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)
Why on earth do we do this? These Three Days? The meal and footwashing and holy communion of Maundy Thursday. The journey to the crucifixion of Jesus on the cross on Good Friday. The wandering tonight from the new fire to the water to this place where we have heard some the stories of our faith, for some of us, stories we have grown up hearing and knowing and loving, and then the meal, holy communion. Why on earth do we do all of this?
For an answer, we must begin with our gospel lesson tonight, our reading from John.
It is early in the morning on that first day of the week after Jesus’ death. After his internment. It is before light. Still dark.
Mary has come to the tomb. Why? This gospel writer doesn’t tell us. Other gospels suggest that the women had gone to the tomb to anoint Jesus’ body. If you recall, Jesus was buried after the beginning of the Sabbath and there simply hadn’t been time to properly anoint his body, to fully prepare it for burial as was required under Jewish burial laws.
Perhaps this was why Mary had gone there, in the early light, by herself. We simply don’t know.
What we do know, however, is that when she arrived, perhaps just as the light was beginning to break, she saw that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance to the Jesus’ tomb.
I wonder what she was thinking at that moment. Our lesson tells us that she never went inside the tomb. I wonder why not. Is is possible she thought there might be grave-robbers inside? After all, we know that this was a common problem then. Or, perhaps, it was just too dark, that even if she had gone inside she wouldn’t have been able to see anything anyway. Or maybe, just maybe, the thought of seeing Jesus’ body there--lifeless--was simply too much. Too hard to take. Too real to witness.
She had been there when Jesus had died. Standing at a distance with the other women, after the rest of the disciples had fled. She had seen him die. And with it, her hopes and her dreams.
What had she felt that day and the next? Grief and sadness? Despair and hopelessness? Bewilderment and confusion? Fearful? Perhaps, all of these emotions.
That week for me in 1992 had started like most others. I had a busy life. I was a part-time church musician and, so, had started out the week on Sunday playing for two worship services, then, spending the afternoon doing laundry and getting myself and my son ready for another week of work and school. Monday came. And the week seemed pretty normal, busy for us. But that was nothing new. It was normal, until the next night. Until that Tuesday night.
On that night, I got a call from my mother. She was calling to let me know that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. This woman, who was the rock of our family. Who had carried our family through the nearly impossible grief and sadness of my father’s early death. This woman, who had always been such an example for me of strength and faith and trust. Diagnosed with cancer.
But, it didn’t stop there. Within 24 hours, I had another call. This time from my older sister. Another source of strength for me as I had witnessed her in her late twenties fight cancer and win, we thought. Just weeks away from that 5 year remission mark and the title of “cancer free.” She was calling to tell me that she, too, had cancer. Once again. That it had returned.
It is these kinds of moments when it can simply feel as though your whole world is crashing down around you. When you are blinded by the grief and sadness. By the sense of despair and hopelessness. By all of the bewilderment and confusion. By the fear. Nothing makes sense anymore. It feels as though you are simply floundering in the darkness.
Just like Mary that early morning on the first day of the new week.
And, then, just like Mary, you hear your name called by God. “Karleen, do you remember? Do you remember the story of creation? How I brought wholeness and life out of the chaos and darkness?
Do you remember? Do you remember the story of Noah? How I brought a new world out of the brokenness and sin of the old? How when you see a rainbow you can remember my promise that, never again, would a flood destroy the whole earth?
Do you remember? Do you remember how I delivered my people Israel out of slavery and brought them to new life in the land of milk and honey?
Do you remember? Do you remember how in your baptism I delivered you from sin and death to new life among my people, just as Lacey tonight has been brought to new life in Christ?
Do you remember? Do you remember my promise that in this bread and wine I am present here and now and forever?
Do you remember? That every time we have feel surrounded by whatever darkness it is we cannot seem to see the end of, God calls our name. And, then, we remember. We remember that God is faithful. Throughout all of the arc of salvation history and the short blip of our own lives, God has been and continues to be faithful.
No, it doesn’t mean that there has always been healing. Or that everything has gone the way we wanted. But what we remember, time and time again, is God faithfully at work. Bringing new life out of death. Light out of darkness. Order out of the chaos.
This is why we do this. These Three Days. This is why on earth we do this.
So that, in those darkest moments, we might, like Mary, remember. We might remember God’s faithfulness.
And like Mary, respond. Saying “Rabbouni” and go out and witness to all the world, proclaiming, “I have seen the Lord!”
Amen.
Preached at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY, on April 15, 2017.
Easter Vigil (Year A).
Readings: Genesis 1:1-2:4a; Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18, 8:6-18, 9:8-13; Exodus 14:10-31, 15:20-21; Isaiah 55:1-11; Daniel 3:1-29; Romans 6:3-11; John 20:1-18.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Thursday, April 13, 2017
The Quality of Our Love
I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13:34-35, NRSV)
Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
What is the quality of our love? This, I think, is the question for our consideration tonight.
What is the quality of our love? On this Thursday evening, the first day of our Three Day remembrance of Jesus’ suffering, crucifixion and death and our celebration of his resurrection. On this day we call Maundy Thursday, Maundy coming from the Latin word, mandatum, meaning mandate or law. On this Law Thursday, this is the question that we are facing: What is the quality of our love?
“I give you a ‘new’ commandment.” Jesus said to his disciples. But, we know, that this really isn’t a new commandment.
All of scripture points to this command, this law of love, as central to God’s law. Central to whom our God is. Central to our relationship with this God.
From the Jewish Torah, in Deuteronomy, chapter 6, we hear this: “Hear, O Israel; The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” This phrase--called the shema--still today begins every morning and evening prayer service in the Jewish faith.
And, yet, that love of God is not only central to our relationship with God, but also with one another. In Leviticus chapter 19, in another book of the Torah, after a long list of instructions on how to live as God’s holy people, we read: “...you must love your neighbor as yourself...”
In the Torah and continuing through the Hebrew Bible there are example after example, writing after writing, about how we are to love God and love one another.
So, it is nothing new that God expects us to love God and to love one another.
Then, you might be wondering now, what is so “new” about this commandment? This new mandate given by Jesus to his disciples on the night before his crucifixion and death.
What is new for us and for the disciples is not that we love, but it is how we love. It is about the quality of our love.
If we go back to our John text tonight, if we look carefully at the verses that precede this new commandment, we begin to get an answer to this question--about how we are to love.
Beginning in verse 2, we read that Jesus and his disciples were sharing the evening meal. Then we read that Judas had already been provoked by Satan to betray Jesus. And, yet, knowing this, Jesus got up, took off his outer garments, picked up a linen towel and tied it around his waist, and proceeded to wash the feet of all of his disciples. Even the feet of Judas.
And this is not all. If we continue into the next verses, as Jesus attempts to wash Peter’s feet and Peter says, “No! You’ll never wash my feet!”...in the verses that follow our new commandment, we read of Peter’s own betrayal, his denial of Jesus. Not once. But three times.
What does this show us? What do Jesus’ actions and his words, bookended by betrayal and denial, what do they show us about the quality of Jesus’ love? And what does this tell us about what should be the quality of our love?
In just a few short moments, we will share holy communion. In both of our traditions, this meal is generally preceded by what we know as the Sharing of the Peace. In the early church, this was known as the Kiss of Peace or as the Holy Kiss. St. Augustine writes of this tradition in the fourth century: “After [the Lord’s Prayer], the ‘Peace be with you’ is said, and the Christians embrace one another with the holy kiss. This is a sign of peace; as the lips indicate, let peace be made in your conscience, that is, when your lips draw near to those of your brother, do not let your heart withdraw from his.”
This Holy Kiss is a sign that we are reconciled with one another. That, when we receive the bread and the wine and the body and blood of our Lord, we are at peace with each other. That we have set aside grudges, jealousy, anger or animosity. And that, unlike the church in Corinth that led Paul to write our second reading tonight, there is no distinction. No difference between each other, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, class, political party or whatever it is in our world that seeks to divides us, we are here, at the Lord’s table, one body, united in Christ’s love and in our love for each other as sisters and brothers in Christ.
Because, that night, that night of Jesus’ new commandment, Jesus knew that it was this kind of love--this kind of agape love--that would sustain the disciples over the next days, through his crucifixion and death and resurrection. And, that it would also sustain them in the days after Jesus had ascended and return to heaven. In the same way it sustains us today.
This. This is the quality of our love. It is love for each other here and for the whole world that is modelled for us in the simple act of hospitality shown all of the disciples, and us, by Jesus on this night so very long ago.
May we simply love in this very same way. Amen.
Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
What is the quality of our love? This, I think, is the question for our consideration tonight.
What is the quality of our love? On this Thursday evening, the first day of our Three Day remembrance of Jesus’ suffering, crucifixion and death and our celebration of his resurrection. On this day we call Maundy Thursday, Maundy coming from the Latin word, mandatum, meaning mandate or law. On this Law Thursday, this is the question that we are facing: What is the quality of our love?
“I give you a ‘new’ commandment.” Jesus said to his disciples. But, we know, that this really isn’t a new commandment.
All of scripture points to this command, this law of love, as central to God’s law. Central to whom our God is. Central to our relationship with this God.
From the Jewish Torah, in Deuteronomy, chapter 6, we hear this: “Hear, O Israel; The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” This phrase--called the shema--still today begins every morning and evening prayer service in the Jewish faith.
And, yet, that love of God is not only central to our relationship with God, but also with one another. In Leviticus chapter 19, in another book of the Torah, after a long list of instructions on how to live as God’s holy people, we read: “...you must love your neighbor as yourself...”
In the Torah and continuing through the Hebrew Bible there are example after example, writing after writing, about how we are to love God and love one another.
So, it is nothing new that God expects us to love God and to love one another.
Then, you might be wondering now, what is so “new” about this commandment? This new mandate given by Jesus to his disciples on the night before his crucifixion and death.
What is new for us and for the disciples is not that we love, but it is how we love. It is about the quality of our love.
If we go back to our John text tonight, if we look carefully at the verses that precede this new commandment, we begin to get an answer to this question--about how we are to love.
Beginning in verse 2, we read that Jesus and his disciples were sharing the evening meal. Then we read that Judas had already been provoked by Satan to betray Jesus. And, yet, knowing this, Jesus got up, took off his outer garments, picked up a linen towel and tied it around his waist, and proceeded to wash the feet of all of his disciples. Even the feet of Judas.
And this is not all. If we continue into the next verses, as Jesus attempts to wash Peter’s feet and Peter says, “No! You’ll never wash my feet!”...in the verses that follow our new commandment, we read of Peter’s own betrayal, his denial of Jesus. Not once. But three times.
What does this show us? What do Jesus’ actions and his words, bookended by betrayal and denial, what do they show us about the quality of Jesus’ love? And what does this tell us about what should be the quality of our love?
In just a few short moments, we will share holy communion. In both of our traditions, this meal is generally preceded by what we know as the Sharing of the Peace. In the early church, this was known as the Kiss of Peace or as the Holy Kiss. St. Augustine writes of this tradition in the fourth century: “After [the Lord’s Prayer], the ‘Peace be with you’ is said, and the Christians embrace one another with the holy kiss. This is a sign of peace; as the lips indicate, let peace be made in your conscience, that is, when your lips draw near to those of your brother, do not let your heart withdraw from his.”
This Holy Kiss is a sign that we are reconciled with one another. That, when we receive the bread and the wine and the body and blood of our Lord, we are at peace with each other. That we have set aside grudges, jealousy, anger or animosity. And that, unlike the church in Corinth that led Paul to write our second reading tonight, there is no distinction. No difference between each other, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, class, political party or whatever it is in our world that seeks to divides us, we are here, at the Lord’s table, one body, united in Christ’s love and in our love for each other as sisters and brothers in Christ.
Because, that night, that night of Jesus’ new commandment, Jesus knew that it was this kind of love--this kind of agape love--that would sustain the disciples over the next days, through his crucifixion and death and resurrection. And, that it would also sustain them in the days after Jesus had ascended and return to heaven. In the same way it sustains us today.
This. This is the quality of our love. It is love for each other here and for the whole world that is modelled for us in the simple act of hospitality shown all of the disciples, and us, by Jesus on this night so very long ago.
May we simply love in this very same way. Amen.
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Chaos and Confusion
Now Jesus stood before the governor; and the governor asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus said, “You say so.” But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed.
Now at the festival the governor was accustomed to release a prisoner for the crowd, anyone whom they wanted. At that time they had a notorious prisoner, called Jesus Barabbas. So after they had gathered, Pilate said to them, “Whom do you want me to release for you, Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that they had handed him over. While he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent word to him, “Have nothing to do with that innocent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream about him.” Now the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus killed. The governor again said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” And they said, “Barabbas.” Pilate said to them, “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” All of them said, “Let him be crucified!” Then he asked, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Let him be crucified!”
So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” Then the people as a whole answered, “His blood be on us and on our children!” So he released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.
Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor’s headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.
As they went out, they came upon a man from Cyrene named Simon; they compelled this man to carry his cross. And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull), they offered him wine to drink, mixed with gall; but when he tasted it, he would not drink it. And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves by casting lots; then they sat down there and kept watch over him. Over his head they put the charge against him, which read, “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.”
Then two bandits were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” In the same way the chief priests also, along with the scribes and elders, were mocking him, saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he wants to; for he said, ‘I am God’s Son.’” The bandits who were crucified with him also taunted him in the same way.
From noon on, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And about three o’clock Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “This man is calling for Elijah.” At once one of them ran and got a sponge, filled it with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink. But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.” Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many. Now when the centurion and those with him, who were keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were terrified and said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” Matthew 27:11-54 (NRSV)
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They’d been with Jesus for nearly three years, this man they called, “Rabbi.” He had called them to simply come and follow him. And, they had. Over these years, they had traveled with Jesus throughout the Galilean countryside and beyond--in all the places away from the powerful center of Jerusalem. Along the way, among a variety of characters, they had witnessed Jesus reveal more and more who he was. Characters that included Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well, the blind man to whom Jesus had given sight, and Lazarus and his sisters and the never-before witnessed miracle in which Jesus had brought Lazarus back to life after having been dead for four full days.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had listened to Jesus tell them what it would mean to be his disciple. To “take up the cross.” How they were to engage in active nonviolent resistance when confronted with oppression and violence. How the integrity of what they said and did mattered. How they were to love others. Not just friends and families. But, also enemies.
They’d been sent out, too. Sent to participate in the same mission of Jesus--to proclaim the same message--that God’s kingdom was at hand. Jesus had given them authority,. The same God-given authority to preach and to heal and to forgive. They’d gone out. They’d gone out, knowing how hard this mission would be. That in speaking truth to power they would be oppressed and harassed. That suffering would be inevitable. That participating in Jesus’ mission meant taking up his cross.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had heard Jesus tell them that he would eventually die at the hands of the religious and the political elite. How they wouldn’t...how they couldn’t...how they didn’t want to believe him. How their thoughts had been expressed by Peter so forcefully when he challenged Jesus. Saying that, “No!” this wouldn’t happen. And watching Jesus shut him down. Oh, how distressed they had been.
They had also heard him say that he would be raised. Something they did not, could not understand.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had witnessed--had accompanied--Jesus riding into Jerusalem. On a donkey. As though he was mocking the Roman authorities. Making his entrance into Jerusalem in the midst of the Passover celebration. A Jerusalem that had swelled in size by several hundred thousand people. People who had come from the countryside to the temple to celebrate this holy festival. People who had heard of Jesus or who had heard him speak.
They had seen the crowds respond to Jesus as he entered triumphantly into the city. How the huge crowds had welcomed and had shouted their “Hosannas!” and other songs of acclaim. They had retrieved the donkey for Jesus with unexpected ease. They knew the ambivalence of his riding this donkey--that it was a royal animal that had carried previous representatives of God’s reign--King Solomon and others. And, yet, that it was an everyday beast of burden--a symbol of scorn. They saw the contradictions in the extravagant welcome of Jesus by the crowd while he was, at the same time, seated upon this lowly animal, the same animal that had carried his mother to Bethlehem to give birth to him in a stable, of all places.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had heard that the religious authorities were conspiring against Jesus. They had heard that one of their own was involved. How distressed they had been! And when Jesus told them they would all desert him that night--the night they celebrated the Passover together--they heard Peter boast that he would never abandon Jesus.
They had been there in the garden that night. In Gethsemane. How they had wanted to stay awake as Jesus asked them. How they had failed. And then, they had seen the soldiers come with Judas. One of their own had grabbed a sword, trying to violently resist, and had been quickly condemned by Jesus.
They had been there that night. And then, they had deserted Jesus and run. Just as he said they would.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had seen the week start out so well. They had seen the throngs greet Jesus as the Messiah, with the expectation that he had come to overthrow the Romans--their political captors. Jesus had been treated as the king they knew he was.
And, then, quickly. Within just a few short days, it had all dissolved into madness. The king they knew, the Messiah they thought had come to make a regime change, this Jesus, their teacher and friend, now arrested, convicted, and tortured. And, then, crucified. Like a common criminal. One of the cruelest means of execution, reserved for non-citizens and for the socially rejected. For rebellious foreigners, violent criminals, robbers, slaves--for all those on the margins. Jesus. Shamed and humiliated.
Chaos and confusion. I think this is what the disciples were thinking. And feeling. Their entire lives. Their entire way of thinking. Their entire world. Turned upside down. Dissolving into chaos and confusion.
Chaos and confusion. This was something Dietrich Bonhoeffer also knew about. It was on this day in 1945--on April 9th, 1945--that Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran theologian and pastor, was shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. He had studied theology in Germany and the United States and had pastored a church in London before choosing to return to Germany to resist the rise to power of Adolf Hitler. He was eventually arrested and, on this day 72 years ago, put to death.
Just like the disciples, Bonhoeffer knew about chaos and confusion. And, yet, he, like the disciples, knew that this was what discipleship was all about. In his book, The Cost of Discipleship, which he wrote in prison while awaiting his execution, Bonhoeffer wrote, “[God says this]: Discipleship is not limited to what you can comprehend - it must transcend all comprehension. Plunge into the deep waters beyond your own comprehension, and I will help you to comprehend even as I do. Bewilderment is the true comprehension. Not to know where you are going is the true knowledge. My comprehension transcends yours.”
It is in the midst of the chaos and confusion that God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion and brokenness of the world, into our own brokenness--it is there that God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion of a world where people do not have enough to eat or they lack decent healthcare, God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion of a world where it seems there is a mass shooting nearly every day, or terrorism is our first thought after any incident, God breaks in. Or even in the chaos and confusion of a world where a political leader uses nerve gas on his own people, a refugee people that nearly the entire world has rejected, God breaks in.
This is what we believe. This is what we trust. This is what we know because it is in the chaos and confusion of Jesus’ crucifixion and death that God broke in and raised him from the dead. And it is in the midst of our own chaos and confusion that God has broken in and has brought us new life. In Christ.
And that is why we shout, right along with the crowd that Palm Sunday, “Hosanna! Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
Amen.
Preached at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
April 9, 2017 - Palm Sunday
Readings: Matthew 21:1-11, Isaiah 50:4-9a, Psalm 31:9-16, Philippians 2:5-11, Matthew 27:11-54
Now at the festival the governor was accustomed to release a prisoner for the crowd, anyone whom they wanted. At that time they had a notorious prisoner, called Jesus Barabbas. So after they had gathered, Pilate said to them, “Whom do you want me to release for you, Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that they had handed him over. While he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent word to him, “Have nothing to do with that innocent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream about him.” Now the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus killed. The governor again said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” And they said, “Barabbas.” Pilate said to them, “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” All of them said, “Let him be crucified!” Then he asked, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Let him be crucified!”
So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” Then the people as a whole answered, “His blood be on us and on our children!” So he released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.
Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor’s headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.
As they went out, they came upon a man from Cyrene named Simon; they compelled this man to carry his cross. And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull), they offered him wine to drink, mixed with gall; but when he tasted it, he would not drink it. And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves by casting lots; then they sat down there and kept watch over him. Over his head they put the charge against him, which read, “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.”
Then two bandits were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” In the same way the chief priests also, along with the scribes and elders, were mocking him, saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he wants to; for he said, ‘I am God’s Son.’” The bandits who were crucified with him also taunted him in the same way.
From noon on, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And about three o’clock Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “This man is calling for Elijah.” At once one of them ran and got a sponge, filled it with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink. But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.” Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many. Now when the centurion and those with him, who were keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were terrified and said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” Matthew 27:11-54 (NRSV)
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They’d been with Jesus for nearly three years, this man they called, “Rabbi.” He had called them to simply come and follow him. And, they had. Over these years, they had traveled with Jesus throughout the Galilean countryside and beyond--in all the places away from the powerful center of Jerusalem. Along the way, among a variety of characters, they had witnessed Jesus reveal more and more who he was. Characters that included Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well, the blind man to whom Jesus had given sight, and Lazarus and his sisters and the never-before witnessed miracle in which Jesus had brought Lazarus back to life after having been dead for four full days.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had listened to Jesus tell them what it would mean to be his disciple. To “take up the cross.” How they were to engage in active nonviolent resistance when confronted with oppression and violence. How the integrity of what they said and did mattered. How they were to love others. Not just friends and families. But, also enemies.
They’d been sent out, too. Sent to participate in the same mission of Jesus--to proclaim the same message--that God’s kingdom was at hand. Jesus had given them authority,. The same God-given authority to preach and to heal and to forgive. They’d gone out. They’d gone out, knowing how hard this mission would be. That in speaking truth to power they would be oppressed and harassed. That suffering would be inevitable. That participating in Jesus’ mission meant taking up his cross.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had heard Jesus tell them that he would eventually die at the hands of the religious and the political elite. How they wouldn’t...how they couldn’t...how they didn’t want to believe him. How their thoughts had been expressed by Peter so forcefully when he challenged Jesus. Saying that, “No!” this wouldn’t happen. And watching Jesus shut him down. Oh, how distressed they had been.
They had also heard him say that he would be raised. Something they did not, could not understand.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had witnessed--had accompanied--Jesus riding into Jerusalem. On a donkey. As though he was mocking the Roman authorities. Making his entrance into Jerusalem in the midst of the Passover celebration. A Jerusalem that had swelled in size by several hundred thousand people. People who had come from the countryside to the temple to celebrate this holy festival. People who had heard of Jesus or who had heard him speak.
They had seen the crowds respond to Jesus as he entered triumphantly into the city. How the huge crowds had welcomed and had shouted their “Hosannas!” and other songs of acclaim. They had retrieved the donkey for Jesus with unexpected ease. They knew the ambivalence of his riding this donkey--that it was a royal animal that had carried previous representatives of God’s reign--King Solomon and others. And, yet, that it was an everyday beast of burden--a symbol of scorn. They saw the contradictions in the extravagant welcome of Jesus by the crowd while he was, at the same time, seated upon this lowly animal, the same animal that had carried his mother to Bethlehem to give birth to him in a stable, of all places.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had heard that the religious authorities were conspiring against Jesus. They had heard that one of their own was involved. How distressed they had been! And when Jesus told them they would all desert him that night--the night they celebrated the Passover together--they heard Peter boast that he would never abandon Jesus.
They had been there in the garden that night. In Gethsemane. How they had wanted to stay awake as Jesus asked them. How they had failed. And then, they had seen the soldiers come with Judas. One of their own had grabbed a sword, trying to violently resist, and had been quickly condemned by Jesus.
They had been there that night. And then, they had deserted Jesus and run. Just as he said they would.
I wonder what the disciples were thinking.
They had seen the week start out so well. They had seen the throngs greet Jesus as the Messiah, with the expectation that he had come to overthrow the Romans--their political captors. Jesus had been treated as the king they knew he was.
And, then, quickly. Within just a few short days, it had all dissolved into madness. The king they knew, the Messiah they thought had come to make a regime change, this Jesus, their teacher and friend, now arrested, convicted, and tortured. And, then, crucified. Like a common criminal. One of the cruelest means of execution, reserved for non-citizens and for the socially rejected. For rebellious foreigners, violent criminals, robbers, slaves--for all those on the margins. Jesus. Shamed and humiliated.
Chaos and confusion. I think this is what the disciples were thinking. And feeling. Their entire lives. Their entire way of thinking. Their entire world. Turned upside down. Dissolving into chaos and confusion.
Chaos and confusion. This was something Dietrich Bonhoeffer also knew about. It was on this day in 1945--on April 9th, 1945--that Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran theologian and pastor, was shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. He had studied theology in Germany and the United States and had pastored a church in London before choosing to return to Germany to resist the rise to power of Adolf Hitler. He was eventually arrested and, on this day 72 years ago, put to death.
Just like the disciples, Bonhoeffer knew about chaos and confusion. And, yet, he, like the disciples, knew that this was what discipleship was all about. In his book, The Cost of Discipleship, which he wrote in prison while awaiting his execution, Bonhoeffer wrote, “[God says this]: Discipleship is not limited to what you can comprehend - it must transcend all comprehension. Plunge into the deep waters beyond your own comprehension, and I will help you to comprehend even as I do. Bewilderment is the true comprehension. Not to know where you are going is the true knowledge. My comprehension transcends yours.”
It is in the midst of the chaos and confusion that God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion and brokenness of the world, into our own brokenness--it is there that God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion of a world where people do not have enough to eat or they lack decent healthcare, God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion of a world where it seems there is a mass shooting nearly every day, or terrorism is our first thought after any incident, God breaks in. Or even in the chaos and confusion of a world where a political leader uses nerve gas on his own people, a refugee people that nearly the entire world has rejected, God breaks in.
This is what we believe. This is what we trust. This is what we know because it is in the chaos and confusion of Jesus’ crucifixion and death that God broke in and raised him from the dead. And it is in the midst of our own chaos and confusion that God has broken in and has brought us new life. In Christ.
And that is why we shout, right along with the crowd that Palm Sunday, “Hosanna! Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
Amen.
Preached at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
April 9, 2017 - Palm Sunday
Readings: Matthew 21:1-11, Isaiah 50:4-9a, Psalm 31:9-16, Philippians 2:5-11, Matthew 27:11-54
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
What Feast of Love!
While they were eating, Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to the disciples and said, “Take and eat. This is my body.” He took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, “Drink from this, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many so that their sins may be forgiven. I tell you, I won’t drink wine again until that day when I drink it in a new way with you in my Father’s kingdom.” Matthew 26:26-29 (CEB)
The film, Babette’s Feast, is the story of two sisters, Martina and Philippa. Their father is the founder and pastor of a pious religious community in a coastal town in Denmark. The two sisters have embraced this religion of their father and the community even though in making their choice they have given up their dreams of romance and fame.
All of this changes when they take in a boarder, Babette, from Paris. Babette is a refugee--the result of the French Revolution. Babette becomes their cook. She also becomes their salvation, providing them with better-tasting and healthier meals, all at less expense.
After winning a French lottery, Babette insists on cooking and serving a banquet for the sisters and the religious community in honor of the anniversary of their father’s death. In the scenes leading up to the banquet, the community has dissolved into fractious, petty quarrels.
Our clip starts tonight in the banquet scene. Let’s watch.
At this Last Supper, where twelve gathered to remember their master, who they were, and what they were to be about, it was the artist--the chef--who called forth the spirit of joy. What had worried them for so long - am I truly forgiven? - was realized anew as the bounty poured from the kitchen. This food was the visible sign of the abundance that they had dared not believe in...How could God ever forgive that sin? Who could ever really know me and still love me? Their faith was ruled by a level of scarcity that was consistent with the harsh land where they lived, the stale bread they were accustomed to eating, the bland soup that usually filled their bowls. Their belief was that their abundance would come in heaven. Not the possibility that this abundance was already in their midst.
The members of community also weren’t surprised by harshness, or regrets, or quarrelsome pettiness. We can often accommodate evil without much trouble. What confounds them--and often us--is goodness or love. It was this gift freely given that disturbed them, that was so unsettling to them.
This is what the Lord’s Supper is about. If you think it is simply about forgiveness, you miss the complexity, diversity, and richness of this sacrament. Why else do we have so many names for it? Lord’s Supper. Holy Communion. Eucharist, Sacrament of the Altar.
It is here, at the table, where freedom, joy, and sorrow hang together in a delicate balance. Where we experience each other and the whole church, past, present and future. Where we experience God’s abundance, Christ’s presence, the forgiveness of sins, a deepening of our faith. And it is here, where we hesitantly sit down to feast and here, at the table, where we hold close to the promise of Psalm 85, that here “Mercy and truth have met together. Righteousness and bliss shall kiss one another.”
Amen.
The film, Babette’s Feast, is the story of two sisters, Martina and Philippa. Their father is the founder and pastor of a pious religious community in a coastal town in Denmark. The two sisters have embraced this religion of their father and the community even though in making their choice they have given up their dreams of romance and fame.
All of this changes when they take in a boarder, Babette, from Paris. Babette is a refugee--the result of the French Revolution. Babette becomes their cook. She also becomes their salvation, providing them with better-tasting and healthier meals, all at less expense.
After winning a French lottery, Babette insists on cooking and serving a banquet for the sisters and the religious community in honor of the anniversary of their father’s death. In the scenes leading up to the banquet, the community has dissolved into fractious, petty quarrels.
Our clip starts tonight in the banquet scene. Let’s watch.
At this Last Supper, where twelve gathered to remember their master, who they were, and what they were to be about, it was the artist--the chef--who called forth the spirit of joy. What had worried them for so long - am I truly forgiven? - was realized anew as the bounty poured from the kitchen. This food was the visible sign of the abundance that they had dared not believe in...How could God ever forgive that sin? Who could ever really know me and still love me? Their faith was ruled by a level of scarcity that was consistent with the harsh land where they lived, the stale bread they were accustomed to eating, the bland soup that usually filled their bowls. Their belief was that their abundance would come in heaven. Not the possibility that this abundance was already in their midst.
The members of community also weren’t surprised by harshness, or regrets, or quarrelsome pettiness. We can often accommodate evil without much trouble. What confounds them--and often us--is goodness or love. It was this gift freely given that disturbed them, that was so unsettling to them.
This is what the Lord’s Supper is about. If you think it is simply about forgiveness, you miss the complexity, diversity, and richness of this sacrament. Why else do we have so many names for it? Lord’s Supper. Holy Communion. Eucharist, Sacrament of the Altar.
It is here, at the table, where freedom, joy, and sorrow hang together in a delicate balance. Where we experience each other and the whole church, past, present and future. Where we experience God’s abundance, Christ’s presence, the forgiveness of sins, a deepening of our faith. And it is here, where we hesitantly sit down to feast and here, at the table, where we hold close to the promise of Psalm 85, that here “Mercy and truth have met together. Righteousness and bliss shall kiss one another.”
Amen.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.
Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him. John 11:1-45 (NRSV)
That day was the worst of days. That day was the best of days.
My sister, Mary, and I--we lived in Bethany, along with our brother, Lazarus, who lived nearby. Bethany was a village, close to Jerusalem - only a mile and a half away. It was small and secluded, just a few hundred people living across the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem.
It was so peaceful. Full of palm trees rustling in the breeze coming out of the valley. Hidden away from the bustling noises of the nearly 50,000 people who lived in Jerusalem. Bethany was a beautiful place. And it was only an hour’s walk from Bethany into the city.
So, it was a perfect place for Jesus to come and rest and be refreshed. He did it often. We became good friends. We became his followers.
On one of his visits, my sister, Mary, did something a little impulsive. (She’s the emotional one, Mary. I’m more level-headed, much more practical.) On that visit, Mary took our entire stash of nard--a very expensive anointing oil--a full pound that we had saved over a long period of time. She took the entire pound of nard and poured it all over his feet. His feet! Instead of selling it to give money to the poor. That’s what we had intended. Oh, she was criticized for it. Judas, especially, criticized her.
But, back to the story of that day.
Lazarus had been sick. We’d been caring for him. He wasn’t getting better. So, we decided to send for Jesus. Jesus had left Judea. The things he’d been doing, the signs he’d been performing, the way he had been challenging our Jewish leaders--well, much opposition had risen against him. So, Jesus had gone back across the Jordan, where it was safer.
So, when Lazarus didn’t get better, we sent for Jesus to come. We had seen him heal others who were sick or crippled or even blind. We were hoping--maybe selfishly so--that Jesus would come and heal Lazarus. He was a three days’ walk away.
Lazarus got worse. And worse. And, then, he died. My brother. Dead. My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Dead. And no Jesus. Jesus never came. He never came to heal his friend. My brother. Lazarus.
My heart felt broken. I was grieved at his death. I was angry with Jesus. He had the power--I had seen it with others, with complete strangers. Why not with one of his dearest friends and disciples? Many others came to grieve with us and to try to comfort us. But not Jesus. I felt as though Jesus had abandoned Lazarus. And us.
And, then, four days after Lazarus had died. After, according to our beliefs, his soul had already left his body, then. Then! Jesus came. I heard that he had entered the village. I went to him. I was angry. I said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.” And then I challenged him. I said, “Even now I know that whatever you ask God, God will give you.” I wanted him to do something. What? I wasn’t sure. But, he had to do something. Something to make up for not saving Lazarus before he died.
Jesus told me that Lazarus would rise again. I knew that. It was central to my belief, something that my Jewish ancestors had believed, that our souls were immortal. I told Jesus this. That I believed I would see him on the last day. But, I did not believe I would see Lazarus again in my own lifetime.
Then Jesus said words to me that I didn’t fully understand at the time. He said that he was the resurrection and the life. That if we lived in him and we believed in him, we would never die. He asked me if I believed this.
My response? Well, even I didn’t quite expect it. But, somehow, after all I had witnessed. After all the signs I had seen Jesus do--the healings, the feeding of the thousands, restoring sight--well, after all of that, I could do nothing else but to say, “Yes. Yes. I believe. I believe, Lord, that you are the Christ. The Son of God. The one to come. The Messiah.”
But, Lazarus was still dead.
I went, then, to get my sister, Mary. Funny, how when she finally came out to greet Jesus she said the very same words I had just spoken to him. “If only you’d been here…” And she started to cry.
He looked at her. I saw how upset he was. He asked where we had put Lazarus’ body. We showed him. It was a short distance away.
It was then I knew how deeply Jesus loved Lazarus. And Mary. And me. Because, when we arrived at the tomb where we had buried Lazarus, Jesus began to weep.
I had never seen him cry before. Jesus? The man who wasn’t afraid of anyone, who wasn’t afraid to challenge the hypocrisy of our Jewish leaders. The man who seemed to have all of the power of the world. Here. Standing in front of me, in front of the tomb, crying?
The tomb was a cave, really. This was our custom. To bury our dead in holes cut into rocks. This was where we had buried our brother. And, then, to protect his body from grave-robbers, which were such a problem in our time--To protect Lazarus’ body, we had rolled a very large stone to block the entrance to his tomb. It took several men to put it in place.
As Jesus was standing there, weeping, disturbed, he told the men to roll the stone away. I looked at him. I thought he was crazy. By this time, Lazarus’ body would have begun to stink. I said, “Lord, the smell will be awful. He’s been dead now for four days.” It wasn’t bad enough that he had died. Did we need to smell his corpse, too?
In reply, Jesus said to me, “Didn’t I tell you that if you believe, you will see God’s glory?”
I was confused. As I was trying to understand, they rolled the stone away. And then, Jesus looked up into the heavens. He gave thanks to God for hearing him. And, then, in a very loud voice--so loud that it seemed he wanted everyone around to hear--Jesus shouted, “Lazarus! Come out!”
It was then, for a moment, as though time had ceased. Because, there, right in front of me, my dead brother was now alive. Still wrapped in his grave clothes. With his feet and hands still bound with cloth. With the linen still covering his face, Lazarus walked--he WALKED--out of the tomb. My brother. Alive. My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Alive. Not dead. But, alive.
And, then, Jesus told them to “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Alive. Free. Who frees people? Who raises people from the dead, but God?
Then. Then. I believed the words I had said earlier, “You are the Christ. The Son of God. The one to come. The Messiah. You. I believe.”
From death to life. This is what Jesus did for Lazarus that day. That worst of days. That best of days. I saw it. And I believed it.
Isn’t this what you believe, too? That this Jesus, this Son of God, brings you from death to life? Is this what you believe in your baptism? That ancient ritual that comes out of my own tradition?
Isn’t it in your baptism that you are put into the water and that old, unbelieving person you are is drowned? That out of the water comes a new, living, believing creature. Just like Ezekiel’s vision--where God told him to breathe the Spirit into the dry, dead bones. And they came alive again. Isn’t that what your baptism is all about? From death to life? Just like my brother, Lazarus? Just like Jesus? That you and I and Lazarus and all believers die and rise with Jesus?
And that the Holy Spirit breathes in you--lives and breathes in you--and creates new life. That out of your dying in baptism, you are made alive and free. We are all made alive and free. And God continues to make us all alive, and to free us, and to create life wherever there is sin and bondage, and brokenness and death.
Because that is who God is. God is life. God continuously looks for ways to breathe new, creative life into us. Here, in this place. Out there, in our world.
I believe that. I believe that we have been freed. That there is life now to be lived. That the Spirit of God is present now and is our hope now.
And that God takes us from brokenness to wholeness. From dying to rising. From death to life. Here. Now. And forever.
I believe it. I pray you do, too. Amen.
Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him. John 11:1-45 (NRSV)
That day was the worst of days. That day was the best of days.
My sister, Mary, and I--we lived in Bethany, along with our brother, Lazarus, who lived nearby. Bethany was a village, close to Jerusalem - only a mile and a half away. It was small and secluded, just a few hundred people living across the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem.
It was so peaceful. Full of palm trees rustling in the breeze coming out of the valley. Hidden away from the bustling noises of the nearly 50,000 people who lived in Jerusalem. Bethany was a beautiful place. And it was only an hour’s walk from Bethany into the city.
So, it was a perfect place for Jesus to come and rest and be refreshed. He did it often. We became good friends. We became his followers.
On one of his visits, my sister, Mary, did something a little impulsive. (She’s the emotional one, Mary. I’m more level-headed, much more practical.) On that visit, Mary took our entire stash of nard--a very expensive anointing oil--a full pound that we had saved over a long period of time. She took the entire pound of nard and poured it all over his feet. His feet! Instead of selling it to give money to the poor. That’s what we had intended. Oh, she was criticized for it. Judas, especially, criticized her.
But, back to the story of that day.
Lazarus had been sick. We’d been caring for him. He wasn’t getting better. So, we decided to send for Jesus. Jesus had left Judea. The things he’d been doing, the signs he’d been performing, the way he had been challenging our Jewish leaders--well, much opposition had risen against him. So, Jesus had gone back across the Jordan, where it was safer.
So, when Lazarus didn’t get better, we sent for Jesus to come. We had seen him heal others who were sick or crippled or even blind. We were hoping--maybe selfishly so--that Jesus would come and heal Lazarus. He was a three days’ walk away.
Lazarus got worse. And worse. And, then, he died. My brother. Dead. My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Dead. And no Jesus. Jesus never came. He never came to heal his friend. My brother. Lazarus.
My heart felt broken. I was grieved at his death. I was angry with Jesus. He had the power--I had seen it with others, with complete strangers. Why not with one of his dearest friends and disciples? Many others came to grieve with us and to try to comfort us. But not Jesus. I felt as though Jesus had abandoned Lazarus. And us.
And, then, four days after Lazarus had died. After, according to our beliefs, his soul had already left his body, then. Then! Jesus came. I heard that he had entered the village. I went to him. I was angry. I said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.” And then I challenged him. I said, “Even now I know that whatever you ask God, God will give you.” I wanted him to do something. What? I wasn’t sure. But, he had to do something. Something to make up for not saving Lazarus before he died.
Jesus told me that Lazarus would rise again. I knew that. It was central to my belief, something that my Jewish ancestors had believed, that our souls were immortal. I told Jesus this. That I believed I would see him on the last day. But, I did not believe I would see Lazarus again in my own lifetime.
Then Jesus said words to me that I didn’t fully understand at the time. He said that he was the resurrection and the life. That if we lived in him and we believed in him, we would never die. He asked me if I believed this.
My response? Well, even I didn’t quite expect it. But, somehow, after all I had witnessed. After all the signs I had seen Jesus do--the healings, the feeding of the thousands, restoring sight--well, after all of that, I could do nothing else but to say, “Yes. Yes. I believe. I believe, Lord, that you are the Christ. The Son of God. The one to come. The Messiah.”
But, Lazarus was still dead.
I went, then, to get my sister, Mary. Funny, how when she finally came out to greet Jesus she said the very same words I had just spoken to him. “If only you’d been here…” And she started to cry.
He looked at her. I saw how upset he was. He asked where we had put Lazarus’ body. We showed him. It was a short distance away.
It was then I knew how deeply Jesus loved Lazarus. And Mary. And me. Because, when we arrived at the tomb where we had buried Lazarus, Jesus began to weep.
I had never seen him cry before. Jesus? The man who wasn’t afraid of anyone, who wasn’t afraid to challenge the hypocrisy of our Jewish leaders. The man who seemed to have all of the power of the world. Here. Standing in front of me, in front of the tomb, crying?
The tomb was a cave, really. This was our custom. To bury our dead in holes cut into rocks. This was where we had buried our brother. And, then, to protect his body from grave-robbers, which were such a problem in our time--To protect Lazarus’ body, we had rolled a very large stone to block the entrance to his tomb. It took several men to put it in place.
As Jesus was standing there, weeping, disturbed, he told the men to roll the stone away. I looked at him. I thought he was crazy. By this time, Lazarus’ body would have begun to stink. I said, “Lord, the smell will be awful. He’s been dead now for four days.” It wasn’t bad enough that he had died. Did we need to smell his corpse, too?
In reply, Jesus said to me, “Didn’t I tell you that if you believe, you will see God’s glory?”
I was confused. As I was trying to understand, they rolled the stone away. And then, Jesus looked up into the heavens. He gave thanks to God for hearing him. And, then, in a very loud voice--so loud that it seemed he wanted everyone around to hear--Jesus shouted, “Lazarus! Come out!”
It was then, for a moment, as though time had ceased. Because, there, right in front of me, my dead brother was now alive. Still wrapped in his grave clothes. With his feet and hands still bound with cloth. With the linen still covering his face, Lazarus walked--he WALKED--out of the tomb. My brother. Alive. My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Alive. Not dead. But, alive.
And, then, Jesus told them to “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Alive. Free. Who frees people? Who raises people from the dead, but God?
Then. Then. I believed the words I had said earlier, “You are the Christ. The Son of God. The one to come. The Messiah. You. I believe.”
From death to life. This is what Jesus did for Lazarus that day. That worst of days. That best of days. I saw it. And I believed it.
Isn’t this what you believe, too? That this Jesus, this Son of God, brings you from death to life? Is this what you believe in your baptism? That ancient ritual that comes out of my own tradition?
Isn’t it in your baptism that you are put into the water and that old, unbelieving person you are is drowned? That out of the water comes a new, living, believing creature. Just like Ezekiel’s vision--where God told him to breathe the Spirit into the dry, dead bones. And they came alive again. Isn’t that what your baptism is all about? From death to life? Just like my brother, Lazarus? Just like Jesus? That you and I and Lazarus and all believers die and rise with Jesus?
And that the Holy Spirit breathes in you--lives and breathes in you--and creates new life. That out of your dying in baptism, you are made alive and free. We are all made alive and free. And God continues to make us all alive, and to free us, and to create life wherever there is sin and bondage, and brokenness and death.
Because that is who God is. God is life. God continuously looks for ways to breathe new, creative life into us. Here, in this place. Out there, in our world.
I believe that. I believe that we have been freed. That there is life now to be lived. That the Spirit of God is present now and is our hope now.
And that God takes us from brokenness to wholeness. From dying to rising. From death to life. Here. Now. And forever.
I believe it. I pray you do, too. Amen.
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Life and Freedom
So what are we going to say? Should we continue sinning so grace will multiply? Absolutely not! All of us died to sin. How can we still live in it? Or don’t you know that all who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore, we were buried together with him through baptism into his death, so that just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too can walk in newness of life. If we were united together in a death like his, we will also be united together in a resurrection like his. This is what we know: the person that we used to be was crucified with him in order to get rid of the corpse that had been controlled by sin. That way we wouldn’t be slaves to sin anymore, because a person who has died has been freed from sin’s power. But if we died with Christ, we have faith that we will also live with him. We know that Christ has been raised from the dead and he will never die again. Death no longer has power over him. He died to sin once and for all with his death, but he lives for God with his life. In the same way, you also should consider yourselves dead to sin but alive for God in Christ Jesus.
So then, don’t let sin rule your body, so that you do what it wants. Don’t offer parts of your body to sin, to be used as weapons to do wrong. Instead, present yourselves to God as people who have been brought back to life from the dead, and offer all the parts of your body to God to be used as weapons to do right. Sin will have no power over you, because you aren’t under Law but under grace. (Romans 6:1-14, CEB)
Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
The movie, “There Will Be Blood,” begins in the New Mexico wilderness in 1898. It is the story of silver miner and eventual oil tycoon Daniel Plainview, played by Daniel Day-Lewis, who gets his lucky strike when oil is discovered near Los Angeles. Plainview becomes a self-made tycoon, but, as his fortune grows, he falls further and further into alcoholism and moral bankruptcy.
In this scene, Plainview goes forward in an altar call in a local church. While it appears he is confessing, those in the congregation are unaware that he is, in fact, manipulating them to gain the trust of one of their members to complete a land purchase. Let’s watch.
Tonight, we’re talking about baptism. I chose this clip in part because it seemed so shocking to me in two ways. First, it seems shocking to me that Plainview would go to such lengths simply to build his empire. Second, and perhaps even more shocking to me, is the level of humiliation and shaming that happens in order to gain Plainview’s confession before his baptism.
Tonight we are talking about baptism. This clip raises many questions for me about what baptism is. I’m wondering if it raises any of the same challenges for you, as well.
In particular, if we watch the journey of this man to baptism, the public shame, the public humiliation, I have to wonder if this is truly what God intends. Irrespective of Plainview’s motivations, I have to ask the question if this is what God wants for us in baptism?
Over these past weeks, we’ve been working our way through the elements of Luther’s Small Catechism. If you recall our first week, I mentioned that Luther re-ordered the elements of the catechism from the way they had been traditionally ordered. In 1522, in his preface to the Personal Prayer Book, which was a forerunner of the Small Catechism, Luther wrote about this change in order, comparing it to one’s recovery from illness.
First, according to Luther, you receive the diagnosis (in the Ten Commandments), then you are told the source for healing (God’s grace as revealed in the Creed). You call the pharmacist to fill the prescription (the Lord’s Prayer). Finally, you take the prescription and begin the healing process (the sacraments of Holy Baptism and Holy Communion).
In the Large Catechism, Luther reminded the reader of the same basic movement in the life of a Christian: our inability to fulfill the Ten Commandments, God’s mercy revealed in the creed, our cry for that very mercy in the Lord’s Prayer. And, then, receiving that mercy in the sacraments of baptism and communion. From law to gospel.
This basic principle of interpretation--moving from law to gospel--opens up Scripture for us. The distinction between the two was not intended to divide the Old and New Testaments. Instead, the distinction between law and gospel arises from a belief that God’s Word does something to us. Yes, the law provides order in our world and a guide to how to treat each other. But, more importantly, the law breaks down, strips bare, destroys, terrifies and puts to death by uncovering our desire to control God and our own salvation. By contrast, the gospel, which is God’s answer to our human predicament, builds up, clothes in righteousness, creates, comforts and brings new life by announcing God’s unconditional promise.
In addition to the movement between law and gospel, the Small Catechism also helps us read the Bible in a third way. Early in his career, Luther developed what he called the “theology of the cross.” This term isn’t at all related to why Christ died on the cross. Instead, it reveals a God to us who shows up in the very last place we would think to look. And, even further, it reveals the true nature of God, a God revealed in Jesus Christ. A God who did not come in power, but in the least of places we could imagine. In a manger. And on a cross. This is why the gospel is so very radical.
So what does all of this have to do with baptism anyway? This conversation around the law and the gospel, around the theology of the cross.
Well, baptism is one place where we get a glimpse of this foolish, weak God of ours. It is in the Small Catechism where Luther asks the question, “How can water do such great things?” The answer? It is not the water, but the Word that is connected to the water. It is here in baptism, through the power of God’s Word, the power of Scripture, connected with the earthly element of water that God puts to death this old creature. This creature that is wracked by guilt and shame. And, it is in baptism, that God brings a new creature out of this water. A new creature freed from the guilt and shame of sin.
As Paul writes in our text today, “we were buried together with Christ Jesus through baptism into his death.” And, if this is so, if our old selves are put to death through the power of God’s Word with the water, then we are also united together with Christ through the power of God’s Word with the water. This is baptism. It is where we are joined with Christ, both in his death and in his resurrection. It is where we shed this garment of sin and guilt and shame and where we are freed to live life fully. To live into the whole person God created each of us to be.
And that’s where this portrayal of baptism in this movie clip is just wrong. It is just wrong.
The truth about the human condition is not that we need to be made to feel guilty, but that we already are guilty. We already are ashamed. More guilt and shame is not what God desires for us.
What God desires for us is life. Life and freedom. And relationship. That we might be freed from the guilt and shame. That we might live into our relationship with God and with the community into which we are baptized. And that, together, we might share this life and freedom with the whole world.
This is what baptism is. It is where we are reborn as people of God. Alive. Free. Together.
May God bless us through our baptisms. Amen.
So then, don’t let sin rule your body, so that you do what it wants. Don’t offer parts of your body to sin, to be used as weapons to do wrong. Instead, present yourselves to God as people who have been brought back to life from the dead, and offer all the parts of your body to God to be used as weapons to do right. Sin will have no power over you, because you aren’t under Law but under grace. (Romans 6:1-14, CEB)
Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
The movie, “There Will Be Blood,” begins in the New Mexico wilderness in 1898. It is the story of silver miner and eventual oil tycoon Daniel Plainview, played by Daniel Day-Lewis, who gets his lucky strike when oil is discovered near Los Angeles. Plainview becomes a self-made tycoon, but, as his fortune grows, he falls further and further into alcoholism and moral bankruptcy.
In this scene, Plainview goes forward in an altar call in a local church. While it appears he is confessing, those in the congregation are unaware that he is, in fact, manipulating them to gain the trust of one of their members to complete a land purchase. Let’s watch.
Tonight, we’re talking about baptism. I chose this clip in part because it seemed so shocking to me in two ways. First, it seems shocking to me that Plainview would go to such lengths simply to build his empire. Second, and perhaps even more shocking to me, is the level of humiliation and shaming that happens in order to gain Plainview’s confession before his baptism.
Tonight we are talking about baptism. This clip raises many questions for me about what baptism is. I’m wondering if it raises any of the same challenges for you, as well.
In particular, if we watch the journey of this man to baptism, the public shame, the public humiliation, I have to wonder if this is truly what God intends. Irrespective of Plainview’s motivations, I have to ask the question if this is what God wants for us in baptism?
Over these past weeks, we’ve been working our way through the elements of Luther’s Small Catechism. If you recall our first week, I mentioned that Luther re-ordered the elements of the catechism from the way they had been traditionally ordered. In 1522, in his preface to the Personal Prayer Book, which was a forerunner of the Small Catechism, Luther wrote about this change in order, comparing it to one’s recovery from illness.
First, according to Luther, you receive the diagnosis (in the Ten Commandments), then you are told the source for healing (God’s grace as revealed in the Creed). You call the pharmacist to fill the prescription (the Lord’s Prayer). Finally, you take the prescription and begin the healing process (the sacraments of Holy Baptism and Holy Communion).
In the Large Catechism, Luther reminded the reader of the same basic movement in the life of a Christian: our inability to fulfill the Ten Commandments, God’s mercy revealed in the creed, our cry for that very mercy in the Lord’s Prayer. And, then, receiving that mercy in the sacraments of baptism and communion. From law to gospel.
This basic principle of interpretation--moving from law to gospel--opens up Scripture for us. The distinction between the two was not intended to divide the Old and New Testaments. Instead, the distinction between law and gospel arises from a belief that God’s Word does something to us. Yes, the law provides order in our world and a guide to how to treat each other. But, more importantly, the law breaks down, strips bare, destroys, terrifies and puts to death by uncovering our desire to control God and our own salvation. By contrast, the gospel, which is God’s answer to our human predicament, builds up, clothes in righteousness, creates, comforts and brings new life by announcing God’s unconditional promise.
In addition to the movement between law and gospel, the Small Catechism also helps us read the Bible in a third way. Early in his career, Luther developed what he called the “theology of the cross.” This term isn’t at all related to why Christ died on the cross. Instead, it reveals a God to us who shows up in the very last place we would think to look. And, even further, it reveals the true nature of God, a God revealed in Jesus Christ. A God who did not come in power, but in the least of places we could imagine. In a manger. And on a cross. This is why the gospel is so very radical.
So what does all of this have to do with baptism anyway? This conversation around the law and the gospel, around the theology of the cross.
Well, baptism is one place where we get a glimpse of this foolish, weak God of ours. It is in the Small Catechism where Luther asks the question, “How can water do such great things?” The answer? It is not the water, but the Word that is connected to the water. It is here in baptism, through the power of God’s Word, the power of Scripture, connected with the earthly element of water that God puts to death this old creature. This creature that is wracked by guilt and shame. And, it is in baptism, that God brings a new creature out of this water. A new creature freed from the guilt and shame of sin.
As Paul writes in our text today, “we were buried together with Christ Jesus through baptism into his death.” And, if this is so, if our old selves are put to death through the power of God’s Word with the water, then we are also united together with Christ through the power of God’s Word with the water. This is baptism. It is where we are joined with Christ, both in his death and in his resurrection. It is where we shed this garment of sin and guilt and shame and where we are freed to live life fully. To live into the whole person God created each of us to be.
And that’s where this portrayal of baptism in this movie clip is just wrong. It is just wrong.
The truth about the human condition is not that we need to be made to feel guilty, but that we already are guilty. We already are ashamed. More guilt and shame is not what God desires for us.
What God desires for us is life. Life and freedom. And relationship. That we might be freed from the guilt and shame. That we might live into our relationship with God and with the community into which we are baptized. And that, together, we might share this life and freedom with the whole world.
This is what baptism is. It is where we are reborn as people of God. Alive. Free. Together.
May God bless us through our baptisms. Amen.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Seeing
Over these past few weeks of Lent, almost all of our Gospels lessons have come from the Gospel of John. John is one of four gospels in the New Testament: Matthew, Mark, Luke and, of course, John. We call Matthew, Mark and Luke the synoptic gospels. Mark was the first of the synoptic gospels, written around the year 70. Then, followed Matthew and then Luke. Most scholars believe the last of the synoptics, Luke, was written around 85 CE. These three, the synoptic gospels, are narratives. They tell stories from a first person viewpoint. Stories about the life of Jesus and his ministry on earth from those who were there.
The Gospel of John was written much later, around the turn of the first century or even into the second. By this time, all of the apostles have died martyr’s deaths. John is the only one still alive. The early church had begun to lose hope, believing that Jesus would come again within their lifetimes. Many, in addition to the apostles, had been martyred. Others were nearing old age. Yet, no Jesus. Despair grows. And many begin to question who Jesus was. To ask whether Jesus really was God.
It is in this context that John writes his Gospel. He writes it to offer hope to the church. To reassure them that Jesus is God. To point them to the divinity of Christ. To do this, he writes of seven miracles performed by Jesus.
Now, in theory, there is nothing really earth-shattering about this. After all, we can find miracles in the other three gospels.
Yet, there are two interesting things about John’s account. First, none of these seven miracles are found in the other gospels. None of them.
The second is that John never uses the Greek world for miracle when he writes about them. This is also different from the other three gospels. Instead, John uses the Greek word schmeia, which means signs. These seven signs are not simply something miraculous. Instead, they reveal the divine nature of Jesus and the divine nature of his mission. The signs point to Jesus’ identity. They point to Jesus’ mission. They point us to the presence of God in Jesus. To those who are open to seeing it.
So, why does this matter? Why is this important? Well, our lesson today--the story of the healing of the man blind from birth--is one of John’s seven signs.
Our Holy Gospel today is according to John, the tenth chapter.
Glory to you, O Lord.
The Gospel of our Lord.
Praise to you, O Christ.
I guess if I were to make one point about this text, about this sign, this schmeia, it is all about the seeing, isn’t it? We have a man, who can’t see from birth. Who, eventually, is given his sight, his ability to see.
The perfect interpretation of this text, it would seem, would be about the importance of seeing, or about having “spiritual sight” in order to recognize Jesus.
But, there’s something more than that here. Do you notice that the first thing that the blind man does is to listen. To hear Jesus’ voice. To hear Jesus’ command to go and wash the mud out of his eyes and then to respond.
The man hears Jesus before he sees Jesus. And, even though he immediately has sight of Jesus, it is a much more gradual process that he truly sees Jesus. Notice how he moves from seeing Jesus as “the man called Jesus” in verse 11, to addressing him as “Lord” and worshiping him in verse 38. In fact, in verse 37, Jesus himself refers to the importance of both sight and hearing when it comes to faith. “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is that one.”
Hearing and seeing. This dual aspect of faith is even further illustrated for us in the next chapter of John. John 10:1-21.
You see, Jesus doesn’t stop talking with the last verse of our today’s text today. Instead, he keeps speaking in the next chapter. It is here, in Jesus’ discourse, that Jesus interprets the meaning of the sign. This is a common pattern in John. Jesus performs a sign, a schmeia, which is followed by a dialogue and, then, a commentary from Jesus that gives us a framework through which to interpret the meaning of the sign.
If we stop with the last verse of our reading today, the last verse of chapter 10, we miss the explanation in the first 21 verses of chapter 10. If we stop with only chapter 10, we miss the full impact of Jesus’ sign, of Jesus’ healing the man born blind.
It is in chapter 10, in Jesus’ discourse that he interprets the meaning of seeing and hearing and believing. That Jesus finds this man. At the beginning of the story in his blindness and, a second time, at the end, when he has been cast out of his community. That Jesus finds him and calls him. That the man first hears him. And, then, showered with grace, sees him.
But, Jesus doesn’t just find him and call him and heal him. Jesus gives him a new identity as a disciple. Jesus calls him. This story about the blind man isn’t a healing story. It’s a call story. That the interpretation in chapter 10--those who know Jesus--his sheep--hear him and follow him. In John, knowing Jesus means having relationship with Jesus. It’s the same thing we’ve been talking about all through Lent. About being in relationship with God. About being in relationship with each other. About being in these relationships that begins with our baptisms.
Just as the blind man is called, so, too, in our baptisms, we are called. As Jesus calls the blind man, who hears and then sees, so, to, Jesus calls us so that we, too, hear and are given sight. But, this sight isn’t simply for our benefit. the blind man is called, hears and is given sight, so, too, we are called, hear, and are given sight. Grace upon grace upon grace. New identities. Called into discipleship with Jesus.
But, discipleship doesn’t stop here. It doesn’t mean that we are found and that’s the end of the story. No. We are to go out and, just as Jesus found us, we are to find others. To go into the world and invite the world to come and see. To find and invite especially those who have been forgotten and forsaken like the blind man, cast of our their communities, overlooked and abandoned, those who have been left to fend for themselves.
To share grace. Grace upon grace upon grace. The same grace that we have received. With others.
That’s what is meant in our baptisms we are given a lighted candle and sent with these words, “Let your light so shine before others, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”
So, this is for you today. A candle. To remind you of your baptism. But, mostly, to remind you of the light you are. The light you have been called to be. The light of Christ. Shining in the world.
Heard, seen, and called. Called into the presence of Christ. Called to bring that presence of Christ to others, by also hearing and seeing. And by witnessing to the grace upon grace upon grace that is our promise in Christ’s resurrection. A promise that we get to live out here and now. Together.
Amen.
Preached March 26, 2017, at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Fifth Sunday in Lent
Readings: 1 Samual 16:1-13, Psalm 23, Ephesians 5:8-14, John 9:1-41
The Gospel of John was written much later, around the turn of the first century or even into the second. By this time, all of the apostles have died martyr’s deaths. John is the only one still alive. The early church had begun to lose hope, believing that Jesus would come again within their lifetimes. Many, in addition to the apostles, had been martyred. Others were nearing old age. Yet, no Jesus. Despair grows. And many begin to question who Jesus was. To ask whether Jesus really was God.
It is in this context that John writes his Gospel. He writes it to offer hope to the church. To reassure them that Jesus is God. To point them to the divinity of Christ. To do this, he writes of seven miracles performed by Jesus.
Now, in theory, there is nothing really earth-shattering about this. After all, we can find miracles in the other three gospels.
Yet, there are two interesting things about John’s account. First, none of these seven miracles are found in the other gospels. None of them.
The second is that John never uses the Greek world for miracle when he writes about them. This is also different from the other three gospels. Instead, John uses the Greek word schmeia, which means signs. These seven signs are not simply something miraculous. Instead, they reveal the divine nature of Jesus and the divine nature of his mission. The signs point to Jesus’ identity. They point to Jesus’ mission. They point us to the presence of God in Jesus. To those who are open to seeing it.
So, why does this matter? Why is this important? Well, our lesson today--the story of the healing of the man blind from birth--is one of John’s seven signs.
Our Holy Gospel today is according to John, the tenth chapter.
Glory to you, O Lord.
The Gospel of our Lord.
Praise to you, O Christ.
I guess if I were to make one point about this text, about this sign, this schmeia, it is all about the seeing, isn’t it? We have a man, who can’t see from birth. Who, eventually, is given his sight, his ability to see.
The perfect interpretation of this text, it would seem, would be about the importance of seeing, or about having “spiritual sight” in order to recognize Jesus.
But, there’s something more than that here. Do you notice that the first thing that the blind man does is to listen. To hear Jesus’ voice. To hear Jesus’ command to go and wash the mud out of his eyes and then to respond.
The man hears Jesus before he sees Jesus. And, even though he immediately has sight of Jesus, it is a much more gradual process that he truly sees Jesus. Notice how he moves from seeing Jesus as “the man called Jesus” in verse 11, to addressing him as “Lord” and worshiping him in verse 38. In fact, in verse 37, Jesus himself refers to the importance of both sight and hearing when it comes to faith. “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is that one.”
Hearing and seeing. This dual aspect of faith is even further illustrated for us in the next chapter of John. John 10:1-21.
You see, Jesus doesn’t stop talking with the last verse of our today’s text today. Instead, he keeps speaking in the next chapter. It is here, in Jesus’ discourse, that Jesus interprets the meaning of the sign. This is a common pattern in John. Jesus performs a sign, a schmeia, which is followed by a dialogue and, then, a commentary from Jesus that gives us a framework through which to interpret the meaning of the sign.
If we stop with the last verse of our reading today, the last verse of chapter 10, we miss the explanation in the first 21 verses of chapter 10. If we stop with only chapter 10, we miss the full impact of Jesus’ sign, of Jesus’ healing the man born blind.
It is in chapter 10, in Jesus’ discourse that he interprets the meaning of seeing and hearing and believing. That Jesus finds this man. At the beginning of the story in his blindness and, a second time, at the end, when he has been cast out of his community. That Jesus finds him and calls him. That the man first hears him. And, then, showered with grace, sees him.
But, Jesus doesn’t just find him and call him and heal him. Jesus gives him a new identity as a disciple. Jesus calls him. This story about the blind man isn’t a healing story. It’s a call story. That the interpretation in chapter 10--those who know Jesus--his sheep--hear him and follow him. In John, knowing Jesus means having relationship with Jesus. It’s the same thing we’ve been talking about all through Lent. About being in relationship with God. About being in relationship with each other. About being in these relationships that begins with our baptisms.
Just as the blind man is called, so, too, in our baptisms, we are called. As Jesus calls the blind man, who hears and then sees, so, to, Jesus calls us so that we, too, hear and are given sight. But, this sight isn’t simply for our benefit. the blind man is called, hears and is given sight, so, too, we are called, hear, and are given sight. Grace upon grace upon grace. New identities. Called into discipleship with Jesus.
But, discipleship doesn’t stop here. It doesn’t mean that we are found and that’s the end of the story. No. We are to go out and, just as Jesus found us, we are to find others. To go into the world and invite the world to come and see. To find and invite especially those who have been forgotten and forsaken like the blind man, cast of our their communities, overlooked and abandoned, those who have been left to fend for themselves.
To share grace. Grace upon grace upon grace. The same grace that we have received. With others.
That’s what is meant in our baptisms we are given a lighted candle and sent with these words, “Let your light so shine before others, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”
So, this is for you today. A candle. To remind you of your baptism. But, mostly, to remind you of the light you are. The light you have been called to be. The light of Christ. Shining in the world.
Heard, seen, and called. Called into the presence of Christ. Called to bring that presence of Christ to others, by also hearing and seeing. And by witnessing to the grace upon grace upon grace that is our promise in Christ’s resurrection. A promise that we get to live out here and now. Together.
Amen.
Preached March 26, 2017, at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Fifth Sunday in Lent
Readings: 1 Samual 16:1-13, Psalm 23, Ephesians 5:8-14, John 9:1-41
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