The 6th Sunday of Easter - Hope In the Midst of Difficult Times

“Always be ready to speak about the hope that is within you,” the professor of preaching paraphrased chapter 3, verse 15, of the first letter of Peter.  Peter wrote to those who were facing or might be facing persecution for their faith and be called to defend themselves.  What exactly was their hope?  What is ours?

John's gospel offers these words from Jesus to his disciples about that hope:  “If you love me (in Greek agape or self-giving love), you will keep my commandments.  And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever . . . I will not leave you orphaned, I am coming to you.”

Father Justin Monaghan of St. Mary's Roman Catholic Church was at home in the rectory last Sunday on a sunny afternoon in Joplin, Missouri.  As we all know, that sunny afternoon became stormy very quickly, and the storm spawned a deadly tornado that struck the center of Joplin.  One of the iconic pictures of that destruction showed St. Mary's tall metal cross still standing amidst the twisted wreckage of the church and the rectory.  His parishioners rescued Fr. Monaghan, uninjured, from beneath the rubble.

He related the story of his survival to a reporter.  He said that when he knew the tornado was imminent—the warning sirens had gone off—he went to the recommended spot of safety in the rectory, the bathtub.  He told the reporter that as his home was being torn apart around him, he, expecting death, prayed:  “Jesus you know I love you and always have.”  Whether he died or whether he survived, Fr. Monaghan's hope rested in his loving relationship with God and, I imagine, with his parishioners as well.

Natural disasters are one thing.  War is quite another.  Human beings' choices lead to the horrors of war.  Yet on this Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, we remember the sacrifices made by those sent to fight who did not return.  We also think about those who were sent and now have returned.  What is their hope?  They have lived through those horrors and must now re-adjust.  And we should not forget those whose countries and lives continue to be torn apart by the violence of war.

How can we understand Jesus' command to love God and love our neighbors in the midst of war?  What does it mean to hope for God's presence in the midst of the horror?

The testimony of Fr. Bob Blessing, a military chaplain and an Episcopal priest, may help us understand.  He described war's defining moments for him in an interview with Episcopal News Service reporter.  I want to share parts of that interview with you as we explore how his reflections might help answer the questions about our hope for God’s presence.

Fr. Blessing emphasized that  "Relationships count . . . ”   As he prepared to observe the upcoming Memorial Day holiday, he said "I'm really dealing with life and resurrection. Remembering all the lives and how they served, to me, is crucial," he said.

He said he will remember his former battalion commander who died when his vehicle hit a land mine: "He was a good brother in Christ. I should have been there with him, but I was taking care of another situation. You just deal with those things as they come through, but it doesn't make it any easier."

  He will remember an Iraqi translator: "Her name was Sarah, like my daughter. She was killed when a bomb went through her face, literally, and blew her apart. She kept our guys alive and gave the ultimate sacrifice, trying to keep peace for her people."

He said he'll also pause this Memorial Day to remember not only the dead but also the living, and their huge sacrifices.

He'll remember the Muslim imam "who helped us so much he had to flee Iraq. Thankfully, we got him out. He now lives in the Pacific Northwest. He is one of the wonderful brothers I love and cherish."

Fr. Blessing, as a chaplain, was a non-combatant who did not carry a weapon.  He held the hand of dying soldiers, assuring them of God's presence and love.  He ducked mortar fire, double-checked the contents of body bags and faced tough questions of faith — his own as well as those from others.  "The suffering, the hardship, the discipline challenge you in your capacity as you are called to be a pastor," he said. "The thing I grieve is the loss, the death that comes with being in a war."

Like many of those with whom he served, he has also experienced post-traumatic stress disorder.  "As much as I had prayed and sought God, as much as I had walked with God, as much as I had communicated with God, the violence still tweaks anybody who is susceptible to it.”

He feels blessed with both his family and his congregation in San Diego who have supported and stood by him. "Relationships are what count, not the size of your bank book, or your car, or the size of your church, or whatever it is one values. It's people. It's family.

"I knew that I was ready to meet Jesus, there's no question, but what became important was coming back for my family, my wife and kids, for my church, standing by them—that was the crucial thing. That was a gift of the violence."

I found his final words “the gift of the violence” challenging.  People can sound glib sometimes when they survive something terrible.  But they may also be showing us a deeper truth.  What will be our only true hope when we encounter the natural and the human-caused troubles, the violence, in our lives?

Our true hope will be found our relationships of self-giving love with God and with each other.  In love, we give ourselves to God to follow God’s will.  In love, we give ourselves to those who share our lives. Through these relationships, we can discover the strength of the Advocate whom Jesus promised to send us.  And in this strength we can discover the courage to act as Jesus taught us.

Jesus promised us: “I will not leave you orphaned, I am coming to you . . . because I live you also will live.  On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.”  Our hope in difficult times rests in the being in union with Christ—he in us and we in him.  Indeed, that is our sure and certain hope—in all circumstances.

The 5th Sunday of Easter - Characters for the Kingdom

We understand we are being given a compliment when someone tells us we have “character.”  On the other hand if a person says we are “a character,” we might feel slightly insulted—unless we are cultivating an eccentric or rebellious reputation.

USA Network—a cable channel—uses this tag line in its promotional ads:  “Characters welcome.”  It appears to be referring to both its programming and its audience.  In the first instance it's claiming to have the most fascinating characters populating its shows.  In the second, it may be welcoming its audience as uniquely special folks.

Our scripture readings contain characters who have character.  One might say they are not only uniquely special to Jesus, but also to the spread of the gospel message of salvation through Jesus Christ.  In fact, I think Jesus could have posted a sign with the same tag line as the USA Network.  So Jesus' sign would say: “In God's Reign or Kingdom—Characters welcome.”

Two of the characters we see in our scripture readings this morning are Thomas and Philip.  They appeared in the context of John's report of Jesus farewell words to his disciples after he had washed their feet and they had eaten together.  We often focus on Jesus' teaching as he makes one last attempt to explain himself to them:  “ I am the way, the truth and the life. . . The words that I speak to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. . . I will do whatever you ask in my name, so the Father may be glorified in the Son.”  These words of Jesus speak to his divine nature, yet Thomas and Philip did not understand.  They reacted to the Jesus they knew in the flesh.  Thomas asked how can they follow to the place he is going, since they do not know the place or the way.   Even after the explanation Thomas received, Philip still demanded “the Father” be revealed to them, despite the all the teaching he had heard as one of Jesus' close circle of disciples.

Yes, these are the characters Jesus welcomed—men who misunderstood and missed the point—but also men who were eager to know what Jesus meant by what he said and to know who Jesus truly is.  Can we relate to Thomas' and Philip's reactions and their questions?

Indeed I think we can, for we came here today—and I'm speaking for myself as well—to be present to God—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—Creator, Redeemer, and Comforter—because we don't fully understand either.  We struggle to know Jesus; in faith we offer our hearts to Christ—but we still struggle to understand.

Last week I had a response to my sermon that illustrates our struggle.  The person said that if Jesus showed up, there might be some disagreement between them.  I believe that Jesus welcomes honest questions that show our struggle to understand who he is and honest questions about what he asks of us as his followers.  We are characters in this drama of salvation, too.  We have come this morning with the faith we have—however strong or weak it may be at this moment.  We have shown up to allow ourselves to be part of God's building “a spiritual house” and a “holy priesthood.” 

We have come with all our rough edges as the “living stones” that Peter describes in the passage from his first letter we heard this morning.  Despite our being uniquely special and sometimes difficult characters, God through Jesus has welcomed us.  Paraphrasing the prophet Hosea, Peter told those who received his letter—and tells us:  “Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.”  Yes, the characters have been welcomed!

Why have we been welcomed?  Not for ourselves only, but to allow us to show others who God in Jesus is.  Peter wrote:  “You are . . . God's own people, in order that you might proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.”  You are a character who has been given God's light to share with others.

Perhaps the darkness is the cloud of our misunderstanding which obscures who God in Jesus really is. Perhaps the darkness is the fog that our sin creates when we reject the love of God and neighbor that Jesus taught.  Yet in Christ we are called out of our misunderstanding and our sin to a better way.  Not that we fully understand God in Christ, but we are welcomed—characters that we are—and loved.  We, like Thomas and Philip, are not rejected when we ask those questions we need to ask.  We, like Thomas and Philip, will be offered answers to our questions.  All that's need is our willingness to be present to our Savior in our prayers, in our worship and in our daily lives.

Stephen, whose death was recounted in the reading from the book of Acts, had become convinced that Jesus Christ was indeed “the way, the truth and the life.”  In 6^th chapter of the book of Acts Stephen is described as “full of grace and power” who had done “great wonders and signs among the people.”  At his trial by the religious authorities for blasphemy “his face was like the face of an angel.”  Despite the danger involved, he did not keep silent about his vision of who Jesus is:  “the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.”

Although we most likely will never be called to witness to who Jesus Christ is under such fraught circumstances, we will be called—characters that we are—to witness every day through our deeds of mercy and compassion, as well as through our words, to who Jesus really is.  We characters have been welcomed.  We must now welcome others into God's marvelous light!

The 3rd Sunday of Easter - Encountering Christ

Quite a few years ago a confirmation curriculum was published called, “Encountering Christ in the Episcopal Church.”  The title has always fascinated me.  I wondered whether would Christ want to hang out in our church.  But suppose he does—I believe he does—I then wonder: are we prepared to encounter him?

Our readings today, particularly the ones from the Acts of the Apostles and from John describe encounters that lead to a new or deeper relationship with the Holy One.  These encounters lead to revelation.  What we did not know, we have begun to understand.  What we have begun to understand makes a difference in our lives.  We can see that this encounter may occur in many different ways.

Let's turn to the description in Acts of Peter preaching with power to fellow Jews.  He preached as a Jew out of the tradition found in the Hebrew Scriptures of the long hoped for a Messiah.  Through his preaching, his listeners encountered the Messiah who had been crucified—something they had not expected.  But “cut to the heart” by this encounter, they came to know what they had not understood. Jesus of Nazareth, the crucified one, through the power of God, became Lord and Messiah.  The response of many that day was to repent and agree to be baptized.  Also, Peter promised the Holy Spirit would come to each person.

 Then from John's gospel we heard the story of Cleopas and an unnamed disciple encountering the resurrected Christ on the road to Emmaus.  Although they were aware of the crucifixion and the empty tomb, they did not understand and did not recognize Jesus.  He spoke of how Moses and all the prophets had spoken about the Messiah—and how all these scriptures applied to himself.  But for Cleopas and the other disciple, this wasn't enough for them to understand and recognize Jesus.  Yet through their generous offer to stay and have supper, Jesus found another way to reach them—as he had done earlier in his ministry—he took bread, blessed it, broke and gave it to Cleopas and the other disciple.

In this act their encounter became a moment of divine revelation.  And this revelation led to their witnessing to the risen Lord!

No one in these stories was “prepared” to encounter the risen Jesus and yet encounter and revelation happened anyway. You can see from these stories some early patterns of how the Christian community understood the process of encounter that still guides our liturgical practice today.  Encounter Christ through word and sacrament.  Listen for revelation as the scriptures are broken open through preaching and teaching.  Receive the bread that has been blessed and broken in the name Jesus Christ.

Today, May 8, if it weren’t a Sunday and by prayerbook rubric always a feast of our Lord, would be the feast of Julian of Norwich (England).  Encountering the crucified Christ through spiritual experiences during a severe illness, Julian, who lived in the late 14^th and early 15^th centuries, wrote about these visions in a text called “Revelations of Divine Love.” Unlike the people to whom Peter preached and unlike Cleopas and the unnamed disciple, Julian prayed for an encounter with the Holy One. She was clear that God would initiate the encounter by his will.  She recounted praying this way: “Lord you know what I would have.  If it is your will that I should have it, grant it to me.  And if it is not your will, O Lord, do not be displeased, for I only want what you want.”

On May 8, 1373, as she lay near death (she did recover), she received fifteen revelations (and one the following day) which she called “showings.” She did not immediately understand what God was revealing to her, but for about 20 years she thought and prayed about what they meant. And then she wrote.  She wrote out a concern that these “showings” were not for her alone, but God wished her to make them available to everyone.  Her understanding of her “showings” led her to these theological points: Christ is our Mother; all creation is made by God, is loved by God, and is cared for by God; every living creature will be saved by God; and our Lord's meaning is love.

What Julian received, and indeed what we will receive, from an encounter with the Holy One might be called a sense of wholeness and completeness, despite what may be happening around us or to us.  Julian wrote:  “God of your goodness, give me yourself; you are enough for me . . .And if I ask for anything that is less, I shall always lack something, but in you alone I have everything.”

So let us rejoice for the encounters we have had with the risen Christ and those that are to come. God seeks us out through His word, preached and heard.  God seeks us out through the sacraments in our worship.  God seeks us out as we pray.  God seeks us—no matter how ready we may or may not be.  How awesome God is!

The 2nd Sunday of Easter - Alleluia moments

I usually don't tell funny stories in sermons.  There is a danger in telling a funny story—all you will remember is the funny story and nothing else I say. But I heard a true story this past Tuesday at the monthly clergy breakfast that caused me to think about how we witness to our faith, given the everyday lives we live.

Here's the story:  Retired Bishop of Maine, Chilton Knudsen, had been invited to Ss. Andrew & Matthew for the end of Holy Week and Easter.  She was given the task a preaching a “grab bag” sermon for the children.  Children bring items from home and place them in a bag where they can't be seen.  Then at the time of the children's sermon, the preacher draws an item from the bag and has to form an extemporaneous sermon about the item and preach it immediately.  No one was surprised, I'm sure, on Easter Sunday when a stuffed Easter bunny came out of the bag.  One can imagine what flitted through the bishop's mind.  Perhaps she thought, “This is the ultimate symbol of springtime, secular Easter, so what can I say without hurting the feelings of the child who brought it?”  Her answer was not only appropriate for children and adults, but also theologically sound.  She said, “Oh, this is the bunny that hatched from an egg this morning and shouted, 'Alleluia.'”  With the bishop, we understand that all creation rejoices in God, the creator, who overcame death and the grave in the resurrected Jesus.

Yes, the resurrected Jesus gives all creation new hope.  The author of the first letter of Peter wrote the words we heard read this morning: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ!  By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead . . . Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy . . .” And what can you say, but “Alleluia?”

Sometimes we can even say, “Alleluia,” without a word.  Someone posted a video on YouTube yesterday of one of the vergers doing cartwheels down the red carpet of an empty Westminster Abbey.  Was he rejoicing, because he and the other staff at the abbey had managed the royal wedding without any apparent mistakes?  Or perhaps it was a true alleluia in the glorious magnificence of that holy space where people have worshipped since the 13^th century—and have prayed for about 1,000 years?  Or perhaps both!

Weren't Jesus' appearances, first, to the gathered and fearful disciples and, then, to Thomas, when he had finally arrived to be with the other disciples, “alleluia” moments?  John reported that on evening after the resurrection, Jesus came to those people who had been his disciples.  In experiencing the risen Christ they lost their fear of the religious authorities.  John reported, “the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.”  But Thomas, who was not with the others at first, refused to believe that Jesus had been raised from the dead until he had seen Jesus—and touched his wounds.  Jesus came again, willing to let Thomas touch the wounds.  Then, Thomas believed, and in an “alleluia” moment confessed, “My Lord and my God!”

In this brief gospel passage that focuses mainly on the interaction between Jesus and Thomas, there are glimmers of the power in this resurrection appearance in what could be called the quiet “alleluia” moments.  With Jesus' appearance and greeting of “Peace be with you,” the disciples’ fear seemed to dissipate.  He breathed on them and offered them the power of the Holy Spirit.  And then he said they would have the power to forgive sins.  Do we take for granted the power of the new life Jesus offered  not only these disciples, but also offers us?

To be called into community where self-giving love can overcome sins through the power of the Spirit—“if you forgive the sins of any” were Jesus' words—to be called into a community that not only loves as Jesus taught his disciples to love, but forgives as he taught them as well:  I call this an “alleluia” moment!

And yet we have difficulty understanding and accepting these “alleluia” moments.  We can be caught up in how bad things seem to be in our broken world to fail to see that bunny hatching and shouting, “Alleluia!” We hold on to fear of what others might do.  And we tightly clutch our judgment of others—and of ourselves—to defend against all that’s wrong in the world—and in ourselves, too.

Yet Christ's peace offers us a different way, a way of new life—the opportunity to turn cartwheels figuratively, if not literally, as we open ourselves to experience both the loud and quiet alleluia moments.  And in these moments, we will be led to faith.  We will find ourselves freed from the bondage of sin.  We can live in the abundance of Christ's peace and know, in the words of today’s gospel, that we are given life in his name.

Easter Sunday - The Light of Christ

Matthew tells us about messengers from God, angels—if you will—twice in his gospel.  First, an angel arrives in Joseph's dreams prior to Jesus' birth and several more times shortly thereafter.  The angel tells him who Mary's child is.  The angel tells him to flee to Egypt with Mary and Jesus to protect Jesus from being killed.  Finally, the angel instructs him to return to Nazareth in Galilee.

Now the third day after Jesus' crucifixion dawns.  Jesus lies in his tomb.  Matthew tells us that Mary Magdalene and another Mary approach to see his tomb.  Although Matthew doesn't tell us, we don't have much trouble imagining how they are feeling.  Perhaps they walk slowly—for grief slows us down.  Could they have been talking, as women often do, to give each other support?  The light of dawn may still be dim and the sounds of the day just beginning.

And suddenly, says Matthew—SUDDENLY everything changes.  Matthew tells us that one of those messengers of God—an angel—arrives, not in a dream this time, but dazzlingly bright, with lightning bolts shooting and the noise and shaking of a great earthquake.  Suddenly, indeed, for the angel rolls back the stone from the entrance to the tomb—already empty—and sits on it.  Make no mistake, Jesus has been raised by the power of God.  And God’s power overwhelms the sealed tomb and the guards placed there by Pontius Pilate.  Now, nothing can be the same—no one can be the same.

In modern athletic lingo we have the expression, “a game changer.”  In fact, one such game changer in football even refers back to the Christian story—you know what I'm talking about?  Yes, a “Hail, Mary” pass.  For those early followers of Jesus and for us, these two angelic appearances in the gospel of Matthew, the only ones in Matthew, signal a “game changer:” first, incarnation and then, resurrection.

But the skeptic may say—well, even a faithful person may say—these parts of Jesus' story—and other parts of the gospel narrative—involving the supernatural provide difficulties for us, living as we do in an age of science and technology.  How can something so momentous as the incarnation, or the resurrection, mostly be ignored by the general cultural record? And why are they recounted with such varying details in the four gospel accounts?  What about resurrection is real?  Why are we celebrating it over 2,000 years later?

Just as Jesus was a different sort of Messiah than most of the Jewish people longed for, both his birth and his resurrection are different sort of game changers than the ones we see and can point out, often before a game is over.  What is real and what causes us to celebrate can only be described this way—after this nothing and no one can be the same again, because God acted to reconcile the whole broken world, including all our sinful humanity, to God's self. 

In Matthew's account we can see the response of the two Marys change from apparently somber to fearful to being filled with joy and awe.  We see them walking first and then running quickly.  We see them initially unaware and then energized as apostles to the apostles—sent by their Lord and our Lord, sent by their Savior and our Savior—to tell how—not only the game—but the whole world, has changed: Jesus has been raised from the dead by God's power and will meet the apostles in Galilee where his ministry and their ministry with him began.  In Galilee the brothers (and I'm sure some sisters, too) will experience the risen Christ and thus be changed as well, energized for mission to tell the gospel message throughout the whole world.

Will they told to work hard, because Christ will depend on them to be effective in their mission?  No, they won't.  How were they to cope with the enormous task of telling the world that Christ's resurrection had changed everything?   Knowing that they might feel both fearful and overwhelmed, the risen Christ reassured them.  When he met them in Galilee and sent them forth, he told them to remember that he always would be with them, for as long as it took.

A large parish in Florida began a mission, establishing a new church in a neighboring community. The rector explained his understanding of mission and evangelism this way:  we can only reach one person at a time, but we must do so in great numbers.  I am convinced that we can reach that one person and do so in great numbers only through the power of God.  God's power acted on that third day to raise Jesus Christ from the dead.  God's power can act in our lives—and the lives of all people—to lead us into new life—resurrected lives where we receive the power to practice the justice, mercy and love we saw in Jesus' ministry and teaching.

Today we have a visual symbol of the power of God that raised Jesus and can make us new people: the light of this tall Paschal candle.  Its lighting at Easter, as well as its presence with us throughout the fifty days of Eastertide and at every baptism and burial rite, recalls for us the light of Jesus Christ, the Messiah of God.

The light of Christ came from God into our world through Jesus.  The light of Christ in Jesus was raised from the dead through God's power.  The light of Christ can transform all of us to be the people God has created us to be.  Gaze on this light and be reminded of the two Marys at dawn on that first Easter morning.  As they did, we can encounter the risen Christ and be transformed.  The light of Christ within us will offer us the resurrection power we need to live faithfully, joyfully reaching out to others in Christ's name.  Don't be afraid; don't be overwhelmed, for the light of Christ always will be with us, for as long as it takes!

Palm Sunday - Living into the Mystery of God

Here we are.  We have participated in the telling of our Lord's final meal, his betrayal and arrest, and his trial, his torture, his death on the cross. We are beginning the most holy week of the year for those who have chosen to follow Jesus Christ as our Savior. We know that a week from today we will celebrate Jesus' bursting from the tomb.  We know the resurrected Jesus will transform his dispirited disciples. We know through the power of God he will triumph over evil and death.

Yes, the joy of the resurrected Christ will come, but not today.  Today we are asked to live into the mystery that surrounds an important question:  What does Jesus' suffering and death, his passion, mean?  Or another way of asking this question is: Why did Jesus need to suffer and die?

 At first today we heard and sang “Hosanna!”  Then we heard ourselves calling out, “Let him be crucified!”  We heard Jesus' anguished cry, feeling abandoned by God, and the centurion's recognizing Jesus as God's Son.  And finally we heard  about the new tomb holding Jesus' broken, dead body being sealed shut.

What purpose lay in all these distressful events?  What is the mystery into which we have to live to understand them?

That mystery is the mystery of God. On this day and through this week, we have the possibility to go deep.  To come to know the Holy One who sustains us, who loves us, who came to live as a human being, who obeyed and offered himself in love to defeat the power of death-dealing evil.

The mystery of God cannot be found in theology or in Bible study or even in preaching.  All these inform our journey into the mystery, but they are not the mystery.  Experiencing the mystery of God—our Creator who redeems us and sustains us—comes from encountering the living God in a moment out of chronos, out of human time.  It comes in kairos, a moment in the time of God.

Jesus sent his disciples to secure a place where they could share the Passover meal by telling them to say, “Go into the city to a certain man, and say to him, 'The Teacher says, my time [kairos] is near.'”

Was participating in the dramatic reading of Matthew's passion gospel a kairos moment for us, an experience of the mystery of God?  It may have been. Will receiving the body and blood of Christ at the Eucharist be such a time?  Will it come some day this week in prayer or in worship?  It may.

May God grant us such moments this week.  For in these moments our lives become caught up in the mystery of God.  Words may fail us, but we will know . . . we will know.

The 5th Sunday of Lent - Given New Life

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.  Lord, hear my voice!  Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication.  So begins Psalm 130, identified as De profundis in Latin, meaning “out of the depths.”  Our English word “profound” comes from the Latin word.  How profound is our desire for God to listen to us, when we express our needs?  Some folks label this sort of prayer as a “foxhole” prayer.  When things are desperate enough, we pray out of our profound need at the moment.  Then afterwards . . . depending on how things worked out . . . we are temporarily elated or angry or doubting, but then we revert to our usual patterns of life.

Behavioral psychologists have determined that intermittent reward works best for establishing behavior patterns that resist decay.  So if we believe that God answers prayers more readily the harder we pray, our praying behavior will be strengthened when we receive a positive result only occasionally and randomly.  If we think God behaves this way, then God seems capricious and manipulative—not a God I'd particularly want to believe in.

But, instead, if we view God as wanting to know what is on our hearts and in our thoughts—if we view God as loving us and accepting whatever we bring in prayer—then as the psalmist did, we can “wait” for the Lord and “hope” in God's Word.

The prophet Ezekiel's vision of the valley with dry bones came when his people, God's chosen people, languished in slavery in Babylon.  For most of the people, this was not forced labor in the sense of the Israelites' slavery in Egypt at the time of Moses.  The top members of society had been carried off from Jerusalem to pacify the captured province.  If the best and the brightest went to Babylon, they would not cause trouble for the Babylonian authorities and their puppet rulers.  In Babylon they could help create prosperity for their captors—and many of the exiles did prosper there as well.  But their captivity meant they could no longer worship God in the land they believed God had provided for them.  Despair and hopelessness characterized their plight.  Psalm 137 expresses this so clearly:  By the rivers of Babylon— there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?

Through his vision of the dry bones and the breath of God that gives them life, Ezekiel understood God's way of acting in a seemingly hopeless situation.  Through Ezekiel's prophecy, God told those with little hope, “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live.”

Many of us who have faced the reality of a loved one's death wished that this reviving of the dry bones could be a physical reality, as well a spiritual reality.  But God was not reversing time as if the Babylonian captivity had never happened; instead God was offering the power of the Spirit to give new life in the face of hopelessness.

Certainly Martha and Mary felt hopeless when their brother, Lazarus, died.  They had such a strong faith in the healing power of Jesus that they blamed Jesus for not arriving soon enough.  Each one said to Jesus, Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.  So profound was their sadness and their hopelessness that Jesus was moved to tears of empathy.  As the prophet Ezekiel experienced a sign of God's life giving Spirit in his vision, so Martha and Mary would learn what God's promise of new life meant.  Out of the depths of their grief they cried out to one in whom they believed—the one who listened to them, who wept with them, and who gave new life.

Jesus prayed to the God who listens, Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me . . . He said this prayer to demonstrate to the mourners who had gathered in Bethany that his power to give new life came from his relationship with God. But his words also revealed an aspect of God's nature:  God listens to those he loves—which just happens to be all of us—all humanity.

So then if we believe that God listens to not only the prayers we speak and think, but also the prayers we make without words, the prayers we make by our deeds, the prayers of our fears and anxieties, even the prayers of our hopelessness, we can expect that new life will come.  God's spirit will not only offer us the strength to “carry on,” but also the gift of joyful, new life.

How then can we describe our godly hope that rises from the depths of our lives?  Psalm 130 ends with these words (which I am changing a bit), People of St. Nicholas', hope in the Lord.  For with the Lord there is steadfast love and with him there is great power to redeem.

And Jesus said, I am the resurrection and the life.  Those who believe in me, even though they die, they will live.

Yes, we can trust—we truly do know, as did Ezekiel and Martha and Mary, that our hope rests in God, who loves us, who listens to us and who gives us new life!