Sermons: April 2023

Sunday, April 30, 2023

What Voice Do We Follow?

April 30, 2023
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Okay, here it comes again - getting compared to sheep. We’re supposed to be obedient and passive, following the rules, going where we’re led, content with our lives. Well, I’m not a follower. I’m a leader! I can fly solo and I don’t need anyone to tell me what I’m supposed to do or where I’m supposed to go. I’m free and independent; I can do it on my own, thank you very much!

There are times, I’m sure, when we all feel like this. Someone else wants to tell us who we’re supposed to be, what we’re supposed to do, how we should look, what we should buy, and how we should feel. We get tired of other people controlling us, and we want to just shut out all the noise and just be ourselves.

It’s all these voices that surround us, pulling us in a thousand directions, which leave us feeling stretched, frustrated, lost. Everywhere we turn there is another voice offering us better, bigger, faster, more. “The world’s thinnest smartphone. Takes the best pictures ever!” “The Super Duty truck – built stronger, tougher, better.” “We make every aspect of rolling over your 401k as simple as possible. Make the smart choice.” “The ultimate, collectible, special edition – available for a limited time!” The volume keeps getting louder and louder, and we begin to start listening.

“Maybe if I buy a bigger television, I’ll be happier.” “One more promotion and I’ll finally get to do what I want.” “If I wear right jeans, maybe she’ll notice me.” We start to listen, and we begin to follow those voices. They are very seductive, and they sound so sincere. And then we really lose our way, because those voices confuse us. They don’t come from a place of love and community. They lead us into the dark valley, charge admission to the green pastures, and bottle up the still waters.

It’s not that we haven’t heard the warnings. When we stop to think about it, we know where the thieves and bandits are leading us. But it’s so much easier to climb the fence than do what it takes to get through the gate. Trying to do the right thing, to be the best version of ourselves all the time can be exhausting. It’s so much easier to just give in to temptation. We want so desperately what the thieves and bandits promise: contentment, happiness, joy – even when we know they can’t deliver.

I think that what we are all really searching for is abundance. But it is not the abundance of material things. It is not the abundance of wealth, power, or prestige. It is not even the abundance of people who think we’re really swell. I think what we are all really searching for is something that only the true shepherd can give us – abundance of life. In the Psalm we hear the metaphor of the abundant life of the spirit – green pastures, still waters, the overflowing cup.

Jesus says “I am the good shepherd.”^{^[2]} In the hill country of ancient Israel, a shepherd lived a hard life. There was little or no shelter, wolves and snakes to contend with, and all those sheep in constant need of fresh grass, water, and someone to lead them. But a good shepherd loved the sheep as his own, and would lay down his life to protect them.

Jesus is the gate for the sheep – and when we come in and go out by the gate, we find pasture. When we hop the fence with the thieves and bandits, we only end up being destroyed. But, when we hear that one voice, the voice of the one who knows us each by name, then we know the one to follow. When we follow the voice of the one who loves us, we know that we will be led by right paths to the abundant pasture.

It is lonely when no one knows your name, your story, the real you. When no one knows you, it is as if you don’t matter, you don’t belong. There is a challenge in that for the Church. Most of us know the names of the people who join us each week for worship. But even in our small church there are people who are not known. There are people whose names are not called, whose stories go untold, who never know a real sense of community, of belonging, of being known. It is a challenge to us, as people who are known, to seek out the unknown, to seek out those who are lonely and lost, and call them by name. It is a challenge to us to welcome into our community those who don’t seem to fit anywhere else and open the gate so that they can belong, because they too have a shepherd who calls them by name.

One of the ways in which we name one another is something we do in worship each week. We share our joys and celebrate the ones we love by saying the names. We celebrate birthdays and lift up people who are sick and who have died. We have celebrated young people being confirmed when they hear their name spoken in the midst of the gathered community. On All Saints Sunday, we speak the names of those who have died in the past year, as we celebrate the lives they lived among us.

When Mary Magdalene went to the garden on that first Easter morning, Jesus called her by name, and she knew that voice. In that voice she heard the love and care and hope that God had for her. In that one word, “Mary,” she knew that she mattered.

In the early church the disciples had very little. But they had at least three things they could celebrate. They had a community where they were known by name, a community wherein they shared all things in common, and served one another’s needs. They had the presence of the Holy Spirit as they spent time praying in the temple and breaking bread together with glad and generous hearts. And they had an abundance of life as the goodness and mercy that filled their cups overflowed into their community and beyond.

I have enjoyed that abundant life from time-to-time. I remember as a child going to church pot-lucks and festivals that filled the air with fellowship and celebration. When I was in high school, I went to camp, spending a week or a week-end singing, praying, learning, and eating in sacred community.

Take a moment and see if you can remember a time when you had that powerful experience of fellowship, joy, and community. Can you remember that feeling? Can you remember that feeling of abundance – love, and joy, and peace?

Like you I’m sure, those moments have been fleeting for me. They come around only from time-to-time. I get pulled away, drawn back into the routine, the work that must be done, the pains and sorrows, frustrations and hassles of a life that seems everything but abundant. Honestly, sometimes I think about climbing the fence and running off toward the false promises.

That is why it is so important that we remind one another that the life we seek, the abundant life, is found in Christ. We enter by the gate when we listen to the voice of the one who laid down his life for us, yet rose again to life abundant. We follow the shepherd because we know the voice.

And how do we know the voice of our shepherd? It helps if we stay with the flock, or hang out near the gate. We practice listening together and learning to tune out the discordant and dissonant noise that leads us astray. We study and speak and sing the words of Jesus until we hear him calling to us, and we know his voice: “It is I; do not be afraid.”^{^[3]} “Those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.”^{^[4]} “Love one another as I have loved you.”^{^[5]} “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”^{^[6]} “Follow me.”^{^[7]}

When we practice listening, listening with each other for the voice of true, holy love, we begin to hear it through the din of all the other voices. And when we become adept at following that voice, we become shepherds too. We can help others to listen to the voice of the shepherd and to stop listening to the thieves and bandits who know us not. We become guides for one another, shepherds in sheep’s clothing, if you will. When we know the way through the gate, we can help others to find the way. Listen! I hear a voice calling my name. Do you hear it too? It’s saying “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”^{^[8]} Amen.

[1] The scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[2] John 10:14.

[3] John 6:20.

[4] John 4: 14.

[5] John 15:12.

[6] John 13:35.

[7] John 1:43.

[8] John 14:6.

Sunday, April 23, 2023

Down the Road

April 23, 2023
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Luke 24:13-35 [1]

Our church is in a time of transition, the ending of a chapter. We are reflecting on what we have experienced over the past few years together. We are anticipating what will change, and cherishing the time we have together. Like travelers on the road, we have walked together for a time, and we will part ways, changed by the experience.

This passage from Luke would actually fit chronologically before the story from last week. In Luke’s telling, the women who go to the tomb in the early morning see only two men in dazzling clothes; they do not encounter the risen Jesus. This journey to Emmaus reflects the ambiguous time between the empty tomb and the appearance of Jesus to the disciples and Thomas behind locked doors.

As they travel, the two disciples converse about the dramatic events of the past few days. When the stranger joins them, the recount the mission of Jesus and the events of the passion, but without fully understanding their meaning.

Luke’s Gospel sets the entire story in the context of journey, the journey from Galilee to Jerusalem, and in the following story of Acts, the journey of the early community from Jerusalem “to the ends of the earth.”[2] The early Christians were known as the people of the Way, or people of the journey. As one scholar describes it, “For Luke the journey of Jesus and of the church itself expresses the unfolding history of salvation that finds its origin In Israel and through the Spirit extends salvation to the ‘ends of the earth.’”[3]

What Jesus interpreted to them from the scriptures, from Moses and all the prophets, is the story of God’s saving work revealed through the people and history of Israel. God’s story is one of life emerging from death, of the journey of renewal, reconciliation, and transformation. As Jesus reveals the connections between the story they know and the story they have just witnessed, they begin to understand the meaning of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Here is some of what they might have heard.

The story of the Exodus from Egypt is a story of bondage, liberation, a journey, and a destination. It begins with the Hebrews as slaves in Egypt. Daily life was hard labor with perhaps enough food to survive on, but not much more. By means of the plagues, God liberates the people from Pharaoh. They are led into the wilderness by Moses. There they journey for forty years toward the Promised Land.

This story suggests that the human condition is slavery or bondage. You and I are in bondage to many things, such as cultural messages about what we should be like, what it means to be successful, attractive, and to live the good life. We can also be enslaved to fears, addictions, or other kinds of oppression. We might be trapped by debt, or the fear of losing employer-supplied health insurance. The story of Moses and the people seeking freedom remains a particularly poignant one for the descendants of African slaves in America.

God’s salvation comes as the people are led from bondage to liberation, leaving Egypt and Pharaoh. It also involves a journey through the wilderness. It is in the wilderness where God is encountered and known. It can also be a place of fear and anxiety where we sometimes find ourselves longing for the security of Egypt, of the familiar things of the past. But the wilderness is also a place where we are nourished by God and where God journeys with us. The destination is life in the presence of God.

This congregation is faced with a journey through the wilderness. As the Hebrews were not always content with the leadership of Moses, you may find that new leaders make you long for the familiarity of the past. But on that wilderness journey you will be nourished by the manna of God, and led to a new experience of the presence of God promised through the ages.

Through the prophets we learn of the Exile. The exile began in 587 BCE, when, after Jerusalem and its temple were conquered and destroyed by the Babylonians, some of the survivors were marched into exile in Babylon some 800 miles away. There they lived as refugees, far from home and oppressed. Fifty years later, the Babylonian Empire was conquered by the Persians, who allowed the Jews to return to their homeland.

We live in a time when millions of exiles and refugees know this experience firsthand. It is an experience of separation from all that is familiar. People contend with powerlessness and often oppression and victimization. There is sadness, loneliness, and grief. It is a yearning for home and a place where we belong. It can also mean the loss of meaning or a sense of purpose. These feelings may be familiar to us as familiar ways of working, learning, gathering, and traveling are changing.

God’s salvation from exile leads the people on a journey of return. The religious life is a journey to the place where God is present, a homecoming, and God assists those who undertake the journey. As God spoke through the prophet Jeremiah, “I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile.”[4] We may ask, like the exiles, “How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?”[5] Perhaps in the days ahead we will sing a new song, a song of joy as we see familiar places in a new light.

Another way in which we understand salvation comes from the days of the temple, the priesthood, and sacrifice. It is a story of sin, guilt, sacrifice, and forgiveness. When we people turn away from God, we are in a state of sin and brokenness. When we are lost from the ways of God we need to return to God, to repent, to be cleansed, washed, or covering over. When we have done wrong, we need forgiveness. We need to sacrifice to God to make up for what we have done wrong. Since the early Middle Ages, some Christians have understood Jesus as the dying savior whose death is a sacrifice for our sins, thereby making our forgiveness by God possible. “Jesus died for our sins.”

This image of Jesus is powerful, and can be a sign of God’s great love for us, as we know from John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” The message is simple, direct, and radical: we are accepted, just as we are. Our own sense of sin, impurity, and guilt need not stand between us and God. New beginnings are possible.

Each of these stories is part of the grand story of God’s work of salvation. For some of us, the need is liberation; for others, the need is homecoming; and for still others, the need is acceptance. Each of these stories helps us to understand what it means to be Christian, living life as a journey whose central quality is a deepening and transforming relationship with God.

Where do we go from here? The story doesn’t end with supper that night in Emmaus. That was a moment of revelation, a vision of the living Christ in the breaking of the bread. It was also a moment of understanding that their journey was not ended, but just beginning.

The story of Jesus is the story of discipleship. The word disciple means “a follower after somebody.” Discipleship is a following after Jesus, a journeying with Jesus. It is a journey, not alone, but in the company of fellow disciples. The Christian life is about being in relationship with God, which transforms us into more and more compassionate beings, changing into the likeness of Christ.

Our journey also continues, and though we can’t see the future, we can think about what is coming down the road. Things won’t be the “normal” we had before. The disciples didn’t just go back to fishing. There will be changes in our lives. If nothing else, we will see and appreciate what makes us a unique people, what binds us together, and how our very beings are being transformed by the company of those who travel down the road with us.

I hope that down the road you will realize your interconnectedness in new ways, and be more grateful for all the people who come in and out of your lives. I hope that when you break bread together, the living Christ will be made known to you. And I pray that you will continue on in the Way, the journey which takes us all ever-closer to the One who saves us. Amen.

[2] Acts 1:8.

[3] Donald Senior, Exegetical Perspective on Luke 24:13-35 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year A, Vol. 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, General Editors (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), p. 421.

[4] Jeremiah 29:14.

[5] Psalm 137:4.

Sunday, April 16, 2023

Apostles on Both Sides of the Door

April 16, 2023
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

John 20:19-31 [1]

There are times when the best idea is to stay behind closed doors. It’s safer there. Outside, you might catch a disease, get hit by a storm, or get shot. It is a dangerous world out there, both literally and figuratively. Our fears can drive us to seek shelter. When you’re faced with an actual pandemic, tornado, or active shooter, responding to our fear by seeking shelter is the right thing to do. Make sure everyone you’re responsible for has made it to safety. Stay inside; and wash your hands.

Responding to a tornado, a pandemic, and gun violence require different responses; but there are similarities. Once the storm has passed, it is time to assess the damage, check on our neighbors, and offer help where needed. In the pandemic we kept our doors shut, but we still needed to assess the damage, and the potential for long-term disruptions, and we still needed to check on our neighbors. After the terror is over, we look for the lost, check in with loved ones, and help others recover.

Sometimes our help is not needed, at least not yet. Tragedy and hardship can be slow moving. It is hard to wait, knowing your help will be needed, but right now it might aggravate the problem. Even worse, our urgency to help out diminishes with time, and a few months from now we’ll be distracted by other urgent matters and forget about the needs that remain from the last tragedy. We want to help right now! But we must discipline ourselves to conserve our supplies, our money, and our energy for when it will be most helpful.

When the danger is more of a metaphor, when the threat is not immanent, and the damage is harder to discern, it can be harder to know when and how to open the door or reach out to others. When we are safely behind the metaphorical locked door, we can attend to our personal needs, healing and wholeness only with those we trust, and ignore the troubles on the other side of the door.

The church, at times, has become closed to the outside world. The sacred and pure are reserved for a private group, and the rest of the world is profane, dirty, and hazardous. The public and, especially, the political world outside the door is off limits. We view with skepticism those who want the church to have a voice in the public sphere, especially when they’re not from our church. Beyond that door, however, are the social, economic, political, and civic realities that affect us all. And God did not call us together as a church to hide the gospel and hoard away the grace.

The doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked. Whether it was fear of the religious authorities who might come after them as associates of Jesus, or for fear that they might be accused of having stolen away with the body, John tells us the disciples met behind a door that was closed and locked. But the door did not keep out the risen Christ. Jesus enters in wherever we are, even when we’re hiding in fear, bringing peace.

Thomas had his doubts. We don’t know why Thomas doubted; perhaps, like most of us, he resisted easy answers to the hard questions of faith. Many of us have experienced the deep darkness of doubt, or struggled with the troubling silence of God. Most of us have managed to cling to our faith in the midst of such experiences. The hardship experienced during these intense periods of doubt and despair has been described as “the dark night of the soul.”[2] Even Mother Teresa of Calcutta struggled with doubt; she “felt so abandoned by God that she was unable to pray.”[3] Doubt is a natural part of faith.

We might ask the question, “Why did God let grandma die of the virus?” or “Where was God when the floods hit Fort Lauderdale?” Why didn’t our thoughts and prayers save the lives of those five people at the bank in Louisville, Kentucky? We doubt, and we wonder why the terrible things keep happening.

I get it. I have my doubts too. But I think we often get stuck looking for a miracle, a happy ending to everything, the perfect savior to make everything better. When we seek only the perfect, we don’t recognize what is there in the imperfect, the wounded, the possibility that God doesn’t always make the bad things go away. Sometimes God is right there with us, weeping with us, praying with us, sharing the pain and sorrow and hardship of life. Sometimes, when we search too hard for Jesus, we don’t notice that he’s already in the room, seeking us out, wherever we are, just as we are.

The other disciples didn’t argue with rational and empirical explanations. Thomas didn’t seek out Jesus to demand answers. Jesus entered the room, despite the locked doors, in order to reach Thomas. Jesus came to meet Thomas where he was, seeking him out when he had lost faith. It can be that way with us as well. When we are faced with difficult questions, and our hold on faith is tenuous, God will seek us out, enter through the locked doors that we have built around us, and offer us love and grace when all seems lost.

It may not look like Jesus. John tells us that the disciples didn’t recognize Jesus, not at first. It is likely that when Jesus comes to find us in our moments of despair, we will not recognize him either. How can we know when God arrives? Jesus gave two clues to Thomas. He spoke the words, “Peace be with you,” and then said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side.”[4] When God comes to us in our times of doubt, we will recognize God’s presence when peace is offered, when the pain and sorrow of life is acknowledged, and when we realize that we have been sought out by that love which is stronger than death.

We may not recognize that God was with mom when she died, as the nurse held her hand, singing familiar songs to her as she let go of this world. We may not realize that God was not in the tornado, but in the voice of the store manager hustling everyone into the basement. We may not recognize the face, that it was God’s smile on the first-responder who helped us out from under the debris. We may not recognize the risen Christ, who appears like a regular person, wounded, weeping, sharing the experience of life with us.

John’s story doesn’t end with a private celebration locked away behind closed doors. The story continues with Jesus giving them a new name and a new task. They are no longer disciples, meaning followers. Now they are apostles, those who are sent into the world to carry on the mission. “As [God] has sent me, so I send you.”[5] The Apostles had the Holy Spirit breathed into them, and were sent out the door to bring peace and love, hope and healing to a world in turmoil.

We might rest content with what we have already accomplished, sharing the peace of Christ behind the closed door of the personal and private. But the world outside that door needs us. Disciples, apostles, followers of Jesus can’t just focus on ourselves. We are sent to others. Strengthened by the peace of Christ, empowered by the Holy Spirit, we are sent into our community to help people in need or in distress, people who have lost loved ones to the virus, their homes to the storm, or their jobs to economic insecurity. We are sent over the phone, and through the internet to bring hope and solidarity to those struggling with isolation and fear. We are given the charge to bear the forgiving, transforming love of God into every sphere of human existence, the social, economic, political, and civic realities that dominate our lives.

The storm may not be over. The virus may not be contained. The threat of more gun violence persists. Our fears and doubts remain. Our questions may not yet have answers. But we are more than disciples. We, too, are apostles. We cannot simply attend to our personal well-being. We must be apostles on both sides of the door,[6] taking care of ourselves and our own, but also taking care of everyone else too. We share in the manifestation of the risen Christ who seeks us out wherever we are, and sends us out to heal the world. Amen.

[2] Attributed to St. John of the Cross, 16^th century Catholic mystic.

[3] Nicole Winfield, “Mother Teresa despaired that God had abandoned her” in Providence Journal, Sep. 3, 2016.
https://www.providencejournal.com/news/20160903/mother-teresa-despaired-that-god-had-abandoned-her.

[4] John 20:27.

[5] John 20:21.

[6] D. Cameron Murchison, Pastoral Perspective on John 20:19-31 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year B, Vol. 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, General Editors (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), p. 404.

Sunday, April 9, 2023

The Beginning of the Story

April 9, 2023 – Easter
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Matthew 28:1-10 [1]

It was just another morning as they went to see the tomb
with deep and aching sorrow as the day shook off the gloom.
Magdalene and Mary had been there, now two days past
as their Lord prayed, “Why forsaken?” cried out loud, and breathed his last.

The story which had ended, sealed away inside the grave,
had made a tomb around their hearts; there was no hope left to save.
We’ve been there, if we’re honest, having lost our faith and trust.
When all the plans we’ve made, all our accomplishments, are dust.

The world we know is not unlike that ancient Galilee
When every day the news comes in of loss and tragedy.
Hope’s in constant danger, might makes right, and riches rule.
The suffering of the poor and sick seems endless, cold, and cruel.

Just like them we need to know that someone out there cares.
So often we’ve been shaken by this fragile life we share
They threw their hopes upon this man who seemed to them so bold
He’ll make our nation strong again if he can be controlled.

That Jesus was arrested, even killed, is no surprise;
he knew the risk, the violence and betrayal in their eyes.
He’d been arguing for days with the chief priests and the scribes.
He called them out for arrogance, injustices, and lies.

Then the Roman power whipped him, and in a spectacle of pain
hung him up there on the cross, the symbol of their reign.
Crucifixion was a warning: peace through violence was the way;
keeping people in their place, no rebellion here today.

The disciples all had scattered; even Peter failed the test;
only Joseph took the body wrapped in cloth and laid to rest.
The Marys never saw it coming. For all they knew they were alone.
Then the angel flashed like lightning, shook the earth, and moved the stone.

He is not here; he has been raised! Their hearts could beat once more.
New life and joy flowed through them shining light through every pore.
An empty tomb, a risen Lord, a message they must share:
He’s gone ahead to Galilee; go and tell them he’ll be there.

How we want to celebrate, to sing a triumph song
The Romans did their worst to him, and Life still carries on.
The evil-doer has been crushed, the bad guy’s on the run.
We want to cry out “Victory!” The wrath of God was done.

But they didn’t rally to the cry, take up the sword and kill.
That’s not who we are called to be, that’s not what Jesus willed.
When tempted in the wilderness Jesus did not take the crown.
Rebellion in Jerusalem would only burn the city down.

Yes, death was overcome this day, the grave did not hold sway;
but marching on in majesty was not the apostles’ way.
The forces that had crucified would still seek out the rest.
Three hundred years of savagery would put them to the test.

Now, some would turn against the Jews, saying they had made him die.
Only Pilate, and the Empire, could execute, could crucify.
When pilgrims came for Passover to celebrate their freedom,
the brutal Roman governor used terror to demean them.

If we would honor Jesus in the way we live our lives
We cannot harbor hatred, using violence and lies.
How should we treat our enemies, our neighbors, and ourselves?
The way, the truth, the life is LOVE that builds no boundary walls.

We’re all immigrants and slaves-set-free, refugees and tribes.
As Christians, Muslims, Jews and all we’re meant to be alive.
No one can win when others must be crushed so we can rise.
We must seek the face of God each time we look another in the eyes.

I believe that Jesus rose that day, but I’m not willing to pretend
that evil was defeated, and I’ll never sin again.
There are times we all still struggle, we’re all broken now and then;
but new life can rise within us, set us free to start again.

I believe that Jesus rose that day, though no one saw the deed;
and I believe that there is proof, but it’s not inerrancy.
The proof is in the lives transformed, the people who were changed;
the resurrection witnesses did not remain the same.

This group of scared disciples who did not dare to see him die
found the courage to tell all the world they’d seen Jesus alive.
Some would go to prison, even death for saying so.
Now they could taste and see the life God wants us all to know.

The power of this moment doesn’t come from strength of arms.
Instead, it comes despite the risk that we might come to harm.
To stand with the oppressed, the poor, the sinners, and the lost
is the reason Jesus walked this road and chose to pay the cost.

This was the moment that changed the world, and today we still can see
the resurrection world is not the one that used to be.

Before when something threatened power, like mercy, justice, peace,
the world could just kill it and it would be gone; but with Jesus that cannot be.

The new life of Jesus is planted in us, the new life that God has restored.
Mercy and justice cannot be dismissed with a cross or even a sword.
When people of faith stand together as one, we move mountains and vanquish our fear.
We have a dream, we open our hands, we say, “You’re welcome here.”

No longer afraid, we know that now we’ll never walk alone.
We’re ready to say, “Here am I, send me.” When you’re ready, call me home.
Tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me again.
Jesus gathers the scattered sheep back where the story began.

In ministry he had healed the sick, and called the children blessed,
had compassion for the suffering, and offered the weary rest,
taught the crowds in parables, and fed them with two fish.
The story is not over. It begins again with this:

The powers of evil did their worst. The light of the world still shines.
“I am with you always, to the end,” he said, “fear not, for you are mine.”
The ministry that he once did belongs to you, my friends.
The story begins with the love we share, and I pray it never ends.

Amen.

___________________

Resources who influenced my writing:

Eduard Schweizer, “Resurrection” in Donald W. Musser and Joseph L. Price, Editors, New and Enlarged Handbook of Christian Theology (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003), p. 425.

Nadia Bolz Weber, “Sermon on Empty Tombs and the Suddenness of Dawn.” Online: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/nadiabolzweber/2014/04/sermon-on-empty-tombs-and-the-suddenness-of-dawn/

Rachel Held Evans, “Hearts of Flesh.” Online: http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/hearts-of-flesh

Alex Joyner, “The Empty Tomb.” Online: http://www.ministrymatters.com/all/article/entry/4913/the-empty-tomb?utm_campaign=eNews10Apr2014&utm_medium=email&utm_source=newsletter&utm_content=The%20Empty%20Tomb

Pascal Deng, “The Incredible Need for Emptiness.”

The Rev. Geoffrey A. Black and The Rev. Sharon E. Watkins, “UCC, Disciples leaders offer prayers, consolation following Kansas shooting.” Online: http://www.ucc.org/news/kansas-shooting-statement-04152014.html?utm_source=kyp&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=kyp041514%22

Kathryn Matthews Huey, Reflection on John 20:1-18 for Sermon Seeds. http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/april-20-2014.html.

Roger Wolsey, “A Kinder, Gentler, more Grown-up Easter.” http://www.patheos.com/blogs/rogerwolsey/2014/04/a-kinder-gentler-more-grown-up-easter-2/

The Rev. Dr. Susan Brooks Thistlethwaite, “Is Easter Happy?” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rev-dr-susan-brooks-thistlethwaite/is-easter-happy_b_5174128.html

Thursday, April 6, 2023

Lost on the Way

April 6, 2023 – Maundy Thursday
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

John 12:1-8 [1]

They were having dinner in the home of Lazarus. Just a few verses earlier in John’s gospel, Lazarus was raised from the dead. I imagine there was conversation around the table that night about death. The chief priests and Pharisees planned to put Jesus to death, and the word was out that they were looking for him. The writing was on the wall, and Mary knew that her time with the Lord was running short. So, in an extravagant act of love and devotion, she anoints the feet of Jesus.

We are not given to such startling displays of emotion. We are much more reserved, especially in church. We are more likely to respond to such an outburst with embarrassment. We’re more likely to think, like Judas, about the waste of such a precious resource, and of a better use for it. It is much easier for us to push away the thought of death and say to each other “You’ll be fine.” Even when death is inevitable, even when we know it is coming, we find it difficult to cope with.

Mary understood. Mary knew that life is fragile, even the life of Jesus, and that there is a time to really show how much we love someone. There are often flowers at the funeral, but they are perhaps more fitting in the hospital room. “The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume” (v. 3). The ambiance shifted as love was poured out. Was the scent of the perfume still with him at the end of that week? The memory of her act was surely still with him when he washed the feet of the disciples. Mary understood, she expressed her love and devotion, and in her actions revealed a glimpse of the extravagant love that God pours out on us.

Then Judas, the cynic, critiques the wasteful display. The mood shifts again to tension. And in response Jesus says: “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me” (v. 8). Jesus is not saying that poverty is inevitable, that there will always be poor people. Rather, Jesus is telling them that you will always have people in your life who need your love and care. You will always have work to do to relieve suffering, heal sickness and brokenness, to bring hope and joy and peace. Even after Jesus is gone, the work of the disciples will go on.

The work will go on, and sometimes, you will not have Jesus with you. Sometimes you will get lost on the way, and there won’t be a guide, or a map, or GPS, or starlight, and you will have to carry on anyway. Sometimes your faith will leave you, even though your responsibilities don’t. Sometimes you will have a dark night of the soul, but you will still have to get up in the morning to feed the children.

Sometimes we lose touch with the meaning in our lives. Sometimes we’re doing good things, and other people appreciate us for what we are doing, yet we don’t feel it. We don’t feel inspired, connected, or engaged. Sometimes we just go through the motions.

There are times when we will have it all together. We will feel the meaning and importance of what we’re doing. We’ll know where we’re going, and why, and we’re ready. Sometimes all of the signs are in sight, we’re on the right track, and things are going great!

But then the wheels come off, and we get derailed. There might be something specific that throws us off our groove, some great loss or unexpected change, and what was all good and right yesterday is missing today. The job, or the relationship, or the class-work is still there, the obligations and tasks are still there, but it no longer feels the same. I’ve got a lot to do, but why am I doing it?

Jesus tells the disciples “You will not always have me” (v. 8). You will know darkness and despair. You will feel alone and unprepared. You will look for me and you will not find me. On that Saturday, so long ago, the disciples were faced with unbearable loss, and felt pain as they never had before. And we have, or we will, feel it too. It is the crashing wave of emptiness that washes over you when, instead of the beloved soldier, it is the officer, and the chaplain, who knock at the door. It is the dust falling over the city when you watched the towers fall, and those who rushed in did not come back out. It is the stabbing pain that causes you to fall when you arrive at the school only to be carefully escorted by the police officer toward the counselors. It is the silence of the watch in the night when the boat does not return to the harbor.

But take courage; you can survive this night. If you feel as if you’re lost and the way is no longer clear; if you feel like the Way, the Truth, and the Life have blown away on the wind; if you seek for Christ, for a sign that God is there, for the whisper of the Spirit and you find nothing; do not despair. It doesn’t mean that there is something wrong with you. It doesn’t mean that you haven’t been faithful. It means that you are living through a part of the journey of faith that we all experience. We all get lost on the way. Even Jesus, on the cross, felt forsaken.

The exile began in 587 BCE, when, after Jerusalem and its temple were conquered and destroyed by Babylon, some of the survivors were marched into exile in Babylon some 800 miles away. There they lived as refugees, far from home and oppressed. There was sadness, loneliness, and grief. The people yearned for home and a place where they belonged. Many lost their sense of meaning and purpose. Fifty years later, in 539 BCE, the Babylonian Empire was conquered by the Persians, who allowed them to return to their homeland.

The life of faith is about love and joy, hope and peace, and the deep connection with God that feels as close as Mary wiping the feet of Jesus with her hair. The journey of faith is also about loss, separation, loneliness, exile, and the vast distance between us and God. And faith is about the journey home, the renewal, rekindling, and rebirth of life, and love, and hope. In the depths of your darkness, take heart my friends. We are survivors, and we can return from exile. We are a resurrection people, and on Sunday the tomb will be empty.

Elissa Johnk, a Pastor in Vermont, tells this story:

There once was a man who made beautiful things with trees. His hands, dirty and calloused, seemed to meld into the rich, rough bark with which he labored. He chose his materials carefully, looking for things that others considered flaws: here was the year of heavy rain. There, it had suffered - the black tattoo of a fire scarring the yearly rings. In his hands, those disfigurements were beautiful. Indeed, they were the focal points of the tree’s new creation - signs that it had seen hardship, and survived.

And when he was done transforming trees, he moved on to people. In the same way, he looked for what others considered flaws - sins and scars. And, in his hands, people found their wounds became beauty marks - signs that they had seen hardship, and survived. Many, however, didn’t want their wounds exposed, and so they sent him back to the trees.

The trees greeted him lovingly, the darkness of his skin once again melding with the wood. As he had once done for them, they stretched him into a new form - one where his wounds were the centerpieces of new life. Our new life.

You see, we tell this story not out of guilt, but hope. Hope that, in its telling, we might feel our wounds exposed. That we might feel our sins, our scars – our very selves – melded to the cross. That we might feel ourselves being carved, stretched by the Master Carpenter into a new form – one that allows us to proclaim not simply “He is risen!” But, “I am risen!” too.

Amen.

Sunday, April 2, 2023

Rejected Hero

April 2, 2023
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Isaiah 50:4-9a; Mark 11:1-11 [1]

There is knowledge that is based on information, and knowledge that is based on experience. The “tongue of a teacher”[2] is the voice of experience – one who has been there. I have a book on my shelf that tries to speak about historical events using the voice of experience. It is called Eyewitness to History. Most history books can tell you the who, what, where, when, and how; most history books can’t tell you what it felt like, the power and emotion of the moment, the experience.

The teacher who can “sustain the weary with a word”[3] is the one who has experienced what it is to be worn-out, exhausted, dead-tired. Isaiah speaks from his experience as a servant of God who counts that experience, and all the weariness that comes with it, as a gift. It is a gift that can empower the one who has been there to reach out to those who are living through it right now. The teacher who has experienced weariness does not turn away from the weary, but instead offers a word of understanding and encouragement to the weary soul.

We can all name someone who used their own experience to help us. Who are the mentors and teachers who have used their experience of suffering through difficult times to help you through your own struggles and trials? My high school chemistry teacher used to tell great stories about chemical reactions gone bad. He would demonstrate sometimes too, usually behind a thick shield of Plexiglas or under the hood vent. You knew he’d been there, and he wanted us to be safe, so he made sure we knew what not to do. It was teachers like Dr. Hendricks that I really connected with.

A lot of therapists have been through depression themselves, and know what it’s like to be unable to get out from under the clouds. Alcoholics Anonymous is built on the idea that people who’ve been to the gutter and back can help you get up out of the gutter. Cancer patients find great comfort in talking with someone who had what they have and lived to tell the tale.

Maybe that’s part of who Jesus was. God came to the world to live as a human being, to experience our joy, to understand our fears, to know what it is to suffer and even to die. I like to think that in the person of Jesus, God became one of us so that we could hear the tongue of a teacher, the voice of experience, and know that God has been there too. For me, God is like those great teachers I really connected with.

The Gnostics in the early church denied the humanity of Jesus, believing that Jesus was only spirit and did not suffer pain. They were called heretics because it is vital to our understanding of Jesus that he was fully human as well as divine, that in Jesus Christ, God has “come to us and shared our common lot”[4] as written in the UCC Statement of Faith.

Because Jesus has been there, has experienced pain, suffering, loss, and even betrayal and death, he can sustain the weary with a word. Those who follow Christ know that God understands what it is to be human and trust that God will see us through to the very end, and beyond.

What Jesus experienced on that Sunday when the palms waved in the air was the hero’s welcome. The crowds cheered, not for the Roman governor who would enter the city surrounded by soldiers marching to the sound of drums and trumpets. No, the crowd cheered for the Teacher, for the Healer, for the one that might be the Messiah come to save them. Hosanna! Save us now!

The crowd quotes Psalm 118, which happens to be the Old Testament chapter most quoted in the New Testament. It appears here, when the people shout Hosanna! “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”[5] We know this one, right? We hear it all the time in our communion liturgy. It is the cry of thanksgiving for deliverance from enemies. Yet just four verses earlier in the Psalm are the words: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.”[6] Even as Jesus entered the city to a hero’s welcome, he knew the impending rejection.

The people who cheer on Jesus as he enters Jerusalem picture him as the kind of hero they want him to be. “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!”[7] The people want a conquering hero. They hope for the restoration of the glory of ancient Israel, when David was king. At this high point, the crowd is caught up in the excitement of new possibilities. This could be the moment when things finally start going their way.

We’re all drawn to celebrity, and it’s easy to get caught up in the pomp and circumstance of a parade. Look, there he is! Hey! Did you see that? He saw me. Jesus waved at ME! It’s a little silly, and I’m sure that the soldiers looking on thought this little demonstration was foolish. It’s just another prophet riding on a donkey, after all. He’s no threat to the empire. Only a fool would worry about this guy.

Things quickly start to change. On Monday, Jesus will come back to the temple, this time in a rage as he’ll turn over the tables of the moneychangers. Jesus will spend the rest of the week stirring up trouble and making the authorities angry, all the while keeping the crowd “spellbound by his teaching.”[8] At one point Jesus will poke fun at the scribes as the crowd “listen[s] to him with delight.”[9]

It is great entertainment to watch people do dangerous things, and brazenly taunt the powerful. But when the entertainer crosses the line, and the authorities take measures to remove him from the stage, we quickly distance ourselves. It’s all fun and games until someone gets arrested. And, at the end, even those closest to Jesus fear to be associated with him. In Gethsemane, after the betrayal by Judas, “All of them deserted him and fled.”[10] Even Peter, bold enough to follow at a distance, will deny him three times before morning.

At the festival, the crowd finally turns on him. Encouraged by the chief priests, they ask for the release of Barabbas, a rebel who took part in a recent insurrection. This is the kind of hero they’re looking for – a warrior, one who is not afraid to take up arms against the Romans. The prophet, yeah, he was entertaining, but he’ll never change anything. And he was pretty rude over at the temple. Sure, crucify him!

But do you remember the Psalm? Jesus himself quoted it to them just a couple of days before. “The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.” It is in fact the rejection and all that follows, not the “hero’s welcome,” that will shake the world to its foundations and make Jesus the Cornerstone for a whole new reality.

You need a hero? I’ve got one for you. Here is the Son of God, about to be betrayed, abandoned, abused, and executed, riding into the city of his doom aware of what he will face. He knows that this way leads to the cross. In these remaining days he must give his all, to teach and to heal for the last time, and to show the disciples the way of the servant of God who does what must be done without fear of shame or disgrace. The choice has been made to seek the glory of God and not human glory. In this moment, with his face set like flint, Jesus does not turn backward. “Who are my adversaries? Let them confront me. It is the Lord God who helps me.” Ride on, ride on in majesty. Amen.

[2] Isaiah 50:4.

[3] Ibid.

[4] The Statement of Faith of the United Church of Christ, adopted 1959 by the General Synod of the UCC.

[5] Psalm 118: 26.

[6] Psalm 118:22.

[7] Mark 11:10.

[8] Mark 11:18.

[9] Mark 12:37.

[10] Mark 14:50.