Tag Archives: resurrection

Sermon – Luke 20.27-38, P27, YC, November 9, 2025

12 Wednesday Nov 2025

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When my oldest was about three years old, a parishioner of mine died.  At the time we were still recovering from Hurricane Sandy.  Though many of us finally had our power back, an early snow storm delivered just enough snow to knock out power in some of the local schools and mucked up roads that were already struggling to be freed from fallen trees.  My daughter’s school was cancelled, and I had anticipated just trying to stay warm at home for the day.  But when I got the call that my church member had died – I was dumbfounded.  There was no doubt in my mind that I would go join the family for prayers, but I had no idea how to incorporate my daughter into the visit.  With the weather conditions such as they were, there was no way she could stay anywhere else.  And so began a ten-minute drive during which I frantically tried to explain to my three-year old daughter what death meant, what heaven is, and what God’s role in all of this is.  Of course, I totally forgot to factor into my explanation the fact that the parishioner’s body would still be present, and how her body figured into my three-year-old-appropriate explanation of heaven.  Needless to say, that day was not one of my finest parenting or priestly moments, and I ended up fielding questions about death, heaven, and God for months.

Truthfully, I think adults have just as many questions about death, heaven, and God as young children do.  When we hear the complicated question of the Sadducees to Jesus about the woman with seven husbands, we find ourselves morbidly curious too.  What does happen to this woman in the afterlife?  Would she have wanted to be with one over another in heaven?  Her scenario makes us think of all the stories of loved ones we know – or maybe even of ourselves.  What happens to the widow who remarries in the resurrection?  What about the couple who divorces and later remarries?  Surely they will not have to be reunited with their exes!  Or what about that abusive father, that mean uncle, or that estranged sister?  Do we face them in the afterlife?  Since we do not really have anyone to give us an insider’s perspective, these are the questions that we really wonder about.  And if we have ever held the hand of a loved one approaching death, we may have asked these questions to God, to our priest, or to a friend.  So, when the Sadducees ask this question of Jesus, we perk up, hoping for some real clarity from Jesus, and secretly praying for the answer that we think is best.

The trouble with this text though is the Sadducees are not really asking Jesus a practical question about what happens in the resurrection.  In fact, the Sadducees do not even believe in the resurrection.  The Sadducees are the group of people who believe the Torah – those first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures – to be the only authorized scripture.  None of the other books that we know from scripture – the prophetic writings or the Psalms – are considered valid scripture by the Sadducees.  Because there is neither a doctrine of resurrection of the dead nor a belief in angels in the written Torah, the Sadducees refuse to believe that there is life after this earthly life.  The Pharisees, along with Jesus and his disciples, on the other hand, believe in ongoing interpretation of Torah handed down by word of mouth, and so, they have no problem with the ideas of resurrection presented in other Hebrew scriptures.[i]

This question by the Sadducees about the resurrection, therefore, is not really a question for which the Sadducees are looking for answers.  Instead, this is a question meant to both ridicule Jesus,[ii] and to trap Jesus in an impossible question.  Though we may feel some sense of camaraderie in shared curiosity, the Sadducees are not simply a curious bunch with a heartfelt question.  They are trying to manipulate Jesus and embarrass him in front of the crowd.  Luckily for us, Jesus offers an answer anyway.  The answer is not as specific as we might like, but the answer does offer hope and mercy in a roundabout way.

What Jesus basically tells the Sadducees and those gathered around him is that the resurrection is not like life here on earth.  Life after earthly life is not “Earthly Life, Part II,” where everything is the same, but better.  In the resurrection life, rules of this life – and in particular, rules that applied to Levirate marriage, like a brother taking on a widowed sister-in-law – are not the same as the rules in the afterlife.  Jesus does not explain exactly what this looks like or how this plays out, and Jesus does not fully satiate our curiosity.  But Jesus does give an answer that is full of mercy and love.  Jesus basically tells those gathered that the beauty of the resurrection is that the strictures and limitations of this life are lifted in the life to come.  Things like women being treated as property to be managed, infertility, and grief are erased in the afterlife.  Things like disappointment in marriage, pressure to be married, and even death itself are no longer present in the afterlife.  Things that define us here, limit or frustrate us, or pain us here in this life are absent in the afterlife.  Jesus will never concede to the Sadducees that resurrection life does not exist.  But Jesus does try to kindly invite the Sadducees into seeing that resurrection life is so much more than they can imagine, and so much fuller of true life than this earthly life they know.  Jesus does not answer their question fully, but Jesus does say that the Creator God of Torah is still revealing truth, and that the truth is full of mercy, grace, and love.

I am reminded of the scene from the movie The Matrix where the main character, Neo, goes to visit a woman called the Oracle to find out if he is “the one,” a messiah-like figure to save the world.  Neo goes to the Oracle with a clear-cut question, “Am I the One?”  The conversation that ensues is complex and layered with meaning.  She seems to be telling Neo he is not the one, but we later learn in the movie that she was actually telling him that he is not the one if he will not claim his status as the One.  The scene is as complicated as my rudimentary attempts to explain the scene.  But what the scene reminds me of is our conversations with God about ultimate things.  We often come to God with basic questions and concerns that are rarely answered directly.  But that does not mean we do not get an answer.  In the end, the answer is loving, full of compassion, and ultimately full of truth when we are ready to understand and interpret that truth.

This is all that Jesus can offer us today.  Jesus is not offering an exclusive interview to a top news source to tell us everything we want to know about resurrection life.  We will not be able to watch with bated breath as Jesus answers every question we want answered.  Instead, Jesus offers us a promise to take home.  His promise is that we have resurrection life beyond this earthly life.  His promise is that resurrection life is not some two-dimensional repeat of this life, with the limited happiness we can find here, but instead is a three-dimensional life beyond our knowing because of our limited earthly experience.  His promise is that God is ever revealing truth to us, showing us the most important truth:  that God loves us, shows us exquisite mercy, and offers us unfailing grace.  Jesus’ words today may not be the 60-Minute special we were hoping for, but Jesus’ words today give us something to hold on to in the midst of this crazy, chaotic world that is our earthly home.  Hold fast to the Lord who loves you, shows you exquisite mercy, and offers you unfailing grace.  Amen.

[i] Vernon K. Robbins, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 285.

[ii] Eberhard Busch, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 286

On the Busyness of Holy Week…

27 Wednesday Mar 2024

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Photo credit: https://www.redletterchristians.org/why-we-want-to-skip-holy-week/

Holy Week is a funny time for liturgical churches.  Growing up in the United Methodist Church, I remember one Sunday (Palm Sunday), we put nails in the cross, and the next Sunday (Easter Sunday), we would put flowers in the same holes where those nails had been.  But services between the two Sundays were rare, if not nonexistent.  Once I became an Episcopalian, a whole world of liturgical wonders opened up.  Each church did Holy Week a little differently, but invariably, there was some kind of worship every night of Holy Week.  There were the traditional Triduum services:  Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil.  But then there were a whole variety of others things:  Taizé worship, Compline, Evensong, Healing Services, Tenebrae, Lessons and Carols, Vespers, and even special concerts. 

Among ecumenical clergy, I often get looks of skepticism, as if they wonder why we do that to ourselves (i.e. work so many nights in a row).  They are not wrong (it is certainly taxing), and I also do not promote the kind of martyred attitude many clergy assume while doing it.  For most of us though, there is something deeper happening.  Fellow clergyman Tim Schneck said it best in a recent post, “When you hear clergy strongly encouraging you to attend the services of Holy Week, especially the Great Three Days (Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil), it’s not just because they like to see more people in the pews, or it’s good for their egos, or they want parishioners to see how much effort goes into these liturgies.  It’s because they believe in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and the transforming power of the Christian faith.  It’s because they love you and want nothing more than for you to have such a moving encounter with our Lord, that it will change your life.  It’s an invitation rooted in profound love, and a recognition that there is literally nothing more important in the entire world than to participate fully as we collectively journey from the Upper Room to Calvary to the Empty Tomb.” 

I know life is full and stressful.  I know in my area, many families are rapidly approaching Spring Break and have a load of things to do to prepare.  But as a pastor – maybe your pastor – I want to gift you this most sacred week for your spiritual journey.  Whether you tune in online or join us in person at my church, let yourself be stirred by liturgies you do not often see, by actions you rarely do, and by music your rarely hear.  In what can easily feel like just another week, make a point to find yourself a church that can stir your curiosity about faith or your longing for meaningful connection or a sense of belonging.  But mostly, know that whatever you can do – even if it’s just Easter, know that there is a place where everyday this week, you can be reminded that you are loved – deeply, profoundly, and unconditionally.  And if you want to hear, taste, smell, see, and touch that love, the Church is waiting for you. 

On Loss and Light…

20 Wednesday Sep 2023

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There’s an old adage, at least among clergy, that deaths often come in threes.  As clergy, we are accustomed to walking a community through the death of a loved one.  In death, time sort of stands still, as being present with the grieving, and preparing for funerals takes precedence over all other work that was formerly deemed urgent.  If a second death happens, clergy get a little skittish because of that old adage about threes.  So, death can not only upend a week or two, it can last for weeks on end. 

But recently, I have begun to wonder if subscribing to that adage about threes clouds our vision about what else is happening.  I have had the experience of sitting with someone in the hospital who was approaching death, only to hear over the hospital PA system the tinkling sound that marks the birth of a new baby.  I have had the experience of within twenty-four hours receiving four texts:  one about the death of a friend’s mom, followed by one about a clean bill of health after cancer treatment; another one about a death in the parish, followed by one about the birth of a grandchild.  When we only see deaths in threes, we seem to lose sight of the incidents of life all around us. 

I do not mean to minimize the experience of death – each one is unique and needs time to go through the full cycle of grief.  But I have been wondering if in those darkest moments – whether in death, divorce, or the loss of a job – there isn’t lightness breaking in too.  That tinkling sound announcing a birth did not negate the end of life walk of my parishioner.  But as we made eye contact, that tinkling did help us remember all the moments of life that parishioner had experienced before those last days. 

I do not know what you are going through today:  what losses you may be grieving or what deaths are hanging over you like a cloud.  But as a people of resurrection, I suspect there is life surrounding you too – maybe as quietly as a tinkling, or maybe as loud as a toddler who has found her words.  My prayer for you today is that whatever pain you are experiencing in death today, you might be gifted with eyes to see the blessing of God’s light and life.   

Sermon – John 14.1-14, E5, YA, May 7, 2023 (8:00 AM)

30 Tuesday May 2023

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The gospel text we hear from John today may be quite familiar.  Today’s text is a favorite for funerals.  I have lost count of the number of times I have heard the first six verses of chapter fourteen, and after countless funerals, I am convinced the first six verses would be the ones I want read at my own funeral.  What I love about this text, and what I suspect so many others love too, is layered.  I love Jesus’ description of the heavenly kingdom – a place of abundance, with many dwelling places.  I love that Jesus lovingly goes before us, and even promises to come back for us and guide us there.  I love the assurance that I already know the way, and I love Jesus’ words, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”  And as if that were not enough, I love the very human response of Thomas – so stuck in his anxiety and fear that he cannot really hear Jesus.  His panicked words make me feel reassured in my own human messiness.

But what is funny about this text is that we never read the rest of the verses at funerals.  Because I have studied just the first six verses countless times, I was stunned this week by the following eight verses of our text.  After that entire interaction with Thomas, where clearly Thomas needed and received careful, loving guidance, Philip enters the scene – and does the exact same thing as Thomas.  Literally seconds after Jesus patiently explains how he will go and prepare a place for us, and he will guide them, and they will know the way because Jesus is the way, what does Philip do?  He basically says, “Great, if you could just prove yourself one more time, then I will definitely believe you.” 

Truth be told, the introduction of Philip makes me love this text even more.  You see, in this Eastertide season, as we continue to talk about what the resurrection means in our everyday life, we go back to this time before Jesus’ death when he broke the resurrection down, not once, but twice.  But the explanation we hear today – twice – really takes us all the way back to the beginning.  Remember John’s gospel does not start with warm, familiar birth stories.  John starts with the poetic, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  John has told us from the beginning that Jesus was from the beginning and became flesh so that the followers of God might make God known.  And so, Jesus patiently (and occasionally a little impatiently) tells us over and over again that Jesus is there to help us know God and to bring us into resurrection life in the heavenly kingdom.  And if Jesus can be patient, and occasionally a little impatient, with Thomas and Philip, surely God can handle my own slowness to come to confidence in Christ.

But that is not the end of our invitation today – to recognize Jesus’ salvation and care for us.  This entire convoluted conversation with Thomas and Philip is to help them and us believe.  Now, do not confuse things, I do not mean belief as end in and of itself.  Karoline Lewis sheds light on what believing means, “…to believe in Jesus,” Lewis says, “is to witness in the world his presence so that others might have their own encounter by which then to believe in Jesus…Every sign, every encounter, every conversation has been with that sole purpose in mind, to make God known so that a moment of believing might happen.  In these works, the disciples are invited to participate.”  This witness becomes important because Jesus is returning to the Father, because discipleship is based on witnessing, because greater works will be made possible in our witnessing.[i] 

So as much as I love these very human interactions between Thomas, Philip, and Jesus, this text is not just meant to reassure me of my humanness and God’s grace with me despite that flawed humanness.  This text is meant to remind us of our commission as disciples.  Resurrection promise is not just comfort food for the journey.  Resurrection promise is fuel for the journey – a journey that is not just about us, but about who we bring along with us into resurrection life.  That is our invitation today.  As we journey in this Eastertide, Jesus reminds us once again that our Easter joy is not meant for us alone; our Easter joy is meant to be shared.  Thomas and Philip just remind us in our very humanness that we can be the faithful disciples Jesus needs.  Amen.

[i] Karoline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries, (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 189-190.

Sermon – John 10.1-10, Acts 2.2.42-47, E4, YA, April 30, 2023

30 Tuesday May 2023

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As a parent of young children, I often found that I mourned when certain stages ended.  One of the harder transitions was when I was no longer physically able to manhandle my children.  Before then, if a kid was refusing to move, or was throwing an epic tantrum, I could just swoop them up and manage their outburst physically.  But once I could not long hold their weight or battle those strong little arms, I realized my parenting technique was going to need a dramatic change – I was going to have to give up some control and figure out how to help both of us verbally work through what was going on in the moment.  Of course, that probably was the way I should have been parenting from the beginning, but sometimes a good swoop sure did feel good and gave me the illusion of control.

When I see images of Jesus the Good Shepherd – the biblical image we celebrate today – I find a similar sense of disappointment.  If Jesus is the Good Shepherd, I am metaphorically that helpless, probably not too bright, albeit cuddly sheep draped over Jesus’ shoulders.  That kind of image has always made me feel a little disempowered.  But this week I stumbled on a Byzantine icon[i] of Jesus Christ the Good Shepherd which shifted things for me.  Instead of a sheep draped over Jesus’ shoulders, the icon has a person draped over Jesus’ shoulders.  Their eyes are closed, their body is limp, but Jesus, complete with the nail scars in his hands and feet, seems to effortlessly be carrying this person out of the wilderness.  The image did not necessarily make me feel empowered, but the image did humanize this metaphor for me.  I could easily imagine an adult who has been walking through the valley of the shadow of death, exhausted from suffering or grief.  Or I could imagine a protective Jesus who has swooped someone out of harm’s way.  And I can definitely imagine an adult who has worn themselves out with their own tantrum.

In John’s Gospel today, Jesus is shepherding the crowd through all those scenarios.  You may remember back in Lent we got that long story from John’s gospel about the blind man Jesus heals, only to have the religious community freak out about Jesus healing on the sabbath and not believing the man had actually been blind in the first place.  Well after the blind man proclaims his desire to follow Jesus, Jesus then turns back to the community of faith and offers this explanation of his healing the blind man.  His teaching in John is actually much longer than what we hear today – in fact, Chapter 10 of John’s gospel is usually divided into three sections – all about the Good Shepherd – but a different section is appointed for each liturgical year.  In year A, we get the “I am the gate,” or door, portion of Chapter 10.  We are told that when we pass through the gate, the “good shepherd,” tends to us so that we will have life, and have life abundantly.

This passage is the “so what” of Easter.  If you remember, people have been running around, demanding proof of Jesus’ resurrection, taking whole walks with Jesus before realizing who the resurrected Jesus is.  And so, Eastertide is a celebration of the resurrection, and we spend seven weeks trying to figure out what resurrection means.  The “so what” today then is that Jesus came, died, and rose again so that we might have life, and have that life abundantly.  And if that abundant life means Jesus has to carry us out of trouble, hold us when we cannot walk on our own, or haul us over his shoulder when we are just too stubborn to accept his gift of abundant life, that is what Jesus the Good Shepherd will do.  Jesus’ resurrection matters because his resurrection reminds us of the gift of abundant life.

But that story is only part one of our “so what” today.  The rest of the “so what” of resurrection happens in our lesson from Acts today.  Since Easter we have been reading in Acts about the beginnings of the church community.  We have heard two parts of Peter’s sermon after the great day of Pentecost, where he gathers the first mega church of over 3000 people.  Now we hear the “so what” of Jesus being the gate.  You see, when Jesus becomes the gate, the door through which we pass into the protected sheepfold, you know what that gathering of the sheep looks like?  We are not disempowered, limp bodies, lying under protection.  When we pass through Jesus’ resurrection, we join a community – a community of action.[ii]  The text from Acts says of that growing body, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.”[iii]  As the community grows, they share in economic justice, sharing their wealth and caring for all equally.  They spend time together, eating with glad, generous hearts, praising God, and tending to the goodwill of all.  Jesus doesn’t just carry our limp, weary selves, and then deposit us into the world to try again.  Jesus brings us into a fold – a community of study, fellowship, communion, and prayer.

That is the beginning of your “so what” of Easter today.  We are an Easter people because Jesus gave his life so that we might have life and have that life abundantly.  As Easter people we are gifted that abundantly life so that we can enter the sheepfold of faithful community.  Your invitation today is hop off Jesus’ shoulders, walk through the gate of Jesus, and come into to a community of faith where we will study God’s word, develop meaningful relationships, come together around the common table, and pray.  When we gather in that kind of community, when we are fed mentally, physically, and spiritually, then we fueled for the rest of the “so what” of Easter.  Once nurtured in that generous, abundant community, we are led back out through the gate that is Jesus, better able to love and serve the Lord out in the world.  Thanks be to God!

[i] As found at https://www.etsy.com/listing/856250878/hand-painted-byzantine-icon-of-jesus?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_a-home_and_living-spirituality_and_religion-other&utm_custom1=_k_Cj0KCQjwgLOiBhC7ARIsAIeetVDhfiQo66BpPPH4Bg02sff293o0Q8_YqIhIUuxfVbEDRA8-6wbArd0aAg3OEALw_wcB_k_&utm_content=go_12559942249_120251207180_506897847531_pla-302895540136_c__856250878_122003557&utm_custom2=12559942249&gclid=Cj0KCQjwgLOiBhC7ARIsAIeetVDhfiQo66BpPPH4Bg02sff293o0Q8_YqIhIUuxfVbEDRA8-6wbArd0aAg3OEALw_wcB on April 29, 2023.

[ii] The idea of what life is like in the sheepfold is articulated by Matt Skinner in “Sermon Brainwave:  #901: Fourth Sunday of Easter (Year A) – April 30, 2023,” April 23, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/901-fourth-sunday-of-easter-year-a-april-30-2023 on April 29, 2023.

[iii] Acts 2.42-47.

Sermon – Matthew 28.1-10, ED, YA, April 9, 2023

30 Tuesday May 2023

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I have a friend who does one of the most unconscionable things in life:  she flips to the end of every book and reads the ending first before going back to the beginning to start.  When she first told me about this habit, I was mortified.  How could you ruin the suspense, ignore the carefully crafted character development, and destroy the experience of imagination so callously?  For her, the answer is simple.  She needs to be assured that everything will turn out okay – the only way she can trust the journey the author will take her on is if she knows how the journey will end.  Now I have certainly read my fair share of books whose ending made me furious, so I get her logic.  But I have yet to be converted to her method, even by the bad endings.

Sometimes I think Easter Sunday is a bit like flipping to the end of the book.  We want to know Jesus rises from the dead, forgives our sins, and restores us to the promise of eternal life.  But that is not where the story starts today.  We are told that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary go to see the tomb.  These two women do not come to prepare the body with spices like in the other Gospel narratives.  They just come to see the stone-cold reminder of death and lay down all that has been.  In any death, there is a flurry of activity – the realization of pending death; the calling in of loved ones to say goodbye, or in the case of sudden death, the shocked gathering of grief; the funeral plans and details so complicated all your brain can do is make one decision at a time; and then the receiving of condolences and public marking of goodbye.  But in any death, eventually everyone leaves, and the mourning are left doing what Mary Magdalene and Mary do – going to sit at the tomb with the stark reality of all that has happened.[i]

In some ways, that is our posture as a church today.  If we participated in Holy Week at all, we walked the last meal of Jesus, his washing of feet, his agonizing prayers, his betrayal and denial, his torturous death, and the finality of his tomb.  Of if we participated in Lent, we walked through the depths of our sinfulness, doing the hard work of repentance, even being reminded we are dust and to dust we shall return.  Of if we go to church on a regular basis, we know that Jesus is just the final act of God in response to the ways the people of God broke their covenant with God again and again – ignoring prophets and sages, ignoring the sins of their ancestors, ignoring all the blessings and glimmers of hope from God and instead doing our own will, not God’s will.

Once you know that whole narrative, humbling dragging our baggage of misbehavior, misdeeds, misguided wills, then the story we hear today is not just a “and then they lived happily ever after” ending.  Today’s story is profound, unbelievable, and, as the text says, literally earth-shattering.  What God in Jesus does today is entirely undeserved, nothing we are remotely entitled to, and utterly full of love, forgiveness, and grace.  When we carry the weight of that entire book we have been reading, then today’s text is the very reason we say alleluia over and over again today.  Today’s text is the reason we make our way to this place, whether we have never been here before, are not entirely sure we want to be here, whether our faith journey has begun to be renewed here, or whether this place feels like home for us.  Today’s text is the reason we have any hope at all in this conflicted, messy, seemly unsavable world.

But here is the funny thing about this beyond happily ever after ending:  this is not the end.  After the earth is literally shaken at its core, the appearance of an otherworldly angel, and even an encounter with the risen Christ, the story goes on.  Mary Magdalene and the other Mary go witness to the other disciples.  We are told they go with fear – even though both the angel and Jesus tell them to not be afraid.  We are told they go with joy – because even though this new thing is terrifying, this new thing is terrifyingly joyful.  We are told they run – run to share the best beginning they have ever heard.

That is our invitation today.  In Christ’s death, we hear the best beginning we have ever heard.  Knowing all that we know of the prelude, we know that this is terrifyingly joyful news.  But this is news that we are invited not just to share, but to run and share.  I do not know to whom you need to run to today.  Maybe someone in your life needs this terrifyingly joyful reminder of resurrection.  Maybe someone you have never met before is waiting for you to run into them.  Or maybe you just need to run into your downtrodden self and remind yourself of this good news.  When the clergy today says, “Let us go forth into the world rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit, alleluia, alleluia,” our response is not just a verbal one.  Today we are invited to run and share the good news!  Amen!

[i] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Dear Working Preacher:  The Foundation of Christian Hope,” April 2, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/the-foundation-of-christian-hope on April 5, 2023.

Sermon – Luke 24.1-12, EV/ED, YC, April 16, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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For anyone who has grown up where there is significant snow or ice, you learn a new way of walking during wintery weather.  You cannot just boldly and carefreely step out of the house or car.  You learn a technique that admittedly looks silly from afar but can save many a bruised bottom.  You sort of extend your leg and toe and test out the asphalt.  If that feels steady, you put more of your weight on the foot.  If you are not entirely sure, you can lean back a bit to keep search for an ice-free zone.  Like I said, the technique looks a bit ridiculous, but saves you more often than not.

I have been entering into this new era of pandemic in the same tentative way.  Much of our life has begun to resemble what we remember as “normal”:  no masks required in most places, the elimination of social distancing, the occasional handshake or hug – even the church has reintroduced the common communion cup.  But even with all the changes, I still feel a deep-seeded hesitancy in my being.  I thought when all these things changed, I would want to party and celebrate.  Instead, I find myself leaning back and tipping my toe into the new normal.  My body has been on a rollercoaster for far too long to trust this new, exciting time.

A similar thing seems to be happening in our Easter story today.  The women are initially terrified about the news of the empty tomb.  As they remember Jesus’ foretelling of the event, they excitedly embrace the resurrection – only to have the disciples not believe them.  Peter must go see the empty tomb for himself before he will believe the women.  But his response to the empty tomb is to go home – amazed, certainly – but quietly returning home.  They are not singing the alleluias like we do today.  They are not running around town sharing the Good News.  The are gingerly dipping their toes into Christ’s resurrection, still not sure they can trust the joy of Easter.

Sometimes we are like that.  Last night, we spent an hour retelling the salvation narrative of God – story after story of God’s faithfulness and commitment to save the people, no matter how grave their sinfulness or disloyalty.  Last night, we reaffirmed all the good things about our baptism – the very things that make us faithful Christians – even though we struggle everyday to live into our Christian identity.  Today we are saying countless alleluias, proclaiming the tremendous news of the empty tomb, despite the fact we have sometimes felt far away from God during these last two years.  We are in this sacred place together with people who believe, or want to believe, maybe in new garb, maybe with festive meals waiting for us, and yet there is a hesitancy deep inside us – an unwillingness to fully let go of the weight of all that has been in our lives and believe the alleluias our liturgy has us say.

For us, today, the promise is we are in good company.  What God does in the resurrection of Jesus is unfathomable in Jesus’ day – of course the disciples thought the women were telling an idle tale (and their doubt was not just because they kept forgetting Jesus treated women as equal leaders).  When you have watched your whole life crumble, every dream of what you thought life with Jesus would be disintegrate in 24 hours, pivoting to news this tremendously good is not easy.  And besides, there is a lot more to happen – appearances by Jesus, more teaching, and finally the empowerment to share the Good News from the Holy Spirit.  The toe dipping into Easter joy today is totally reasonable and human.

So is your toe dipping today.  If you are not ready to throw off your outer garment and shout at the mountaintops, “Jesus is Risen!  All is well in the world!” that is totally reasonable and human.  The Church is here to keep telling you the story, to send women with a fantastic tale, to remind you hope is still possible, and joy is inevitable.  But the Church is also here to sit with you in quiet rooms, holding your hand, and whispering Good News until you are ready to step firmly onto the ground without hesitation.  Spring has melted the ice, Easter has brought promise, and Jesus lives.  We are here to take the first steps together.  Amen.

Sermon – Mark 16.1-8, ED, YB, April 4, 2021

28 Wednesday Apr 2021

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You know how when a group of friends go out for an adventure, and when they come back and try to share the story with you, but you can never quite get “THE story”?  Someone will remember the night happening one way, someone else will add another detail, another person will contradict or question that detail or embellish the story.  You get the gist of what happened, but the exact details may be a bit fuzzy.  

 On Easter Sunday, that is kind of what happens to us.  Each Gospeller – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John – tells “THE Easter story” a little differently – different characters doing different things.  We know the basics:  the tomb is empty and Jesus is risen from the dead.  But the details make the story different and fresh every year. 

This year, we get Mark’s version.  In that group of friends trying to tell the same story, Mark would be the one known for brevity.  His version would be something like this, “The women went to anoint Jesus in the tomb, like we always do with the dead.  But when they got there, the big rock was already moved, and Jesus was gone.  Some guy was there and said Jesus has been raised.  It was terrifying.”  There are no embellishments to the story – no running around, no pronouncements of the Good News, no disciples doubting women, no victorious preaching.  Just a stunning revelation and news so shocking it leaves people afraid. 

This may not be “THE Easter Story,” as you remember.  But Mark’s version of the Easter story may be exactly the Easter story we need this year.  I do not know about you, but Easter is usually this spectacular day for me.  We journey through Lent, reflecting on our relationship with God.  We trudge through the drama and emotional labor of Holy Week.  Then, on Easter, the alleluias feel well deserved and the joy is hard to contain.  But this Easter, I am not totally there.  This pandemic is still hanging over our heads, our worship is wonderful but not all we know Easter worship to be, and our lives are still in a holding pattern as we work toward herd immunity and even hear talk of cases spiking.  I know this is a day for rejoicing, but there is still so much grief all around us, I am having a hard time fully embracing the alleluias this year.

That emotional tension is why I love Mark’s gospel this year.  The women at the tomb are coming out of a deep grief too.  The only reason they are at the tomb this morning is to do the work grieving people do – tend to the body, handle the practical details, do the things that begin the journey of healing.  So, although the news from the man in white is incredible, the news is unsettling, confusing, and a bit scary.  The women are going to need time to process this mind-blowingly good news before they can rejoice, before they give thanks to God, before they can muster up the nerve to say the good news aloud. 

What I hear in Mark’s gospel are two words of promise for us today.  First, no matter how we receive the Good News of Jesus Christ’s resurrection and triumph over death, the good news is there for us and for all anyway.  Our reaction to the news does not negate the goodness or the radical love and redemption of the resurrection.  Second, the man in white says something seemingly inconsequential that means the world.  He says, “…go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”  If you remember, Peter denied Christ when Christ needed him most.  But today, the resurrection promise is specific:  go tell his disciples AND PETER…and you will see him.”  No matter if we have been faithful, no matter if we have actively denied Jesus, no matter if we cannot muster a joyful response to the resurrection, we will see Jesus.  The Good News of Jesus is not just for the faithful – the good news of Jesus’ resurrection is for the broken, the sinful, the despondent, and the fearful alike.  And on a day when you may or may not be feeling our alleluias 100%, the Good News is God is with you anyway, loving you and promising to carry you until you are 100%.  Thanks be to God!  Alleluia. 

On Things Ludicrous and Holy…

17 Thursday Dec 2020

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Photo credit: https://loe.org/shows/segments.html?programID=18-P13-00051&segmentID=1

My children are preparing for their winter socially distanced holiday recital, and we have been flooded with a flurry of details, items to purchase, things to organize.  One of the flyers that came this week was for a t-shirt they could buy promoting the recital and the cause that will benefit from the proceeds.  The shirt says, “Best Christmas Ever.”

I was glad my children were not around when I saw the flyer because my immediate response was to scoff – out loud, in my house, looking at a piece of paper with indignation.  Best Christmas Ever?!?  Had the dance studio lost their minds?  What about this Christmas could possibly be the “best”?  Families are separated, some of whom have not seen each other in over a year.  The Coronavirus is rapidly spreading, with the death toll in the United States now over 300,000.  And despite a transition in political power, we remain as divided as ever, struggling to find peace among our brothers and sisters. 

After recovering from self-righteous indignation, I began to think about the approaching Christmas season, and what the Church, and I as her priest, have invited people to do.  We are still inviting our parishioners, friends, and neighbors to join the Holy Family on Christmas Eve and sing songs of praise and thanksgiving.  Although we honor grief and suffering at our Blue Christmas service on December 21, we are still making a claim for hope, for light, and for love.  Even with our church buildings closed again, we are still encouraging the church to gather in their cars for a drive-thru, or by their hearths with their devices to join with the shepherds as we go to see this thing that has come to pass.  Perhaps to an outsider, the work of the Church this next week seems as ludicrous as claiming this Christmas is the Best Christmas Ever.

This week, I find myself humbled.  I know the Church is going to ask a lot of you over this next week.  You may not feel like singing carols, or hearing the familiar story, or watching candles flicker as we pray.  And that’s okay.  But, if it is alright with you, we are going to keep doing it anyway.  The Church has always been full of resurrection people.  We cannot help ourselves once we know the Risen Lord.  And so, when the Christ Child comes next week, we will keep holding on to light, to joy, and to love.  We will keep holding on to the promise that Christ is with us always, even to the end of the age.  We will keep shining the light of the Christ Child, reflecting his light to all.  And we will keep believing and trusting for you until you can come to the place where you can believe and trust yourself.  You do not need to rush.  We will keep holding the light until you are ready to take it up yourself.

Sermon – Matthew 16.21-28, P17, YA, August 30, 2020

02 Wednesday Sep 2020

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I have to tell you, I have been dreading this gospel text all week.  We are in a season of life that feels completely out of our control:  whether we direct our attention to the looming presidential election in just ten weeks, the fires and hurricanes bearing down on our neighbors, the impending start of a new school year – whose daily schedule is still unclear, or the ever pervasive global pandemic and the way the pandemic has disrupted our physical, emotional, spiritual, and financial lives.  Even planning this year’s church calendar with our Vestry this past month felt like a game of pin the tail on the donkey – as we tried to guess where our lives would be in two, four, or even six months.

As experts in living an out-of-control life, we can totally understand Peter’s actions in our gospel lesson today.  An impending sense of doom and the anxiety-provoking lack of control lead Peter to rebuke Jesus, declaring vehemently that Jesus must never experience the great suffering and death Jesus predicts for himself.  Peter, who literally two verses before this text is praised for his bold proclamation of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah, is severely scolded by Jesus.  “Get behind me, Satan!” Jesus yells.  Peter, who has just been called the rock on which Jesus would build his Church, is now a stumbling block, getting in the way of Christ’s mission.  We understand Peter’s actions though.  When Peter declares Jesus the Messiah, he means a triumphal, redeeming Messiah, not one heading to death.  Peter’s Messiah is not supposed to behave this way, and Peter will not stand idly by and let his Messiah self-destruct.

Our tendency is to look at Peter and shake our heads.  Poor Peter – always getting things wrong:  sinking in the water when walking to Jesus, misunderstanding what Messiahship means, getting confused at the Transfiguration, insisting he will never abandon Jesus at the end.  But we have to be really careful with Peter because Peter is not that much different than each of us.  We have all had those instances where we rebuked God for one reason or another.  We too have faced hurricane forecasts and have rebuked God.  As we have watched our political life crumble, we have rebuked God.  As colleges close, mandated technology gets delayed two weeks after school starts, and school schedules are still unknown, we have rebuked God.  As friends are infected, lose jobs, or die from the pandemic, we have rebuked God.  Like Peter, we too have yelled out, “God forbid it!”  We have seen the darkness and pain looming ahead and have desired with every inch of our being to stop the suffering.

And yet, suffering is what Jesus predicts for all of us.  Jesus says, “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 will find it.”  Jesus’s words make us very uncomfortable and confuse our notions of a loving, grace-filled God who beckons us to come to God when we are weary.  We hear these words about suffering, recalling all of the pain in our lives – the loss, the heartache, the loneliness – and we cannot imagine that God plans for us to suffer in these ways.  Predestined suffering does not fit our understanding of who God is.  And yet, here we are with Jesus’ words today.

What helps me with this text is to go back to Peter.  What is interesting about Peter’s rebuking of Jesus is that he seems to rebuke all of what Jesus says without actually listening to all of what Jesus says.  Jesus says he, “must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”  Peter hears the suffering and the killing part and seems to totally miss the part about being raised on the third day.  If Peter had been listening, he would have heard the good news imbedded in Jesus’ words.  He would have heard the promise of resurrection, the promise of everlasting life, the promise of resurrection life for all of us.  Yes, the road will be dark and painful – maybe even unbearable – but there is goodness at the end of that road.  God’s promise of salvation, of resurrection on the third day, is good news for Peter.  Suddenly Jesus’ scolding of Peter seems much more justified.

The invitation for us today the same:  to listen.  Listen to the entirety of what Christ is saying to us.  If we get lost in the words about suffering and death, then we become like Peter.  Now I am not arguing Jesus is encouraging us to go recklessly surfing in this hurricane of life.  Instead, Jesus is inviting us into a life that matters – a life lived not inwardly guarding our own comfort, but a life that lets go of control, not worrying about the cost for self, but a life that is poured out for others.  We can enter into that ambiguous place because God promises us that even if our lives end in the process, God has more life in store for us.  Jesus’ invitation to take up our crosses is not an invitation into death, but an invitation into life.[i]  This week, boldly take up your cross; knowing that on the third day, Christ will be raised.  Resurrection life awaits!  Amen.

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven: Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 80.