Easter 7 2014

Easter 7, 2014

The Ascension is an odd thing. This was when Jesus ascended back to the Father 40 days after his resurrection. This was the Feast Day that we celebrated on Thursday, in fact, but given that it was a Thursday, it is a little difficult to get to church for most people. Jesus might have planned a little better, perhaps.

Anyway, I say that the Ascension is odd because it’s either one of the better hoaxes in religion—or, it was exactly what was necessary for the promise of the Kingdom of God to leave Jerusalem and make its way throughout the world.

Now, it’s no mistake that this account in Acts includes the disciples asking Jesus when he’ll restore the kingdom. In all fairness, he had died and come back from the dead—shouldn’t he be getting on to the business that all of them expected? Shouldn’t he be running the Romans out, and reclaiming the throne of David? That was, after all, what Messiah was expected to do, and if your people had been under one form of oppression or another since the 7^th century BCE—well, someone ought to ask Jesus if he was gonna get around to things, I suppose. So they did.

However, what the disciples had continued to miss up to this point was that Jesus was heralding in a different kind of kingdom—namely the Kingdom of God—which was far from any kind of earthly principality. Not only was this unlike anything on earth, but it happened to be a kingdom which was already and not yet. It is a kingdom which is somehow both “at hand” but also not fully realized.

While this might sound really good to an idealist; the realist on the other hand might think this sounds a bit far-fetched. But, I would have to say that the realist might be a bit short-sighted in this regard; because what we have to remember is that for the people of Israel, the land and the kingdom were signs of God’s promise and blessing on Israel. If we look back through the Old Testament, we can see how for hundreds of years after the fall of the monarchy the people were trying to figure out what it meant to lose their sovereignty—something that was promised to them as a sign from God.

What’s more, the Temple, which was the symbol of God’s Presence on earth, had already been destroyed at least once before Jesus was born—and would be destroyed finally in 70 CE. So, for Israel, the things that were considered infallible signs of God’s blessing and Presence with Israel were found to be temporal, and limited.

But in Jesus, all of these things, and a whole lot more were challenged. Not only did he give God a face and a name, Jesus embodied the loving heart of God—God who called the chosen people to look beyond the temporal symbols, and instead to look deeper to find a truer understanding of God. Jesus called into question the external observances of religious Law, and called God’s people to finally be transformed by the Law.

  

And as for the kingdom of Israel—well, that was one more limited human construct that was bound to have its end. Jesus came to establish an everlasting kingdom that isn’t made from temporal things, but eternal things—things which cannot only exist beyond our understanding, but can also somehow exist in our hearts as well…a kingdom that will never pass away.

In many ways, if we think about what St. Paul says about the Law, we understand that the Law was a kind of nursemaid for humanity until it was ready to grow from it, and understand it intuitively. Likewise, we might say the same thing about the kingdom of Israel, and the Temple—these were things that humanity needed for a time, and when it was time, God called all of us to see beyond these things so that we might grow closer to God through Jesus Christ.

But then…even Jesus ascended—and in a way seemed to go away. But in truth, Jesus doesn’t go away, Jesus moves beyond the limits of space and time by ascending to the Father, and thereby becomes far closer to all of us than he might have done while he was walking on Earth. He pulls everything that he is and everything that he taught out of history and places it in the care of the Church. And, as a promise that he has not left us, he sends the Holy Spirit to comfort us, teach us and guide us. Effectively, in this act of ascending back to the Father, Jesus challenges us—just as he challenged Israel and his disciples—to live and look more deeply for God. And in our searching, we’re also called to share the beauty and hope and love that we’ve found in our searching. So, in this way, we also continue to share the promise of the Kingdom of God, and in pursuing God, we come to know God ever more.

Now, there is another side to the Ascension, as well—only in this case, it’s about what the Ascension means for God. This might also seem like a strange thing to consider, as well—but is in fact really, really cool.

So, as we know, Jesus is the Incarnation of God—in other words, God pours God’s own self out and is born, through the Virgin Mary, to be human. For a good number of Early Church Fathers, this was the really big action of God in the world—and it really is, after all, we’re talking about God being with us. But, remember, that while he is divine, Jesus is also fully human—so, he was growing up like any child in First Century Palestine. In fact, it’s possible that his childhood was so normal that the Gospel writers had no interest in it.

 However, the point is, that Jesus experiences the world and being human not only with the same wonder, confusion and frustration that we do—but, possibly, even with this background cognition of divinity. So, while he’s growing and living, he also has this divine perspective.

What’s amazing, then, is that when Jesus returns to the Father, he takes all of this accumulated experience with him, along with humanness and creaturliness—and joins it to the Nature of God… I didn’t make this up—Karl Rahner, the theologian of Vatican II said this stuff.

Anyway, this is really important, because while God has created all things, and has slowly called humanity and all of Creation into relationship—God has never been ‘in’ Creation, as such. Yet in Jesus, God participates with us in the Creation, and God is somehow likely changed by this…

What a powerful thing—the God who knew us intimately and loved us already came to know us even more in Jesus.

Well, to wrap all of this up, I hope if you take nothing else from all of this talk of the Ascension, and the Nature of the Holy Trinity—I hope you’ll understand that God has gone to every length to show us love; and in Jesus, God has shown us how to love. What this means for us, then, is that we are not only loved, but we have a place in God’s Kingdom. And because of the hope that we ought to have from this promise, we should never tire in living and embodying the virtues of that Kingdom which is already and not yet. After all, this really is Good News that we should share; and one of the very reasons Jesus ascended back to the Father was so his disciples, and we could learn to do this very thing. 

Easter 6 2014

Easter 6, 2014

Paul was a busy guy. Not only had he spent much of his young adulthood persecuting the Christian Church in its infancy; but after his conversion, he became a tireless ambassador for the very same Church.

What’s more, he became a missionary to the Gentiles (that means anyone who isn’t Jewish). He even went to the Jerusalem Council to defend the validity of Gentile converts to the faith whether they had been circumcised or not (phew…).

But Paul had a way with people—like, an infamous way. If he wasn’t raising pulses in the synagogues throughout the Roman provinces, he was winding up the local Roman authorities. He did this so well, in fact, that he was even forced to leave his fellow travelers, Silas and Timothy, behind to flee to Athens.

The only problem was that Paul couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and he no more than hit town before he made his way to the local synagogue to have a chat about all of the idols in the city.

  

Somehow, then, this conversation began to mushroom, and soon people throughout the area were hearing the things that Paul was saying. Soon, Paul became mistaken for what they call a “seed-picker.” The NRSV translates this as “babbler,” but seed-picker, even knit-picker, are better translations, because they basically thought that Paul was a traveling philosopher who had come around to start philosophical arguments.

And this is where our reading from the Acts of the Apostles begins today. Paul has caused another stir—however, this time, instead of running him out of town, the people of Athens take him to the Areopagus, a place to discuss ideas and philosophy. (And we think our culture is a civilized one…)

Now, what is interesting about this discourse from Paul is that he doesn’t attack the people of Athens. Remember, he was just in the synagogue complaining about the idols in the city. However, here, we see a different side of Paul. Suddenly, he is connecting meaning to the spiritual experience of the Athenians. He even affirms their religiousness, and compliments their grasping at the mystery of God—so much so that they even had an altar to an unknown god…

But after affirming these things, and even quoting a couple of their own poets to boot; Paul begins making his pitch. He explains that if they understand the concept of the divine, then they ought to also understand that any attempt to create images for worship of God is inadequate.

And while God has forgiven these ignorances, Paul says now is the time for repentance (the Greek word here is metanoia). They literally need to turn around and begin seeing in a whole different way—that is what metanoia means.   

I suppose for me, what is so striking about this reading is that we’re seeing a side of Paul that we might not have known was there. After all, there are a lot of people in the Church who really don’t like St. Paul (personally, I think he gets a bad rap, but what do I know?). The fact is, however, Paul is a powerful personality in the early days of the Church, and we even find that his contemporaries in the New Testament have to work pretty hard to figure Paul out.

 But for all of that, in this particular account, I think we see Paul espousing quite a mature sense of faith, and even a pretty advanced understanding of theology as well—which is kind of comforting.   After all, Paul is one of the archetypes for our own understanding of evangelism, or sharing our faith with others—even though this might not be a strong suit for our particular Christian tradition.

But let’s face it, one of the reasons that we’re not so hot at sharing our faith is because we know how badly evangelism gets botched. I’d imagine that there isn’t a person here who hasn’t had an awkward experience with some earnest person who wants us to ‘get saved.’

  And while we really should be flattered that people think so highly of us that they want us to be part of their faith tradition—it’s not the sort of decision that ought to be made under duress; which is how much evangelism, historically, has been done.

I mean, if you tell me the alternative to doing what you want me to do means eternal damnation in a fiery pit with demons, and fire and…probably spiders—well, I’ll do whatever you want, and probably even buy a vacuum cleaner from you.

But the matter of faith is something quite different than all of that—and Paul’s address at the Areopagus is evidence of this.

First off, when we share our faith, we can’t assume that we’re in the business of filling empty heads. Like Paul, we have to understand that everyone has had some experience of God—some experience with Mystery—even if they don’t articulate it in that way. And it’s my sense that rather than being afraid of those experiences (even if we don’t fully understand them), we should affirm the good in them. After all, if we can’t perceive God working in others, it’s likely that it’s because we haven’t been able to perceive God working in ourselves…so, we shouldn’t project our own insecurities.

Next, I think we forget that it’s God’s job to do the heavy lifting. In other words, it’s not up to us only to invite conversation about faith, and seal the deal immediately. Instead, we offer questions—maybe we even offer our own questions and doubts—just so long as we’re honest. Then, we might need to step back and allow God to work in the hearts of people.

Finally, we need to let go of our fear that someone might reject our invitation to faith. It’s my sense that if we are, ourselves, comfortable with our faith, we should be able to speak of it, even share it with such ease that it would never seem unnatural. Likewise, we shouldn’t think that sharing our faith is all about church language and God talk. Even Paul in his discourse didn’t bring God into the conversation until he had already invited the people to consider their own faith experiences more deeply. So, sharing our faith may be as simple as asking someone about their day and listening. Sometimes evangelism is quiet incarnational work rather than selling fire insurance…(not that it’s ever selling fire insurance).

The point in all of this is that faith is not a matter of decision, it’s a matter of conversion. And what we understand that word conversion to mean can make all the difference not only in how we live our faith ourselves, but how we share our faith, as well. Because if we continue to think that conversion is a one-time experience—we have relegated it to decision. And while we do have to assent to conversion—conversion is something that happens to us continually throughout our lives. We have many conversion experiences throughout our lives, and they continue to form us ever more into the image of God (that which God created us to be).

So, as for sharing our faith, we should always be open to the possibility that we are entering into someone else’s life at a point of conversion for them. We may even be a catalyst for such a conversion—who knows? But whatever the case, it is up to us to recognize that God is always at work in everyone, in every place. And our role is only to invite people to become aware of that work.

Easter 5 2014

Easter 5, 2014

“The Bible says it; I believe it; that settles it…” This is a saying that marks the end of any rational conversation. Unfortunately, there are some people who share our faith who believe this sort of statement to be a fundamental for true belief in God. What’s worse still is that this sort of thinking didn’t emerge only in the 19^th Century with modern fundamentalism—it was alive and well in Jesus’ time, as well.

So, whether it was adherence to purity codes, dietary laws, cultural-religious exclusivism, or even religious piety; we find that myopic understanding is not a new thing. And it was this type of ideology that Jesus regularly challenged. Through his life and ministry, he challenged people to look deeper, love stronger and serve more faithfully and selflessly. In this way, Jesus, brought into question what we thought we knew of God, and invited us to actually know God, and thereby actually have relationship with God and God’s people.

In today’s Gospel reading, we have a part of the story of the Last Supper, which features a conversation that encapsulates much of the meaning of Jesus’ ministry. This is right before Jesus is arrested, and just after he has given the New Commandment to love one another as he has loved…

  

Anyway, Jesus is speaking with more loaded language than usual. The disciples know he’ll be betrayed, and Judas has already left to set things in motion. So here, Jesus is doing his best to try to calm and comfort his remaining disciples.

He explains that they don’t need to worry because he’s going ahead of them to prepare a place for them. And then when Thomas (the disciple whose precociousness is only exceeded by Peter’s) asks how they will know where he’s going, and how they will follow. Jesus, responds by saying that he is the Way; if they know him, they know the Father…

Then Philip, who suddenly seems to want to have all of his theological bases covered, asks: “Show us the Father, then we’ll be satisfied…”

In my mind, I see Jesus slowly placing his face in his hands for a moment before speaking. He says, “Philip…how long have I been with you, man? You’ve seen miracles, you’ve heard my teachings…ah…ah…Philip, you still don’t see it? I am in the Father and the Father is in me…duh!”

But we have to hand it to Philip, because he’s actually asking the question that’s on all of our minds. Is this guy Jesus really who he says he is, and what happens if I put my faith in him?

  

Well, the interesting thing is that Jesus never really says who he is…at times his words are just mystical enough that we might think that he’s actually claimed divinity—but really, it’s just not that clear.

However, if we do what he tells Philip—if we even just believe in what he’s taught and the miracles that he’s done…if we even start there, we begin to see not only who Jesus is—but a whole lot more as well.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, Jesus really came to challenge humanity’s understanding of God. I think we can say humanity, since we continually find more and deeper truths about God and ourselves whenever we read the Gospels.

Anyway, like I said, he came to challenge our impressions and images of God, so that in getting beyond those images, we could actually find God. The trouble with this, of course—this process of dismantling our images of God—is that they’re so deeply rooted in who we are. We have tremendous investment in our understandings about God, and therefore we feel that a lot is threatened when we’re asked to do away with such images.

Unfortunately, what we miss in all of this is the fact that what we’ve created in our images of God are actually idols—and not really God at all…

  

The truth is, that all of us have our idols of God—and it’s not just the sin of conservatives, either—because like idolatry, fundamentalism takes on all sorts of forms. In other words, we all have our pet ideals about Who God is, and what God is all about. I often have to be reminded of this fact.

So, the fruit of these idolatries (as we’ve seen in Scripture) are people who believe they’re pious and holy because they’re following the rules—but in the same way, they’re resentful and hateful because their adherence to those rules had become a replacement for God… Subsequently, anything else than these petty idolatries seemed scary—even a real relationship with the Living God.

Enter into all of this, Jesus. Not only does he challenge the God concepts that obscure the true and Living God—but even though he is the very Incarnation of God, he points beyond himself to invite people to truly know and experience God. I know that seems contrary, but in doing this, Jesus points all of us to a God who is not only Imminent and present by his miracles and ministry—he also leaves us with no excuses as to why we shouldn’t also do the same.

So, Jesus is teaching in a completely new way by embodying everything that is the mystery of God—but without allowing us to grasp it. This means that we don’t have the excuse that because he is God Incarnate and we’re not, we can’t possibly love or live like Jesus. It also meas because we cannot grasp it, we cannot exclusively claim God for our own.

Nope. Outside of the miracles, the things that Jesus did were only extraordinary because they seemed so contrary to human nature. He called us to love our enemies; to seek peace and pursue it. He called us to love one another as he loved—and he did this not so that we’d have some unattainable, idealistic goals to keep us morally challenged. Jesus called us to do these things because he believes we’re capable of doing it—and for the places in our lives where we need a little help, Jesus promised the Holy Spirit would be there to guide us. And in this way, by this example, Jesus reveals to us the Father in a way that stone tablets, an Ark and a Temple complete with animal sacrifice never could before…because he is all of it. Jesus is what all of it means, and he invites us not only to look for more deeply for God, he invites us to experience God through love and faith and action; things that cannot be taught conceptually, but learned intuitively.

Philip asked God Enfleshed to show us God so that we might be satisfied. Simply put, Jesus responds by asking all of us to see how he loves; hear what he says; and to live even as he lives. It’s in this way, then, that we will be able to truly see the Father—not as we’ve conceived him, but the true and Living God—God as he has been revealed in his Son, Jesus Christ.

Easter 4 2014

Easter 4 2014

I have to confess that I have a bit of an issue with today’s Gospel reading. Whether it is implied or explicit, Jesus seems to be calling out the clergy.

Now, I admit that Jesus is technically talking about the Scribes and the Pharisees when he’s referring to thieves and bandits—but, after all, what are clergy other than interpreters of Scripture and teachers of God’s Law? And let’s face it, there are a goodly number of us who do impose some pretty impossible standards on people…so, calling us Pharisees might not be too far from the truth.

While all of that is really inexcusable, and for all that I would like to pretend that I’m somehow different—the fact is that most clergy fall into the trap of thinking that we are the true shepherds. That’s not to say that we think we’re Jesus—but that somehow we’re the ones who take care of the sheep.

However, as the job description for being the Good Shepherd is the same as being the Messiah; I think that all of us would agree that we are far from measuring-up. And, if we were searching for some allegorical title for clergy; we might best apply the title of sheep dog, or even llamas (it’s true, llamas are apparently terrific herd animals. Look it up).

But, the fact of the matter is, when we get right down to it, clergy, just like everyone else are sheep. Sheep with a particular job, but sheep all the same.

So this means for all of the wonderful titles that we employ for our clergy: ‘pastor’, shepherds of the flock, blah-blah-blah; the reality is that we’re not (even allegorically) a different creature from the rest of God’s flock.

What I think happens, however, is that clergy buy into this idea a bit too much. Also like I said before, we get to thinking that we’re the shepherds. And not only do we sometimes think we’re above the other sheep, but we also begin to feel overly responsible for the sheep.

But not just the sheep in our own flock, but all sheep—even those rogue sheep that don’t seem to be part of any flock. Inevitably (mostly because we have no business pretending to be the Good Shepherd); we find ourselves way out of our depth.

And this leads to a lot of fear: fear of losing the institutional Church as we know it; fear of being wrong; and fear of losing credibility.

So, in response to all of these fears, the clergy, church leadership—even the congregation—begin to wonder how to be better shepherds—again, even though none of us is meant to be… This often leads to some pretty serious over-programming; over-compensating; and a host of other things that are designed to draw sheep, but not really care for them.

In the end, the sheep have a harder time discerning the Shepherd’s voice for all of the noise and distraction; and those sheep who don’t have a flock find that the flocks have lost their “flockiness.” Certainly the mark of the Shepherd is less obvious.

In other words, in our vain attempts at taking on the role of Jesus; the Church has found itself trying to be attractive—even seductive to our culture. The way we’ve done this is by trying to water down who we are, what we believe and what we’re about. We have worked hard chasing what we believe is relevant, but find ourselves following fads.

 The net result of this, more often than not, has been a Church that conforms more to the image of being Christian—and less to the image of Christ.

We’ve basically sold short our birthright…which is too bad, because even though we’ve seen some decline in the Church, for all denominations—I still believe we have a vital role in the world.  

St. Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthians, “when we showed-up, we didn’t captivate you with eloquence or clever words.” He says we came to you with the testimony of Christ crucified and him resurrected. So Paul is saying that they didn’t come with a message that was ‘relevant’—they came with the Gospel that was essential. They came with words of hope so profound that it was elemental—a force of nature. And the message was a very simple one: we’re loved; everyone matters; and there is always hope—the proof of this, for Paul, for the Church in Corinth, and for all of us for all of these millennia is that God, in the person of Jesus Christ, loved us enough to give himself fully; and then open the way to resurrection and eternal life for everyone.

To me this is something that not only seems relevant, but could be absolutely essential to anyone who has some deeper sense of meaning for their lives. And for us, it only affirms our inability to fulfil the role of shepherd, and reinforces our identity as sheep of the true shepherd.

So, what I think we’re left with are some pretty profound questions—questions of identity, perhaps. What is our role in the world, and how do we make sure that the Good Shepherd is made known? How do we live our lives so that the Gospel is presented through our lives as well as our words?

 Well, it’s likely that the answer is probably simpler than we think: “Baa.” 

Easter 3 2014

Easter 3 2014

Alice was falling. She had followed a little white rabbit into a hole; a rabbit with a fob watch, wearing a waistcoat, who said that he was late…and she found herself falling. Falling for a very long time, in fact.

She had been falling for such a long time when it occurred to her that she really ought not to be so frightened. Not only should she not be frightened, but she couldn’t imagine how she could have possibly ended up in such a strange situation.

And in Lewis Carroll’s characteristically weird way, Alice begins to wonder if she really is Alice… After all, if she couldn’t possibly imagine herself being in such a strange situation, perhaps the reason was because she wasn’t really Alice at all. Maybe, she was, in fact, the little girl who lived down the street—she might have an adventure like this one…but, never Alice.

After all, if Descartes was right; if “I think, therefore I am,” and this is the basis for a rational life…how should Alice handle a situation where she can think, but she can’t think that she is who she thinks she is—because who she is could never be in such a strange situation…

Oddly enough, even though the story is called “Alice in Wonderland,” Alice never fully reconciles herself to her identity until well after her adventure ends, and she’s no longer in Wonderland. So, there is this sense that even though she can’t rationalize the experience, she was still able to somehow come back to herself—even reclaim her identity.

In today’s Gospel reading, we have yet another post-resurrection appearance of Jesus to his disciples. This time, however, it isn’t any of the disciples that we’ve read about before. Instead, these are just a couple guys who were perhaps some of the ‘general admission’ followers of Jesus who probably had some miraculous fish and bread at some point, and stuck around afterward. Who knows?

We’re told that they were walking toward a village outside Jerusalem, and from the conversation that they end up having with Jesus, they’re not entirely sure what happened. All they knew was that Jesus had been a great teacher; they followed him in hope; he was betrayed and killed; and even though they heard rumors that Jesus had been raised from the dead—they just weren’t sure what to make of anything anymore.

In a sense, with all of the confusion and excitement, I think we might say that these two disciples were in free-fall.

Imagine, everything that they had hoped of Jesus, the one to redeem Israel, was lost, utterly, in one afternoon. His identity, as well as their theological hope and understanding, must have come crashing down. It’s likely that no matter how much they would have liked to believe that the empty tomb meant that Jesus was alive; they probably were just as confused about what was next for them…

We might even take it a bit further, and say that not only were these men in free fall, but I would imagine that they were wondering who they were now. The text tells us that one of these men was named Cleopas—but other than the two of them being called followers of Jesus—we know nothing about them.

Well, guess what? As far as they knew Jesus was either dead, and his body missing, or (fingers crossed) he had been raised from the dead, and was doing something wonderful.

But, even if he was alive again, what are the chances that the risen Jesus would show-up for these two no-name, bargain bin disciples? And, if you’re identity is that of a follower, and you no longer have anyone to follow…well, it begs the question. Who are you then?

Like Alice, these two men followed someone they thought was extraordinary, and find that now, in this state of free-fall, they don’t know who they are.

However, just like the Cheshire Cat in “Alice in Wonderland,” Jesus shows up just at the right time, and even though these disciples don’t recognize him, he begins explaining everything…like everything. He started with Moses, and began interpreting and explaining all that had foretold his coming, and even everything that it meant.

Apparently, this conversation was so long that it lasted until they reached the village, and it was so interesting that they asked Jesus (who they still didn’t recognize) to stay with them.

The culmination of the story then happens when Jesus sits down to table with these two disciples. He blessed the bread and gave it to them—and then…it all made sense to them. Finally, everything had context for these two, and somehow in this action of breaking bread they were able to see the risen Christ who had been in their midst this entire time…

Now, of course, even after this revelation of Jesus to these two disciples, and even everything that Jesus had explained—these two still didn’t ‘get’ all of it. I would assume that like us, they still had any number of questions that were just going to have to be left unanswered.

That’s quite a thing, really, when you think about it. I mean, here are two disciples who are leaving Jerusalem because they think everything is over now—and suddenly Jesus shows up in disguise to explain things and prove that he’s alive.

That’s huge. But still, even Jesus’ closest disciples needed orders to stick around in Jerusalem until Pentecost, so they could receive the Holy Spirit and get their marching orders.

That event was the birth of the Church, but from the rest of the New Testament, and all the centuries between then and now; we’ve all still got a lot of questions…and in a sense we’re in a kind of free-fall, wondering who we really are.

However, like Cleopas and his companion, we’re invited to hear and try to understand how all of our history, and all of our stories converge and find their meaning in Jesus Christ. I also believe that, like these disciples, a lot more than we realize is revealed to us in the breaking of bread, our prayers and the Sacraments. It’s just up to us to be open and attentive.

In the end, the mystery of all of this—this life of faith—amounts to the continued work of uncovering (with God’s help) who we really are as “Christ’s own forever.” In other words, if we remain people of faith, we’ll continue to clear away layer after layer of ‘who-we-are-not,’ and all of the illusions that we have come to believe about ourselves, only to find who we always were underneath.

And while it’s likely that we won’t complete that work, this side of heaven; we should all the same be encouraged by the fact that we will always be that much further along in the process when we come together as the gathered Body of Christ. Because it’s in this mystery that Christ meets us, and it’s where we’re given just a small foretaste of what is yet to be revealed. 

Easter 2 2014

Easter 2 2014

Thomas gets a bad rap. I also think that “Doubting” Thomas is a terribly unfair title, after all, not long before this, the disciples who went to the tomb couldn’t believe what was told to them by angels…so, I suppose we ought to give Thomas a little credit.

In fact, if we tried to apply some of our understanding of human psychology to Thomas, we might start to understand where the guy was coming from. I would imagine that after all that had happened, that he would be depressed, a little confused, and certainly a bit lost. After all, the person who had given his life meaning for three years was suddenly dead—executed like a criminal, and it was very likely that he and his friends were next on the list.

So, we can likewise understand why he wasn’t with the rest of the disciples when Jesus turned up in that locked room.

The problem, of course, really, was that when people died, they usually stayed dead. And Thomas saw Jesus die.

Sure, Jesus said he was the resurrection and the life—he may have even raised Lazarus. But who raises the only guy in town who is able to raise the dead, when he himself is dead? Even if Thomas had seen resurrection happen—how could he trust it would happen for Jesus?

Ironically, belief in Jesus wasn’t the trouble for Thomas. In fact, right before Jesus said he was going back to Bethany to check on Lazarus, and everyone told him what a bad idea it was, and that his enemies would kill him. It was Thomas who said emphatically that all of them ought go with Jesus whether it meant death or not. So, it wasn’t for lack of faith that Thomas doubts—instead, it might be that his faith in Jesus was the very thing that had broken his heart so completely when he saw Jesus die.

So, here we have a young man who had left everything he knew to follow a man who he believed was the Messiah.

Even if Jesus did talk about death and resurrection a lot—the Pharisees did the same thing. And, besides, none of the prophecies about the Messiah mentioned anything about him dying and coming back to life again. The point is that, even if Thomas had been paying attention, there was no guarantee that his interpretation was correct—and I would imagine at this point, Thomas was second guessing everything; everything about his faith, and certainly everything about his understanding of life.

Who wouldn’t have a hard time believing?

Remember also that Thomas was not with the other disciples who saw the risen Jesus; and with all of the emotional fallout that Thomas must have been feeling, only a week after Jesus was killed—we might begin to understand not only his disbelief, but also his cynicism.

In the same brash way that he declared that he and the disciples should follow Jesus to Bethany that they might die with him; Thomas, refuses the truth of the resurrection. Unless he touches every single one of the wounds—the wounds that he saw Jesus sustain on the cross—he wanted no part of the delusion. And how in the world could any of us disagree with him?

It seems to me that the biggest issue that we have had with Thomas, historically, is that we first of all think that ‘doubt’ is somehow the opposite of faith. Whereas, a more appropriate antithesis of faith might be something more like ‘apathy’ or ‘faithlessness.’

But in fact, Thomas is really neither of these… By his presumed brokenness, we can guess that he cares far too much about the loss of Jesus to apathetic. And, while he might have found himself wondering if he had gotten his faith “right,” I would certainly not consider him faithless. I suppose we would just have to say that Thomas cared enough to doubt.

The culmination of this whole episode, then, is really quite lovely. Somehow we find that Thomas has made his way back into this group of disciples, whom he had possibly avoided for fear of being arrested by the Temple police. We don’t know how this happened, but maybe we’re just glad that it did happen for poor Thomas.

And, just as he had done before, Jesus shows up mysteriously and miraculously, and he offers them all a blessing of peace… Then Jesus turns to Thomas, and knowing his lapse of hope, says to Thomas to touch his side, and examine the wounds.

The funny thing is that the text never says that he ever touches the wounds—but Thomas confesses, “My Lord and my God…” a very deep confession of faith.

Now, the reason we’re told these stories about the disciples and their difficulty coming to terms with their faith and belief is to help us—the Church throughout the centuries—to find a way to be alright with our own doubts. In fact, this is the reason that the reading ends with Jesus challenging Thomas, and asking if he believed because he finally saw Jesus. And, of course, we have this nice closing with Jesus saying that “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

So, perhaps all of us could do with some of the faith that Doubting Thomas had. Maybe all of us need to feel the freedom to live with our doubts, and struggle a bit with the things that we don’t quite understand about our faith. And while it’s not likely that we’ll ever have the same opportunity that Thomas had, with Jesus showing up to prove his resurrection; we should all the same care enough about our faith to struggle with it—just like the generations before us, and just like the generation who will come after us. Because by being honest about such things, we not only set a good and honest example for those who come after us, but we also stand the chance to develop a much deeper, grounded faith—a mature faith that can weather the trials and troubles of this life. And that, after all, is the whole point of a living faith.

Easter 2014

Easter 2014

Kathleen Norris, in her book “The Cloister Walk” talks briefly about being treated for cancer using radiation. She recounts how toward the end of the multiple treatments, she would return home and put her feet in a bucket of ice to try to cool her body down.

My field education supervisor mentioned something similar, about his own experience being treated for another kind of cancer. He said that late into the treatment regime, he found that he would walk from his hospital room, leaning against the wall, because he had no strength left to walk unaided to the treatment room.

Radiation therapy is strong medicine. In fact, with all of the advances in cancer treatment, doctors are reticent to use it quite as much these days—but it is still used. The irony, of course, with radiation therapy is that it utilizes radiation—which literally does what radiation does; it destroys. Only in the case of radiation therapy, it destroys cancer cells. All the same, something destructive is used as a therapeutic curative.

The Resurrection is like this. After all, we know that before Jesus could be raised again, he first had to die. And so, in this powerful act of self-giving, Jesus breaks the power of the grave, and precedes us in the resurrection promised to all of us. The crucifixion, then, is strong medicine. Because not only was the crucifixion of Jesus the curative for eternal death, but it was also the therapy for all violence, suffering and injustice in the world. The trouble is that we’ve found ourselves struggling to understand this for the past 20 centuries…

In fact, the Early Fathers of the Church when trying to understand the necessity and meaning of the crucifixion, struggled to articulate their conclusions…After all, it’s not enough just to say that Jesus died and rose again, so it’s all okay. Jesus’ death was brutal, and let’s face it, sadistic; especially if this was done simply to appease some angry blood thirsty god.

One aspect of the crucifixion is that because it is at the center of our faith tradition, it disallows us to ignore the pain and suffering of the world. If nothing else, what the crucifixion does is reminds us that the crucifixion itself is not over. In this act, Jesus hallows suffering, and brings it into the center of all of our lives, and dares us to hope for resurrection.

However, it was also the understanding of the Early Fathers that by his act of full self-giving, Jesus undermined the system of victim and victimizer. So, by laying down his life willingly, Jesus took away the power that the authorities had to kill him; and thereby he destroyed the system.

We might recall from John’s Gospel, that wonderful discussion about the Good Shepherd. Here Jesus adds that no one takes his life away from him, but he lays it down willingly—and that he has the power to take it back up again…

The effects of this act, then, according to the Early Fathers, is like a slow working medicine. So that as this medicine is allowed to take full effect, we, as the Body—the Church, and all of Creation—are made ever-better.

Now, of course, this is a very nice idea; and who couldn’t agree that we need to be better. But, the troubling fact is that we know from experience that the world is still violent; it’s still corrupt; there are still victims and vicitimizers. So, we might wonder if the medicine of the Cross has actually taken any effect at all…

However, if we end there, and give into a fatalist attitude, we miss the bigger picture. Because where this strong medicine of the Cross has taken effect, if we have allowed it, is in the hearts of those who are willing to receive it. So, for those who have allowed the love of Christ to affect them, to change them—for these, the curative has already begun. And the evidence of this healing activity is that we love God, and love one another, and then change the world.

Of course, this is the case for anyone who chooses the way of love, whether they’ve chosen the Way of Christ or not. Because what the healing work of God, through Jesus Christ looks like is a world which is changed in heart and mind—something that is never quickly accomplished. As for those of us who have chosen the Way of Christ; We’re called to be people who are empowered to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly before our God.

But this, of course, is not work for those who are merely captivated by the resurrection; it is instead the imperative for those who have experienced the life giving power of the strong medicine of the Cross.

Christos Anesti!

Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated!
Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down!
Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is Risen, and life is liberated!

Therefore, we ought to find it impossible to live in the same old way.

Easter 2013

Easter 2013

Easter, I have to say, is a tough holiday to sermonize. We hopefully know the story of Christ’s glorious resurrection. Hopefully we understand that it is at the core of our faith and who we are… But it’s still difficult to get one’s hands around to try to sum it up—or even find a thread to tease out for a meaningful message. The truth is there’s not a whole lot that can be said that could possibly inspire more than the Gospel story itself, so I’ll not try to offer something clever.

I suppose when we think about it Easter is just a difficult thing to deal with all the way around. In fact, the very day that we set aside to celebrate Easter is different from year to year. It isn’t a specific day annually the way that Christmas, or other holidays are. What’s more, there are other Christian traditions which celebrate Easter according to a different calendar—so even now our Orthodox sisters and brothers are making their way through Lent…

My point is, that even this season that so defines our lives and our faith can’t practically be itself defined.

And maybe this is a good thing that we can’t define Easter. After all to define literally means to determine or identify the essential qualities; it means to make distinct; and to mark the limits of something… 

  

However, the mystery of Christ’s Resurrection doesn’t really allow us to do any of that; because his resurrection is something that doesn’t seem to have limits. It’s such an amazing story that it’s almost too much to believe. So, at best, we’re at a loss for words even when we speak of it. Because as all of us know, for the resurrection to mean anything at all, it has to be something that pervades our lives—it has to be a thing that gives meaning to all the things and places in our lives.

Part of the problem is that it’s just too big a picture to process. Death is a natural counter-point to life. This is why the disciples returned home confused after finding the tomb empty—because they couldn’t possibly have understood what Jesus meant about rising from the dead.

After all, death is the thing that most people spend their lives worrying about, and others try to cheat. So when someone comes along and supposedly defeats it, well, we either can’t believe it, or we have to try to integrate its meaning into our own lives and experience.

In the end, perhaps the indefinite nature of the resurrection is exactly what continues to give it such power, because rather than have something about it that we can claim, or hold on to tightly—sort of what Jesus meant when he spoke to Mary in the garden. We instead have something that we have to live with, and experience.

The reason we can’t define Easter and the resurrection is because it can’t be defined—instead, it defines us. Resurrection finds us in the darkest places of life; in the face of tragedy; at a loved one’s deathbed; Easter finds us.

 It dares us to stare death in the face, and know that we’ll never be broken. It calls us to see certain hope beyond hopelessness. More importantly, resurrection calls us to live however uncomfortably into its ambiguity; into that place where four very different accounts of the same story come together. Because it’s in those narrow places, where we try to define ourselves; try to define our own lives and can’t; look for easy answers to persistent questions and fail that we find the mystery of Christ’s resurrection looking back at us…as indefinite as the chaos at the start of Creation, yet so real as to mark us as his own.

Easter 6 2013

Easter 6, 2013

I recently saw a short comic that featured a number of people punching the air in a protest chant. The leader yells: “What do we want?!” The crowd responds: “A cure for ADHD!” The leader continues: “When do we want it?!” And the crowd responds: “Squirrel!”

While I myself have never been diagnosed with Attention Deficit, Hyper-Active Disorder; I do know that I can get off track at times—and most certainly distracted. Things happen all throughout my day that draw me from task to task, sometimes before a single task can be completed. However, this is the nature of my work, and considering how much our culture expects of us; I would say this is the nature of all of our lives.

All I can say is, I’m really glad that squirrels aren’t shiny—because they would only be that much more distracting…

The point is that when we stop to think about it, we’re constantly bombarded not only by expectations, impossible schedules, unrealistic expectations, over-active and over-abundant media; we see that this static has found its way into most parts of our lives. And if distraction and chaos are finding a place in our center, how can we possibly hope to function?

In our Gospel Reading today, we have Jesus speaking to one of the disciples, “Judas—not—Iscariot.” Jesus explains to him that he won’t be with them much longer—even though he and the Father have made their home with those who love them. However, he makes the assurance that the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, will come to teach and remind them of all that he has said…

I would imagine from this short excerpt from John’s Gospel that this statement from Jesus was much more important than they may have realized at the time. In all fairness, they were at the Last Supper, Jesus was washing feet, and Judas Iscariot had just gone out to betray Jesus—so, subtle meanings may not have been their primary focus.

But even after the resurrection, we know that the disciples still only met behind locked doors, and remained in hiding. In fact, it wasn’t until after Pentecost when the Holy Spirit came (as Jesus promised) that they began to go out and begin doing what Jesus had taught them to do.

But then, I suppose they had the potential to be distracted as much as any of us. And like us, while the desire to remain diligent to tasks is there, I think that there is a whole lot of life that happens, and gets us off track. This is all the more reason that we need the Advocate to call us back.

Now, going back to this whole distraction discussion, I have to say that unless something is constantly right in front of me (specifically one of those subtle things that is important, but is easily put-off)—I am likely to forget about it. Again, because there are so many diverse things happening, I can find myself drifting. And I’m sure I’m not alone in this case, either.

How often have we forgotten something we’ve agreed to in a passing conversation? How many times do we talk about making indefinite plans, and find that those things continue to remain indefinite, and never become plans?

So with everything that we seem to come up against in our daily lives, we know it’s easy to lose our focus—and with so much external stimulus, we may find it hard to remember our center of faith, as well. 

While I wish I had the answer for busy, squirrely lives; I’ve already admitted that I don’t. However, I will say that paying attention to our center of faith certainly doesn’t hurt. And being reminded to come back to what grounds us is always important in trying to keep ourselves sane.

Last Sunday, for those of you who were able to attend, we had a meeting to talk about the results of our Church Assessment Tool (CAT) results. From our results we found that this is a congregation which is, if nothing else, energetic; not simply going through the motions; and ready to do ministry. These are all very good things, and things which I think were drawn out of you as strengths during the interim period.

Suddenly when the church didn’t have a full time priest, and things still needed to get done; people stepped-up and took on roles that might have seemed a little tough, but in the end needed to be taken on. And what’s so great about doing those things is that no matter how scary the task may seem, we find that stepping into these roles suits us. They energize us and make us confident of the potential that we have for doing amazing things in the world as the Church.

But just like the disciples in the Upper Room, and just like everyone, I believe as life happened, there was distraction. Eventually the things that had to be done, and could be done by anyone went back to being specialized ministry. And let’s face it, when we get busy, it’s easy to forget the things that Jesus calls us to do.

We live in a culture that demands a lot of us. It’s easy to get distracted by everything that gets thrown at us, and when that happens things fall away: unfortunately those are usually our physical and spiritual health. But if we can commit ourselves to striving for spiritual health, I believe we are more apt to pay attention to our physical health as well. And with both spiritual and physical health attended to, we are often more ready to face the tasks before us.

Right now some of the tasks before us as a church are more than just financial, or lack of participation, or shrinking numbers. Everybody has that. However, what we’re faced with is the call and issue of responding to what Jesus has taught us…responding to what it is that the Holy Spirit teaches us in our hearts.

Where we are is a world that continues to make us cynical and callus to starving children, victims of gun violence—war, famine, disease—inequitable access to basic resources. Where we are is a place where children commit suicide because of bullying, and people—all kinds of people—who are searching for a safe place to belong…

As citizens of the world that’s where we live. And as citizens of the Kingdom of God, and members of God’s Church, we’re called to continue the work of redemption set forth by our Lord Jesus Christ. It’s a big job…But, it’s a big job that has a diversity of small tasks.

Because, what I think we find when we’re willing to even take on what seems like the smallest role in the church—we hold up the work of the whole thing. What’s more, sometimes when we step out to take our small part, we find ourselves called to even more still. And all of that work, if we commit to it in faith changes us, and helps us to see ourselves and our lives just a little more clearly.

Doing the work of the Church is not something that we preachers are simply peddling. This isn’t some product that can be sold for $19.95 on television. Instead, what we try to invite people into is a Body of believers that is so much bigger than any one of us.

It’s a community that extends not only beyond the borders of towns, cities, states and countries—but even the boundary of life and death. It’s a community of love and service and hope, but it’s through our response to those things that Christ calls us to that remind not only us, but others that the Church is all of those things, and that all are invited to find their place in it.

Sometimes we need to be reminded of that, beyond distraction and busyness, so that we can try to hear the Holy Spirit clearly and attend to the things that Jesus has called us to do.

Easter 5 2013

Easter 5 2013

If you’ll remember back to Holy Week, and Maundy Thursday, you know that we just had today’s Gospel reading. This story of Jesus giving this New Commandment—in fact, we get the name Maundy from the Latin term for Law or Commandment. So, now you have something with which to “wow” your friends.

But we might wonder why, 5 Sundays into the Easter Season, we’re hearing this passage again. While I wish I could tell you why the drafters of the Lectionary designed it this way, I can’t. However, what I would say is that it’s always a good thing to hear again. It’s good to be reminded that Jesus takes this “love” business seriously enough to make it a Commandment. And considering how difficult love really is; I suppose it’s also good to remember that there are times we can still choose to love mostly just because Jesus told us to…

And maybe this is okay. Because I think admitting how tough it can be to love means that we’re willing to take it seriously ourselves. I think it intimates that in wanting to get it right, we recognize our own limits to our ability to love.

After all, love is pretty complex. While it is patient and kind; while it believes all things and hopes in all things—it also expects us to embody all of these virtues whenever we try to love.

If this weren’t enough, love also requires action. Because our identity as Christians is evidenced in the way we love; and our work as the Body of Christ means that we are the hands and feet of Jesus in the world—we can argue that love is an active thing.

However, actively engaging the Church and the world in love, I suppose, is part of why it is so difficult. Loving places us at tasks that require that we recognize ourselves, as well as try our best to see others as loveable. And if you’ve ever known any difficult people in your own lives, you know that there are times when our ability to love is nothing less than divine intervention… All the same, in calling us to action, love calls us to participation in the life of the world.

Here again we find another layer of complexity, because we can see that love calls us to relationship in our participation.

After all, love doesn’t happen in a vacuum. We cannot “love” in isolation—because it is a matter of participation in the lives of others. It’s a commitment and a responsibility.

So there is very little about love that is static, and certainly nothing about it that is simple or easy. Because even if we’re only aware of a portion of what love asks of us, we know that it still requires a lot.

But y’know, the interesting thing is that there are lot of realities in life and faith that people refuse to avoid just because they’re hard. In fact, if we did avoid difficult things, there’s a very good chance that we would never grow or thrive as individuals… More often than not, it is by our ability to meet challenges and face down difficult things that defines us…and I think the Church is no different.

Because as we consider what the call to love means, we know that it demands that we commit our whole selves to its work.

We know that love will stretch us and force us beyond our comfort zones. We know love asks us to see ourselves and others just a little more truly, and love anyway. We also know that love calls us from complacency to a place of action.

Responding to the commandment to love means moving beyond casual engagement in the life of the Church, and living into this vision that Jesus has of us undeniably embodying what it means to be a follower of his by taking our work in the Church seriously.

 And honestly, even if it is hard—who cares? Because what love also calls us to is a faithful community of people who will never let us fall down. Love, while it calls us to bold action, also promises to never leave us abandoned to do all of the hard work of loving by ourselves. More importantly, acting in love with others reminds us that we ourselves are loved. And as the beloved children of God, how can we help but share in love and its work? Because after all, love is what the Church is about and hopefully we’re about being the Church. 

Easter 3 2013

Easter 3, 2013

Our Gospel reading today is perhaps one of my favorite stories in the New Testament. It’s one which occupies an importance place in our understanding of redemption. It shows us how even though the redemptive work of the Cross was made complete; there were still other matters yet to be attended to…

Throughout the Sundays following Easter, we’ve been reading accounts of how Jesus appeared regularly to different groups after the resurrection. Each time there is a little more revelation about what his resurrection and all the rest means.

However, other than Jesus’ interaction with Thomas (that we read about last week) there doesn’t seem to have been all that much inter-personal interaction with that original group of friends who Jesus called at the very beginning. After all, we’re told that Jesus would appear to gathered groups of believers, but it’s not clear how much this close circle of Jesus’ friends actually got to interact with the risen Lord.

So, from this we might assume then, that Peter and the rest of these guys were doing ‘all right.’ All of them but John and some of the female disciples had run away when Jesus was arrested. But now that Jesus was back from the dead—things were alright.

Peter denied knowing Jesus three different times the same night he promised never to forsake him. But now that the Lord was appearing in his resurrected body to the faithful—things were alright.

 After the resurrection there were people like Thomas who couldn’t believe it. Jesus came, and everything was alright.

There were questions if the resurrected one was just a ghost. Jesus showed up and ate fish with them—and everything was alright.

But for all of these appearances, Peter and the rest were never forced to come to terms with all that had happened. I would imagine that beyond their introspection, they never resolved their own guilt about events that led up to the crucifixion.

However, Jesus was alive—so (again), everything was alright.

As things must have begun to settle out after the resurrection of Jesus, we find Peter deciding that it was time to go back to work…back to the grind. And this small group of disciples decide to join him; and they spend the morning fishing.

Now whether they were preoccupied with their cooler, or they just weren’t very good at fishing; they had not caught many fish. But once again, Jesus shows up, everything is good.

When Peter realizes who Jesus is, he hurriedly puts his clothes on, and swims to shore to find that Jesus had been making breakfast. This, of course, is where everything begins to become a little tough.

 As I mentioned, we’re not told that the closest of Jesus’ disciples ever really had any intimate time with him. After the resurrection, it seems like they have to share him with all of these ‘other’ followers who Scripture and history seem fit to leave unnamed.

Things weren’t the way they had been at the beginning when Jesus called them. After the events of the Passion, we can easily assume that these men had been changed forever. But again, there’s no sense that they really had to face Jesus—never had to face themselves.

Yet, here he was, Jesus—the only man who really had first right to hurl accusations at them for their betrayal and their fickle hearts. And instead of judgment, he’s brought breakfast.

This is the point, I think, that gives this story so much punch. Because like any of us, these men probably expect to pay for their mistakes and failings with hard knocks. And maybe that would be easier to deal with than this brutal grace…this breakfast.

Instead of finding the assumed punishment for their faults, they find themselves fully embraced in forgiveness. But the hardest part of this, is of course accepting one’s self as being accepted fully by that grace in spite of our own guilt and grief.

This is a powerful lesson in and of itself—but the reading doesn’t stop there.

Jesus goes on to talk to these fully absolved, fully forgiven friends of his. Most specifically, he turns to Peter, the “Rock”, and asks him: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

Peter of course answers that he does—but Jesus asks him three times, just in case Peter had forgotten that he’d betrayed Jesus three times. Each time Peter says “yes”, Jesus tells him to care for his sheep—and finally he says, “follow me.”

There is a whole lot in this passage that we could spend a ton of time on—and if I ever do, I’ll warn you all to bring a snack. We could even probably spend the better part of the day just talking about the significance of Christ’s ruthless grace that seems to redeem us, and leave us with the weighty decision to accept it or continue to punish ourselves…

And while that grace is part of this, what I’d like to talk about is how we respond to such an overwhelming gift as grace. What is the proper response to being given the unbearable gift of complete forgiveness as the Church—a group of people living in this age after Christ’s resurrection?

To begin with, I’d like to look again briefly at this subject of grace. Often when I talk about grace, I try to pair it with words like brutal and ruthless—something I learned from the wonderful writer Brennan Manning, who passed away just a couple of days ago. The reason for this is because we often get the idea that grace isn’t costly—there’s this misunderstanding that grace means we get off scot-free, and never have to deal with our wrongdoings. But this isn’t grace.

 Because even though grace is a gift that we can never hope to fully understand, it is all the same a gift that leaves us powerless to help ourselves. Grace is always the best response to our failings because it means we have to see ourselves as we really are. We have to recognize within ourselves where our actions have harmed others, broken relationships, or even damaged another’s faith…

That’s difficult; and that is why real grace is anything but cheap. It’s also why we have such a hard time receiving grace when it’s given to us. So, this is why I say that it is ruthless and brutal, all the while understanding it’s such an amazing gift, as well.   

Now the way in which we respond to this grace is really the difficult part. Some of us might realize what we’ve been given in Christ’s forgiveness, and feel so utterly terrible about ourselves that we never enjoy the gift—and certainly not the giver.

Others of us might receive the gift of grace in the same way we might an inoculation, or a flu vaccination. We know we need it, and once we’ve gotten it injected; we’re good to go for a while. We’re glad we have it, but other than making sure it’s up-to-date, it otherwise never really effects our lives.

But for those who really get it—like really get it; grace can be such a powerful experience of freedom that they cannot help but be changed completely. And for these people grace leaves them wondering always what is next in this relationship with God. More importantly, when this zeal is tempered, those who truly experience grace find themselves asking what is being asked of them in this relationship with God.

If we were to take our Gospel reading today as a schema for this continuum of experiencing grace and responding to it; we could look to the conversation between Jesus and Peter as a guide.

Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me?” and each time, Peter responds “yes,” and “yes,” and “yes” again for each time that Jesus asks him. But for every affirmation of his love for Jesus, Peter is asked by Jesus to “feed his lambs”, “tend his sheep” and “feed his sheep.”

In other words, Jesus calls Peter, who he knows loves him, to a much deeper service of caring for his little group of faithful ones—this group who would one day become the Church.

We have to wonder, if Jesus is the Good Shepherd, why he would ask Peter to tend the sheep. Perhaps it’s because not even Jesus could do the work of the Church on his own.

What is perhaps a little overwhelming, though is that this story is so very applicable to believers today. When we talk about faith in Christ, we talk about relationship. When we talk about our Baptismal Covenant, we talk about service to the world in the name of God. And when we talk about the Church, we talk about people who make up the living Body of Christ: the Hands and Feet of Jesus in the world.

Just in these three areas, we can hear the echo of Jesus’ words to Peter: If you love me, feed my lambs; if you love me, tend my sheep; if you love me feed my sheep. He says, “follow me.”

“Follow me.” A difficult command in light of an even more difficult grace, but it’s by this grace that we’re offered loving relationship in Christ and in the Church. And it’s because of this grace that we should be compelled to be engaged in the life of the Church.

 While Jesus comes to find us to offer us this grace, he doesn’t “do” grace to us. In the same way, God doesn’t “do Church for us”—again, because our response to grace is response to a relationship; and relationships require responsibility: the responsibility is to show-up. Because if we don’t show up, the sheep aren’t tended, and if the sheep aren’t tended, then we are no longer vital or necessary…things that the Church must be, or continue to face steady decline.

The point of all of this, I suppose, is much more easily stated than it is perhaps implemented. But what we’re called to as the Church is engagement beyond just having Church done to us… What we’re called to in our Baptismal Covenant—what we promised—is that we will actively find our place and take part in the life of the Church. We even promise to help others to do the same thing.

We affirm in our worship that we are here because we’ve been called to the resurrected life in Christ, and celebrate our redemption. But then, (the most important part of the service): we go into the world to love and serve the Lord.

The question that we’re faced with then, if we’re as honest with ourselves as grace demands, is whether or not we’re showing up. Are we tending the sheep by finding our place in the life and ministry of the Church? And if we aren’t, what does it mean to love Christ and follow him?

What does it mean to have ideas for ministry and have no one to help with them? What do we communicate when we talk about desire for fellowship events and no one shows up to them? How do we expect formation and educational opportunities to happen or continue as long as only a few people are participating? How are we tending the sheep, and if we’re not, what is the necessity of the Church?

These are just a few questions that require a lot of soul-searching for each of us, I think. Especially since it is a question for each one of us to answer for ourselves.

Jesus says to those of us who love him: tend my sheep. “Follow me.” Two simple, but devastating commands to the Church…

They’re difficult things to wrestle with, I know, but believe me when I say the message is being delivered by someone who is still trying to deal with the meaning of this ruthless grace in his own life…and definitely trying his best to tend the sheep and follow Jesus whom we all love. 

Easter 2 2013

Easter 2, 2013

On Wednesday mornings at our weekday Eucharist service, we normally use the daily Eucharistic Lectionary readings, and then read from a book of meditations written by Sam Portaro (a retired Episcopal priest in this diocese, I might add).

After reading the meditation, we then usually have some informal discussion about the readings and the meditation.

On Wednesday of Holy Week, we read first the Gospel passage about Judas leaving the group to set into motion his betrayal of Jesus—obviously one of those moments immortalized in infamy.

However, Sam Portaro turns this story, and our own understanding of it right on its head. He does this in his meditation by expressing the amazing faith that Judas must have had in Jesus to be able to go out and do something as difficult as betray him.

Now, it stands to reason that because Judas gets such a bad rap in the Gospels that he must have been a pretty rotten guy. We know that he was in charge of the common purse—and we know that when the woman shows up to anoint Jesus’ feet with oil; Judas questions whether this was the best use of such an expensive oil. And we have a few other examples that seem to implicate the man as the villain that history has affirmed him as… But in the same way, there are other things that say something quite different about Judas.

First off, Judas was one of Jesus’ chosen disciples. And as one who seemed to know the hearts of his followers, Jesus could have easily passed over a man that had dark intentions well before any of the events of Maundy Thursday came about…but he didn’t. He chose Judas.

Jesus chose Judas, who was known to be part of a political group known as the Zealots. A group of Jewish people who worked through any means necessary to try to overthrow Roman control of their country. Some might consider them a group of freedom fighters, others more likely would see them as extremists, or even terrorists. But one thing was certain, Jesus saw Judas as someone worthy to be his disciple.

Secondly, as Sam Portaro points out, Jesus asked Judas to keep the common purse—he made him the group’s treasurer. However, one might wonder why this job was reserved for Judas when they had Matthew among their number—a man who would have been well acquainted with money.

However, given the reputation of tax collectors in this era, perhaps it was because Matthew had been a tax collector himself that he was passed over; and perhaps Judas was the more trustworthy.

Third, while we’re told that the disciple who Jesus loved was seated at his right; we understand that Judas was at Jesus’ left hand—a position of equal honor. And while I’m sure any of us could appreciate irony—I don’t believe this was a case of literary irony.

Instead, like Sam Portaro, I would posit that Judas was a man of immense faith in Jesus. I would even say that his faith was such that he believed that Jesus was the very one who would come to overthrow Rome and restore Jerusalem. In fact, I would guess that Judas believed that all Jesus needed was just the right kind of push—and he would rise up with his heavenly armies to crush Rome.

I think he believed this, and I think he believed in Jesus very deeply—he just sadly had the wrong idea…

I bring this whole thing about Judas up, because today’s Gospel reading is one that is most certainly about faith, a very real and human faith. Today we hear about Thomas the Twin (often remembered idiomatically as Doubting Thomas), and how in spite of repeated attempts by his friends to convince him, he refuses to believe the news of the risen Jesus.

Of course, we know that the story ends with Jesus inviting Thomas to touch his wounds; and Thomas kneeling and responding: “My Lord and my God…” a powerful admission of faith.

At first blush, if we were only to read this story of Thomas, we might assume that he’s a hard-headed type. We could gather from his oath to ‘not believe until he’s touched the wounds’ that Thomas is a hard-nosed rationalist, and not a half bad existentialist to boot.

 But just as we can’t judge Judas on just a few passages, we can’t sum-up Thomas’ personality simply by reading this story only.

After all, earlier on in John’s Gospel, after Jesus announces that they will go to Judea, and his disciples warn him that the Jews will be waiting to kill him there; it’s Thomas who says to the group: ”Let us also go, that we may die with him…”

And, of course, even when invited to touch the wounds, there is no evidence in the text that he actually had to do so to finally believe.

So, once again we begin to see how complex these well-known characters really are… They’re far from perfect. But isn’t it wonderful to know that they were called faithful in their own way? It somehow validates the bumpiness of the faith journey when we see someone like Thomas, a man who was ready to die with Jesus early on, doubting. Whether it was the weight of grief that he felt—or the fear surrounding the whole event; whatever the case we can no doubt account it as wonderfully human.  

In the afterglow of Easter, then it should be no surprise that this should be the Gospel reading the Sunday following. After all, having gone through the long, dry season of Lent (which we’re really good at, by the way), and entering into this time of such wonderful mystery; we might find ourselves wondering just how realistic and true all of this stuff is…

 And even if it’s not in this particular season, we probably know very intimately those times when our faith was tested, and it just seems absolutely impossible to believe anymore.  We have to remember that Jesus’ response to Thomas wasn’t one of rebuke—it was one of invitation. Jesus invites Thomas to experience and remember that this resurrected body that he had heard about and saw in that moment was hard won; because it came only after Jesus’ suffering.

We also have to remember that while faith is a wonderful gift, it isn’t always easy to hold on to—so we shouldn’t be ashamed when we find ourselves having a hard time. Instead, I think we should take our cues from those stalwarts of faith, the disciples. Those faithful people who ran when Jesus was arrested; that one who was called the “Rock” who crumbled and denied Jesus; those intimate friends who didn’t recognize Jesus after his resurrection. Because what we find in these heroes of the faith are tragically real people who live into their faith like bulls walk into a china shop: there is no pretense or affectation—rather faith for them was something that they crashed into regularly with ruthless abandon. And they were able to do this only because they were just as honest with their doubt as they were their faith.  

Obviously there is a lesson here for us: namely that we have to understand that our faith is never destroyed in doubt, but is instead made stronger, and becomes ever more rooted when it is lived into honestly. Just like Thomas, and every other saint on whose shoulders we stand.

Easter 7 2012

Easter 7 2012

I don’t know if any of you had the chance to celebrate it or not, but last Thursday was the Feast of the Ascension—sort of a big day for the Church. Unfortunately, it’s on a Thursday, so it limits some of the ways that we can celebrate it.

The Ascension, of course, was when Jesus, 40 days after his resurrection ascended into heaven to return to the Father. This then makes way for the Feast of Pentecost, which we celebrate next Sunday. And, while there are some churches who will probably celebrate the Feast of the Ascension today…I guess we didn’t because I’m a jerk.

All the same, even though we’re not celebrating the Feast of the Ascension today—our readings still reflect this sense that Jesus will not be around in a physical way for much longer.

Now, chronologically in the Gospel reading, this section happens before the crucifixion. However, the drafters of the Lectionary (in their infinite wisdom) rightly assigned this reading for us as we near the end of the Easter Season.

 Well, with all of that background taken care of—when we look at today’s reading we know that it is a prayer on behalf of not only the disciples that Jesus will eventually leave in a bodily sense; but the prayer even includes everyone who will believe because of their witness…Effectively, that includes us.

In this prayer, Jesus gives thanks for these disciples who had become friends. He is grateful that God had given them to him, and says that he protected them, but now—as he prepares to leave them—he gives them back to the care and safekeeping of God…

In its context, this prayer (which is known as the High Priestly prayer), was offered before Jesus gave himself over to be arrested and eventually executed. And even though in John’s Gospel, Jesus seems to know everything that’s about to happen—we can see in this prayer that there is still fear for what will happen to his disciples. For all that he can foresee, he can’t imagine what their fates will be… So he prays for them, and hopes for them, and entrusts them (and us included) to the care of God. It’s one more selfless act on the part of Jesus for his disciples.

 It’s also a prayer which demonstrates a deep love for his friends, and by extension, those of us who came to faith generations later because of these disciples. And for those of us who are implied in the prayer—it becomes a kind of timeless benediction for the whole Church.

However, from experience in life, we know what this prayer is not. Namely it’s not an inoculation from the harshness of the world. We still live in a broken world of mixed disparities, hunger, war and disease. We live lives with real danger and unavoidable tragedies.

The search committee has already heard this story, so I do apologize to them. But in my last job situation, I was working at two parishes. I was the part-time youth minister at (St. Paul’s Cleveland Hts.) the cardinal parish in the diocese, and clergy-in-charge at (St. Alban’s, Cleveland Hts.) a much smaller parish only about a mile away.

The way that we worked out the Sunday arrangement was that I would alternate Sundays between churches—and both knew if I wasn’t at one, I was at the other.

Well, one Sunday, when I was at St. Paul’s (the bigger church), I received a call on my cell phone. Don’t worry, it was on silent. I was still a transitional deacon at the time, so I didn’t have too many duties that day (in fact there were two other deacons besides me).

 The odd thing about the call was that it was from my treasurer from the other church—someone who knew that I was at St. Paul’s, and was familiar with their worship schedule. This was my first clue that something was wrong. However, I decided to ignore it. Before long, he called again. It was at that point when I let another deacon know that I had an emergency call, and excused myself.

I went out into one of the hallways, and saw that this treasurer had called a total of 4 times, and had left a message. At first I tried to dial him, but got a busy signal—the message was panicked—and when I finally got in touch with him; he told that his son-in-law had committed suicide. He was the one who had found him…

I took a very deep breath and asked him if he needed me to come to him, and he said no that the police were called and were on their way. He explained that his daughter had fought with her husband and had come to her parents house and stayed the night. He had gone over the next morning to try to talk to the husband and found him dead.

 He said there wasn’t much that I could do where he was at, but what he did need me to do was go and tell his daughter that her husband had killed himself.

As I was driving to this parishioner’s house; I wish I could say that my prayer was one for the repose of this young man’s soul—for peace and comfort for his now widowed wife, or his family… I wish I could say that my prayer wasn’t a string of expletives followed by the words: “You’re gonna have to help with this…because I can’t handle this on my own.”

The short end of the story is that I made it through telling this man’s daughter about her husband, and it was hard. It might have been one one of the hardest moments in my ministry so far. In fact, I ended up having to go and tell the guy’s mother that he had committed suicide, as well, because no one could bring themselves to do it.

 But the point of the story is that, there are times in life that we just have to wonder what that prayer that Jesus prayed for all of us really means. We may wonder where all of this care is when we wait with a loved one for bad news at the doctor’s office. We might question the meaning of such a prayer when all of our financial security has dropped out, and we’re wondering what we’re going to do to survive…

I wish I could tell you that everything got easier the more I worked with this family. But it didn’t really.

The really odd thing about all of it, however was that throughout all of it, I can at least say that I never felt alone. There was even a little peace about all of it—even if it was just a whisper.

 That’s not to say that I’ve never felt alone—but in that really tough place that I found myself, I was still somehow reminded that in my confusion—Jesus was somehow there with me and praying that I wouldn’t screw things up.

Jesus was somehow with this family, mourning their loss, and praying for comfort and peace. Jesus was watching and weeping with this young widow—Jesus was even somehow with her husband even though he couldn’t see or remember that fact. Perhaps if he did, it might have saved his life…who knows?

 I suppose what we’re left with then, with this High Priestly prayer of Jesus is not so much the promise that everything will be alright every time.

In fact, it’s a prayer that’s pretty honest when we think about it. If anything, what the prayer holds up to God is the reality that things would be tough—even scary and unknowable at times.

But there remains this promise that we’ll not ever be alone in our troubles—that this prayer is the prayer of our Great High Priest who continues to pray for us, and give himself for us no matter what. So that we would somehow be in him as he is in the Father, and therefore never be alone to face all that we experience in our lives.

What’s more is that we have this promise from the one who can make all things that may die or pass away into resurrection.