. It seems so fanciful. I mean, really. Could you see this happening in our world today? Could you?

Clearly in this early community, people were divided by class. Some had money and possessions. Others didn’t. And, yet, our text reads, “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.”

This, my friends, is exactly what happens when God breaks in. When God intrudes and disrupts with the Good News. With the promise that we talked about last Sunday. With the promise of salvation.

Because, this is what salvation looks like. It is a picture of life.  Of the abundant life that is promised to us in Christ’s words in our Gospel, “I came that they (that you and I) may have life, and have it abundantly.” 

What is in that picture of abundant life? 

In our world, abundant life is so often equated with wealth. With wealth and prosperity. With a big home in the suburbs and maybe a timeshare in Florida or a cabin somewhere up north. With a boat. With possessions. With stuff. With access to experience, like tickets to the Kentucky Derby.  This is what, to the world, abundance looks like. 

The world’s idea of abundance divides. The haves and the have nots. The rich and the poor. Those with housing, those without. Those with food, those who are hungry. Those with health care, those with none. 

This is not God’s picture of abundant life, of salvation. For God, abundant life is life that is lived out in the church, where the Word of God is made manifest. It isn’t about gaining prosperity or wealth. It is about people’s needs being met. It is about worship. About fellowship and belonging. About safety and security. About the breaking of bread. And prayers. And signs and miracles.

This is what salvation looks like. Life. Abundance. Unity. Commitment. Commonality. The same as that of the early church. Holding fast. And dedicating ourselves, like the early church, to the teachings of the apostles. To studying God’s Word, in Sunday school, in Bible study, here in worship, at home in our regular devotion. 

And to the breaking of bread. That ritual observance of the Lord’s Supper, the communal meal. The Eucharistic feast--an abundant feast portrayed so richly in our psalm today. Did you hear the language? A feast in which the psalmist’s cup overflows. A feast that happens even in the presence of the enemy. A feast for everyone. For every kid who has been picked on. For every person escorted to the door after being laid off. For every person every abandoned by a spouse. Or by a parent. For anyone ever shamed for being poor. For being undocumented. For every outcast from society. It is for you and for all people. A place of honor at God’s feast. No more separation. No more shame.

This is the model of the early church. This is the model for us today. And, interestingly, in the book I’m reading, it is ultimately the only model of how to slip the bonds of history: not by having no family at all, but by deciding that your family includes everyone. That the only lineage, the only family line that matters is the one that is common to us all. The line that has been created by God, broken by sin, yet redeemed by Christ and for which the Spirit seeks to work full restoration. 

This is God’s vision of abundant life. It is idealistic. It is fanciful. And, yet, it is for us. And it is for all people. It is God’s vision for what salvation looks like.

I hope and pray that it is our vision, too.

Amen.

Preached May 7, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Fourth Sunday of Easter
Readings: Acts 2:42-47; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2:19-25; John 10:1-10