March 27, 2016, Easter Sunday

My wife, Amy is in a new church in Fairfield. This week, their staff has been busy with Holy Week preparations. Their musician is famously messy and the office administrator went into his office to drop off some papers. She gasped and said, “Come quick! Look at this!” Amy and the bookkeeper – three women – one named Mary – looked into the office, and it was spotless. Everything had been put away. There was nothing on the desk. Mary said, “Oh no! He’s left us for a new job!” Just then, the musician came by and said, “No. I just got sick of the mess and I had to clean it up.”

The resurrection is a story about surprise. It’s not what we expected! It’s a story about our first instinct – to wonder what must have happened to explain it. Then there is the good news. It’s not something bad. It’s something good – unbelievably good. It’s not a mistake and we are seeing the truth. God has actually done something about the mess we had gotten used to.

The Easter story begins with an empty grave. Mary and the other women try to complete the burial ritual. They are full of fear. They are afraid to be caught by the authorities. They are afraid to revisit their pain. They see the empty tomb and they are afraid of what might have happened. Is this some sort of vandalism – some last indignity? Something else must have gone wrong.

“Why are you looking for the living among the dead?” There’s nothing in the tomb. It’s empty. One half of the story is how we keep looking for something when there is nothing there. Jesus is not there. Death is not there. All of the inevitable outcomes of power and dominance over the weak and the poor – those expected endings are no longer there. Jesus has mocked death and evil. He has prevailed over all of the plans of the devil and all the maneuverings of the power elite. The tomb can no longer hold him.

This is only half of the story. The other half is what is new. Just as Jesus empties himself for our sake, he also is lifted up and glorified for our sake. The ways of the world we have come to expect have been emptied of meaning. A new creation takes its place. Now, instead of dominance and brutality, we have love and mercy. Jesus has replaced the law of the jungle with the law of love. The new creation has its own consequences.

The new hope Jesus gives us also gives us courage. Jesus gives courage to a group of powerless women. They are the first to proclaim the good news of salvation. Of course, the disciples aren’t able to believe their word – old habits die hard. Peter, and the other disciples see the empty burial chamber for themselves and begin to wonder.

They too will find new courage. A group of fishermen and laborers will become preachers and apostles. They will wander the Roman Empire with a radical message that undermines everything the world takes for granted. They will challenge the power of Caesar and transform their world.

First, there is a need to empty their own minds of their stubborn expectations. Death is not the end. The power of the state and the power of fear are not the last word. Jesus didn’t offer only nice words. He really does conquer death. He really does offer new life.

Then there is a need to be filled. The disciples have to cast out fear and be filled with faith. They will have to learn to step outside of their locked room into the wider world of God’s new creation. They will have to set aside their own plans and be open to God’s purpose. They will have to set aside their own strength and their own cleverness and rely on the good news of God’s love.

This challenge is ours as well. We must walk away from the empty tomb. There is nothing there for us any more. We are used to being on edge with all the reports of doom that surround us. The anxieties of this life are mesmerizing. Instead, we must listen for God’s last word. Death is not the end. Evil will not triumph. God will give us everything we need to live resurrected lives.

We are challenged to seek the living. We are challenged to seek the living Jesus, the risen Jesus. He isn’t where the powers of this world say that he is. He isn’t an idea stuck within the pages of an old history book. He isn’t a myth found in ancient bible stories. Jesus is alive. He lives in the hearts of everyone who believes (even those who struggle to believe.) He lives in the life of this community. We proclaim Christ by our words and by our acts of love.

Jesus was tired of the mess, so he cleaned it up. The world still seems to be mess. Now we’ve been shown what God will make of it. We’re part of the clean-up crew. We share love instead of hate, life instead of death, joy instead of fear.

March 25, 2016, Good Friday

We are accustomed to avoiding death. We speak of death in whispers. We have a sanitized experience of death in our hospitals and in our funerals. We try to surround the topic of death with euphemisms, so that it has no meaning for us. We speak of passing away to a better place when we have no desire to think about it and we hope that day for us is as far away as possible.

Even our theology can be a way of avoiding the truth for us. We speak of Jesus conquering death, and putting our sin to death – all very objective and theoretical.  We think about angels and clouds and pearly gates. We think about far away hopes and worry about far away judgments. We hope God loves us and we trust that it will all work out.

I suppose we look for a good death. We also look for meaning – and we rarely find it. Death is a waste. It is final. There is no benefit or reward. The best the living can do is to move on and put the pieces of life back together into something that resembles a new normal.

Every once in a while, something happens to break apart our well-crafted illusions. Sickness comes home when we hear a difficult diagnosis. We lose a job or we don’t get into our favorite school or an important relationship breaks down. Someone close to us dies and we have to readjust our lives. I think this is why we feel so deeply when there is a terror attack in a western city. The people who are injured look like us. The buildings that are devastated look like neighborhoods we recognize. Death comes near and we cannot pretend otherwise.

The gentle words of our theology seem insufficient to protect us. We are afraid. We have lost the certainty that everything will be OK because it looks as if nothing will ever be the same again. The passion of Jesus does not reassure us. Jesus is tortured and betrayed. His disciples and his friends are scattered and devastated. His enemies are indifferent as they return to their lives of dominance and cruelty. Jesus gives in to death. A few onlookers marvel at his courage and his humanity.

Jesus doesn’t offer us a moral fable. He doesn’t explain the theology behind his actions, or give us slogans to comfort us. Jesus bears a cross. He lets himself be whipped. He watches his friends desert him. He feels the pain, the loneliness, the last breath, and he dies. There is no metaphor or symbol. There is real death – the death that we will all experience – whether or not we are ready.

We have many possible responses. We can be horrified. We can be grateful. We can choose to set it aside for a more palatable moment. Somehow this day of loss and sorrow is a day of blessing. Somehow this shows us the depth of God’s love. Perhaps we can only know how much something means to us when we have lost it. Is this how much we love God? Is this how much we love life?

The good part of Good Friday is in how we share in what Jesus is doing and in what is done to him. We are the mockers and the torturers. We are the fearful and the betrayers. We are the murderers and the soldiers taking orders. We are also the mourners. We are the friends and the mothers. We are the guilty and we are the victims. Jesus is dying for each of us. We are dying with him.

We are participating in something that is really happening all the time. We can no longer hide from death. We can no longer avoid our responsibility. We also know that Jesus is right beside us. He has walked this path. He shows us that the way beyond is by walking through – then what we will find at the other end is real as well.

March 24, 2016, Maundy Thursday

We have a cabinet in our dining room filled with old dishes and glasses that we have collected from friends and family over the years. Some of the dishes we only use for special occasions. Some of it we never use – family heirlooms we keep for sentimental reasons. Once in a great while we bring out some odd thing: a gravy boat or a vase. Our children and our friends have no idea what it means to us to have it on our table. They may appreciate the decoration while we see old friends joining us at the table again.

I suspect some of this is going on for us tonight. There are many familiar parts to the story. We remember how Jesus begins to teach us about communion. This bread is his body. This cup is his blood. We anticipate the rest of the story. He will go out to begin his work of sacrifice and salvation. Then Jesus brings out something strange that is not familiar. He gets a towel and some water and he washes feet.

This is an act of hospitality. It was common in his culture to wash the feet of guests. It was a humble act, performed by the lowest servant. The washing is not strange to the disciples, it is the most common act of welcome. The surprise is that Jesus does the washing himself.

We are put off by this strange custom. It is a little too intimate. It is odd. Once in a while my children take out my cast iron pan for making Swedish pancakes and they wonder what it is and why anyone would save it. I don’t make the pancakes, but I remember my grandparents and my father making pancakes on Christmas morning. In the same way, we have a bin marked “foot-washing stuff” that we take out of storage every year. We have lost the memory of the custom tied to the practice. We repeat the strange ritual to remind us of something greater.

Jesus will go on to offer himself for our salvation. Tonight we remember an act of love. He takes on the role of servant. He serves the disciples (and us) and tells them, “Love one another as I have loves you.” A simple request and a profound request. We wonder if we can possibly love as deeply or as perfectly as our savior. Then Jesus shows us how. Wash feet. Show love. Continue simple acts of hospitality and kindness. Share food. Keep company along the way. Listen. Embrace.

We do well to see the presence of Christ in the bread and wine. Jesus reminds us to see his presence in this body as well. We are Christ to the world. We are Christ to each other.

The strange custom of foot washing may be difficult for us. Love often requires that we extend ourselves to try or say something difficult or awkward. We must risk foolishness and failure to find deep connection. Our self-image and our pride are not important. Our love is important. The love we share is our witness.

March 20, 2016, Palm Sunday

We begin this day with a parade. We gather strange branches and sing a song reserved for the occasion. (Sometimes we even walk around outside!) We are remembering ancient customs of praise. We are acting out Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. We are also re-enacting a cycle of pilgrimage and hope. For centuries, devout believers followed a similar path as they entered into Jerusalem for a solemn festival. We are all looking forward to praising our true king. Our ancestors were looking for a new David. We are celebrating our Lord Jesus Christ. We are all looking for a better way and better times.

Somehow, it doesn’t turn out as we hoped. This story is our story. We recognize ourselves in all the hope and anger and fear and despair. We begin the day rejoicing for God’s unexpected blessing. We finish by seeing all our hope destroyed by our fear.

We take on roles in the narrative. We are the disciples – the false and the frightened. We are responsible for the corrupt and self-serving political establishment. We are the smug, self-righteous, religious elite, who are content to be right even if everyone else is lost. We are the ugly mob, satisfied with brutal punishment – if we can’t get what we need, at least someone else is worse off than we are.

In the end we share the same shock. We can’t believe it has come to this. “How did we let this happen?” we ask, even as we know that it happens all the time. We are guilty of murder – out of fear, or selfishness, or convenience. The difference this time is that we know that we have killed our best hope.

This horrible truth is necessary for us to move on. Jesus’ sacrifice means nothing if we blame it on ancient superstitious people, or if we blame it on one race or one religion. We can only be saved through participation. We must be guilty of the whole thing. Jesus confronts us at our worst. He takes on all our sin. He bears every terrible deed and insult.

But this is not enough. It is well that we consider all our failures and betrayals. It is a good discipline for us to consider what we have done and how we need to repent. God will use our regret and our desire for a different life. However, it’s not enough for us to feel bad and live differently.

Jesus shows us the way. The way of the cross is the way of life. We are called not only to consider how we have wounded God; we are called to participate in death and resurrection. We are called to follow Jesus and take up our own cross.

Of course, this is impossible for us. We cannot bear the cross – and this is why we need Jesus to do it for us. Yet we are able to follow if we do not rely on our own strength and our own wisdom. Jesus shows us the way of humility. He shows us the way of self-emptying. Paul writes a great hymn to Jesus in his letter to the Philippians. We are to have the same mind as Jesus.

who, though he was in the form of God,
   did not regard equality with God
   as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
   taking the form of a slave,
   being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
   he humbled himself
   and became obedient to the point of death—
   even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted him
   and gave him the name
   that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
   every knee should bend,
   in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess
   that Jesus Christ is Lord,
   to the glory of God the Father.

We are still far from any place of glorification. Jesus has shown us the way of life that walks through death. As we set aside everything we have that makes us think ourselves worthy, we come closer to the place where God transforms us.

The only person who hears a word of hope is the thief on the cross. He alone admits his sin and asks for mercy. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” However this thought came to him, through pain or his last breath, Jesus honors his faith. The thief who repents at the last minute is the one who gets the reward.

We mark this day not merely to feel bad for our sins. God always has time to hear our confession. We mark this day to remind ourselves of all the illusions we are capable of believing in – and how all those illusions fail us. We mark this day also to remember the true path of life – and how we are called to take it.

March 13, 2016

Fifth Sunday in Lent - Mary anoints Jesus

It has been a very warm week. I almost don’t want to think about how much winter we should have. I feel as if I talk about winter, all this good weather will be taken away. I ran out to my mailbox and got the mail yesterday afternoon. I was delighted that there were no bills! Actually, there was a bill, but it was much less than I thought it would be. Again, I am quick to equivocate. I am a little hesitant to believe the good news. I can’t really be that good, can it?

When we allow ourselves to be open to God’s good news, we are often overwhelmed. God gives to us so generously, so completely – we don’t know what to do with ourselves. We are quick to remember loss, or our fear of loss. We think of everything that could go wrong. We hold a baby and think about how hard it will be to raise them right. We get a new job and wonder if we will be up to the challenge. We find a new friend, or begin a new relationship – what if they find out what we are really like? It can’t be as good as it seems, can it?

We have moments in our lives when we glimpse God’s generosity. We are speechless. New parents often feel this way. They plan for a child and anticipate parenthood – then they hold their newborn child for the first time. They marvel, “What is this new life? How could I be so lucky?”

I think this may have been something that motivated Mary to offer her extraordinary gift. We have to get beyond the strangeness of it. We are hearing a part of a story, dropped into our own context. Jesus had just raised Lazarus from the dead. Jesus had comforted Mary at the tomb. There was talk about danger and about how Jesus (and a very live Lazarus) challenged the status quo – and about how the leaders were plotting to do something about it.

Mary is grateful. She wants to thank Jesus. She wants to show her love for Jesus. She finds a very expensive jar of perfume and she anoints his feet and dries his feet with her hair. The house is filled with fragrance.

This makes everyone uncomfortable. It’s too much. It’s awkward. Are we being encouraged to think up similar expressions of love? Where do we start? What could we do? Judas speaks for us (also uncomfortable!). Shouldn’t we be giving this expensive gift to the poor?

Like Judas, we are not so concerned with the poor that we have to argue about better uses of funds. We also know that this story has often been used to ornament our buildings while ignoring the poor. So we should keep the needs of our neighbors in mind – but this story isn’t about that. We are being invited to think about what Jesus gives to us and about what we give in return.

It is six days before the Passover. Jesus will die the day before Passover and he will rise the day after. The great offering for our salvation is being set in motion. Mary has no idea what Jesus will do for her – she is only responding to what he has already done. Perhaps we don’t really grasp all that Jesus has done for us. Perhaps that is why we shrink from her generosity.

God is always giving to us generously. We don’t always see it. We might even object and point to all the ways that we feel lack or loss. Yet even in our difficulties, God is always seeking our best. God is always inviting us into a new creation. God is always offering us a new beginning.

Many of us have been working through the workbook from the Society of Saint John the Evangelist called, “Growing a Rule of Life.” The deeper we go, the more ways that we discover how much we have to do. We have been invited to plant a garden – perhaps a place where we can meet God. The work is not to be exceptional. The work is to create something that lives, something that nourishes us.

The garden can be a place of peace and joy, and it takes a lot of work. There is a cycle of death and life. The old plants nourish the soil that sustains new life. Old plantings must be pulled down to make space for new ones. We have to set aside old ways to make room for new possibilities.

We grieve what we lose even as we plan with hope. There is no guarantee that what we plant will prosper. Faith is about living with hope in the promises of God – not in trusting the certainty of our own plans. So we plant our seeds and trust in God’s goodness. Some of our work produces a glorious result – some is unproductive. We rejoice in the power of God to produce new life in us, no matter how well we succeed.

This is our joy. God works in us no matter how much we prosper. God renews us no matter what we think we deserve. Whatever God works in us, it is right that we turn back to God and offer ourselves in gratitude. We can step outside of the expectations of our world and praise our God who loves us always.

March 6, 2016

The parable of the prodigal son

We can imagine how we will journey through life. We have great hopes. We plan to accomplish great things. We look forward to new ways of coming together as God's people. Then reality sets in. The difficult barrier is often not very far away. Our greatest obstacles to overcome are the people near to us. Another way to say this is that our greatest test is often in our own families.

Who remembers what it is like to grow up with brothers or sisters? We love them. They test us. They will never let us get away with anything. This is probably good for us. We can put on a practiced false face with everyone around us. Our close family keeps us honest. We might get caught up in our own success (or our failures). Our family won't let us stay too long in the clouds or in the mud. They will love us when we need it and take us down when we think too much of ourselves. Sometimes the test isn't for our ego. We have to live close to people who we didn't choose - who know how to get under our skin.

This is not our first reaction to the parable of the prodigal son. We love to remember how much he is loved. The father accepts him no matter what he has done. We want to remember how God loves us the same way. This is not why we are told this parable. The religious authorities saw who Jesus was welcoming. They were scandalized that he would socialize with tax collectors and sinners. (The fact that tax collectors were mentioned separately from sinners shows that they thought of them as even more sinful!) They were grumbling, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them!"

The parable is all about God's outrageous generosity. We know this and we are grateful to know it. The parable continues. What about the elder son? He cannot accept his younger brother. He sees him as wasteful and lazy. He sees him as someone who has disrespected his father. He is a little resentful that the younger son seems to be rewarded, while he has gotten no reward for hard work and loyalty. Can you see his point?

If we have ever had a family member who has spent too much money, or gone off and lost himself in wasteful living, how would we feel about welcoming them back? If someone is only lazy and selfish, we might acknowledge him or her but keep them at arms length. If they become addicts or worse, we might feel justified in throwing them out for good. In situations of abuse, that might be the only response.

Yet the father welcomes him back. We know this is how God loves. How can we love the same way? Suddenly, this parable isn't about how much we are loved. Jesus is challenging us to ask, "How much will we love?"

God does not call us merely to experience abundant blessing. God calls us and God sends us. God asks that we give what we have received. God asks that we take our good news into the world and give it away. We are saved in order to be messengers of salvation. We are loved and invited to show love.

It is not enough to marvel at God's miracles. Perhaps the greater miracle is that we are commissioned to join in the work of God. We are like the ancient Israelites. We have entered the Promised Land - so no more manna! Everything we need is all around us, so it's up to us to go get it. We're not conquering Canaan - our mission is to bless and not destroy. We who have been reconciled with God are now ambassadors of reconciliation. We have been forgiven so we have the power to forgive.

If we have trouble forgiving our near brother - perhaps it is an insight into where we need to continue to be reconciled. Consider the older brother. He will probably inherit the larger portion of his father's estate - for he will be responsible to care for his parents in his old age. Maybe the younger brother was a favorite, maybe even a little spoiled. How much has the older brother always resented the younger? Maybe the younger brother went away to get out from under the control of the older. Maybe he was merely foolish and not a party animal. Maybe his older brother had always judged him. We all know that there is more to the story of a family than what we see on the outside.

There's more to our story too. We may rejoice at the generous love of the father. We may understand the reluctance of the older brother. I suspect that each one of us has a sort of younger brother in our lives - perhaps not a biological sibling, but a person in our lives who seems to take and take. Maybe this is where our society looks down on the undeserving poor, or illegal immigrants - anyone who seems to need without earning a reward.

This is the meaning of the parable. Of course God loves. Do we love the same way? When we find that we can't, what is our justification. We might appeal to economic or moral reasons. We may have excellent justification. The story is about love. Can we find the justification to begin there? Despite all our good excuses, what keeps us from rejoicing at God’s outrageous love?