The 7th Sunday of Easter - To be one? To be pulled ahead?

"As you, Father, are in me, and I am in you, may they also be in us . . ."  Jesus prayed for the relationship between the people who would hear about his life, death and resurrection from the disciples who had been with him and God from whom he had come.  As you heard just a few seconds ago, I pray for this mutual indwelling of God with us and we with God before I preach.  When I say, "Help us to live in your holy Word," I am using the image of Jesus as the Word of God from the very first lines of the Gospel of John.  I pray this way before I preach, because I believe that through this mutual indwelling God will convey what meaning you are to gain from my "breaking open" the Word of holy scripture as I preach.

Besides the mutual indwelling Jesus prayed for in the gospel reading we heard this morning, Jesus also prayed for unity based on the power of divine love:  ". . . I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me."  Peter Carman, a Baptist pastor, makes it clear what sort of unity Christians should practice:  ". . . Jesus does not call for doctrinal unity, organizational unity or political unity . . . This prayer is for unity that grows out of the love of God, received and shared among his followers, leading to an experienced unity in love between Jesus and his followers, and with the one from whom Christ comes."

So, the community of faith—both locally (St. Nicholas') and in larger and larger geographic units—must carefully tread between finding ways to work together to accomplish ministry and mission in Jesus' name and focusing on the life of the organization as the most important entity to preserve.  Our Episcopal tradition gets this right through our polity of elected leadership and our liturgical tradition of celebrating the sacraments as Christians have through the ages.  This allows us to have diverse opinions about almost everything, but to come together each week to be fed by Christ in the fellowship of others who are beloved of God.   You may remember Robin Williams' top reasons for becoming an Episcopalian.  One of these says, "No matter what you believe, there is at least one other Episcopalian who agrees with you."

But what we do get wrong on occasion—and I think this fault has been shared broadly among Christian communities—that is, we become a bit complacent about the status quo or we view times in the past as being best.  Don't ask me to change how I look at things because I'm certain I'm right. Rob Bell speaks to this issue in this new book, What We Talk About When We Talk About God.  In Chapter 6 entitled "Ahead" he writes, "I want to explore with you the God who I believe is pulling us forward.  Is this how you've heard God described?  Ahead? Pulling us forward?  Is God progressive, with a better more inspiring vision for our future than we could ever imagine, or is God behind, back there in the past, endlessly trying to get us to return to how it used to be?"  I might phrase it this way; does returning to Eden mean working and praying for the reign of God in a new Jerusalem?  Or does it mean longing for some time in human history where things were just the way they were supposed to be?  Or does it mean holding tight to the way things are right now because our society looks as if it's going to only change for the worse?

The two stories we heard from the book of Acts address these very issues:  to what sort of life is God pulling us ahead? And how does God's indwelling love affect our decisions and our actions?

Although the slave girl who could tell the tell the future and recognized the nature of Paul and Silas's mission disappears from the narrative, we know she no longer bears the burden of being treated as a commodity.  Despite St. Paul eventually finding her prophesying annoying, he treated her as a human being who needed to be freed from oppression--both spiritual and economic.  Through Paul's healing ministry she was pulled ahead by God to a new life situation.  Did her life become better as a result?  We are left without an answer to that question.  Being free to pursue a new path can be frightening, because familiar situations can no longer provide stability.  However, even if she remained a slave, she might have been given work that allowed her more dignity.

The narrative of Paul, the earthquake, and the jailer provided an illustration God's love affecting an extremely important decision.  Because he and all the other prisoners were unexpectedly freed from prison and did not run away, we see Paul placing another's needs before his own. Losing prisoners, even through an event in nature, would have led to punishment for the jailer, perhaps execution. Paul's decision to stay and convince the others to do the same could only have come from the indwelling spirit of love, placed there by God.

And when the jailer asks what must he do to be saved, the question carries two meanings.  First, "What must I now do so you and the other prisoners won't flee?"  But the meaning Paul gave to the jailer’s question was this: "What must I do to gain a new life in Christ that you have been talking, singing, and praying about?” The power of Paul's witness broke down the barrier between jailer and prisoner.  They were now united in Christ--joined together as one, despite the differences between them. God, through Paul, pulled the jailer—and his family—ahead, leading them to a future that gave new meaning to their lives, one that they had not expected, for sure!

So how are we to face our futures? Perhaps like the slave girl and the jailer we may find God tugging us, pulling us ahead of where we always thought we would be.  How should we respond?  Whatever actions we choose, let us act so that the people we encounter in the world may know that God has sent us and loves them even as God has loved us.  In doing this, we can embrace what God began in Jesus and continues in us--eternal life marked by peace, justice and healing.

The quote from Peter Carman can be found in Feasting on the Word, Year C,Vol. 2, p.544.

The 6th Sunday of Easter - Keeping Jesus' Word

  Jesus said, "You have heard me say, 'I am going away.'" Then he added after the briefest of pauses, " . . . and I am coming to you." Jesus and his followers were experiencing a liminal moment.  The word "liminal" refers to a time of transition, a threshold between one place or state and another.  For example, our two high school seniors will leave one educational setting and pass through the threshold of another--college. Their friends, unless they will attend the same college, may experience their absence as an empty place in their lives--at least for a while until new friendships are formed.  Even then the memory of the relationship may always occupy a special place in their thoughts.  And sometimes the old friendships may be renewed as they catch up with one another when they meet again after the absence.

Liminal moments in our lives can be exciting, hopeful times, or they can be sad, scary times. Jesus recognized his leave-taking would be a difficult one for his disciples. His words, as remembered and written down by the gospel writer, attempt to provide a framework to understand the absence his disciples will experience from a sad, scary time into an exciting, hopeful time. In the Gospel of John this discourse between Jesus and his disciples occurs before his arrest and execution.  

As Jesus responds to a series of questions from the disciples, he appears to be trying to inoculate them against the distress they will feel shortly.  These questions all appear prior to the section of the gospel read today. Simon Peter begins the series of questions at the very end of chapter 13:  "Lord, where are you going?" Then Thomas asks, "Lord we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?"  Then Philip chimes in, "Lord, show us the father and we shall be satisfied."  Finally, Judas (not Iscariot) asks, "How is it that you will reveal yourself to us and not to the world?"

         His disciples are pushing Jesus throughout this discourse, because they perceived he lacked clarity in explaining himself or in revealing who he is.  Today we have the advantage of 20/20 hindsight in claiming Jesus is the Messiah of God, the second person of the Trinity.  Yet, in this farewell discourse for those disciples--and even today for us--Jesus defines the most important way to show one knows who he is, that is, to love him by "keeping his word."

He explains "keeping his word" as a covenant-like relationship: keep his word and he will do these things for you.  God will make God' s home with you; the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, will come to teach you all you need to know and to remind of what Jesus had taught; and the peace of God will be given to you.

So if we want to be in relationship with God, we need to figure out what "keeping his word" means.  We know, of course, that Jesus said all the law and the prophets could be summed up in the two great commandments--love God and love those whom God has made, your neighbor--even a "neighbor" who is outside your usual definition of neighbor.  And the love Jesus teaches cannot come from self-interest, but from emptying yourself of self-centeredness.  It's the love he tried to teach the rich young ruler--go “sell” all that you have that keeps you self-centered--in his case, his wealth.

This "keeping his word" cannot be done through our own strength and will.  Self-interest infects our motivation almost all--if not all-- the time.  When I made the mistake of saying that if someone had acted from purer motives a problem would not have occurred, my seminary professor corrected me saying that we always make decisions with mixed motives.

So what should we do?  How can we show our love for Jesus by keeping his word?  I believe we have two examples of “keeping Jesus' word” in the reading from Acts.  First, Paul believed he received a call from God in a vision. He traveled where he thought he was supposed to go. Then when he arrived at Philippi, he kept the Sabbath by going where he thought folks might be praying.  Paul allowed himself to be led by God to someone he might have never encountered had he stayed safely in Antioch where he had successfully delivered a well-received message from the church in Jerusalem.  Paul stepped out in trust, hoping for and expecting God's blessing on his work. 

The other example of "keeping Jesus word" was Lydia.  She had come to know God and had gone with other women to gather for prayer.  But when she heard Paul speak about Jesus something happened in her heart.  Luke, who wrote the book of Acts, described what happened as "[t]he Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly."  To be led to listen and to take good teaching to heart was how Lydia kept Jesus’ word. Then after she and her household were baptized, she gave out of her abundance—for she was a prosperous merchant, offering the hospitality of her home to Paul and Silas.  Her openness to the new teaching was a gift from God.  Her response was to give generously to the teachers God had sent.  

How then are we supposed to demonstrate our love for Jesus by keeping his word?  We could do worse than patterning ourselves after Paul and after Lydia.  In order to follow their examples we might ask ourselves these questions: How can we realize God may be opening our heart to something new?  What will our generous response be?  Where and how can we step out in trust, hoping for and believing in God's blessing on our work?  Perhaps we can discern answers for ourselves as individuals, but I hope we will be able to answer them together as a congregation. Together how can we realize that God may be opening our heart to something new?  What will our generous response be?  Together where might we step out in trust, hoping for and believing in God's blessing on our work?

The 5th Sunday after Easter - To Banish Barriers

For three Sundays this month we have engaged in Holy Conversations.  These conversations centered on topics important in our society today: solemnizing civil unions, repeal of the death penalty, and today--guns and the problem of violence.  In this post-modern world--a world where we no longer believe that human civilization is continually improving--we find that people of good will and a strong faith in Jesus Christ do not agree on how these social issues should be addressed.  How can this be? Shouldn't we be able to consult the Word of God and all come down at the same place? Apparently not.

And we shouldn't be surprised at this state of affairs either.  Our reading from the Book of Acts about Peter's vision in the city of Joppa deals with the conflict between certain religious practices and a different way of looking at scripture and tradition.

This is a small portion of the Jewish dietary laws from the 11th chapter of Leviticus: "Now the LORD spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying to them, 'Speak to the children of Israel, saying, "These are the animals which you may eat among all the animals that are on the earth: Among the animals, whatever divides the hoof, having cloven hooves and chewing the cud; that you may eat. Nevertheless these you shall not eat among those that chew the cud or those that have cloven hooves: the camel, because it chews the cud but does not have cloven hooves, is unclean to you; the rock hyrax, because it chews the cud but does not have cloven hooves, is unclean to you; the hare, because it chews the cud but does not have cloven hooves, is unclean to you; and the swine, though it divides the hoof, having cloven hooves, yet does not chew the cud, is unclean to you. Their flesh you shall not eat, and their carcasses you shall not touch. They are unclean to you.'"

The dietary laws of Leviticus and the Jewish tradition of not sharing a meal with Gentiles who did not have to observe such laws put Peter's belief that he was to share the good news of Jesus Christ with all people under great tension.  How far did Christians who came from the Jewish faith have to go from their usual practices in order to accommodate Gentiles?

As we have discovered in our Holy Conversations this concern about changing cultural norms and our response to them as people of faith continues to this day.  In 1951 an American theologian named Richard Niebuhr published a book entitled, "Christ and Culture."  In it he described ways in which Christians have dealt with the cultures in which the they lived.  The backdrop for this book was the Holocaust when the official state church in Germany did not oppose the rise of the Nazis.

Niebuhr saw Christians as taking various stands concerning culture throughout history, the earliest stand being against the culture of Roman civilization in the first century of the Common Era.  At the time depicted in our reading from the Book of Acts Peter believes his encounter with God in the vision of the sheet with "unclean animals" was leading him to set Christ against the religious and cultural norms of the Judaism.  Later St. Paul would deal with the issue of taking a stand against cultural practice in the context of the pagan culture where meat that had been offered to idols could be served at meals where Gentile Christians would be present. In both instances being a faithful Christian meant acting in a way that would bring you into conflict with current cultural practices.  Christians were supposed to act in a way that set themselves apart--which meant they, like Jesus, might expose themselves the wrath of those in power.

We are no longer living in the world of first century Palestine controlled by the Roman Empire.  We are not breaking away from mainstream Judaism to practice our faith in Jesus of Nazareth as the Son of God.  If any of us today is asked to describe the culture in which we live, we may well come up with as many different answers as there are people in this room.  However, the question remains: how will we practice our faith in the world--in the community--in the family--where we live?

I believe our readings this morning/evening are directing us not to "circle the wagons."  There may be something "new" to which God may be guiding us.  Even more than today, people in the first century disliked change. Tradition had great value; something new could not be trusted. Yet Peter insisted he now finally understood what God wanted.  Here is what he said: "The Spirit told me to go with them [the Gentiles from Caesarea] and not to make a distinction between them and us . . . And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell on them [the Gentile household which Peter had entered] just as it had on us at the beginning . . . If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in The Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?"

All these were part of Peter's understanding about this new approach: an unexpected vision, listening to God's leading through the power of the Holy Spirit, and not rejecting the request of people he might have dismissed as outside God's blessing.  Peter's example enacts what Jesus taught the disciples after Judas had left the last supper: "Just as I have loved you, so you should love one another."

Jesus called this the "new commandment," because it created a community based not primarily on holiness, but on agape--a love that empties us of selfishness and propels us into community where we can be free to accept even folks who may be quite different from us. How might we put Peter's example into practice today?  Who is it that we should no longer make a distinction between them and us? And to whom can we offer in unselfish love in order to build a community among us?  Let us ponder these questions as we consider how we--as followers of Jesus Christ--should respond to the cultures (both local and world-wide) in which we live.

The 4th Sunday after Easter - Our Shepherd in Troubled Times

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."  So begins our psalm this morning and perhaps one of the most famous passages in the Bible.  Within that psalm there is a verse that causes it to be frequently chosen for use in funeral services--and which seemed applicable to this past week as well. You know which one I mean: (verse 4) "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."

Sometimes "the valley of the shadow of death" is translated in another way: "the darkest valley."  The "darkest valley with the shadow of death hanging over it" could very well describe this past week.  The bombing at the Boston Marathon, the explosion at the fertilizer plant in West, Texas, the violent battle between the police and the alleged bombers, and the 6.6 magnitude earthquake in Sichuan Province in China.  And I haven't even mentioned violence in the war zones of the world or the numerous murders occurring every day in our cities.

We may be seeking comfort in a world that seems to be spiraling into chaos. And for awhile things can appear to calm down, but an orderly life may be just an illusion.  Whether we get our news on TV, on the internet, or in a newspaper, this round-the-clock coverage of much of the bad stuff going on can unsettle us.

Our scripture readings this morning speak to the presence of God when we face unsettling moments in our lives.  And exactly what do they tell about the Divine presence?  I'd like to suggest these are the characteristics of God we see revealed in the lessons read this morning: steadfastness, compassion and triumphing over evil and death. 

The steadfast shepherd depicted in Psalm 23 can also be found in Jesus'  confrontation with the religious authorities in the reading from John's gospel.  He shows his steadfastness as he describes his mission: calling the sheep, knowing them, and giving them eternal life. As much as we may wonder whether it' a good thing to be identified as a sheep, we can understand the shepherd-sheep metaphor this way: God has offered steadfast protection--no one can snatch out of Jesus' hand those whom God has given him, because he claims he is the Messiah of God with these words: "The Father and I are one." The shepherd’s steadfastness is also highlighted by his tools: the rod and staff.  The shepherd uses them to fen off predators and to rescue sheep who may have stumbled off the path. So too with us, Jesus Christ, our steadfast shepherd, guards us spiritually.

Next we see compassion revealed.  Tabitha in Acts 9 has shown compassion for others, "being devoted to good works and acts of charity."  Then God's compassion was being enacted through the prayers of Peter and Tabitha's friends allowed Tabitha to be revived. That sort of enacted compassion, resulting in life being resumed, may seem strange to us. This week I am certain we all wish reviving-to-life could have happened when the loss of innocent life once again caused us so much pain.  However, this we do realize: Peter's gift of divine compassion toward Tabitha represented a foretaste of eternal life which all of us may gain.

This foretaste of eternal life—dwelling in the house of the Lord now and forever—leads us to reflect on the meaning of the vision of John of Patmos.  John appears to have written about his visions of God's triumph over evil and death in a time of persecution. Internal evidence in the book suggests that it may have been composed in stages in the latter half of the first century.  Emperors Nero and Domitian persecuted and made martyrs of Christians who refused to take part in making sacrifices to the emperor.  Scholars also blame the persecution and martyrdom of Christians depicted in John’s visions on conflict between Christians and their pagan and Jewish neighbors into which the Romans were pulled.

"The great ordeal" through which those in white robes have come to be understood as the troubled times at the end of the first century.  In John's vision this multitude of survivors appears too numerous to count and very diverse "from every nation, from all tribes and people's and languages."  Jesus, the shepherd-Messiah in the Gospel of John, has become has become the sacrificial Lamb of Revelation. And through the blood of the Lamb the triumph over evil and death has begun.

This vision also defines what how that triumph appears: in the shelter of the Divine One there is no more hunger or thirst.  No burning sun or scorching heat to cope with. Those who have died will be guided to springs of the water of life, and all sorrow will be banished. The image of the Lamb morphs back into the shepherd.  John's vision offered hope to the Christians who suffered during uncertain times--hope that God-in-Jesus had triumphed over evil and death.

So recognizing God's steadfastness, God's compassion, and God's triumph over evil and death, we can turn to God in a week like this week, knowing that God shares the grief we feel and the pain we feel.  God understands our fear of dying, particularly of dying suddenly and unprepared. God even understands why we become angry and consider revenge when we see innocent suffering. 

Yes, the ordeal of living for all us was played out across our TV and computer screens this week.  In this moment we have not been called to be martyrs for our faith.  Rather God has called us to live as people who long for, pray for, and work for a world where swords have been beaten into plowshares and violence no longer plagues human relationships. We are called to trust in the Good Shepherd.  Despite all our troubles, the unsettling and frightening moments in our lives, in our communities, and in our world, we are called to trust in the promises of the risen Christ. Yes, through the eyes of John of Patmos and his mystical revelation, we understand that Jesus Christ, God who took on flesh and lived among us, our Good Shepherd, will lead us to springs of the water of life and to a place of shelter and peace, both now and forever.

3rd Sunday of Easter - Expectations and Experiences: Encountering the Risen Christ

Sometimes our expectations are confirmed by our experiences and sometimes they aren't.  Until two Mondays ago when I placed my grandson in his crib for an afternoon nap, I expected him still to be in the crib either drifting off to sleep or calling for me after the nap was done. Last Monday, however, he repeated his new skill of climbing out of the crib before I had even made it down the stairs!
 

This past week from Monday evening until Wednesday noon I took part in a clergy retreat at the Quaker retreat center called Pendle Hill.  Until this year we had gone there at the end of January.  Although we didn't expect snow or gray skies, we were not prepared for the how much color we saw.  Ground cover displayed bright yellow flowers everywhere. Near the conference center building two mature cherry trees burst with pink blossoms.  And, of course, spring bulbs added to the joyful mixture of wonderful hues.

Our gospel readings for Easter Sunday, last Sunday, and today told stories of expectations and experiences full of surprise: Mary Magdalene thinking the tomb would have Jesus' body, Thomas not trusting what the other disciples told him about seeing Jesus, and finally today Peter, the beloved disciple and some other disciples going out in the evening to fish and encountering the risen Christ.

I believe the gospel writer chose the format of expectation--or lack of expectation-- and surprise to describe these encounters, because he saw that as the way God reveals God's self.

Within the story we heard this morning the risen Christ and Peter engage in a conversation that Peter probably never expected to happen. After finding Jesus' tomb empty, he and the beloved disciple went home.  And we remember that Peter had denied that he had been Jesus' companion the night before Jesus' crucifixion.

Today's reading tells us Peter decided to go fishing and some of his fellow disciples decided to go with him.  Jesus stands on the shore suggests that the disciples, who have nothing to show for their night's work, might catch some fish if they cast their net on the other side of the boat.  The beloved disciple finally recognizes the risen Christ, and Peter reacts by jumping into the water to reach the shore first. The gospel writer doesn't report any immediate response to Peter by Christ until all the disciples had eaten the breakfast of bread and broiled fish.

The disciples' experience in that moment addressed whatever expectations they had: "Now none of the disciples dared to ask him 'Who are you?' because they knew it was the Lord." But what of Peter?  What were his expectations?

Whatever they were, Peter's experience of hearing Christ's questions and answering them profoundly affected the rest of his life.  No more turning away for home; no more checking out how his old occupation might work out if he tried it again.  His new vocation involves caring for those who will follow "The Way," as we heard it called in the account of St. Paul's conversion—and to follow Jesus in the way of the cross.

The story we heard from the Book of Acts about Saul's expectations and his experience on the road to Damascus may be the most clear example ever of God's revealing God's self to someone who was totally unprepared for that revelation. Where Peter had been with Jesus for his entire ministry, Paul had been an enemy.  A religiously educated man, Paul did probably understand Jesus' message to the religious authorities that loving God meant discovering God in serving the outcasts of society, that loving God meant putting people before the rules and yet keeping the spirit of the rules to the nth degree.

I doubt if Paul ever expected to experience God, in following the way of the risen Christ. I doubt if he ever expected to lead Gentiles to faith in the risen Christ, but his experience on the Damascus road left him but one choice--to follow.

What are our expectations this morning?  We will soon have the opportunity to come forward for healing or to pray for those who do.  We will have the opportunity to receive Holy Communion when Christ has told us he will be with us.  We will have the opportunity to greet members of our community when we pass the peace of Christ and when we share coffee or a cold drink and snacks with them. And finally we will have the opportunity to engage in a Holy Conversation with other members of our community about the possible repeal of capital punishment.

Do we expect to experience Christ's presence among us at all these times?  Do we hope to know "the peace of the Lord"?  Do we trust that in all these moments we will find we are being cared for within our community--even when we come from various perspectives and points of view?

I believe that bidden or unbidden the Holy One is always present with us.  We may expect to find the Holy One in “holy” moments such as receiving prayers for healing and at Eucharist.  But in ordinary moments, at unexpected times, we may well encounter the Risen Christ—and find ourselves changed by that experience.

Easter Sunday - Mary Magdalene, Our Exemplar

         The Sabbath was about to begin.  John's gospel reported that several women and the disciple “whom he loved” had been standing near the cross when Jesus died.  The women included his mother and Mary Magdalene.  But they had no time to care for his body properly. Joseph of Arimethea took possession of Jesus' body placed a mixture of myrrh and aloes brought by Nicodemus with the body and wrapped it in linen. Then they placed Jesus in the tomb and closed it with a stone.  Done. And then the sun set.

         What a sad time this Sabbath was!  Mary Magdalene probably felt numb and perhaps disoriented.  Her dear friend and teacher was gone.  She had been unable to say a proper good-bye to him.  She wanted to go and be near where he had been entombed, so “while it was still dark” she went to visit Jesus' grave.

         If she had slept at all, she would have woken with only one thought: “Jesus—I don't want believe what I saw with my own eyes—his execution that humiliated him and broke his body.”  She cared little about what hour it was.  The dark morning outside reflected her grief, her spiritual disorientation, and her emptiness inside.

         Was there a time you felt as Mary Magdalene must have felt that Sabbath day?  Most of us have.  And maybe in our grief we decided there was one thing we must do to pull ourselves together—if only for a moment.  The absence of one we love when death separates us causes such grief and pain we feel out of control.  To try deal with the void caused by Jesus' absence, Mary decided to visit his grave.

         What she encountered in the dark further disoriented her and caused her more anguish.  The stone closing Jesus' tomb was no longer in place.  John doesn't report that she entered the tomb then. But she appeared to think that someone had stolen Jesus' body, for she runs to Simon Peter and the beloved disciple to let them know what's wrong.

         Ignoring Mary, these two disciples race to the tomb—they may have even been competing to see who can get there first.  Finding the linen wrappings, but no body, they provide the first credible evidence.  Why credible?  Because they were two male witnesses needed for legally acceptable testimony of what they had seen—and what they had not seen.  The linen wrappings were there, but Jesus was not.  The reaction of the Beloved Disciple—who may have written this gospel—was to “believe,” but apparently not to completely understand what “resurrection” truly meant.  In any event, they left Mary weeping and went home.  To me their actions are inexplicable.  Weren't they concerned about Mary?  Apparently not.  Weren't they curious about what happened to Jesus?  Maybe they figured they work on that tomorrow.

         But Mary could not pull herself away from that tomb and the surrounding garden.  She didn't understand either, but she kept trying to discover what had happened to Jesus.  Clearly her relationship with Jesus had a different character than that of the disciples who had left the scene.  She needed to deal with his no longer being with her and his tomb being empty.  Her grief at his absence could not be consoled.

         She saw angelic messengers inside the tomb, something the other two had not seen.  Was her spiritual awareness heightened by the angels?   Not enough to recognize the risen Christ by sight.  Perhaps his resurrected appearance was too changed—or perhaps her grief still disoriented her.  Whatever the case, she persisted in asking where Jesus' body might be.  And then Christ spoke her name!  Her grief evaporated, and she knew for certain who was standing next to her.

         The risen Christ wanted her to do more than express her love for him.  He sent her out to spread the good news to his “brothers”—those who had gone home—that their teacher, their Lord was alive again.  She knew, because she had recognized his calling her name.

         Mary Magdalene's example of discipleship should inspire us this Easter morning, no matter whether we are women or men.  She actively sought to deal in a positive way with her grief and pain.  She persisted in seeking what she felt was important for her spiritual healing.  She responded to her risen Lord when he spoke her name.  She did exactly what Christ asked her to do, becoming an apostle to the “brother” apostles.

         None of what she did is easy.  And for us, it may be even less clear when Christ is calling our name and what Christ may be asking us to do.  But on this Easter Day we have in Mary Magdalene an exemplar of responding to a loving God with all of our being and never giving up on that love.  Should we start there?  I think we should.

         If we respond to God's love and never give up on God's love, I believe we will be guided to a new lives lived in the light of the resurrection, lives in which our relationship with the risen Christ serves as our strength for the journey that lies ahead.  And on that journey we can become our true God-inspired selves and, in the end, receive God's gift of eternal life.

Good Friday - A Meditative Homily

This was given at an ecumenical worship service at a Presbyterian church:

Two of the three most solemn days in our Christian liturgical year can be tucked away from sight.  If Palm Sunday is celebrated with the reading of one of the Passion narratives, worshippers do glimpse Good Friday.  If not, then worshippers go from Jesus’ joyful greeting by residents of Jerusalem waving palms to the women disciples and Peter discovering Christ’s resurrection on Easter morning.  What happened in between and what it means remains unexamined.

But here we are on the evening of Good Friday.  The first of the three days began yesterday, Thursday evening at sundown.  This evening at sundown we began the second day.  Jesus was crucified and died this past afternoon.  The good Jewish folk who took possession of Jesus’ body—especially Joseph of Arimathea who offered his unused tomb for Jesus’ burial—rushed to bury his body before the Sabbath began at sundown. 

Now it is Sabbath, a good time for reflection.  The Nicene Creed briefly gives us the reason for what happened to Jesus:  “For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered death and was buried.”  For our sake!  This was the greater purpose in the choices Jesus made on Good Friday.

We also learn from the Apostles’ Creed that Jesus really died—since he was fully human, as well as fully divine—he died as anyone of us would have under the same circumstances:  “He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried.  He descended to the dead.”  Dead, dead, dead!  No question about it.

Theologically we get the picture.  These two days of suffering and death prepare us to recognize the true miracle of Christ’s resurrection. But is there more than this for us to understand about these days?

Our creeds, our prayers written for use in public worship, Chapter 8 of the Westminster Confession entitled “Of Christ the Mediator”—all these can be used as tools to enhance our understanding of what was happening on Good Friday.  There is one more source, though, that we often use without giving it a second thought: our hymn texts.

One hymn appointed for use in Holy Week directly addresses what these days of Jesus’ suffering and death teach us.  According to this hymn text, Jesus’ choices and actions from the time he went to Gethsemane through his crucifixion teach us three things:  how to pray, how to bear the cross, and how to die.  Let me share each verse with you.  In the silence I leave after each of the three verses, please meditate on how the Holy Spirit may lead you to understand the words you have just heard.

“Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter’s power; your Redeemer’s conflict see, watch with him one bitter hour; turn not from his griefs away, learn of Jesus Christ to pray.”  [Silence]

“Follow to the judgment hall; view the Lord of life arraigned; O the wormwood and the gall! O the pangs his soul sustained! Shun not suffering, shame, or loss; learn of him to bear the cross.”  [Silence]

“Calvary’s mournful mountain climb; there, adoring at his feet, mark the miracle of time, God’s own sacrifice complete; ‘It is finished,’ hear him cry; learn of Jesus Christ to die.”  [Silence]

None of us knows what lies ahead of us. Nor do we know what lies ahead for those we love.  What we do know is this: whatever difficulties, troubled times, or pain life throws at us or those we love, Jesus has shown us how to be steadfast.  Jesus has showed us how to reach out to God for the strength we need.  And at end we know we have a redeemer who has suffered as we suffer. We have a redeemer whose suffering, death and resurrection make it clear we have sure and certain hope in God’s grace.  And, yes, we have a redeemer who gives us the courage, even at the grave, to utter “Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”