Through the Door Into Something New

Text: John 1:29-42

The season of Epiphany, which we are in right now, can get a little lost in the church year. Coming between Christmas and Lent, it is a curious, transition space with John the Baptizer, the call of the disciples, and early teaching and miracles. In this season, we are asked to look at the same world we’ve always known and see something entirely different.

That need for epiphany- a new way of seeing happens for the people in today’s gospel. John, son of Zechariah, is standing by the Jordan, at the edge of the wilderness. He’s doing his thing: wearing odd clothes, eating strange food, preaching repentance, dunking people in the muddy water, challenging the status quo. People are coming to see him because he is interesting, but they know what to expect as they come. One day, John looks up and sees Jesus walking toward him.

John doesn’t just say, "Hey, there’s my cousin." He says something that would have greatly surprised his listeners: "Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world."

To understand why this was such a shock, and why it signaled a massive "something new" was happening, we must look backward. When John calls Jesus the "Lamb," he is invoking one of the deepest, oldest memories of the Jewish people: the Passover.

Recall the shape of the Exodus story. The Israelites were enslaved in Egypt. They were stuck in a cycle of generational trauma, forced labor, and hopelessness. Through Moses, God promised freedom. Freedom, liberation, a new beginning requires a marking—a boundary between the old life of slavery and the new life of the wilderness.

In that first Passover, the role of the lamb was specific and visceral:

Each family took a lamb, "without blemish." It was an asset, a sign of their livelihood. After killing the lamb, they were told to take the blood of that lamb and smear it on the doorposts of their homes. That blood was a sign. It identified who belonged to the God of life, to the covenant of life. When the plague of death passed over Egypt, those marked by the lamb were spared.

 

The lamb was the bridge. It was the price of the exit ramp from Egypt. Without the lamb, there was no exodus. Without the lamb, they remained slaves.

So, when John points at Jesus and says, "There is the Lamb," he is telling the crowd: The exit ramp is here. The time of enslavement to your old ways, your old habits, and your old systems is over. God is once again trying to lead you into freedom, into a new way of being, into a bondage of mercy and justice.

The hardest part of faith—and frankly, the hardest part of being human—is recognizing when one way has served its purpose and is no longer doing what it was meant to do.  In that time, we often cast about and resist change, even when we know in our heart that it is time to be open to something different and, even, new. 

The Baptizer is the ultimate model for this. John had a successful ministry! He had disciples. People were coming to him, and he was pointing them to a new way of living in and for God.  But the moment he sees Jesus, he points away from himself. He realizes his role was to prepare, not to possess.

How do we know when it’s time to do something new? How do we recognize our own "Lamb of God" moments?

In the text, two of John’s disciples hear him speak and they immediately start following Jesus. They don’t wait for a three-year strategic plan. They feel a tug. Usually, when God is calling us to something new, there is a holy restlessness. The old "Egypt", the old addiction, the old habit, the old way of relating to friends, family, or neighbors, starts to feel cramped. The space becomes tight because your capacity is bigger.

When Jesus realizes he’s being followed, he turns around and asks a question to anyone who would follow him: "What are you looking for?" 

He doesn’t ask, "What do you want to do?" or "Where do you want to be in five years?” He asks about the hunger of their hearts. To do something new, you have to be honest about what you are actually seeking. Are you seeking comfort? Or do you want to be in the company of the "Lamb" who changes everything?

The disciples answer with a question: "Where are you staying?" And Jesus gives them the only answer that matters: "Come and see." Newness rarely comes with a map. It comes with an invitation to walk. You don't get the clarity beforeyou start moving; you get the clarity while you are in motion. The disciples stayed with him that day. They sat in his space. They listened to his breath. They didn’t learn everything in the first day, but they gained enough wisdom and clarity to stay for a second day and so on. Learning the shape of something new takes time and trust.  

There is a beautiful, quiet detail at the end of this passage. Andrew, one of those two disciples, goes and finds his brother, Simon Peter. He tells him, "We have found the Messiah."

Think about the courage that took. Andrew had to leave John —his teacher, his mentor, his "safe" religious home—to follow a carpenter from Nazareth. Andrew had to trust that this Lamb was indeed a doorpost to pass through for life, for freedom, for God’s future of hope for the world.

We each must ask ourselves: what is my Egypt? What is the thing that is keeping you from the new place to which God is calling? Is it a grudge you’ve held for years? Is it your judgment of people whose lives do not look like yours? Is it the idea that the church or the town or the community should always be the same? Imagine what it would have meant for the enslaved Israelites to have been more afraid of the unknown than they were of Pharaoh or the horror of his rule.

John stood at the edge of the water and had the grace to say, "He must increase, but I must decrease." He recognized that the Lamb had arrived to take the sin of the world—including our corporate sin of resisting the call of the will of God.

The Lamb of the first Passover was about protection for a night in order to make the journey to freedom. The Lamb of God that John points to is about liberation for a lifetime. Jesus remains on the move, speaking to us and asking, "What are you looking for?"

If we indeed want to follow where he goes, if we indeed want to be like Jesus, then when he says, “Come and see”- like Andrew and Peter before us, we go. The blood is on the doorpost. The way is open. The new thing has already begun.

Amen

 

 

The Reign of Christ and the Long Defeat

At one point in The Lord of the Rings, the royal elf Galadriel describes her life and experience and says, “… we have fought the long defeat.” Galadriel, like other elves and the Hobbits and many others, is depicted as being on the right side of things in the books. The Company of the Ring (the Fellowship) wins and defeats the forces of evil. Why would she consider this a “long defeat”? 

Furthermore, why would J.R.R. Tolkien, the author, apply the same term to himself. He wrote in a letter, “Actually, I am a Christian, and indeed a Roman Catholic, so that I do not expect ‘history’ to be anything but a 'long defeat’ – though it contains (and in a legend may contain more clearly and movingly) some samples or glimpses of final victory.” (Letter #195)

Tolkien, a Brit, fought in World War 1. Though he was on the side that “won”, he saw the devastation following the war on all sides- how the “winners” struggled with what they had seen and done and how the “losers” were galvanized to see themselves as “wronged” and regrouped to try again. He watched as people turned away from the long-standing guidance of scripture and religious traditions toward leaders who both preyed on people’s fears and stirred up their basest desires. 

Tolkien's concept of the "Long Defeat" became a theme in his works, especially in The Lord of the Rings and his letters. It refers to the ongoing struggle against overwhelming darkness, evil, or entropy (gradual decline into disorder). Tolkien understood that the battle for what is right may never be completely won but is still fought because of its inherent value. As a Christian, Tolkien, along with his friend C.S. Lewis, believed in the idea of a persistent, noble resistance against forces that may ultimately be too strong to overcome, yet the fight continues because of its moral or existential importance. The fight also continues because the ultimate victory is not in the hands of individual fighters but of God. 

The long defeat is an aspect of the youngest liturgical celebration on our calendar, Christ the King or Reign of Christ Sunday. It originated in the Roman Catholic Church, under the guidance of Pope Pius XI (eleventh) in the year 1925. The solemn observance was held on the Sunday in October, making it not too convenient for Protestants to follow as that’s typically Reformation Sunday. Following Vatican II, however, the observance was moved to the last Sunday of the church year, previously called Judgment Sunday. 

Why would church leaders have felt the need to christen a new church festival in the 1920s and why would it spread across denominations and the world within fifty years? 

In the wake of World War 1, Christian leaders noticed the same issues as Tolkien. They saw that the church no longer had the influence it once had. People did not look to their religious and spiritual practices and leaders to guide them. People looked, instead, charismatic political leaders for inspiration, comfort, and instruction. As these leaders used the vocabulary of the Bible and church history to stir up grievances and keep energy high, the pope and other religious leaders were alarmed, just like Tolkien, Lewis, and other writers. The movement that was on the rise was called “Christian nationalism”- an idea that a nation or people therein would shape everything according to Christian ideals. 

For many believers in Jesus, that doesn’t initially sound so bad. If a leader claimed such a thing, why should we be concerned? Such language and actions should concern us because the essence of Christianity has never been about worldly power. If we always imagine a balance scale in our mind with the words and deeds of Jesus on one side, we must weigh everything else against that truth that sets us free. If we say we are followers of Christ, who he is and what he does must be given the most weight in our lives- words, thoughts, and deeds. 

In today’s gospel from John, Jesus is before the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate. Pilate’s concerns are good order in the region, answering to the emperor for his actions, overseeing trade and connections with area leaders, and squashing rebellions to keep the peace. The idea that the Prince of Peace is right in front of him means nothing to him and would never occur to him. Even our most generous reading of Pilate cannot untangle the man from his complicated relationship with Roman power and oppression. 

Jesus, for his part, knows this. Even as he might desire to be merciful to Pilate, John’s writing here reveals that Jesus is not going to claim kingship for himself. Pilate and other world leaders only have one image of a king- one who seeks to accrue power, land, and resources through many means- most of them violent. Not only is Jesus not violent, but even when he’s righteously angry, he has no need to accumulate earthly status symbols. He is the Son of God. He has been since the beginning. The kingdoms of this world cannot offer him anything that isn’t already his. 

He tells Pilate that his kingdom or realm is not of this world. Notice Jesus does not say he doesn’t have a kingdom. He simply notes that his reign is not on this plane of existence. This was probably frustrating and annoying to Pilate, who likely got as tangled up as we do when Jesus doesn’t seem to give a direct answer. 

Note what else Jesus says, though: “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over... But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” Jesus has no expectation of his followers fighting in for him or in his name. Jesus explicitly rejects the idea of holy war on his behalf. In Matthew 25, the commands of Jesus are to care for the sick, the naked, the hungry, the imprisoned, and the lonely. None of these described situations are about fighting or seizing power. In the very next chapter, Jesus warns Peter to put away his sword as those who live by the sword, die by the sword. 

Consider that phrase for a moment: those who live by the sword, die by the sword. What shapes our living will consequently shape our dying. This is a key understanding in following Christ. If we live in Him, shaped by his commandments and imitating his grace, mercy, and welcome, we will die in Him- assured and consoled by all that has been done for us and by the amazing grace that will lead us home. 

Which brings us back to today’s commemoration of Christ the King and why this day was deemed to be necessary. There is no government on earth that has not been established in some way by force. The coercive power considered “necessary” to establish and run a country, nation, or rebellion is not of Christ. When political leaders make promises, even using biblical or church language, they are in cahoots with the forces that oppose God and probably not in accordance with the will of God. 

Sometimes we can see and acknowledge governments or officials are able to accomplish deeds that are in line with God’s expressed will for caring for the marginalized, community flourishing, and stewardship of creation. More often than not, however, we know leaders are excited to use power to support themselves, their own agendas, and their friends. 

This is the gravest danger of Christian nationalism- that we will be misled by people who use the words we long to hear, but only use power as a means to their own ends, having nothing to do with Christ or his own instructions to his followers. The further we move from the center of Christ’s commands and will, the more people are harmed since care for and love of neighbor is the very essence of what it means to follow Jesus. 

In 1925, church leaders saw the need for a reminder that Christ is our ultimate leader. Even as we understand our vocation of citizenship in voting and participating in action, our highest allegiance is to the King of kings and the Lord of lords. Back to that image of the balance scale, we must weigh not only our own words but the words and deeds of those who seek to lead us. How do they measure up to Christ’s guidance to those who claim to be his followers? 

The truth of today’s observance, Reign of Christ or Christ the King Sunday, is to recognize the truth of our long defeat. To know we have been invited and equipped to be a part of how God’s will is done on earth, but also to know and accept that we will not complete the work. And what good we may do can easily be overturned by the forces that oppose God- spiritual forces, political forces, and the force of brokenness, which we call sin. 

Here is the word of hope I offer you in the long defeat, a reason to keep going, a word of true hope from the anchor of our faith. There is nothing but long game when you follow the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. There is nothing but long game when you trust in the Prince of Peace. There is nothing but long game when you seek the will of the One who is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. 

The best history of Christianity has been when we engaged in the long game, even if it is a long defeat- the founding of hospitals and care for the sick and the dying, the work of improving prisons and accompanying the incarcerated, the work of feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, the work of pursuing justice with generosity and self-control and little recognition. 

Christianity’s holy wars, forced conversions, and efforts to create “Christian nations” are typically counted as moral failures, the opposite of the “long defeat”. Those doomed actions, in particular, are exactly what Jesus tells Pilate that his followers will not do because they were, and are, attempts to establish a kingdom like that of the rulers of the earth, not the ruler of heaven.

No matter what happens to the kingdoms of this world, God is faithful and constant. The One who made us is the One who is, was, and is to come. We are not drawn together by the Holy Spirit to flail about in confusion or hopelessness. The Spirit’s tether binds us into a community that is equipped with the written word of God and with the gifts of baptism and holy communion. We have received inspiration, guidance, and sustenance for the journey of faith on which we are led and accompanied by the One who knows and loves us best. Our long defeat will always be God’s ultimate victory. 

On this day and every day, remember that you have been claimed and called by One whose kingdom is not of this world. His life and his word are both eternal. He welcomes all and our names are in the book of life, in his royal handwriting and not our own. Jesus Christ is the only one who can promise a reign forever and ever. And who graciously brings us into that eternity by his love. Amen. 

Come Sit By Me (Sermon)

Pentecost 12B

12 August 2018

Ephesians 4:25-5:2

              There is a phrase: If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. What does this mean? (If you can’t say something that’s helpful or kind, then stay quiet.) There is an alteration of this quote that I’ve been thinking of lately: If you don’t have something nice to say, come sit by me.[1]

            In our society, “nice” doesn’t usually mean kind, truthful, or helpful. Usually, “be nice” means “don’t make a fuss” or “just go along with it” or “don’t be loud” or “stop making such a big deal”. Being nice often means less about fixing a problem and more about pretending there is no problem. When I think of the stress I feel on a daily basis, when I think of the news stories we hear, when I think of people who are being hurt daily by situations that are alterable or preventable, I want to say, “Yes! If you don’t have something nice to say, come sit by me.” 

            I don’t want to hear nice things. I want to hear honest things. I want to hear hard conversations. I want to hear about broken hearts, deep frustrations, apologies, forgiveness, and change. I want to hear people talk about how to change systems like racism, sexism, classism, ageism, ableism, LGBTQ-exclusion, injustice, inequity, mental illness, addiction, and the brokenness of cultural norms, ethics, and systems. I don’t want to talk about nice things. I want to talk about truth. If you don’t have something nice to say, come sit by me, because I don’t want nice. 

            The writer of Ephesians, using Paul’s writing style, is communicating with the church at Ephesus, reminding them of what it means to be the community of Christ. The reading we have today from Ephesians (4:25-5:2) shows a communal path with niceness and wrath as pitfalls on either side. The life of a Christian is a community life- lived together for support of one another and for work together for the sake of the world. Slander, bitterness, and unmitigated anger with one another mean that the community will be stunted in growth, failing to support one another. Niceness- surface relationships and conversations- means that the community will never take seriously the issues within and without that need attention, repair, and prayer. 

            It is the path of truth, the path of honesty, forgiveness, and grace, which leads us to where God wants us to be. Anything else, any other type of action, grieves the Holy Spirit. What does it mean to grieve the Spirit? If a child asked, it would be easy to say, We make the Holy Spirit sad when we make bad choices and when we don’t do the things we know are right. Most of us, however, are adults and need more solid spiritual food. As adults, we can handle more solid spiritual food. 

            How do we know what the Holy Spirit does? We are taught about the Spirit from the scriptures and from the documents of our faith that come through the traditions of the church. The Holy Spirit moved over the void at the beginning of creation (Genesis 1) and She breathed holy creative order over the chaos that previously existed. Creative ordering is the work of the Spirit and we see that outlined further, then, in the Apostle’s Creed. 

            The Holy Spirit brings order through the gift of the holy catholic church- where people gather in truth and power to worship, share what they have, and work for the sake of Christ in the world. The Spirit creates eternal stability for us, and all people, through the mysterious connection and hope of the communion of saints- the way we are interconnected with all people in God. The Spirit creates order through the forgiveness of sins- making it possible for us to trust one another and have faith in God’s mercy. The Spirit brings about the resurrection of the body- a wholeness that is our hope and God’s promise. And the Spirit continues the work of creation by the transformation that is and will be the life of the world to come. 

            This is the work of the Spirit. Speaking truth about this work and living lives that do not undermine this truth is what brings joy to the Holy Spirit. A bland niceness that fails to wrestle with the doubts and effort it takes to trust in mystery does not create community. Spiteful gossip or frustrated bitterness turns away people whom the Spirit is driving toward our community. Those are the things that grieve the Spirit. The path of discipleship, the way of Christ, the walk of life together means speaking truth to one another, being kind, forgiving, and being willing to ask for and accept help from each other. 

            It would be easier, sort of, to talk about the John reading today- to say Jesus is food for everyone. There’s enough Jesus to go around. God will feed us. That would be a nice sermon. I could do it. You could like it. We’d be fine. But I don’t have anything nice to say because nice is not what the world needs now. Nice is not the Spirit moving over creation. Nice is not the meaning of Easter resurrection or the promise of God with us. 

            Nice isn’t enough. And the opposite of nice isn’t mean, it’s ambivalence. It’s feeling helpless and hopeless and defeated. It’s feeling alone, ineffective, and unimportant. There is no space for nice in a healthy community of Christ. Not in the time of the Ephesians, not now. If you feel that way, and you might, if you feel that way, sit by me. If you don’t have anything nice to say, come sit by me. If you have something you want to change, something that breaks your heart, something that you need to address, come sit by me. 

            Now, who else is willing to be a partner? Who else is willing to open a seat? Who else is willing to say, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, sit by me because I am ready to be part of God’s work”? 

            The writer of Ephesians says, Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. (5:1-2) Imitators of God- that’s a broad expanse of possibilities- imitating God. We can create, unite, heal, feed, free, forgive, build up, put to rest, restore, listen, speak truth to power, rest, befriend, and so many other things. If we wonder what imitation might look like- we have Jesus as the pioneer of a faithful life, worthy of imitation. Jesus was not nice. I’m sure he was pleasant and affable, but his definitive state wasn’t to talk about the weather, the lamb, and the price of olives in the market. He made relationships, spoke truth, and showed compassion. 

            He was a companion- a bread friend[2]- to the people who traveled with him, who he met on the way, and to the people who were otherwise shut out of his society. If you don’t have something nice to say, sit by Jesus. And we are now his hands and feet, we are now his ears and words, we are now the workers in the kingdom. We are called to the imitation of God in Christ. We are called together- as community- to help one another in the imitation of God in Christ. We are called to help one another, to hold one another accountable, to be truthful and generous to one another in the imitation of God in Christ. 

            The Spirit draws us together, tethers us through her creative ordering, for the sake of one another, for the sake of Spenard and Turnagain, for the sake of Anchorage and Alaska, for the sake of our country and the world, for the sake of others and the world that God made, as it says in our baptismal vows. 

            Here we are- you and me. There are many chairs, but if you don’t have anything nice to say, please- come sit by me. 

            

---

[1]Alice Roosevelt Longworth (Teddy Roosevelt’s oldest daughter) had a sofa pillow that said, “If you don’t have something nice to say about someone, come and sit by me.” All variations of this quote are usually traced back to reporter commentary on that decoration. 

[2]Companion comes from words meaning bread (pani-) and with (com-), making the word mean something more like messmate or bread friend, describing someone with whom you eat more than simply an acquaintance. 

Peter and Stage 2 Faith

            There’s a scene in the musical Jesus Christ Superstar that sticks with me more than it seems to do with others. It is the set-up for the Last Supper, but- of course- the disciples don’t know that. They’re eating and drinking together, reminiscing about what they thought being an apostle would entail. Harmonizing, they sing, “Always hoped that I’d be an apostle/Knew that I would make it if I tried/Then when we retire, we can write the gospel/So they’ll all talk about us when we die.” (Ah, yes, apostles- a gospel message should always leave people talking about the writer. This tells us that they still didn’t understand what Jesus was about.)

            When we, the present disciples and apostles, examine our forbearers in following Jesus, we have information they did not have. In the depiction in Jesus Christ Superstar, as well as the depictions in some of the gospel accounts, Peter, James, John, and their brothers in faith continued to expect that Jesus would turn out to be the Messiah of their dreams.

            As children, they had heard stories of the One Who Was To Come. This One would greatly overshadow his ancestor, King David. The One Who Was To Come would be powerful and mighty, overthrowing oppressors and righting all wrongs. People would rise at the call of the One Who Was to Come and, renewed in fervor, the pain of oppression and ignominy would be eliminated. (At least, it would be for those currently oppressed, preferably so they could extract revenge.)

            Yet, Jesus doesn’t deliver in the way that they’d expected or hoped. He brings a world-changing power, but the unfairness of grace and the irresistibility of God’s mercy to all who hear of it was just not what the apostles were prepared to accept. When you combine these realities with Jesus explaining that he was going to die- in one of the most shameful ways possible- who can blame Peter when he blurts out, “Jesus, you quit talking like that!”

            It’s too much for Peter. In this framework, Peter is an excellent example of Stage 2 faith (a continuation of our sermon series). People move from Stage One to Stage Two when they begin to seek and find acceptance, teaching, and identity beyond their immediate family group. Larger group identification begins to matter- by way of school, sports, language, gender expression, social activities, and other ways people group themselves. In this stage, called in psychological terms: “mythic-literal faith”, a person learns the stories of their group, without much larger meaning, and accepts them as the facts of the tribe. It is in this stage that exposure to ideas about inclusion, varieties of experience, and differences as being useful matter. Children at this stage, usually ages 7-12, are predisposed to accept information from (to them) trustworthy sources as absolute. Anyone who has seen 8-years-old arguing about whose family does something the “right” way can understand this.

            Thus, we find dear Peter illustrating Stage 2 faith, where adults can be stuck. He has unlocked the discipleship level- finding a trusted leader, feeling included in a group, and arming himself with a sense of rightness and righteousness in recognizing Jesus as the Messiah, God’s anointed. Now, Jesus’ disclosure of how he will die is threatening Peter’s security. How will Peter respond?

            If he stays with Jesus, he is gradually learning that it might not be the kind of glory that he imagined for himself. There will be no triumphant parades, no special robes, no Romans fighting to curry favor with him. He’s not likely to get rich or, apparently, even to die old. Following Jesus will mean moving beyond retiring to write the gospel and seeking responsibilities and opportunities to witness to the good news of Jesus.

            What do we do, when the narrative that we learned as children or even as young adults no longer fits? What do we do when retiring to write the gospel, so that we might be talked about is not the stewardship or the life of seeking justice or the evangelism to which we are called? A person in this congregation, when speaking to me about the issue of racism, once told me that the hardest thing to wrestle with is doing something differently than your mother did it and recognizing that she, your beloved mother, might have been wrong.

            That is the crossroads of growing in faithful action. Being willing to learn, to know better, and to do better, to paraphrase the poet Maya Angelou. Peter is standing in a place where he is faced with real truth. He can embrace it, following Jesus, or he can deny what he has experienced, close himself to what he’s seen and heard, and live a half life, always wondering in the back of his mind, “What if?”

            Nearly all of us find ourselves in a world we didn’t imagine as children or even a decade ago. Overwhelmed by more information than we can process, we retreat to our tribes of comfort and little challenge. Our biological or logical families, our known television channels or websites, our favorite artists, writers and musicians, our own denominations- even as the world has increased in diversity, we are more tribal than ever, distrusting the ones who are outside our group.

            Therein lies the challenge of taking up the cross. In order to carry the cross and all that it symbolizes- self- sacrifice, love, and forgiveness- we have to put down what we hold close to keep ourselves safe. Those false security blankets create more division than unity. What are you willing to put down in order to take up the cross?

            When I listen to how people talk about God the Father or God the Son in certain ways, I seem to learn more about the person talking than about God. Divine violence seems to justify human violence. Divine exclusion begets human exclusion. Divine hardness of heart creates some of the most closed communities ever. Even in supposedly broad-minded circles, people can be edged out if they are not quite as free as the community seems to demand.

            What if we take up the cross of Divine forgiveness, of holy listening, of Spirit-driven patience, of Jesus’ welcome of the outcasts, of celebrating diversity in all its forms? “Always hoped that I’d be an apostle…” The difference between disciples and apostles is in the roots of the words. Apostle comes from a root meaning “to send out” or the ones who are sent. Disciple comes from the roots for student or pupil, a learner. It is said about Jesus’ followers in the Bible that all apostles were disciples, but not all disciples were apostles.

           

            When we stop at Stage Two in our faith development, we continue to cycle through being a disciple. God’s call to us, though, is to grow into being apostles- sent out to share hope, love, and grace with all whom we encounter. We have the benefit of knowing more than Peter does in this story. We read it, knowing about the resurrection, knowing about the joy of the early church, knowing that the Holy Spirit hasn’t quit working. And we also know that Peter was ultimately martyred for his faithfulness to Jesus, but not without having overseen the spread of the gospel that he grew to trust and comprehend.

            How could the song be different? “Always hoped that I’d be an apostle/ Trusting God is right here by my side. Each new day's a chance here to share Christ's gospel/ There is more to his life than how he died.”

Wholeheartedly

I've been having a lot of difficult conversations lately. Racism, sexism, classism, privilege, and anti-LGBTQ sentiments are all part of my usual fare. Then I have the occasional conversation with a person who is put off by religion or by religious people, so then I am in heavy listening mode. Good energy in patient listening takes away some of the energy I would put toward careful writing.

All this listening has changed my prayer life. I find now that my most common prayer is "Soften my heart. Soften my neck." I know that a hard heart and a stiff neck, both metaphorical, will interfere with the patience and kindness that I am trying to embody. I actively seek Christ in myself and in the other person by focusing on even my internal organs being gentled by the Savior.

This has caused me to pay attention to how often church people bifurcate their lives. Our bodies are our daily vehicle- the daily throne of God and inhabitance of Christ, driven by the Spirit. The experience of church, Bible study, the sacraments, and mutual building up for discipleship that happens in the fellowship of other Christians is a kind of fueling up for the rest of our time. It is not the only time we drive the car.

When I talk about living and dying for Christ, remembering that there is only one God, or yielding to pull of the Holy Spirit, I mean doing it in the grocery store, at the mailbox, in the bank drive-thru, and at the dog park. I mean that because I trust that Jesus means that when he explains discipleship to the apostles and all those gathered around him. A faithful life is a whole life. A whole life means every minute of every day. In order to live all our minutes faithfully, we may need to change how we pray, how we talk, and how we listen.

So, brothers and sisters, because of God’s mercies, I encourage you to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your appropriate priestly service. Romans 12:1

There is not a part of the day when a Christian is not in Christ. There is no place that we can go that is outside of God's view or the Spirit's urging. There is no time that we are "off duty" and can make choices that have nothing to do with the faith we have been given. As much as Western Christians like to think of their faith as private and personal, being a person of Christ recreates your entire self, reorienting your understanding to comprehend that all that you have, all that you are, and all that is belongs to God.

Being a follower of Christ is our reality. It impacts our every decision. If we are not thinking about or considering that fact, it is not that it doesn't have an impact, it is that we are ignoring it. The non-religious people I meet who are grieved by or frustrated with Christians notice this the most. The actions of those who claim to follow Christ surprise them most because their Monday-Saturday actions don't match their Sunday words.

If you see yourself in this, I encourage you to adopt the prayer of "Soften my heart". Perhaps you need to be in my conversation schedule. We are compelled, by Christ's love for us, to witness to his love, call to turn around (repentance), and show his mercy in all we say and do, every day, in every place, with all people.

Follower or Admirer (Sermon)

John 12 

           Jerusalem is full of people who are gathered for the Passover celebration. There are people everywhere. Think of the sounds of children, family reunions, animals being bought, sold, and traded. There is the smell of bodies, dust, excrement, cooking, and perfumed oils that some use to disguise the odors. There is a rush to purchase food, oil, wine, and charcoal.

Of course, there are also Romans- soldiers and their families. They look on at the sudden rush of people in from the countryside with alarm. Where did all these people come from? Will they bring trouble? Will an influx of people make it difficult to get some of the food and goods they prefer? Better also head out to the market.

            There are non-Judean Jews coming in for Passover as well. If valid worship or sacrifice can only occur at the temple, they also make the pilgrimage. It seems that some of them have heard of this itinerant rabbi, Jesus, of whom it is said that he raised a man who had been dead four days. When the Greek Jews come into town, they go seeking out Jesus. They say to Philip, “Sir, we want to see Jesus.” (Philip is a Greek name, so he may be or appear to be Greek.)

            We want to see Jesus. Why might they want to see him? To find out if all they have heard is true? Perhaps they need a miracle. They may be interested in learning from him or simply very curious looky-loos. When they see Jesus, though, they will be confronted with the deepest question that comes to all who meet him. Will they follow him or will they just be in his fan club? Will they be admirers or disciples? Will they want the connection at the foot of the cross or only as the palm parade is going by?

            In an article called “Followers, Not Admirers”, the theologian Søren Kierkegaard writes, 

“It is well known that Christ consistently used the expression “follower.” He never asks for admirers, worshippers, or adherents. No, he calls disciples. It is not adherents of a teaching but followers of a life Christ is looking for…. What then, is the difference between an admirer and a follower? A follower is or strives to be what he admires. An admirer, however, keeps himself personally detached. He fails to see that what is admired involves a claim upon him, and thus he fails to be or strive to be what he admires.”

A true follower of Jesus is an imitator of Jesus. It is important to remember that God had spokespeople prior to the Incarnation. That’s what a prophet is, a mouthpiece for the Divine. Therefore, it was not necessary for a person of the Trinity to pour the power and strength of being eternal into a fragile human body simply to impart lessons through teaching. Jesus’ teaching matters because it explains his deeds.

The words of Jesus- in conversations, in teaching, in prayer- make connections between what the Divine character always was and how God expects those who are led by the Spirit to respond. But the words were never the thing, because anyone might have taught in the name of the Lord. Within the Apostle’s Creed, we have very limited verbs about Jesus- born, suffered, crucified, died, buried, and rose. These verbs are concrete because they require a body.

            A body is unit of action. Jesus, with a body, is God prepared for action in the flesh. The body is not merely a receptacle of information. We are not merely encased spirits, biding our time. We are bodies in motion. We have been brought into a body, the Body of Christ. How we will respond to that inclusion, though… how we will respond to the gift of grace… how we will respond to always being Easter people, even on this side of Holy Week… that response is up to us.

            And, so, will we be followers or admirers? Being an admirer is nice. You still get the identity: “Oh, I love Jesus. I like to sing about him. Love to talk about him. Read his book sometimes, even.” So, if someone came up to you and said, “Sir, madam, we wish to see Jesus.” What will you show them: a hymn, a Bible, a catchy bumper sticker? Is it enough to be in Jesus’ fan club?

            In Fourth Gospel, it is said that those who have seen the Son have seen the Father. In today’s passage, Jesus asserts that anyone who is truly his follower will serve him. Logically, then, if Jesus is being served, he is present. Where true followers of Jesus are acting in service in imitation of him, he is there. And if he is there, then God is also being revealed. All of this happens through the power of the Holy Spirit.

            To reiterate: if you are imitating Jesus' actions in service, he will be present to be served (in the situation in which you are acting). If he is present, the whole Trinity is there because they are fellow travelers always. Thus, when one is a follower, an imitator, a disciple, and is asked, “We wish to see Jesus”… the answer will be clear because his presence will be felt in the act of service.

           Crucially, imitating Jesus will quickly separate the followers from the admirers. Eventually, admirers feel the pinch of knowing that Jesus does some things, says some things, and likes some people who are sometimes outside the edges of propriety. Jesus will be seen, unashamed, with the dying, the dead, the diseased, the depressed, the deserted, the demon-possessed, the downtrodden, the drug- addicted, the dastardly, and the desperate. He will see them for who they are and where they are and acknowledge them of as children of God, dealing with their needs before he makes any expectations of them.

            Following in those footsteps, truly committing to that level of kindness, gentleness, peacefulness, and honesty in our daily lives can be tough and frustrating. Furthermore, it does not really win a lot of friends and influence enemies. It mostly gains disdain from some, confusion from others, and a lot of God work that you carry in your heart because you worry that people will think you are crazy if you share it.

            Today is the martyrdom date of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German pastor and theologian. He was committed to what he believed were basic Christian principles of the church in the early days of the Third Reich, which included welcoming, evangelizing, and baptizing non-Aryan Christians. As Adolph Hitler’s regime grew in power, Bonhoeffer was part of a splinter church within Germany that focused on resisting the church being an arm of the power of the state, particularly of state violence. Bonhoeffer sought to teach and preach in both Britain and in America at different times, but ultimately returned to Germany because he believed that he had to be a part of resisting evil there in order to be able to live in the Germany that he perceived would be rebuilt after the war.

            He was arrested for being a double agent and then his significant role in a plot to kill Hitler was discovered. He was hanged on this date in 1945 in Flossenburg concentration camp, one month before Germany surrendered. During his time in prison, he continued to write to friends and to his family, as well as some theological thoughts. These letters and papers from prison were smuggled out and published as a book by the same name. Within one letter, Bonhoeffer reflects, 

“We have learned a bit too late in the day that action springs not from thought but from a readiness for responsibility.”

            The admirer of Jesus is always ready to think about him. The admirers on that in Jerusalem waved palms and smiled. They could have pointed Jesus out to the Greek passersby and said, “There he is. Ain’t he great.” As the week went on, the admirers of Jesus would have been among those who frowned at the woman who wept over his feet and dried them with her hair. He shouldn’t have let her touch him, they’d have said. The admirers would have been aghast at Jesus washing the disciples’ feet or proud to be included, but having no intention of repeating the incident. They may have tried to blend into the crowd or disappear at the crucifixion. Ultimately, admirers will end up disappointed with the true Jesus. He’s too much or not quite enough or right time, wrong place or wrong time, right place. They sure do admire him, but…

            The followers of Jesus, the disciples, those on the Way of Christ have come to accept that faith is not the absence of doubt. It is action in spite of doubt. The followers have already assumed the readiness for responsibility that Bonhoeffer mentions. They waved their palm branches, but only with one hand because with the other they had escorted a leper, a bleeding woman, a child, sex worker, a blind man, a refugee, a centurion, or a hesitant Pharisee to be within reach of Jesus. For the followers, commentary on the goodness of Jesus is strange because sometimes the many ways in which they encounter him through service are not always good, by the usual definition of that word. They are, however, always holy.

            In the week ahead, whether you attend services or pray through the daily readings or simply try to make it through your regular to-do list, ponder in your heart whether you are a follower or an admirer. Are you all in or are you watching from a distance? Does this week get to you because you realize that imitation of Christ demands a solidarity in these events that is truly spiritually and emotionally overwhelming? Or is this a week to be with other fans of God’s work?

            When someone says to you, “We wish to see Jesus,” how do you respond? In word or in deed? Will you be an admirer or a follower? 

Christian Bill of Rights: Amendment III

The follower on the Way of Christ understands that there is nothing that did not come from God and

that will eventually be either returned to God or rendered moot. Therefore, the follower on the Way is generous with all and to all.

Any immigrant who lives with you must be treated as if they were one of your citizens. You must love them as yourself, because you were immigrants in the land of Egypt; I am the Lord your God. (Leviticus 19:34)

[Jesus] answered, “Whoever has two shirts must share with the one who has none, and whoever has food must do the same.” (Luke 3:11)

Keep loving each other like family. Don’t neglect to open up your homes to guests, because by doing this some have been hosts to angels without knowing it. (Hebrews 13:1-2)

Corpus Christi

Thirty-five days ago, I left Poland. It has not yet left me and I don't really expect that it will. I am still sorting through what I saw, felt, heard, and experienced. Some of these things may take years to put together and some I may have already forgotten. Only God knows how these things will finally take shape or root within me.

There is one experience that I actually continue to think about almost daily. Going in, I thought about this with almost anthropological interest, but very little emotional attachment. Yet, now, I think of it constantly. When I think of this situation, I feel grief and frustration, sadness and hurt, impassioned and, yet, paralyzed.

By Manederequesens (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0], via Wikimedia Commons

On Thursday, May 26th, Roman Catholic Poles, along with Roman Catholics around the world, celebrated the Feast of Corpus Christi. In Krakow, the Friend of Calvin who came to visit me and I were interested to see the observance of this feast. It is a national holiday in Poland with many shops and places closed for observance. There is a procession from Wawel Castle to Krakow's Main Square and St. Mary's Basilica.

The procession involves a priest carrying the Host, the consecrated bread of communion, in a monstrance under a canopy, which is itself carried by deacons. Behind the priest is a procession of hundreds, if not a thousand, people. There were soldiers, nuns (so many nuns), monks, priests, bishops, first communicants, town elders, town leaders, church leaders, Roman Catholic bishops and archdeacons, and probably several groups that I missed or don't know how to classify.

Krakow's Main Square, one of the largest in Europe, was filled with people who were not in the procession, but who came to see it, to honor the Host, to hear the sermon (presumably about Holy Communion and the presence of Christ. It was in Polish), and to receive communion. People stood(!) on pavement and cobblestones to listen. There were young men in dress shirts, ties, and dark slacks, wearing portable speakers to broadcast the sermon all around the square so that all could hear.

As the sermon concluded, the priest carrying the host (at the very front of the procession), began to move again- toward the Basilica and the altar. As the monstrance passed, people knelt. Some bowed deeply, but others fully knelt on the cold stones, crossing themselves. Some wept and stayed down. Others stood again after the Host had gone by. These people were acknowledging what they believe is the Presence of Christ, the Real Presence, in the wafer framed in the monstrance. (See the pic above for an example of an empty monstrance.)

I was pulled along in the crowd until I realized I was very close to where communion was going to be celebrated. Suddenly I realized that not only was I not in the right frame of mind to observe this, but that there were people behind me who would like to be closer. So I moved through the tightly packed crowd back to the more open air of the square, toward the clock where my friend and I hurriedly gestured that we would meet.

In chatting, we decided to go for a coffee, but when we sat down at a table in the square, I ordered bison grass vodka and apple juice. In a rare moment of actually feeling my feelings at the time they were occurring, I realized that I was mad. By this time in my trip, I had toured Jewish history sites in Warsaw. Friend of Calvin and I had gone to Auschwitz and Birkenau just two days before Corpus Christi. In all my reading, I knew that Poland (not alone in this) has not ever dealt fully with its anti-Jewish history (or present). Due to Germany's attack on Poland, most Poles felt/feel that they were more sinned against than sinning in World War II (and preceding), despite the complicity of Polish men and women in turning in their Jewish, homosexual, Roma, and "political" neighbors. Poland does not acknowledge complicity in the Holocaust, despite making money through "dark tourism"- the thousands of people who travel to see the concentration and death camps each year.

Additionally, Poland is currently struggling with government leaders (and communities) who want to keep their borders closed and reject immigrants. Anti-Jewish activities have seen a rise in the past few years, as well as anti-immigrant displays and commentary. All of this knowledge, of this awareness, of all the grief, came swirling into a head as I poured cold vodka down my throat and thought about the procession I had just seen.

People had reverently, tenderly, carefully acknowledged the presence of Christ in pressed bread, but would they do the same to their neighbor? Had they done the same in 1942 or 1968 (Polish Jewish Exclusion) or today? The Feast of Corpus Christ is nearly 1000 years old. This means that Poles (and others) likely observed this same procession in the German occupation. There were probably soldiers and others who knelt, receiving the body of Christ in their mouth, and then rose to go back to the hideous work of the war and its atrocities.

Christ is as present in the host, in the bread and wine, as he is in the person next to us. Furthermore, He is as present therein as he is IN us as we do anything in his name.

The truth is that most people willfully ignored what was happening around them or followed orders because they either believed what they had been told or shut their minds to the cognitive dissonance of the words of their faith and the words of their political leaders

We want to believe that we would be different. That we ARE different.

At least, I assume we do.

Most of us, though, still kneel reverently at the altar and, with Christ's body still in ours, make excuses for why we do what we do, say what we say, think what we think. It happens all the time.

How do we change that? What are the words, the steps, the turning that need to be done?

If Christ's presence in communion does anything, it gives us the strength to make that change. The power is actually IN us when we commune. We just have to be willing to join into the work, to participate in the change, to bear the cross of truth and to lift it high.

It seems likely that a very, very, very tiny percentage of people present in Krakow on 26 May 2016 were also present in that same procession in, say, 1943. Yet, the repercussions of the actions against Jewish neighbors and others, before and after, still reverberate through that country. And the repercussions of what I witnessed and felt on that day still reverberate through me.

Wheat and Weeds (Essential Passages #13)

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

24 [Jesus] put before them another parable: "The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; 25 but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. 26 So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. 27 And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, "Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?' 28 He answered, "An enemy has done this.' The slaves said to him, "Then do you want us to go and gather them?' 29 But he replied, "No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. 30 Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.' " 

36 Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, "Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field." 37 He answered, "The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; 38 the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, 39 and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. 40 Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. 41 The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, 42 and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. 43 Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!

And now a few words:  Nothing sounds quite as fearsome as “weeping and gnashing of teeth”. It’s a colorful phrase and even if you aren’t entirely sure what gnashing teeth sound like, it is still possible to understand and to know that where those two things exist , you don’t want to be. This natural conclusion causes many people to focus intently on being wheat, on rooting out sin, on pointing out the weedy behavior of those around them.

            The problem with that arises in the fact that wheat and weeds are in all of us. We each have behaviors, make choices, take action that are “wheat”- productive, healthy, God-revealing and God-reveling parts of our lives. Within this nature, which is God’s plan for our true selves, the forces that oppose God sow the weeds of dissention, frustration, idolatry, neglect, and antipathy. The Holy Spirit works to water what is good and to pull us toward enjoying the fruiting of the wheat. As we acknowledge and enjoy the gifts of God all around us, the wheat flourishes and the weeds languish.

            In the time to come, when the forces that oppose God are silenced forever, the weeds will be burned away. Fully sanctified, we will have been brought into perfect love by the unending love and grace of the Creator of the universe. Jesus is teaching his hearers this truth and how to behave until that time. He assures his disciples, then and now, that the wheat- the good things in our minds and hearts and habits- will not stop being tended by the Spirit, by the angels, by the prayers of the saints. 

          We can collaborate in this work for and with one another. And we should. The tending of one another’s wheat, of lifting up, of watering with compassion, of fertilizing with forgiveness, of cultivating with community, is exactly the work of the kingdom to which we have been called. 

Mary Magdalene, Apostle to the Apostles

            This past spring, a mom from the preschool came back into the church after dropping off her child. In the corner of our parking lot, she had found a woman bent over and crying. Bringing her into the church office, the mother said that the woman was in pain from a broken tooth. The woman was obviously in a lot of pain and had sores on her face and her hands.

            She said that she had been in so much pain she wasn’t able to work. When we asked what she did, she looked at us and said, “I’m a working girl.” She waited for the judgment we didn’t have time to give because we were trying to figure out how to help her. The mom offered to drive her over to Safeway for some Orajel (pain killer) and some food. In the meantime, I made calls to find some help. I tried the Mary Magdalene center, but got no answer.

            I called LSSA and received the names of some dentists who might do low-cost or pro-bono work. However, we concluded that the entire situation might be better if we could get the woman to go to the emergency room and perhaps receive care, food, and contact with a social worker. I did not think we would end her professional career that day, but I hoped we might offer some light.

            Eventually, the mom came back to the church alone and very upset. After receiving the medication to make her tooth stop hurting, the woman wanted to go back to work. She was worried about the people who had her things and to whom she owed money. It was tough to console the mom who returned, who had been so hopeful that we would be able to save the woman. She cried to me, “How could she want to go back?”

            Because she does not know anything different right now, I said, but you helped her see a little something different today. And that will stay in her mind. It is hard to watch people who really want to help feel rejected and confused, but it happens in the work of reaching out to people in a broken world.

            I kept thinking about both those women this week when I was pondering Mary Magdalene in my heart- the bruised “working girl” and the very clean-cut preschool mom. As most of you know, I have a personal crusade to make it known far and wide that in the gospel accounts, Mary Magdalene is NOT (NOT!) a working girl (prostitute). In church history, she’s often been conflated with Mary of Bethany and the woman who anoints Jesus’ feet. While this did narrow down the number of characters in the Scripture, making it easier to keep everyone untangled, it gave Mary Magdalene a reputation she didn’t earn and threw into the shadows the one she did.

            In Luke 8, Mary (called Magdalene) has seven demons cast out of her by Jesus and then she, with several other women, begin to follow him as disciples. There is no mention of what the demons were. Presumably, like other demons encountered in Scripture, they are afflictions that prevent her functioning in society. They could be things like depression or anxiety, things we might recognize as psychological. They could be physical ailments- bleeding, epilepsy, screaming fits. They could be Satan trying to prevent her from becoming the instrument of God that she’s about to become.

            Nevertheless, she is freed from these demons and follows Jesus. Imagine what that was like for her. She had been invisible to society and now, suddenly, she was seen and known by the eyes of God in Jesus. She was restored, not only to wholeness, but to companionship, to community, to communion. Her body is whole because the body of Jesus, the body of God, came near and brought her consolation and healing.

            After her exorcism, we next see Mary Magdalene at the tomb. And she’s there in all the gospel accounts. She will not abandon the body that brought her own self back to life. Sometimes she’s with other women, sometimes she’s the first one there. I occasionally wonder if she ever left after Good Friday- after they laid him in the tomb. Maybe she never went home, but lingered in the shadows, in fitful waking and sleeping and sobbing, until Easter morning.

            This is the story that people need to know about Mary Magdalene. That she encountered the risen Christ and that she, she, carried the good news of resurrection to the other apostles- who were hiding in fear. That Jesus ate with prostitutes and tax collectors are facts that we can get from other stories and other characters. We do not need that good news from Mary Magdalene.

            What we need from her is the tower of faith that stood in grief by the tomb. The pillar of strength that recognized the face of her teacher, her rabbouni! The urging of the Spirit that hurried her feet over packed roads, singing, “He is risen! He is risen indeed!” The truth people need to hear about the story of Mary of  Magdala is not an exaggerated claim about what she might have been, but the bare facts of who she was- the Apostle to the Apostles, the first post- Easter evangelist, the foundation of the church because of the story she carried.

            If we elevate her too much, we risk her seeming too saintly, too out of reach. Yet, with Mary Magdalene, I do not think that will happen. When the other apostles seem uncertain or bombastic, unfaithful or confused, the eyes of the church turn to Mary Magdalene- who had real, physical experiences of healing, forgiveness, and hope.

             A working girl on Spenard doesn’t need to know, yet, that Jesus was a friend to prostitutes. She needs to know that the people who claim to follow Jesus are. People who are struggling, looking for hope, lingering because change does not seem possible need to know that the people who claim to follow Jesus are on their side. And in as much as we help anyone, we should never be doing it because it is what we think Jesus would want us to do. We should be doing because of what we know has been done for us through Jesus. And how did we come to know of this grace, this Easter hope, this work of forgiveness?

            Through the words of the first preacher, Mary Magdalene- who dared to follow Jesus, who dared to stay at the foot of the cross, who was prepared to honor the body of her Lord fallen- but met that body risen. Her story needs no embellishment or conflation, but it is powerful through the test of time. And if we dare to be like her, to trust in the healing that we have received and to seek the risen Christ, our story will stand as well.

            People want to know God’s history, and how will they hear it unless someone speaks it to them? People long to know that a light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not, cannot, will not overcome it.

            With Mary Magdalene, like Mary Magdalene, I tell you, “Christ is risen.”

He is risen indeed.

Amen.