Tools from Jesus

Note of caution: The opening story for this sermon touches very briefly on infant loss.  

Grace and peace to you, friends, from the God who sustains us and maintains our connections, through the Holy Spirit, across the miles that separate us. We in Big Timber pray for you this morning and we welcome your prayers for us. 

Almost 14 years ago, when I still lived in Alaska, I was in two very different online groups. One was for women expecting babies in January 2013. Connected through a larger website, we encouraged and supported one another through the experience of pregnancy and early motherhood. 

The other group was a very large, international group for women clergy. This group had existed for years, shifting with the internet, and continued as a su
pport group, sharing resources and even meeting in-person in small groups and for big events. 

In December 2012, a tragedy occurred in my January baby group when one woman went into labor early. The baby turned out to have an unexpected genetic abnormality and passed away very shortly after birth. We were all devastated for our friend. 

As I texted with another mom from the baby group, we lamented how far away we were. I was in Alaska, texting with someone in Minnesota. Our friend was in a third state altogether. I asked if our friend had a pastor or someone who might come for support. 

The Minnesota lady reported that our friend didn’t and said the only pastor she would want was me. I couldn’t get there. No one from our baby group could, but I knew where to find a pastor who might be able to be there. 

In my clergy group, I reached out and asked the three pastors who lived that city if any of them could go to the hospital to offer a blessing and support. One could and did. In the story of a terrible day, two strangers met in person, in a hospital room, and one received help and consolation. 

What does this story have to do with anything? I think of this story each time someone says that the internet is a terrible place. It can be, but it doesn’t have to be. It has been and can still be a place of connection, a place for hope and help, a place where real people reach out and are not alone in their worst moments. 

The internet is a tool, and we decide how to use. And we must decide each time. 

The exact same truth applies to the tool Jesus offers us in Matthew. Throughout this section of Matthew, Jesus expresses concern for how the community of believers will use the tools of fellowship and truth-telling. The community has to opportunity to use these gifts to pay attention to the marginalized, to stop harm, to protect children and other vulnerable members, to speak up and speak out. 

Jesus offers a tool for discipline- not a punishment, but for correction and for restoration to fellowship. The process for speaking to an individual, first, one-on-one offers followers of Jesus a chance to hear one another and, if necessary, to make repair and restitution. It can happen but rarely is one party completely right and the other, completely wrong. 

Jesus’ guidance for correcting harm in the community goes further when a group is needed to be brought as compassionate witnesses to a confrontation. I realize this is a nightmare scenario for many of us- the very word “confrontation” can make some folks very uncomfortable. 

Jesus does not mean an aggressive fight, but a private meeting that has been prayed for and prayed through and has a clear goal, in keeping with the larger mission of the fellowship. Using this tool from our Savior requires everyone present to have a soft heart and an open mind. 

This passage is longest section of scripture cited in our Lutheran constitutions at all levels- congregational, synod, and churchwide. It is a process we are supposed to follow when there is a real, serious issue in the congregation. There is not a flaw in the tool. 

Sometimes, however, the flaw is us. On occasion, church folks “solve” a problem through gossip, anonymous letters, or social pressure. Sometimes we, as the church, ignore a problem because we hope it will go away before we must become too uncomfortable. Sometimes we urge victims to “forgive” rather than doing the hard work of making the ones causing harm stop and repent. And it is entirely possible for church folks to weaponize this tool, confronting someone they wish to silence or to make go away. 

The internet doesn’t have to be a villain; it’s just a tool. In my opening story, it was a tool that facilitated community, consolation, and hope.  

The tool Jesus gives us for how to speak the truth in love and in compassion to one another can do those same things. Jesus must have been concerned about the community of believers and Matthew must have shared that same concern later, which led to preserving the teaching. 

The question for us is whether we share the same concern: a desire for a welcoming community, a hope for reconciliation, a longing for community wholeness, a joy in the truth. Do we have enough of this concern to use the tool Jesus has given us in a judicious manner, with prayer and gentleness, with truth and discretion? 

Are we willing to apply this tool not just in our work together as the church, but in all our doings so that anyone and everyone will see how we conduct ourselves and give glory to our Creator in heaven?

Our Lord, Jesus Christ, has given us many tools to be used for His purposes and to His glory. Let us pray for the insight, the strength, and the courage to do so.

Holy Son of God, we give you thanks for the gift of community and life together. Grant us wisdom and discernment that we may use the tools of discipline and truth-telling for growth, support, and hope in your church and in the world. May all we do be in gratitude and in response to your amazing grace. Amen. 

Prayers for Ordinary, But Important Tasks

Paraments Changed from Green to Red

Sometimes the everyday rituals mean the most. I was pondering these while doing some necessary, but mundane tasks at church. Here is a series of prayers for church and home activities that help us connect more deeply to the activities. 

Waiting for A Hot Beverage to Be Ready

Water of Life, I give you thanks for this tea/coffee/hot cider/cocoa/etc that I am about to consume. Its warmth and comfort remind of the consolations and peace of your everlasting arms. May I rest in those arms forever and carry the peace of this moment into the rest of my day/evening/night. Amen. 

Changing the Altar Candles

Light of the world, you illuminate all existence with love and mercy. Even in the depths of pain and grief, You are present and do not permit us to walk alone. Strengthen our trust in your real presence and our perception of your works all around us. Amen. 

Washing Dishes or Loading the Dishwasher

Holy Provider and Healer, you have once again provided daily bread for me/us. Thank you that we were able to eat and keep me/us mindful of those who are hungry. The never-ending task of preparing food and cleaning up is a reminder of your never-ending love and mercy. Amen. 

Changing the Paraments (Altar cloths) 

Ruler of All Seasons, you have brought us to this celebration/observance of __________ (insert season, festival, or observance here). We give you thanks that you have sustained your church, through the Holy Spirit, through these many changes and that you will be with us in all that is to come. Guide our worship and praise, so that we may always be aware that you alone are due all honor and glory, now and forever. Amen. 

Changing the Toilet Paper 

Look, Lord, there are many things I take for granted, but this is not one of them. Thank you for this resources and the many others I may not even consider today. Guide me, through this life, that I may make choices that support the flourishing of the earth and all people- even in my most private moments. Amen. 

What are the other daily tasks that you can think of that might also benefit from small benedictions or prayers?

I am not afraid. I am heartbroken.

I live in Montana, a state with a very low number of diagnosed COVID-19 cases. Even more specifically, my county has not as yet had any cases. This passover is both a blessing and a curse because it divides the community, with some of our citizens feeling as though we have been spared because we have been careful and others suspecting that our precautions were "sound and fury, signifying nothing". (Macbeth)

Now we have the ever-present questions about what we can do, what we should do, and from what should we abstain. In the conversations around masks, distance, and open v. close, the word "fear" gets bandied about. It is murmured that people who are cautious are "fearful" or being led by fear, as opposed to faithfulness or freedom.

I cannot speak for everyone, but I can speak for myself. As a mother, as a wife, as a sister, as a friend, as a pastor, as a neighbor, as a daughter, as a citizen, I am not afraid. I am heartbroken.

My heart broke when I posted a sign in March, closing the church to the public and to in-person worship. Praying for those who depended on the building for 12-step help, a source of community, and actual sanctuary, I ached and I grieve.

Another fissure came through weeks of preaching without seeing faces, feeling the energy in the room, or hearing singing other than my own. Learning that singing may be off the table for awhile brought tears and sorrow too deep even for sighs. Remembering our harmonies between the Yellowstone and the Boulder, I hung up my harp. I ached and I grieve.

The experience of Holy Communion brings heart wholeness through Christ's presence in the elements and in the community as we eat, drink, and breathe together. In our present fast from the physical sacrament, the pieces of my heart vibrate with longing. Making the decision for the fast was right for our community, but I ached and I grieve.

This past week, I denied a person a hug because I had permitted a person outside my family to hug me the day before. In embracing one another, I also embraced a waiting period to be sure I neither caught nor transmitted anything but love and compassion. To be physically present to one meant denying another. For the same reason, I am continuing to only eat takeout from local restaurant and not to sit inside. In the waiting, I ached and I grieve.

A friend of mine, another pastor, talked with her community about the fact that continuing to worship virtually permitted the pastors of the church to be present- with masks and other precautions- to the sick and dying of the church. When a pastor hasn't been exposed to 50, 60, 90, 150 people on a Sunday, he can more easily go to a bedside or home because it is a more calculated risk for himself and the person he is visiting. This isn't the case in all places right now, but it is for this church and the pastors in question. In choosing the needs of the few for the sake of spiritual care, I am hoping not to drive away the many. For the whole church, I ached and I grieve.

I have offered commendation of the dying over the phone. Heartbreak. I have watched divisions and harsh words in online spaces and in-person conversations. Heartbreak. I have stood on steps and talked across the porch to people who are bored, lonely, and worried. Heartbreak. I have wept over whether I am currently an effective pastor to the 13 people with no internet connection at all. Heartbreak. I have seen an increase in our church's attendance online and wondered how we may be true community to those who are experiencing church in a helpful way for the first time. Heartache.

Recommendations about how to space people in pews, skipping coffee hour, and how to encourage masks in church are difficult to decipher and painful to consider.

Worry about people whose marriages were struggling, children and teens who need structure for their mental well-being, seniors who live alone and receive little information or communication- these things fill my mind.

Navigating tense political, emotional, and social conversations is a tightrope that I balance across, Bible in hand, not because I want to be liked, but because I want the relationship to remain open for the sake of Christ in both of us.

This is the truth, but not all of it. All of it would be too much to write and too much to read.

One final truth, though, I am not afraid of re-opening because of COVID-19 or because I am "cowed" by rules and regulations.

I am afraid my heart and my spirit cannot take it if someone or several someones became sick at church.

I am afraid my heart and my spirit cannot take it if we resume in-person worship, which means I am unable to visit the most vulnerable, even on their porch.

I am afraid my heart and my spirit cannot take resuming worship only to refrain from Holy Communion, sharing the peace, corporate speaking, and group singing.

I am afraid my heart and my spirit cannot taken it if I have to do more funerals, by interment only, and mourn apart from the consolation of being physically together.

So, yes, I am afraid. I am afraid not of the virus, but of more unending, bone-deep wearying heartbreak.

Some of these things will not be avoidable. They will likely come because this will be a long journey. But you can carry the baton for your pastor (and your neighbor) a little way if you understand and respect that they are not afraid. They are heartbroken.

Eternal Light

In 2012, I wrote about changing the eternal candle in the congregation I served at the time. It is a very short post. I still think about this, even though I am not always the one to change the candle in the current congregation I serve. 

When Montana went into "hunker down" mode for a few weeks, I stayed home too. Even though I could have continued to cross the street to the church and worked there alone, it seemed important to set a good example. Since I also believe that the church is the people, not only the building, I set up a little place in my house. On March 26, I brought the eternal candle into the parsonage where I live. 

I lit at the start of each work day. Making phone calls, praying, working on videos, reading the Bible, leading Bible study, the candle burned. I would go up at night and blow it out, just because I didn't want to keep a candle burning all night- no matter how stable and safe. (I also have to set a good example for my kids.) 

Somehow these candles in red globes have become, in my mind, a symbol of what it means to be a pastor of a congregation. I am not the Savior. I am not God. I do not control. I lead, I pray, I mess up, I repent, I try, I forget, I remember, I grieve, I rejoice, I long, I stretch, I ponder, I proclaim. And over and over, I make sure that the symbols of light remain visible- so that we can all trust in the true Light of the World, which cannot be overcome. 

This morning, across an empty 4th Avenue, with only bird song for accompaniment, I carried the eternal candle back to the sanctuary. 

In the vow portion of the Service for Ordination to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament (being a pastor), the final comment of the bishop is this, after the pastor has asked for God's help and guidance in fulfilling many promises: 

Almighty God, who has given you the will to do these things,
graciously give you the strength and compassion to perform them.

And then the congregation responds, "Amen."

 Being a pastor creates a restlessness in me for service and creating community. This restlessness is the Holy Spirit stirring at my will. In the details, though, I am met by Christ who provides the strength and compassion.

No one carries a candle home and tends it for glory. They do it for love. And it is the same love that keeps on hoping for the day when we can all safely worship together in person, again.

Both Sides Now

For over ten years, I unlocked this door to go to work. Not always the first person in the building, but usually. Not always the last person in the building, but usually. I unlocked this door to run in and grab my communion kit, a Bible, or an address. I unlocked the door to get ready for a funeral, for a wedding, for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost. I unlocked the door to come into God's House and I locked it behind me to go out into God's World. 

I accepted a call to serve a new congregation, which meant leaving my keys for the maroon and glass door behind. From what I learned on both sides of that door, I have come to a new place to serve new people, but the same God. For the first time the other day, I unlocked a new door. Eventually, I will unlock it for all the same reasons and then some new ones. 

Mostly, I think about how God remains the same. I do believe that God's character is immutable, but I also believe that God's actions, throughout history, happen in spite of and despite the actions of people. I think that the Divine Three in One has, on occasion, had to change course due to the reality of human self-centeredness, stubbornness, and desire for control. Even in the course change, God's own heart remains merciful, loving, and compassionate- even in correction. 

So, there are new doors, new faces, and new lessons. And I still love what we've left behind. 

But life is made in the little motions of daily living. The habits. The paths. The words. The keys, the doors, what we unlocked and hold open. What we lock and hold closed. 

And, in all of this, God remains on both sides of all doors. 

Decolonize16: First Debrief

As soon as the #decolonizeLutheranism hashtag began to be used on Facebook and Twitter, I was in and involved. It was like jumping into a river and realizing that I could swim better than I thought I

Candle station for prayer at conference

could. The impetus behind the movement is to separate North American Lutheranism from being considered interchangeable with Mid-Western, primarily imported Scandinavian, culture and cuisine. By "decolonizing" or separating Lutheranism from that context, the people in and behind (and ahead of) the movement hope to release and refine our theological and biblical commitments toward inclusion, welcome, understanding, and embracing the height and depth and breadth of the love of God in the world.

The initial conference of this movement was on 10/23/16 at the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago. It's a long way to for an Alaskan, but I couldn't stay away. Once some of my friends knew I was coming, they signed up too. Thus, I had reunions, reconnections, and reformation (of the current church) all in a day. What a day.

The framework of the conference was sections of the Augsburg Confession pared with seasons of the church year. We heard small sermons or sharing and then had small groups to talk about our reactions and our thoughts. I'm still thinking about so many things, but here's my first thought:

Nice is the law and honesty is the gospel. 

Lutherans have a very specific way of thinking about the words "law" and "gospel". The law is anything, anywhere in Scripture (or in the world), that reminds and makes us glaringly aware of our need for God, God's work in Christ, and the aid of the Spirit. The gospel is the glad tidings anywhere in Scripture (or in the world) of how God is already aware of our need and is ahead of us, behind us, and within us- bringing us into the reality of our salvation through grace and the on-going truth of our sanctification.

In my small group, we talked about how people we know (including ourselves) resist the hard work of combatting racism, sexism, anti-LGBTQ behavior, and cultural appropriation without appreciation.   One person in the group asked if we could figure out how to use the framework of law and gospel as part of this work. I thought of my own work around "being honest, not good". I'm not a liar, but in general- my desire to be liked, efficient, and good means that I don't always own up to my own feelings, reactions, and perceptions.

In order to decolonize Lutheranism, we must stop the idolatry of "nice" and "good". We can no longer excuse that racist jokes are "just how so-an-so talks". We can't pretend it's okay to ask a queer couple if we could just not mention their wedding in the announcement or on the church calendar like we do for other couples. We can't ignore that there are women, people of color, and LGBTQ individuals who are gifted from God, but are ignored for call and service in this church and- if they get called- are held to a much higher and more scrutinized standard of behavior.

Nice and good behavior asks for there not to be so much fuss about this. Niceness says, "It's been that way for a long time and change is hard." Good behavior accepts being a token, being diminished, being ignored as part of what it means to be a child of God in a certain context.

No.

I said, NO.

No more.

No more "nice", No more "good".

When my therapist told me that I needed to work on "being honest and not good", I looked her in the eye and said "Honesty is not one of the fruits of the Spirit."

But are we really being kind without honesty? Does true generosity exist without honesty? Can we truly love without honesty?

In order to decolonize Lutheranism, we must begin a full-throated, full-bodied, and fully embodied embrace of honesty. We have to die to nice and good and be aware of how God is resurrecting us to honesty in Christ. We have to be willing to say what is obvious, what hurts, and what needs to be done. We have to be willing to sit with the pain of complicity, the reality of what we can and can't fix, and the emptiness of the seats of those who will refuse to do this work. We have to be willing to make changes and re-think how our work as congregations looks, sounds, and feels even before we believe it "applies" to anyone already there.

And we don't do it so that "others" will come. We do it so that we can be a church, the church, churches who are actively teaching and learning how to live and how to die in Jesus Christ. We do it because it is, honestly, the right thing to do.

Worship Assistant: Google

An elderly woman and her son have attended church where I serve for a few weeks. They always leave very quickly, such that I've never really be able to meet them. She comes up for communion with the help of someone in the congregation, but he stays behind in the pew.

She receives the bread and doesn't eat it. A couple weeks ago, the congregation member who had helped come up waved me over and asked to give her a blessing. The older woman said her name, which I thought was French. Conjugating quickly in my head, I said, "Dieu vous donne la paix." She smiled gently at me and I felt successful.

This week, at the beginning of the service, they were back. I looked at the younger man and asked "En francais?" He said, "No, she speaks German."

That explained two weeks of blank looks!

"Guten Morgen!" I quickly offered. The congregation chuckled.

During the passing of the peace, I went back to him and asked about communion. Knowing I hadn't been speaking the right language, I asked him about the bread issue. He confided that she actually struggled with Alzheimer's, so she wasn't entirely sure what was happening. "Thank you for tolerating her," he concluded.

"Oh, no," I protested. "We aren't tolerating anyone. It's an open table for everybody, no matter what they understand. Besides, no matter what she forgets, God remembers her."

His face reddened and his eyes watered as he thanked me. I felt intensely emotional.

During the offering, I used my cell phone to Google how to say some kind of blessing. The words for "The body of Christ broken for you" were beyond my pronunciation. The smile she gave told me she'd understood what I'd gotten out.

During the last hymn, I googled "German English Bible". Word project.org offered me the page you see here in a side-by-side translation. I knew if I could find that, I could find the Aaronic blessing from Numbers 6 and offer at least a line of it.

I think it's really important for anyone visiting a church to hear a least one line in their own language. No church is likely able to offer a complete translation of anything to a new visitor. If you don't usually have non-English speaking visitors, you may not even have materials available in another language. Nevertheless, it is hospitable, kind, and generous to offer something in a language that a visitor or newer member can understand. Particularly in the case of older people or people who have difficulty processing information, words in a childhood language or song may be the most comforting thing they could hear. I've greeted people in French (correctly) and offered the Holy Communion dialogue in American Sign Language before.

At the end of the service, I spread wide my right arm and clearly announced, "Der HERR segne dich und behüte dich." Before the sound had fully died, the face of the woman at the back of the church was transformed. She lit up and grinned so broadly I could see her teeth. She heard. She understood. She felt the blessing.

I offered the full blessing- intercession, request, and promise- in English.

I will always remember how Google, my worship assistant, actually allowed me to see the blessing of Aaron take root in a woman who just wanted to feel- even briefly- welcome and at home.

Praying for Pastor

How to Pray for Your Pastor…

1. When you’re in a hurry: “Lord, Pastor ­­_________________!” God knows the needs of your pastor. Even a quick intervention deepens your spiritual commitment to your pastor’s well-being and your relationship with God.

2. When the pastor seems stressed: “Dear God, I’m not sure what’s happening with Pastor _________. I ask for your peace to surround him/her and for your presence to be felt and perceived. May amazing grace be evident to him/her in the week ahead.” Pastors often have lots on their minds- some things that are public and some things that are not. Families, plumbing, health issues, money, neighbors- pastors are people, too, and they need the prayers that they often pray for you!

3. When you are in disagreement: “Ruler of the universe, I give you thanks for your Holy Spirit who brings discernment and guidance to all people. I am grieved at the division in your church. I seek clarity from your written word and inspiration from the Living Word. Help Pastor _______ to be open to how you revealing yourself in truth. Help me to open to new learning and wisdom as well. I ask this, trusting in your faithfulness to all involved in this conversation.” Dissention in the church brings grief to pastors. No person wants to fight with loved ones. Yet, even the most conflict-avoidant people eventually have disagreements. Your pastor is praying for you in this situation and for how to be a good pastor. It is good for you to return the effort. It will not go unnoticed.

4. When something doesn’t seem right: “Dear God, I renounce the forces that oppose you in the world. I especially reject any attempts these forces may be making in the life of my pastor or in the life of his/her family. I ask for the strengthening of your Holy Spirit in protection and aid and that your enemy would find no quarter here! Amen!” Your pastor is on the front lines of spiritual life- for you and for others. Being in front means being at the first line of attack. Unfortunately, there are spiritual (and material) forces that oppose God’s desire for wholeness and healing in the world. Your pastor is not immune to these oppositions. When you pray for God’s protection for a pastor or anyone else in these situations, you are forming what is called a “prayer covering”. The more people who join in this type of prayer, with sincerity of heart, the better for the pastor and for the congregation.

5. When church was great: “Blessed are you, Creator of the Universe, who has drawn us together this day to praise your name. Thank you for the songs and the musicians. Thank you for the readers and the assistants. Thank you for the good news of Jesus Christ, which brings me hope and confidence again and again. Thank you for our pastor and his/her sensitivity to your word and will. Praise be to you forever! Amen.” Or something like that. A prayer of thanksgiving is not nothing and you’ll remember the 30 seconds you sat in your car, thanking God for church, longer than you will remember the service.

Test

Today's Lenten photo word is "test".

We had a great Ash Wednesday service here, with different stations. This prayer station is going to stay up durin the season. 

The sign to the right says, "Maximum Occupancy 240". We're required to posted that. Normally we have about 1/6 of that in the sanctuary. 

When we think about our smallness, it can feel like a test we're failing. 

Maybe that's just me. 

Lead me away from temptation. 

The temptation to blame. 

The temptation to make it about me.

The temptation to go quietly into that good night. 

Save us from the time of trial. 

Maximum occupancy: One God

Miracles, Not Magic

Easter 1: Luke 24:1-12

            Who is missing in the gospel reading?

            Jesus…

            Where is he?

            How do you know?

            Where are the disciples? Not at the tomb.

 (Despite Jesus having told them.)

            The women go to the tomb and there are two men there, messengers, who tell them that Jesus is risen. That he is living- no longer entombed, but alive and out and about…

            They go back to tell the disciples what happened and the disciples shout, “Hallelujah” and build a church.  The disciples immediately fall to their knees and thank God. The disciples immediately get out a scroll and begin to put together the Apostles’ Creed.

            Or… instead… the disciples… the people who knew Jesus best, who knew best what he’d said, who’d loved him and had been praying for the events of the last three days to NOT be true. They said the women were full of … baloney. The English translators protect us from the weight of the Greek. It’s not that the disciples thought it was an idle tale… It is that they thought the women were crazy, delirious, insane and were feeding them a line of sugar.

            How is it that the disciples did not believe them? And, lest you hurry to defend Peter, some of the early translations of Luke don’t have verse 12. Many just end with “to them, it was b… an idle tale.”

            If the disciples were not able to believe right away, why do we expect that of ourselves?  Faith in the resurrection… of Jesus and of ourselves in Christ… faith in the resurrection is not magic. It’s a miracle.

            We who still feel the sting of death… who see pain the world… who wrestle with injustice… that we would believe in the resurrection is truly a miracle. That the church would last is a miracle. That people who sometimes are so aggravated with each other can embrace and say, “Peace be with you.” It’s a miracle.

That someone who watched their spouse struggle and die after a long illness can find love again… Miracle.

That someone can get out of bed again after the death of a child… Miracle.

That a child can be born one month, two months, three months, four months early and live and be well… Miracle.

That people in this room right now have survived cancer, divorce, miscarriages, broken hearts, heart attacks, major surgeries, deployments, discrimination, betrayal, unemployment, loss… and yet you are here… believing that forgiveness is possible, that hope is strong, that resurrection is true… Miracle.

            We are here now because eventually what seemed like an idle tale… became clearer, more obvious, more trustworthy, more inspiring, more believable. What is true is true… whether or not we believe it- however, sometimes we have to grow into that belief. We have to experience the miracle for ourselves. And it is a slow process.

            Easter is a season- not a day. We have to wrestle with the idle tale… test it… and keep our eyes open for where God is encountering us. Jesus was not in the tomb that first Easter. We do not know where he was until later that evening. But he was somewhere. He was then as he is now… encountering people in acts of kindness, acts of grace, acts of mercy… things are small miracles in themselves.

            You see, for God… a God that is all-powerful, all-loving, a God that is forgiving and merciful… raising Jesus from the dead was nothing. That is not hard. Helping us to believe in it… that’s work. That is the work that only God can do. Faith is a gift that only God can give. And that we would act on that faith… that we would show kindness… mercy… forgiveness… that work in us could only happen through the Holy Spirit.

            It is because of God’s work in helping us to believe in resurrection… of the body, of relationships, of creation… that we are able to work for justice, for healing, for equality, for release of captives, and for peace among people. It is because of God’s work in helping us believe that we are here today… doing things that look crazy… but are meaningful because of what we have been helped to understand is true. True today and forever. Miraculous today and forever.

            What if you don’t believe or you struggle with believing or even you sometimes wonder just a little? Does it mean God isn’t at work in you- that God hasn’t given you faith? Do you think God is done with you? The disciples… pillars in the faith… had to wrestle with what seemed like an idle tale. And Jesus met them, each in different ways, with forgiveness and healing. And, Jesus does no less with each of us as we live out our life’s Easter season in learning the truth of God’s work in the world.

            Faith in the work of God isn’t magic and it isn’t easy. It is a miracle and it is work. To make a body disappear- any magician can do that. To bring a body to life again- we know some ways that happens. To bring a body to life as a sign of hope and forgiveness, of renewal and future expectation, and to help people trust in that resurrection… that’s a miracle. The miracle of grace. The miracle of Easter.

Christ is risen.

He is risen, indeed.