Author: MASadmin

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

John 20:19-31

My sermon from the 2nd Sunday of Easter (April 11, 2021) on John 20:19-31.

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The Sunday after Easter is typically considered a “low” Sunday at the church. And, if you think about it, that makes sense. Our Easter celebration was full of fresh flowers, special music, fancy hats, and Easter baskets buried in way too many chocolate bunnies. It takes a lot of energy, work, and effort to make Easter joyous especially in the midst of a pandemic. The musicians, the choir, the office staff, the volunteers, and everyone who worshiped online or outdoors – we – whether we realized it or not – gave a lot of ourselves to help each other re-experience the gift of Easter. So it’s totally okay if we feel like we need to take a breath after such a big event. And our attention might be drawn towards other things happening in our life right now. Maybe we have a lot of cleaning to do since we spent the last year mostly at home. Or maybe there’s a giant pile of mulch sitting in our driveway begging us to spread it around the house. Those are a few of the things we get to do during the season of Spring. Yet there might be other things happening in our life making it hard to breathe. There’s that health scare, leaving us and our family feeling incredibly anxious and scared. There’s that ongoing conflict we’re enduring with our loved ones because change is something we all do. And then there’s the reality that we live in communities filled with people who don’t look at the world in the same way. When you add up all life brings and then throw in an ongoing pandemic, it’s sort of amazing any of us has the energy to sit with God. Worship takes effort – and there are times when life gets in the way. So a low Sunday is not an abnormal Sunday. Rather, it is a sign we all have lives to live – and we don’t always have the energy to worship in-person or to open up the church’s facebook page at 10 am on a Sunday. That doesn’t mean being with God isn’t important or that we shouldn’t make worship a priority or that I’m giving you an out when you choose not to be with your faith community. Instead, I’m acknowledging it takes effort to worship and that all of you are a sign of what that effort looks like. But there are days when we are drawn elsewhere – and that’s something Jesus understands very well. 

Because as we heard in our reading from the gospel according to John, Thomas wasn’t there when Jesus visited the disciples the evening after the tomb was emptied. In John’s version of the Easter story, Mary Magdalene was the first to see that the stone blocking the tomb had rolled away. She ran and told Peter and the beloved disciple what she saw. They came and confirmed Jesus’ body wasn’t there. Both of them returned to the place where they were staying but Mary stayed. Jesus then revealed himself to her – and she, at first, thought he was a gardener. Yet when he called her by name, she saw what God had done. Jesus gave her a message to share with all the other disciples and so that’s exactly what she did. But Jesus didn’t say he was going to visit them that evening. All they knew was that Mary had seen the Lord and I bet they wished they had seen him too. So when Jesus showed up – that moment must have been bonkers. They had all seen Jesus arrested and killed. They had, in the midst of terror, fled from his side. They witnessed the authorities in this world try to end Jesus’ story. Yet there Jesus was – and their grief, wonder, confusion, and joy must have spilled out all at once. They saw Jesus’ hands and side still wounded – which meant the fullness of Jesus’ story still mattered. It meant their experiences of pain, loss, guilt, and anxiety – were valued – but wouldn’t be the end to their story. Each disciple, in that moment, knew that everything they had gone through was now wrapped up in hope. The text tells us they rejoiced but that word is way too small to describe what they experienced. God’s story would continue – and with the giving of the Holy Spirit through the breath of Jesus – each of them would carry that story into the world. 

So I wonder what it felt like to be Thomas when he met up with the disciples after all that happened. We don’t know why he wasn’t there when Jesus showed up but I think scripture gives us space to add in any reason we want. Maybe he had an errand to run or a family member who needed his help. Maybe he was at the doctor, getting something checked out or he was off taking his kid to their next big sporting event. Or, since it was the first day of the week, Thomas might have been at work. I want you to think about the last time you were unable to gather for worship. Think about your reason – and then give that reason to Thomas. His response to his friends, then, makes sense. All he wanted was their experience – which included more than just a visit from Jesus. He also wanted the chance to be there when Jesus showed up. And that meant he needed the opportunity to keep all his attention on God. Every other responsibility and need would have to be taken care of so that he could be where Jesus promised to be. But he, as an individual, couldn’t make that happen. What he needed was a community willing to take care of him so that he could experience Jesus in an intentional and life giving way. 

And that brings me back to the quote from bell hooks I mentioned last week. When she was asked to define love, she said “Love is a combination of six ingredients: care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect and trust.” Care can look like many things but it can also be our giving others the opportunity to be in the place they need to be. We all are pulled by many things drawing our attention away from what matters most. You each have your own health, housing, food, and financial needs that need to be met. And we all live in a culture that measures our value based on the amount of things we produce. You might not have the time, energy, or resources to create an intentional meeting with God. But what might help you do that is if a group of people took it on themselves to make that happen. They could cook a meal for you so that you didn’t need to go to the store. They might mow your lawn, pick up your laundry, or schedule a vaccine appointment when those become available in the middle of the night. A community can use its resources – including people and money – to help each other have that kind of energy and time. And I think that might have happened the week after the very first Easter. Because, unlike the previous week, Thomas was there. He still hadn’t seen Jesus nor did he have the experiences all the other disciples had. Yet the community did not hold that against him. He was part of a faith community big enough to hold a lot of different experiences of God. Mary’s meeting of Jesus at the tomb did not mean she was more valued than him. Rather, Jesus had gathered them together to care for one another – no matter what. They might have taken it upon themselves to help Thomas be in the place where Jesus was the week before. And so when Jesus did show up, Thomas was able to do something no one else had done up to that point. He declared that Jesus was not only the Lord and not only God – but that he was also “my Lord and my God.” By making sure the people within the community had the time and the energy to be with God – they witnessed a new vision of who Jesus was for the world. 

So a low Sunday is never really a low Sunday. Rather, it’s an opportunity to experience Jesus and a chance to recommit ourselves to caring for one another. We get to ask what we can do to help others worship and wonder what might need to change so that everyone has the opportunity to see the love God has for them. That can sound scary because we were able to worship today. We probably would have been in that room on the first Easter evening 2000 years ago. But could we, would we, and might we realize that because Jesus has claimed us as his own – we then are called to look for the Thomas’ in our midst – and do our part to make sure they get to spend time with God too? 

Amen.

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.” After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

My sermon from Maundy Thursday (April 1, 2021) on John 13:1-17, 31b-35.

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So on Monday, I was running about ten minutes late to my first COVID vaccine appointment. During the rush to get my three kids out the door, I forgot to pack some snacks for my two year old. I quickly grabbed a pear, some veggie straws, and a Super Mario Brother water bottle and made a quick detour to daycare. I then headed towards the vaccination center run by Valley Health in Paramus. I had no trouble getting a parking spot near the door and there was literally no line to get in. The only thing I was asked to do before I checked-in was to squirt some sanitizer on my hands and have my temperature checked by a tablet that could tell I was wearing a facemask. On the floor were big blue circles letting me know where I could stand – like a real life version of the board game Candy Land. The circles snaked around the room, inviting me to hop, skip, and jump to the check-in desk. On the desk was a large packet of papers stapled together. I couldn’t read the pages but I assumed it was a long list of everyone who had an appointment. They asked for my name and started flipping through the document in their hands. Some of the pages were covered in yellow highlighter while others were mostly white. They flipped the pages one way, then the other, and then back the other way again. Eventually, they found me – and they added a new row of yellow highlighter to the page. But I was surprised by how much white was around my name. I figured with my lateness, that I’d be one of the last people that checked-in for that timespot. Yet at this time when securing an appointment for a vaccine is still not easy, there were a lot of people who hadn’t checked-in. After getting my name highlighted, I then moved into another CandyLand esque line. And while standing there, I found myself wondering: what was the story of the person who had an appointment but happened to be later than me? 

Now, there’s a lot of different reasons why they might be late. Since we live in New Jersey, there’s always the problem of traffic or missing your exit on the Parkway. Or maybe their story was a bit like mine since you rarely get time off being a parent. Nor do you really get much time off as a kid – and it might have taken longer than expected for an elderly parent to safely leave their home and get in their car. Or maybe they were just late because a successful schedule has to navigate everyone else’s schedule too. Those were the kinds of stories that seem the most comfortable to dream up but other stories were possible too. Maybe the person who booked the appointment did it on behalf of someone else who already received their vaccine elsewhere. Or maybe it was for a person working from home who planned to take an extended break but got stuck on a meeting over Zoom that could have really been settled in an email. There’s also the parent or teacher or parent/teacher who was supposed to be covered while teaching in their school but had to make every virtual due to rising virus cases in our area. And then there’s the person who’s unemployment benefits ran out – or hadn’t started – and they need to choose between visiting a food pantry or getting the vaccine. The more I wondered, the more I noticed how simply getting an appointment might not be enough. What was truly needed was a support network able to step into our lives for an hour so we didn’t feel like we had to throw away our shot. Getting the appointment was hard but getting to the appointment could be harder. Caring for each other is often a team sport – and it’s not easy to love one another when you don’t get the support you need, too. 

Later on in worship, we’ll participate in a ritual we do every Maundy Thursday. After we bring all our concerns up to God and after we celebrate the Lord’s Supper and wash each other’s feet or hands – the altar – the table Jesus has already prepared for us – will be stripped bare. Every candle, parament, and even the plastic we keep under the altar cloth in case I spill some wine, will be removed. Now, since we’re worshipping online, what you’ll see is a video of me doing that in the sanctuary. And while I weave in and out of your screen, you’ll listen to a reading from the gospel according to John. And those verses are actually ones we skipped in the reading right before this sermon. We heard Peter deny Jesus by telling him to not wash his feet. And we heard Jesus give us a new commandment to love one another. Yet sandwiched between those two passages is the one where Judas left Jesus’ table and told the local authorities where he was. We often approach this passage from John in a piecemeal manner by focusing on either Peter’s freakout about Jesus touching his feet or by zeroing in on Jesus’ commandment to love one another. But I wonder what these words sound like if we keep the story whole? What does it mean to hear Peter’s denial, to know what Judas was about to do, and yet see Jesus wash their feet anyways? And how do we hold the truth of that denial and betrayal while listening to Jesus command us to love everyone in a brand new way? When we put the whole story together – the parts that strip ourselves bare and those bits that invite us to wonder – Jesus’ commandment feels different. It has heft and weight and might even be a little scary. Because Jesus didn’t tell us to only love those who are easy to love. Rather, he said we needed to wash the feet of those who do not like us and those who cannot stand us. Now, this wasn’t Jesus telling us to put-up with abuse or to accept a kind of love within our personal relationships that harms who we are. But it does invite a kind of self-reflection looking at the ways we love one another. And even though I can’t see you right now – I know that you, even on your bad days, do your best to share the grace of God everyday. It’s a grace that even surprises  you – like when you’re way more patient than you usually are or when you take a moment to offer a true listening ear to a friend. I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard for you to list all the ways you haven’t loved fully or deeply or as widely as you wanted. Yet I believe you keep loving others anyways because Christ has already made you his own. I know it doesn’t always feel like that but in your baptism and in your faith – the Spirit of God is with you – which means the love of God is with you too. And that kind of love isn’t a love of sentimentality or merely a feeling that would look good on a card from Hallmark. Rather, it’s a love willing to do hard things – giving even the hopeless, hope. Yet the responsibility to love is not one that falls on individuals alone. Because Jesus didn’t pull Peter aside after his denial and tell him to go wash other people’s feet. Rather, he did this among a group of everyone who he gathered around his table. We are given, as a community, the responsibility to help each other love. And that’s not always an easy thing to do. We might find ourselves having to take on a bit more work than we expected or to even listen to a person we’re in conflict with. We might have to learn how to be vulnerable, willing to share the ugly bits of our own story so that those around us realize they’re not going through their pain alone. We get to do the hard work of helping each other love the people around them. How that looks is going to change depending on the situation and circumstance. Yet if we lean on love – and in every situation work hard to do the most loving thing in that moment – we’re doing more than being good people. We’re being Christ’s people – because that’s who you already are. So let’s commit ourselves to help one other love. And may our most reverent best guess centered in mercy, forgiveness, and hope be the sign of how our God chooses to go all-in for us all. 

Amen.

[Jesus said:] “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

John 3:14-21

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 14, 2021) on John 3:14-21.

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So for today’s sermon, I want to begin with a question that I’ve been sitting with for awhile: how do we hold the fullness of the past while still living into the future?

You might know that I didn’t grow up in Northern New Jersey. And if I wanted to visit my childhood home, I’d need to drive about 1,792 miles west. My hometown of Littleton, Colorado, was once the southern boundary of the Denver Metropolitan area. But over time, suburban sprawl pushed the boundary outwards. And new cities with hundreds of thousands of people now exist in places where I once watched antelope graze. Now, my high school was Arapahoe High School and it was larger than Pascack Valley and Pascack Hills combined. The school was known for its academics and it has a pretty good soccer team. It probably wouldn’t surprise you to know that I was one of the more nerdy kids while there. And while high school was definitely not perfect, they at least didn’t want our 4 years there to be the peak of our lives. A few years before I attended Arapahoe, there was a bit of a controversy. For decades, their mascot was the Warrior – which could have been very generic. But since the high school was named after one of the Native American tribes that once called the area home, the decision was made to make the mascot a caricature of what white Americans imagined indian warriors to be. The mascot was typically depicted as a face turned to its side. He had piercing anger filled eyes, a high forehead, strong nose, and a mohawk on top. He also wore feathers and other accessories that were actually part of Eastern Native American cultures rather than anything out West. No effort was made to have the mascot fit the Arapaho nation. And for decades, that mascot told a story that remembered why it was called Arapahoe but one that wasn’t interested in looking past its founding. And that’s because the Arapaho nation had been forcibly removed from the area in the late 1870s after the United States broke treaty after treaty it signed with the tribe. Some of its members were eventually moved 500 miles north, to the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming. But sometime in the late 1980s, members of the student body, some alumni, and administrators decided to dig deeper into its story. They dug deeper into a vision of history bigger than just the students who ever called Arapahoe High School home. That journey eventually led to the Northern Arapaho Tribe and Arapahoe High School forming a relationship. The relationship included a kind of truth telling, where the school reflected on how the mascot wasn’t telling the full story of its past. It had appropriated a version of an identity while ignoring everything that made that identity what it was. The Tribe told the school they could continue using the Warrior as its mascot but the tribe would teach them what a warrior was all about. A new logo was designed by a member of the tribe, Wilbur Antelope, and was a portrait of their tribal elder, Anthony Sitting Eagle. The two communities promised to visit each other every-other-year, sharing their stories, traditional dances, celebrating accomplishments, and mourning together when crisis struck. Each year, the tribe provided a scholarship for the valedictorian of the high school even though Arapahoe High School is in a very affluent area and the Northern Arapaho Tribe suffers with generational poverty. In the words of Lone Bear, “To [the Northern Arapaho Tribe], being a warrior means going to battle for what’s right, taking care of your family, and passing on knowledge.” And what’s passed on is a full story that does not sugar coat, romanticize, or ignore how the past forms our present and our future. Rather, it faces who we are so that we can become something more. 

Today’s reading from John is part of a conversation Jesus had with a man named Nicodemus. The conversation took place at night and I like to imagine it beginning with Jesus sitting alone in a room. The glow from a small oil lamp illuminated his face and he was trying to wind down after a busy day of preaching and teaching. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and instead of blowing out the lamp and pretending he wasn’t there, Jesus opened the door and Nicodemus walked in. The conversation began with Nicodemus making one of those statements that was really a bit of a question. He said he recognized Jesus’ connection to God because “no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Now that affirmed a little of Jesus’ own identity but it might also have been an attempt by Nicodemus to get Jesus to do what we all love to do: and that’s talk about ourselves. By affirming his connection to God, Nicodemus might have wanted some more backstory of how that was possible. Jesus could have then shared his story like we share ours: making himself look a little more faithful; a little smarter; and definitely a lot cooler than he actually was. But he could probably have done something we can’t do: step outside the bounds of history and see how different actions by different people over different time periods formed the complex reality we’re just trying to live in. We’re not always good at holding together the parts of our story we are active participants in and the other bits we are given: like our culture, our background, our opportunities, and those things we assume are just how things are. Nicodemus might have expected Jesus to do the same – to tell a cherry picked version of what it means to be the Son of God. But if Jesus had done that, he wouldn’t have been able to tell his full story – one that was going to include the Cross. So instead of talking about himself, Jesus instead turned the conversation around. He poke and prodded at Nicodemus until Nicodemus suddenly found himself in a fuller version of God’s story; one that wasn’t over quite yet. Because Jesus’ ministry wasn’t only centered on where he was from but, rather, on where he was going. What mastered wasn’t that Jesus was part of the Trinity or that he was there when creation came into being. What made Jesus’ story Jesus’ story was that God entered our lives and our world because God’s love couldn’t do anything less. God wouldn’t let the partial stories of our past, our present, and what we imagine our future to be – to limit what God knows we can be. The story of God’s love can hold the truths of our past and the reality of our present while propelling us into a future that is full of hope. 

As followers of Jesus, we sometimes struggle with the fullness of our story. When we examine bits and pieces of our history – the parts that are personal and the parts that include the people who came before us – we’re not always ready to celebrate its true beauty or admit how harsh it actually was. We tend to add a buffer to the story so that we can be isolated ourselves from history. Yet we seem to know how interconnected our stories actually are because we take personally any judgment leveled against the past. It’s okay to be proud or sad or indifferent or excited about the story of who we are and the story we tell about ourselves. But that story of our past was never meant to justify the future God already has in mind for us. Because when you were baptized and graced with faith in God – you were given a promise that your yesterday and your today will not be the limit of your tomorrow. Rather, the love of God would be gifted to you and the Son of God – Jesus Christ himself – would be a companion with you through whatever life brings your way. No longer are you limited to the story you tell about yourself. You are wrapped up in the story of God who sent Jesus not to condemn the world but to save it. And that future doesn’t begin tomorrow – it begins today. We get to tell a fuller story of who we are; where we’ve come from; and how we inherited things beyond our control. Yet we don’t need to be limited by what the past says we can be; instead, we can embrace the future as God declares it will be. And that future is full of love; full of welcome; full of inclusion; full of new life; and full of people just like you – those who have sometimes made bad choices; sometimes denied the dignity of others; sometimes failed to see the image of God in their neighbor; and – at our best – have loved complete strangers just like Jesus loves us. We get to be oriented towards God’s future rather than by our limited view of our past. And we get to live that way right now – because your eternal life has already started. 

Amen.

Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

Mark 8:31-38

My sermon from First Sunday in Lent (February 28, 2021) on Mark 8:31-38.

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One of the easiest ways to cause a problem in your relationship is to speak up in a very public setting. For example, let’s say you’re out with friends and everyone was having fun. One of your friends made a light hearted comment and then you, without thinking, turned that comment into a joke at their expense. Or maybe your coworker was telling a story but left out something that’s a little embarrassing. That little detail had no bearing on the outcome of the story but you couldn’t help to speak up and reveal what they didn’t want you to share. Or maybe you and your loved one were having an argument. It was simmering for a while and it wasn’t resolved. You were starting to feel a little bit resentful and while staying up way too late scrolling through social media, you made a post, turning your private conflict into one that’s now very public. Not everything in our relationships is designed for public consumption. And I know, personally, how easy it is to create drama by inadvertently crossing that line. We don’t always mean to call attention to our friends in a way that makes them defensive. But it’s sometimes easier doing that than telling them, “we need to talk.” What we need to do is own up to the truth that these kinds of one-on-one conversations are really hard. They aren’t always easy but they can be the one thing we’re supposed to do. So I wonder if Peter, in our reading today from the gospel according to Mark, was trying to do a hard thing. I know he usually gets a bad wrap when we read this passage because it takes a certain amount of gumption to messiah-splain to the Son of God. Yet if Peter really wanted to call out Jesus in an unintentional or difficult way, I imagine he would have done so in front of all the disciples. Instead Peter waited for an opportunity to pull Jesus aside and say, “hey, we need to talk.” Peter did the hard thing – and Jesus responded by doing everything you’re not supposed to do when tending to a relationship. 

Now before we go too deep into Jesus’ actions, it’s important to set the stage of what’s happening in our reading. Jesus and his followers were approaching the city of Caesarea Philippi. Caesarea was founded by Herod the Great’s son – Herod Philip – and his kingdom included parts of Galilee, Syria, and Jordan. Caesarea Philippi became the administrative center of his little empire which is why he named it after himself. But Herod Philip also decided to use the name of the city to flatter the person who gave him his power. Caesarea was named after Caesar – aka the Roman Emperor. Herod Philip ruled the area because the Roman Empire, which controlled the region, let him rule. Without their authority and power, Herod was nothing. So he filled the city with Roman imagery, Roman statues, and they even built a temple honoring the Roman Emperors outside the city. As Jesus and his disciples neared this very Roman looking city, Peter confessed that Jesus was the Messiah. Peter’s confession was more than just a theological or spiritual statement. It was also a political one – because if Jesus is Lord – that means the Emperor – and those who supported him – were not. By saying Jesus was the Messiah, Peter was proclaiming that the structure of power in our world was about to change. Jesus’ ministry wasn’t only only about taking care of people’s souls; he was also going to take care of their bodies, their ideologies, and the ways they live with one another. Jesus’ good news for the poor was literally that – good news for the marginalized; the pushed aside; and those without power. But any good news for them was also anything but for those who enjoyed power in the here and now. Peter couldn’t wait to see God’s compassion for the marginalized realized in his lifetime. But when Jesus started talking about suffering, pain, and this…thing used by the Roman Empire to maintain their power and control – Peter felt compelled to say to Jesus: “hey, we need to talk.” Peter wasn’t being malicious but he couldn’t imagine God’s love bringing about a kind of conflict where the Empire, rather than Jesus, would win. 

Now, I don’t know what Peter expected when he pulled Jesus aside – but he probably didn’t plan for his private conversation to become very public. Not only did Jesus bring their conversation back to the disciples – he then included the entire crowd. In fact, we’re still reading about Jesus calling Peter “Satan” 2000 years later – which is usually not really a great way to keep a relationship with each other. Peter, after witnessing Jesus’ fame grow and after experiencing Jesus’ power, assumed Jesus would install himself into a position of authority that held power over others. Jesus would become a kind of benevolent emperor – a kinder version of the type of ruler they had all grown up with. But Jesus, as the Son of God, didn’t need to be installed in to power. He already had it. The difference, however, was that he wasn’t interested in what we imagine power to be all about. What he wanted – what he practiced – and what he taught – was a power with others and one that would heal the world. It’s why he ate meals with sinners and hung out with the poor rather than the rich. It’s why he healed people on the sabbath – not letting people suffer even one day more. And it’s why he wouldn’t allow the maintaining of the status quo interfere with the giving – and sharing – of life. In the words of Ira Digger, “Mark is saying that the Son of God will not dial down his ministry to spare his own life, or even to ease his suffering. His commitment to the healing of humanity literally knows no limits.” The power Jesus lived out was a power meant to help others – regardless of their social status, their identities, their genders, their ages, or their wealth – to thrive. His mission in the world was, by default, going to disrupt the world. And so that’s why the world’s response to that kind of disruption – is always the Cross. 

Now it’s a bit strange to talk about Jesus’ ministry of healing in the midst of an ongoing pandemic. I know too many people who’ve been infected by COVID-19 in just the last few weeks. If there’s anything I want right now, it’s Jesus’ healing of the world. But I’m also mindful of how I want that healing to just be a return to how things were. We all want this disruption to end but that doesn’t mean we’re always open to the kind of disruption Jesus’ healing actually brings. We want a return to normal but Jesus was never in the business of letting things remain the same. God always comes to us in love and that’s why we try to resist it. We want Jesus to move in our world but only on our terms. We are fine with God’s love as long as we don’t have to give up our ideas of freedom, of power, of position, or our points of view. We’re okay with Jesus as long as Jesus doesn’t ask us and our  communities to change too much. And we assume that good news can only be good if it caters to us. Yet God won’t let us get in the way of a love and a hope and a way of being in the world that lets God be God and lets let’s life, not the Cross, be what we share with all. There is a cost to being a disciple of Jesus – and that means we are called to give up ways we resist what God is doing in our world. We need to give up limiting who deserves love and who doesn’t; we need to give up limiting our attention to only people who are like us; we need to give up the ways our social status and power requires others to make adjustments for us; and we need to lean into relationships with all people instead of only a chosen few. We need – in a way – to be like Peter and Jesus. We need to refuse to give up on one another. Because even when Peter thought Jesus got it wrong and when Jesus called out Peter for all time – they doubled down their commitment to each other. Even when we get our relationship wrong; even when we say something we shouldn’t; and even when something private becomes way too public; we can commit ourselves to being Jesus’ good news in our world. And this is something we can do because in your baptism, in your faith, and in this very moment – Jesus has already made the promise to never give up on you. 

Amen. 

Jesus said: “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

My sermon from Ash Wednesday (February 17, 2021) on Matthew 6:1-6,16-21.

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So I’d like to start tonight’s sermon with a little experiment. Take a look at everyone who surrounds you. If you’re by yourself, think about a few neighbors or family members or friends. Take a moment to really focus on everything that makes them who they are. Examine their clothes, the features of their face, the way they laugh, and the opinions they hold. Make sure your entire focus is directed at them. And then – once you feel as if you are totally absorbing who they are – make a detailed list of everyone of their sins. 

Now, if your eyes just grew wide, know that mine did too. And the truth is that I don’t actually want you to make such a list – especially since I want the rest of your night with your spouse, your children, and your friends to be peaceful. But I do wonder what your reaction was to that request. Did your eyes, like mine, get big? Were you surprised to be asked to make such a list on the first day of Lent? Or did you notice that you already had such a list in mind? You might have found yourself, in a split second, feeling full of judgement. You started criticizing their choice in jeans, the ways they eat, and how you’re always the one who makes plans to connect with family and friends. Your list could have included things you’ve brought up before or maybe only things you’ve kept to yourself. And it might have been surprising to see how many minor annoyances we automatically label as sins. Not everything that bugs us is necessarily a sin but we all struggle to live as if God’s kingdom has come near. Every day, we have to do the hard work of living with the fact that not everyone in the world thinks or acts like us. But we are pretty good at identifying other people’s problems. That doesn’t mean we’re actually right in the conclusions we draw, but we’re really efficient when it comes to seeing what we imagine to be other people’s sins. I wonder if we do that because human beings can be very outward focus. Our eyes look outside of us and our ears are tuned to listen to what’s around us. Even the voice we speak sounds much different from the voice we hear in our heads. In some ways, we are designed to be outward facing at all times. And it can take work to shift our focus towards ourselves. 

So what if I asked you to make a different kind of list. Instead of asking you to name the sins other people have – what would it be like to make a detailed list of your own? What would it take to name all the ways you act as if you are the center of the world and how hard it is to believe that we’re not? Our initial list might feel pretty general but I bet we could make it be as detailed as the list we made about others. This list wouldn’t be a tool we use to harm our sense of self – to enhance the lies the world – or our selves – tell us. Rather, it would simply be an attempt to list the truths we refuse to hide. And it would be a list that God already knows. A shift from looking outwards and cultivating what’s inside of us – is one of the things, I think, Jesus is getting at in our reading from the gospel according to Matthew. 

Now this passage is one we read every Ash Wednesday and it comes from the middle of Jesus’ great sermon on the mount. Matthew placed that sermon at the start of Jesus’ ministry – an attempt, I think, to try and describe what fueled the inner life of Christ. For Matthew, the presence of God was fleshed out not only in the reality of Jesus but also in his preaching and teaching. He wanted to give us a sense of what fueled Jesus and helped him change the lives of so many people who were outside of him. And that interplay between who we are, whose we are, and how that impacts the world around us – was something Jesus touched on often. He knew that faith and God’s love took seriously who we really are. That includes not only what we do but also what we think, what we believe, and what we feel. He was mindful of every relationship that we have and how outward focus we can be. Yet everything we live through and everything we do is experienced, expressed, and generated by our body and our mind. When we focus on what outsides of us, that focus still comes from somewhere. And Jesus wanted us to be mindful of who we are so that we can become the people God knows we can be. 

So when we listen to Jesus’ words about hypocrites, we shouldn’t just blankly dismiss the people he talked about. They – like us – were people practicing their faith. They prayed. They fasted. They made financial gifts to their faith communities and those who are in need. They took time to nurture their relationship with God – and yet Jesus was aware of how easy the life of faith can become so outwardly focused, it forgets where that focus comes from. And if the fuel for our faith relies primarily on the attention others give us, then our faith actually becomes unsustainable. Because there will be times when the attention we receive will be harmful or non-existent. And there will be moments when grief, sadness, pain, and suffering make it too hard to believe. We might even find ourselves too busy for God or having so much joy in our life that we end up acting as if we do need any more God. What sustains our faith cannot depend on what others – or ourselves – give to us. Rather, we need God and the promise that Jesus will never let us go. 

So what is a practice of faith that keeps Jesus close to us and helps us hold onto the fuel for the life we actually live? Well, one answer to that question comes from the verses we didn’t hear today. In the gap between verses 6 and 16 – Matthew included this: 

“Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one. For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”

Those verses probably sound familiar and that’s because they’re Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. And that prayer is more than just something we recite because Jesus told us too. Rather, he knew that these words serve as a kind of corrective when we default to an outward focused identity. When we pray the Lord’s prayer – we are reminding ourselves that there is a God – and that we’re not it. We hold tight to the truth that God’s kingdom will come; that our food, clothing, shelter, and wealth are gifts; and that God is leading us even when we are too busy to notice Jesus in our life. This prayer reminds us that God’s forgiveness is what helps us forgive others. And that the gift of faith is sustained not by what we do, or what we read, or what we are taught. But that faith itself is a gift from God – and the fuel for the life we are called to live. When we tend to ourselves, we are taking care of what God uses to love the world. The Lord’s prayer is just one of the gifts God gave us to cultivate a faithful inner life. God also gave us the gift of therapy, the gift medication, and the gift that each one of us can learn to truly listen to the people around us. And that might be one way we can lean into this season of Lent. We can take these 40 days and 6 Sundays as an opportunity to tend to what fuels us. Because the list of sins – the one we make for other people and the one we make ourselves – is not the sum of what the life of faith is all about. Rather, in your baptism and in your faith – you are  given the gifts of hope, peace, love, and Jesus himself – to fuel who you truly are. Jesus expects those who follow him to practice their faith – which is why he said “when” rather than “if” all over this passage. So that’s something we can do – in church, in our homes, with our families, and even on our own. We can tend to ourselves so that the true treasures of heaven can be expressed in our lives, in our loves, and in the hope God gifts to the world.

Amen.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.

And you know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves.

Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

John 14:1-14

My sermon from 5th Sunday of Easter (May 10, 2020) on John 14:1-14.

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So, one of the things you might not know about me is that I am a manuscript preacher. And a manuscript preacher writes out pretty much everything they’re going to say. Usually, when I’m in the sanctuary, you can watch me scroll through my iPad as I keep track of where I am in my sermon. But right now – I’m staring at you – and there’s no there’s no manuscript or piece of paper or ipad in sight. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my preaching style. Rather, I’m using a teleprompter – one that I made out of an old iPad, a broken picture frame, some cardboard, and a lot of duct tape. Through the magic of technology, you can’t see the words as they scroll automatically down the screen. But if you watch my eyes closely, you might see them jump around quickly – and that’s a sign I’ve lost my place and I’m trying to catch up. Now there are times when I might change a word or add a sentence as I preach – but I pretty much rely on a manuscript to bring this word to you. Not every preacher needs a manuscript and there are days when I wish a few bullet points and an outline was all I needed. But for me, a manuscript does more than just help me stay on track. It also provides an opportunity for me to stay grounded in this moment. As I write, I have to read and refine and edit everything that I type. I need to do work on the text to make it sound at least somewhat understandable. Yet that working on the text – is also a moment for the text to work on me. And the text is always bigger than just the words appearing on the teleprompter’s screen. The text also includes whatever the Holy Spirit is revealing to us through the words Jesus just spoke. Those words aren’t always easy to hear because they could be challenging or upsetting or just hard to comprehend. But they also might be hard to hear because we’re not really grounded in this moment. Last week, I invited all the children of God to play the silent game with me – even though we were doing it through our screens. Now I don’t know what happened at your house – but at mine – the silent game really didn’t happen. There were too many action figures to play with, a cat busy chasing a bright red ping pong ball around the room, and multiple computer devices and screens working so that I could bring the worship to you. There are times when the noise we’re living through makes Jesus’ words physically hard to hear. 

But there’s also all the other stuff that we bring to this moment even though we’re just sitting on the couch or staring at our phone as we walk to the kitchen to grab our second breakfast. It’s that nagging feeling of anxiety as we worry about what’s going to happen next. It’s the feeling that we’re missing out on stuff because this pandemic is making us live in ways we don’t want to. And it’s all the stuff that makes us sad because we’ve canceled graduations, proms, our travel plans, and we can’t even visit the mothering figures in our lives on this Mother’s Day. All these emotions and feelings of worry, anxiety, and fear – all of that is also an expression of grief. We are grieving because our expectations for what this moment should be like has been undone. We don’t know when we’ll see our friends again in person or when we’ll feel safe enough to get on an airplane and visit our parents. We mourn friends and loved ones who are still sick or And for those who are living alone, the lack of actual human touch from those we care about is a cause of our grief because we can’t even get a hug from a friend. There’s a lot going on in this moment – and we might find ourselves lashing out against the people around us or even society itself. It’s easy to get mad, frustrated, and to blame everyone else for this grief that’s in our lives. And we probably are struggling putting words to the sensation that our heart, our mind, and our soul feels heavy – weighed down by all the broken expectations, broken plans, and broken promises present in our current reality. It’s hard to be truly grounded in this moment – because we’re carrying with us a lot of stuff. 

And that, I think, is what Jesus’ words today are all about. Jesus recognizes grief – and he chooses to speak a word into it. He is, in the words we just heard, gathered with his friends, sharing one last meal. They’ve broken bread, shared a drink, and Jesus has even knelt down and washed each of their feet. They’re now in the second part of their shared meal and are busy talking and sharing stories. Now, in John, Jesus is always one step ahead of everyone else. He knows where he’s been, what he’s doing, and where he’s going next. Jesus knows that Judas has just left his side, about the guide the authorities back to Jesus to arrest him. Jesus knows that the Cross is about to come and so he chooses, in this moment, speak specifically to those closest to him. We get in trouble with this passage if we forget that Jesus was speaking and responding to specific people in a specific place. His words were not meant to be taken out of context and used to define who is and who isn’t loved by God. Jesus, instead, is responding to his friends – who have a sense that their expectations are about to be undone. They realize that Jesus is saying something unsettling here – and they, filled with anxiety, begin to grieve. They don’t really understand what they’re feeling or sensing or why their hearts are suddenly heavy. All they know is that Jesus seems to be preparing them for something…and that makes them afraid. Thomas gives voice to that grief, naming that he has no idea where Jesus is going or what’s going to happen next. And if our hearts are feeling heavy right now, we shouldn’t rush through Thomas’ words. We should sit with them, ground ourselves in them, because his heaviness and our heaviness can be one and the same. Thomas’ words, I think, give voice to our moment – with all of its emotional ups and downs, complexity and nuance. Thomas realized that the direction and track he thought he was on was being derailed by actors and actions beyond his control. And in that moment, he turned towards Jesus and named his grief, admitted his fears, and asked for help. 

And so Jesus did the one thing God always does for us. He listened. He heard what Thomas was saying and he responded with a promise. But that promise didn’t say that everything would be okay or that Thomas wouldn’t have to struggle or suffer or sometimes be afraid. Nor did Jesus downplay or ignore or act as if everything Thomas was feeling was somehow silly and a sign that Thomas really didn’t believe. Instead, Jesus saw grief buckling Thomas’ heart – and so he spoke a word pointing to the love God had for him. It wasn’t the anxiety or fear that truly defined who Thomas was. Rather, it was the fact that Jesus had already claimed him as his own – and that no fear, or anxiety, or heavy heat would ever cause that to change. When the ground under Thomas shifted and every expectation and hope came undone in a giant pile of anxiety, Jesus pointed to a different kind of ground that Thomas did not create or maintain on his own. What truly grounded him was the One who is, no matter what, always with us. And that love from Christ, rooted in a life lived for all, is the truth that leads us into God’s way of love. 

If you, like me, try to find different ways to ground yourself in this pandemic moment – I invite you to ground yourself in Christ. His love for you knows no end and his boundless compassion surrounds you. The grief you feel is real – yet it is a grief that, with Christ, we can live through. Make sure, as you are able, to be like Thomas. Name your grief. Name your fears. Be honest in all the ways this situation just stinks. And then, when you are able, listen to the promise Jesus has already made to you. You are part of His body. You are one with Christ. You are defined by love – and not by fear or anxiety or sorrow. Jesus is, even now, with you. And his love for you is the ground that will never shift away from you. 

Amen.

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

John 20:19-31

My sermon from the 2nd Sunday of Easter (April 19, 2020) on John 20:19-31.

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So in our church tradition, the Sunday after Easter is always focused on Thomas. Jesus, who is busy visiting his disciples, has just risen from the tomb and, according to John, the first person he revealed himself to is Mary Magadalene. Jesus told her to go – tell the other disciples what she had seen and heard. She’s basically the first Christian – the one who outright tells others that another chapter in her and in Jesus’ story was already being written. After telling the other disciples about her experience – they gathered together in a locked room later that evening. We can sort of imagine that those disciples were probably emotionally and spiritually and maybe even physically – processing the whirlwind of events that had just happened over those last few days. The community chose to stay close and to see how they could help one another through the experience they were currently living in. They had, for years, been with Jesus as he offered them a life centered in love and grace – and they watched as he was arrested, tried, and crucified. But now there was a new part of that story – a resurrection story – that seemed to conflict and challenge and even change the previous parts of their story that they had already lived out. Their fears and their hopes were all mixed up in a swirling mess of emotions that they were trying to figure out. Some of them, I bet, tried to talk their way through their experience but found themselves talking way too much because they couldn’t wrap their story into something neat and comfortable. And others might have been the exact opposite – sitting in silence because they didn’t have the right words to describe what they were going through. The disciples, I think, were mixed up – and that’s when Jesus took the initiative to show up. He didn’t wait until all the right people were in the room. And he didn’t wait until everyone in that space had come to terms with everything that they were feeling. Rather, while his followers all mixed up – Jesus chose to show up – because God’s grace can always hold us exactly as we are.  

Yet not everyone was there. And it was after all of that when Thomas finally showed up. It’s hard to not feel for the guy because he wasn’t in the room where everything happened. For centuries, we’ve called him Doubting Thomas because he seemed to question the validity of what his friends were telling him. And I guess, on one level, we can do that. We can call Thomas’ statement an expression of doubt. But, for me at least, I don’t really want to downplay anything Thomas said. Because, in this moment, I sometimes feel exactly like he did. All Thomas wanted was to have the same experience everyone else had. He, like all the other disciples, had followed Jesus for a while. And I imagine Thomas didn’t think of himself as being any better or any worse than any of others. Yet when Jesus showed up, Thomas wasn’t there. I’ll admit that, during this pandemic, there are days when it’s just hard to see Jesus. And the faithful words about Jesus that I hear other people say – doesn’t really match with what I’m going through. It’s hard to be on the sidelines and reconcile how some of the people I know who’ve contradict the coronavirus had no symptoms – while so many others have suffered and died. It’s hard to see if Jesus is present when so many of us have lost our jobs, been furloughed, or have seen a cut in our salary. And it’s hard to lean on Jesus when you’re worried that you might not even have the health insurance you need to live through this health crisis. I’m personally finding it very hard to listen to all the conversations about this virus “peaking” and the urge for everything to get back to the way things were. Because, to me, that seems to miss the fact that our lives have changed. We’re already looking at the world in a different way and we’re figuring out how to live differently so that we can keep ourselves and each other safe. Families have been living in fear – wondering if their loved ones are safe while at work, in the nursing home, or on their own. Some of us are going to have to live into a new normal where our beloved friends or family members are gone. And we all, I think, have already started changing how we live our lives. 

I think Thomas had already started to do that too. And so when he showed up in that room after Jesus had showed up to everyone else, his words weren’t really centered on doubt. Rather, he was telling the truth about how Jesus’ life and death had already changed how he living into the next part of his story. And what he needed in that moment – was hope. But the hope he needed wasn’t a hope that would make everything go back to the way things were. Rather, he wanted a hope that valued the life he actually lived. That meant that everything life had given him – the joys, the laughter, the fears, the tears, and even his time with Jesus – needed to be wrapped up by a hope that would not end. And I think Thomas asked for this because that’s who Jesus was to him. Jesus wasn’t just this all powerful and all amazing person who validated every previous belief and view of the world that Thomas had. Rather, Jesus lived a life that kept pointing to a new reality where God’s kingdom of love would reign. That love challenged Thomas because it forced him to live in a new way. Yet that love also gave him hope because it showed how God was willing to get into the messiness of our lives and show us that we were worth so much more. What Thomas wanted was the hope Jesus already gave to others. Because when Jesus showed up, he was still wounded. The places where the nails pierced him and the spear struck him were not wiped away or even turned into scars. What happened to him in life was still a part of him because all of Jesus mattered. And if all of Jesus’ story matter – Thomas’ story – and even our story – mattered too. Thomas asked for a hope that would be big enough to hold the entirety of his life and, somehow, transform it into something new. And then, while Thomas was living his life, Jesus showed up – because even when we can’t see it – God’s hope always remains. 

So right now, you might see Jesus pretty easily. He keeps showing up in the ways you check-in with your friends and neighbors, especially those who are elderly and those who are alone. He’s there whenever you support a food pantry, make a mask for healthcare workers, and keep your social distance when you’re at the store or outside. He’s there in the million ways you keep holding people and the world in your prayers. And I know he’s showing up through the work you’re already doing – as parents teaching and taking care of your kids; as employees working from home; as retails workers keeping shelves shocked; and as healthcare workers helping to heal everyone is sick. I know Jesus is there in the moments when you chose to love unconditionally – even when you’re not really feeling it. But it also can be hard to see Jesus – because there’s a ton of loneliness, grief, anxiety, and fears in our lives and in our world. And if you’re like me, you might be finding yourself zooming back and forth between those realities multiple times a day. None of what you’re experiencing is unfaithful. None of what you think of as doubt is somehow keeping you from Christ. Rather, he is already with you – because he has claimed you in your baptism and in your life with him. We’re not called to live as if our story or our experiences do not matter. We’re not called to offer a false hope that acts as if this moment in our lives is somehow unimportant. Rather, we are called to proclaim and to lean into a Savior who is with us through all things. And he is already here with you – writing a new chapter in your life filled with grace, light, and love. 

Amen.

The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.” So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude. Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’ Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act,” says the Lord.

Ezekiel 37:1-14

My sermon from the Fifth Sunday in Lent (March 29, 2020) on John 9:1-42

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One of the things I’m not doing much of – right now – is driving. My car, on most days, just sits in the driveway. I occasionally turn it on to go to the grocery store or to church. And on sunny days, I move it to the street so that my kids have more space to play with chalk. Since I’m trying to love my neighbors as best as I can, I’m spending most of my time with my feet on the ground rather than on the gas pedal. Now I know not all of us can stay at home like I can. Some of you are doing amazing work as nurses, doctors, and first responders – and others are keeping us fed by staffing grocery stores and making sure all our online shopping orders arrive at our doors. Your lives are really busy and stressful right now – and I pray you can find moments to rest – because you are truly making a difference in the world and I’m so grateful for everything that you do. I, on the other hand, get to stay at home. Yet that doesn’t feel like the privilege it actually is. Because as my car sits in the driveway with its wheels going nowhere – the rest of the world seems to spin much faster than it should. Even in those moments when we find ourselves feeling really bored, the anxiety that’s in our part of the world is very heavy. More and more of our friends and neighbors have officially been diagnosed with the coronavirus. And many of us are worried about our finances because we either lost our job, had to lay off workers, and we have no idea what the stock market is going to do next. No longer are the news reports that made us anxious last week only about other people. Those reports are now about us too. I don’t drive right now because I know I shouldn’t be going anywhere. But I also don’t even feel like getting into the car because there are these other forces around us that seem to be driving the next part of our story. 

Today’s reading from the book of Ezekiel was originally spoken to a community full of anxiety and fear because they were living far from home. Ezekiel was a prophet who was maybe 30 years old when the armies of the Babylonian Empire conquered Jerusalem, forcing the people who lived there to leave and rebuild their lives hundreds of miles away along the banks of the Euphrates river in modern day Iraq. Ezekiel, who had begun his ministry pointing out the many ways the people of Jerusalem failed to love God and their neighbors, was now living in a land not of his choosing. He and the rest of the Jewish community were in a new place where their old way of life no longer worked. They needed to build new shelters, new routines, and change their expectations of what daily life could be like since they were now living in a future that they didn’t expect. For some, this new adventure was difficult but not impossible – because they had wealth and other privileges that helped them maintain, to some degree, the lifestyle they were used to. But for others, this new reality undercut their sense of security, purpose, and hope. As we hear in today’s passage, the community cried out saying, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” For these survivors of war, violence, and forced migration – these dried bones were both metaphorical and very real. They thought they knew how their world worked. They thought they knew God. But then something came – an external force – that shook the very foundations of what they knew and it left them feeling vulnerable, scared, and afraid. 

And it’s at that moment when God gave Ezekiel a vision rooted in the very words the community was already saying. God placed Ezekiel in a valley full of dry bones. Those bones represented everything the community was feeling and experiencing. All their fear; all their worry; and all their not knowing about what would come next – everything that was draining their life – was there, in that valley. And once Ezekiel acknowledged all that was lifeless around him, God gave him new words to speak. These words were not words that Ezekiel came up with. Rather – God gave him an external word – one that broke through all the things that were taking their life away. Yet this word did not undo what the community and Ezekiel were experiencing. Things weren’t going to go back to the way things were because life doesn’t work that way. The lives we live are real – and we are shaped by every experience that we have including those moments that leave us feeling undone. Yet God’s promise to you is that your undoing will not be what defines you. Instead, God gives to us a new word – rooted in our baptism and in our faith and renewed daily by God’s grace. And it’s this external gift from God that will be what ultimately shapes us and forms us to live that new life that, in God’s eyes, truly defines us. 

So on this fifth Sunday of Lent, your bones might feel pretty dry. You might be worn out, empty, and just plain tired – tired of being anxious, tired of being at home, tired of not living the life you wanted, and tired of having something else shape the life that you live. All those feelings are normal; all those feelings are valid. Yet I hope that in your dry bone moments when your patience is thin, and you are feeling overwhelmed by the noise of a busy house or by the oppressing silence of being alone – in those moments, I invite you to lean into what God has already given you. This Lent, we’ve been spending time remembering and learning how to share that moment when Jesus was real to us. That is a holy gift meant to sustain you during your dry bone days. So let’s continue to add to the story we’re going to share – a story that began with “Once upon a time there was…” “And every day…” you lived your life a certain way. “Until one day…” Jesus was there. “And because of that…” the life you lived was now shifted in subtle and not so subtle ways. Yet you noticed that as you lived, something new was animating your life. At first, you weren’t sure if anything really changed but then you realized this new thing mattered because your dry bones were no longer the only thing that defined you. Instead, you discovered how Jesus enters into our world; into our anxiety; and into our suffering. Because God knows that we need an external word to cut through the troubles of today and to remind us that it’s God’s love that is driving us and our world. So I invite you to remember your story; remember your baptism; remember your faith – and trust that it’s hope, not anxiety; peace, not unknowing; and love, not fear, that holds your life. Let’s now add to the faith story we’re learning to share. And as you pay attention to the breath of God that still gives you life – finish this sentence: “Until finally…” 

Amen.