You Cannot Earn What You Already Have

Why do we expect our relationship with God to grow like a retirement portfolio?

Every Monday morning from 10 to 11 A.M. for almost three years of my life I sat in a gorgeous office. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with volumes on Theology, Contemplative Prayer, Holy Scripture, Fishing, and Canoe Building. Gigantic peach, tan, and cream sandstone blocks lined the exterior of the office. And, several picture windows provided views of students walking to class. Additionally from where I sat I could catch a glimpse of the dogwood and Japanese maple trees that sat outside—ever changing with the seasons. Inside the office, something else was changing too.

The 10 o’clock Monday morning meetings were with my mentor—Sewanee’s University Chaplain the Rev. Tom Macfie. There we talked about our shared work, and he guided me through conversations about discernment. While God had called me in many other times and places, it was in that office that I felt God confirming my call to ordained ministry through the support of a guiding presence. Of course, this sort of careful listening can also reveal truths that require one to change one’s ways.

Many Monday mornings, Tom and I talked about our prayer practice. A trend emerged after about a year of working together. Every few weeks one of us mentioned that our daily prayer practices were going. It was not necessarily a boast, but it was not always humble either. Almost always the next week that person would have to admit that the same prayer practices had faltered. At first, neither Tom nor I thought much about it, but overtime an insight emerged.

When we discovered this theme—solid prayer time, then mentioning how well our relationship with God was going, and a resulting setback—we noticed in this theme God inviting us deeper. Jesus tells us that every branch that bears fruit the Father prunes to make it bear more fruit. Our life with God, our prayer practices, and our walk of Faith possesses both growth and pruning, so that we may bear more fruit. But what that time with Tom helped me to realize was that through ups and downs what matters most is abiding with God, being with God as God is with us.
This is hard for us. We like to think about our lives in terms of growth. Think for a moment about your work experience, your wisdom as a human being, or your ideal retirement portfolio over the course of time. What does that look like if we put it into line graph form? A line with an arrow pointing up into the future, right? Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this growth. However, we cannot apply this linear growth concept to our prayer life. It just does not compute. Why is that?

For one thing, God abides with us more intimately than we will ever perceive, feel, or know. How can one graph growing closer to the One who is closer to us than ourselves? At the same time, God exists more transcendently beyond us than we can imagine. Having a relationship with God who dwells in and beyond us will leave us baffled. This means that our relationship with the Divine does not track easily, like a linear graph. Why would we expect that relationship to grow exponentially?

Also, in times when we think we are responsible for how close we are to God we often fail. As I learned during those meetings with Tom, tracking growth in my spiritual life looks more like a sine wave or an ever-changing spiral than an upward trending line. When we come to church, take time to pray, give to God’s work in the world, and serve our neighbors, then we may think we get a gold star, like we received for attending Sunday School as a child. The temptation is to think we are the reason our spiritual life is trending upward. The Book of Proverbs reminds us that pride goes before destruction. Even here though, there is good news: not in the pride, but in the pruning.

New fruit comes from God’s pruning. In the difficult moments when we live in the love of Christ, God stimulates growth. Our spiritual lives, our life in Christ, will not emulate a line graph, but rather the messiness of garden. There will be dirt. There will be sunny days. There will be downpours. There will be heat. There will be growth. There will be shearing. And all the while we will be tempted to figure out exactly where we are, like I tried to do during those sessions with Tom, but that is not what God calls us to do.

What God calls us into is abiding. In each of the readings for today we discover this true task of our lives. It is not for us to quantify or score how well we are relating to God. Rather in each of these readings we hear the call to abide in God and God’s love, as God and God’s love abides in us.

The Ethiopian eunuch whom Philip baptized in the Acts of the Apostles did not simply read Holy Scripture. He felt the Holy Spirit drawing him to abide in God more deeply. When he saw water he yearned to be more deeply dwelling in the life of Christ, so Philip baptized him.

In this Psalm of praise, the author yearned to praise God in the great assembly. All are called to dwell in God. All are called to remember the Lord. Even those asleep in the earth shall bow down in worship. For all of our souls, like the author’s, shall live for God, as we abide in him.

The Letter from John, one which we often read at the Blessing and Celebration of a Marriage, reminds us that God is love and we are God’s beloved. Our lives are to be solely focused on living out of this beloved and loving state. However, because of the association with marriage we may only focus on the emotion of love. John though tells us this love encompasses something even more tremendous than the feeling of love. God loved us first. God loves us fully. God will love us eternally. When we abide in this love, throughout life and especially during difficult times, we will emanate this same love to others.

John’s Gospel account seals this life-long call to live in the love of Christ with an analogy. We are the branches. Christ is the vine. We bear fruit not on our own, nor by our merit, nor by working harder, but by living in Christ. While other bits of John’s Gospel account grab more attention, this challenge to abide in God resonates so powerfully to the Church of today. 63 times throughout his letters and his Gospel account this word abide appears. The Church of right now would do well to proclaim this often. Why?

We are surrounded by a world that believes what I did during those Monday morning meetings. Namely, that is up to me to have a good spiritual life. It’s up to me to earn my way into God’s grace, God’s love, and God’s heavenly kingdom. So, we hear things like you must go to church, pray every day, avoid sin, etc. Being a follower of Christ Jesus was not, is not, nor will it ever be about doing something to earn the love of God. God already loves us. God abides in us no matter what. We cannot hit a higher mark on this line graph. Instead, we are called to recognize what is already present.

God loved us first. Through the love of Christ Jesus, in his life, death, and resurrection—and particularly in his sacrifice—we see the depth of God’s love. That is why we are beloved. And, as we exist as God’s beloveds we are called to share this same life-giving love with others.

Let our lives then be a reflection of God’s love for us. May we always remember that we are God’s beloveds. Then, may we live our lives not to earn more of what we already have in abundance. No, instead may we live though sacrificial love as a joyous response to God’s infinite love for us and for all. 

One

Rublev's "Troista" an icon of the hospitality of Abraham and an image of the Trinity.

This sermon was preached at St. John's Church in Decatur, AL and was inspired by the following passages:

Acts 11:19–26
John 10:22–30

The Church provides us with many prayers featuring the words “One God.” In this Public Service of Healing our opening collect utilized those words: “Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.” Christians are monotheists—duh—but, for people who believe in a singular God we seem to have to remind ourselves of this quite often. Why is that?

In John’s Gospel account, Jesus points to an answer quite often. Jesus claims over and over again that he and the Father are one. Abba, God the Father, and Jesus are one. The early Church struggled to articulate this mysterious relationship further. How are Jesus and the Father one? In what ways can this fully human Jesus be united fully with his divine Father? There is not an easy answer, right?

Recently on the Second Sunday of Easter we heard of Jesus breathing the Holy Spirit upon his followers. This can be confusing as Luke dates this story fifty days after Easter and John gives that event an Easter evening setting. Regardless of when it happened—and honestly with something as mysterious as the Spirit, is there only one moment?—this gifting of the Spirit provides a crucial missing piece. Through the Spirit we catch a bit more understanding as to why Jesus asserts that the Father and he are one.

Through the unification and sanctification of the Spirit Jesus eternally connects with the Father. The Father and the Son are united in Spirit. Beautiful. Great. But, what about us? I know perhaps this is a self-centered question. With God reigning as a unified community of three-in-one are we not superfluous? Well, Jesus seems to think not.

Jesus is the Shepherd. We are the sheep. A shepherd is not a shepherd without sheep.
Jesus is the vine. We are the branches. A vine does not produce fruit without the branches.

Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. We are the ones who walk, believe, and live that out. The way, the truth, and the life calls others into treading, abiding, and existing.

I know, I know. This could verge into heresy. God does not need us. God exists eternally. God in the community of the Trinity persists forever. Even long after we have died out as a species, God will be. We are not needed. We are extra in this whole thing. And yet, God yearns to draw us into community, into life, into salvation. We become complete when we are one with God, just as Jesus and the Father are one.

There is no good analogy for the life of the Trinity. Always our words fall short of fully articulating who God is. This may be seen as a deficit; however, I believe it is gift. At some point we cannot articulate our God and the part we play in the life of God.

Is it lover, beloved, and love shared? Is it Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer? Is it Father, Son, and Spirit? Is it a dance? Is it love? Is it life itself? I do not know how to articulate it. Rather, I believe our call is to live it out.

When I was in seminary I used to go over to my friend C.J.’s house. He and his wife Becca were exceedingly kind to me. Often cooking me dinner, while we watched soccer or football together. It was a healing balm especially in a challenging time. One thing I often remembered the two of them saying was “One flesh,” which is a line from the Blessing of a Marriage. They were pointing to their belief that something had happened in their marriage and they were now one flesh, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until they are parted by death.

I had a hard time understanding this concept of one flesh as a single man. Like I have a hard time understanding what it is like for Jesus to be one with the Father. And, like I do not get how we are called to be unified with Christ as his sheep, as his branches, as the ones walking, believing, and living the way, the truth, and the life. When I got married and started living as one mystically unified through the sacramental rite of marriage I began to understand the phrase one flesh better. And, I think that is what we are called to do to understand the life of our One God.

The inner life of God who is Father, Son, and Spirit gets revealed to us humans rarely, if ever at all. Still, God does beckon us to be part of the Divine Life. More than understanding this, we are called to live it—to dwell in Christ, to live life in Christ.

So as we hear of being God’s sheep, being the branches of Jesus’ vine, may our minds not get in the way of ourselves, souls, and bodies living the Divine Life.

Beware the Home Run Sermon

When we abide as branches on the vine we bear good fruit.

Every once in a while when I open up www.lectionarypage.net to look at the coming Sunday’s lessons, I find myself instinctively doing a quiet fist pump at my computer. On those days when I am so excited by the upcoming texts it is usually disaster waiting to happen. My colleague Evan D. Garner and I sometimes discuss this hubris of the preacher. If the one in the pulpit is so sure of herself or himself, then she or he presumably has relied too much on her or his strength and not on the Lord’s. So, as I get excited about the bounty that is this Sunday’s lessons, I pray that I may allow the Spirit to work through me for God’s glory—instead of misguidedly believing I will march into the pulpit with a home run sermon.

There is of course some good reason to be excited about the readings for the 5th Sunday of Easter. We begin with Philip’s encounter with Candace’s eunuch from Ethiopia. A chariot ride bible study ended with Philip baptizing the eunuch through the power of the Spirit. Then, Philip vanished by the abilities of that same Spirit. God’s Holy Word, Holy Baptism, and the Holy Spirit—what’s not to love about that story?

Sometimes preachers like me completely overlook the wisdom and beauty of the Psalm appointed for Sunday morning. The portion of the Psalter (Psalm 22:24-30) we will read points to the transformative power of God’s resurrecting love that Jesus made known. However, that power always exists. And, it always existed. Those who sleep in the earth bow to the earth, even those in the dust know of God’s power—even before they are resurrected at the eschaton—the end of days. This part of the Psalter touches on what the reading from John’s First Letter gives to us also.

In Sunday’s reading from 1 John we discover one of the most beautiful portions of the New Testament—God is love. Having just celebrated at a friend’s wedding, I have that context for this reading stuck in my mind. Still, this truth that we are God’s beloved does not simply apply to those making life-long vows. No, in truth God’s seeing us as beloved applies to all of God’s children. Like the Psalmist, John trusted that we belong and abide in God. John amplified that belief through the perfecting of love that Jesus exemplified for us. In other words, Jesus showed us what perfect—as in fulfilling—love looks like.

Finally, the reading from the Good News of Christ Jesus according to John provides a capstone for this theme of abiding in God through God’s fruitful love. The analogy of a vine extending to branches gives to us an image of what that love will do in our lives. Jesus is our vine and we are his branches. When we abide in God’s life-giving love our lives will overrun with a tangible, tasty, sweet, healthy, and fragrant fruit.

As this week continues, instead of relying upon ourselves to bear fruit, I pray that we—especially preachers—may allow the vine to manifest in our hearts, our lives, our actions, our thoughts, and our words. May we abide in God’s love. May we know that God’s fulfilling love sustains all things. May we be God’s beloved branches bearing God’s fruit in this world.

Passionate About Bread

Delicious bread... What about the bread of life?

This sermon was preached at St. John’s Church, Decatur, AL on the Third Wednesday in Easter. The lessons used were the following:

Acts 8:1b–8
John 6:35–40

When I was a child I loved bread so much. I would save whatever roll or toast or croissant or biscuit was on my plate until the very end. My obsession over bread was so well known in my family that they often made fun of me for it. They thought it was funny how I saved my bread for last or made subsequent trips back to the kitchen not for more of the main course, but for a side roll. I wonder sometimes if I have that sort of passion for the bread of life. Do you? Do we?

We find ourselves during this Third Week of Easter in the midst of John 6, which is all about bread. The bread of life to be more specific. We will hear this chapter again for five weeks this July and August. By the end of that time, we may all be too stuffed to hear any more about the bread of life. But, at this moment, when we are less satiated by glorious gluten, Jesus being the bread of life tastes fresh. So, if I am passionate about that bread—if I do not merely consume the Body of Christ, but allow it to consume me and to transform me, what happens? Well, our story from the Acts of the Apostles gives us a couple of hints.

Yesterday we heard the story of Stephen’s martyrdom and today we heard the story of Saul’s persecution of the early Jesus movement—both point to how the bread of life not only feeds but transforms our selves, souls, and lives. Stephen heard the story of Jesus, he was transformed by the bread of life. He was called to distribute sustenance to the poor. In his death he relied on Jesus as his source of strength. And, even after his death, as Evan reminded me today, his grave would have been a place where early Church members shared Eucharist to commemorate and celebrate his life and his second-birth into heaven. Stephen’s life, death, and example point to the power that the bread of life can have on an entire community. What about Saul?

We may be familiar with the story of Saul, but how was he transformed by the bread of life? Saul, the pious of the pious among the People of Israel, devoted his life to being devout. When others stoned Jesus to death, they laid their coats at Saul’s feet. He was a persecutor of the early Church because it threatened his own Faith. Of course, all of that changed one day on the road to Damascus. There he was blinded by God, heard God’s voice, was healed by a Christian, and his life turned from a persecutor of Christ to one of his greatest evangelists. God gave Saul a new name Paul. Right then, his old life died and he was born again.

In this new life, Paul was nourished by the bread of life. Through consuming that bread he was transformed, and he became consumed by the Body of Christ. He articulated that image for us, such that we hold onto it to this day. Paul would eventually die his own gruesome death standing up for the very thing he had persecuted others for. This sounds very much like transformation. How did it happen? Through being nourished by the bread of life.

So, what about us? How will we be transformed by the bread of life? When we come to this table, when we approach the Good News of Christ Jesus, when we share in fellowship with others, when we give of ourselves to God’s work in this world, when we pray to God, when we dwell in silence with God, in all of these ways and many more we take in the bread of life. The changes that we may show are probably too numerous to name; however, we will look something like Stephen and Paul.

We will be filled with God’s Good News. We will share it in churches, in public spaces, and even to the powers that be. We will care for the weak and the outcast. We will feed others with the bread of life physically and otherwise. Wherever it is we go we can be fed by the bread of life. And wherever it is we go God will be there to transform us, just as God did with Stephen and Paul through Christ who was and is the bread of life.

Bread of Life

This block of our Sunday School classes has me particularly excited. Our theme throughout the church among children, youth, and adults is worship. Evan and I are team teaching a class entitled, “Instructed Worship.” Each week we explore a different service or part of a service in depth, as we actually walk through the Prayer Book liturgy.

Looking over the course syllabus gets this church nerd fired up! We will soon get to the Holy Eucharist, the Daily Office, the Blessing of a Marriage, and the Burial of the Dead, which is this week’s topic. Evan taught on this past Sunday about the Reconciliation of a Penitent. And, back during our first class, fittingly enough we went through the service of Holy Baptism. We walked through the liturgy during the class and then at the 10:30 service we actually baptized a new member—Gunnar Mattox.

At the start of the Sunday School session we worked our way through a small piece of the Catechism, which is an Outline of our Faith. It is located in the back part of our Prayer Book. If you are ever wondering about a nagging theological question it probably won’t give you a complete answer, but it is a good place to start. On that Sunday morning we perused the bit from the Catechism on the sacraments. The definition our Prayer Book gives for sacraments is “Outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace, given by Christ as sure and certain means by which we receive that grace” (Book of Common Prayer, 857). Outward signs that are sure and certain means of inward grace. As usual when I read this part of the Prayer Book and thought about it, I was amazed.

Christ has given to us signs that are sure and certain means of a profound gift of love that we receive inside ourselves. For us Episcopalians we hold up Holy Baptism and Holy Eucharist as the two sacraments that Christ Jesus gave to us. He participated in these two sacraments, thus we can read about them in Holy Scripture. We have five other sacramental rites, outward signs that also point to inward grace—only they were not given to us by Christ. These are Confirmation, Reconciliation of a Penitent, Blessing of a Marriage, Ordination, and Ministration to the Sick. We can pretty easily see the outward and visible signs in any of these, but especially in Holy Baptism and Holy Eucharist. What are they?

The outward and visible signs in Baptism are water and oil. While in Eucharist they are bread and wine. As I prepare for officiating at a wedding this Saturday, I think of the signs in that liturgy. Giving and receiving rings, the priest tying his stole around the couple’s joined hands as she or he pronounces they are married, and even the kiss or other sign of peace they share. All of these are signs that point to something happening inside. But, with all of these liturgies—whether they are sacraments or simply sacramental—I wonder, “What would Jesus think of what we are doing?”

In today’s Gospel lesson we happen upon Jesus discussing signs with a crowd. This was a group of people who had been fed by Jesus during his mass feeding. Before we get to the part of the conversation we heard, Jesus claimed that they were not looking for signs, but more food. They did not see that feeding as a moment of transformation when their hearts, their souls were transformed by grace. Rather, they were looking for Jesus to become their miracle caterer. As they were good Israelites, they knew the story of Moses and the manna.

The crowd began to point to how Moses was a miracle worker in the wilderness. With this reference they were attempting to retort Jesus’ claim that they were only looking for food. Essentially they said, “Well, our ancestors did that with Moses, right?” Jesus, though did not take their bait. Instead, he recognized the true source of that bread—God, the Father! Then, he went on making a bold claim in the process.

Not only was God the one who gave the bread that would give life to the world, Jesus said, “I am that bread!” I will give life to the world. When we gather for Holy Eucharist that is what we are celebrating. We are celebrating Jesus as the bread that gives life to the world—gives life to us. When we take the bread and drink from the cup we are receiving life. So, again I wonder, “What would Jesus think?”

The answer to that is tricky. God is the one who does the action in the Eucharist. We are part of it. We are there. We are celebrating with God, but the efficacy of Holy Communion or any sacrament/sacramental rite does not depend upon our understanding what is happening. Instead, what matters is our participation, our being here, our receiving, and in our reception we are transformed.

I find it striking that we also heard the story of Stephen today. It almost seems like we can look at these two readings in reverse order and see a before and after moment. What happens when we allow God to transform us through these signs that are sure and certain means of God’s grace? Well, living (and dying) like Stephen is what happens!

While looking at the protomartyr Stephen may scare us, I actually find solace in his story. Stephen a member of the early Church certainly received communion. He was enhanced by the Good News of Christ Jesus. He was fed by the bread of life. He knew that is what truly mattered. And, his whole life was transformed by the grace of God such that he had the courage to do what he did. What will happen to us? How will God transform us? What will eating the bread of life do to you?

Divine --> Human

Nothing is impossible with God, so what will be possible for God through us?

There have been moments in my life that remain beyond my comprehension. Some of them I remember and others have been told to me over the years. All of them mystify me.

When I was four years-old I had a conversation with Jesus in the backseat of my family’s van. I cannot believe that happened. When I was twenty-three years-old and in Quito, Ecuador a charismatic preacher gave me a blessing that knocked me over. I did not think something like that was possible. When I was twenty-four years-old I and in the middle of the Easter Vigil I experienced a visceral call to serve in God’s Church. I still am trying to grasp that instant.

Each of these experiences of the Divine do not make rational sense to me. While they were all very human in nature, it is hard for this human to comprehend that these things actually happened. In much the same way I wonder about Mary’s visit from the angel Gabriel.

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation. The Church usually observes this festive moment on March Twenty-Fifth—nine months before Christmas Day. However, this year that date fell in the middle of Holy Week and so it has been transferred to the first available day when we have regular worship here at St. John’s. This is the day when we recall the preposterous story of God choosing Mary to bear God’s Son into the world—a little splash of the Nativity right here in the midst of Easter!

While the Annunciation may stand out to some as an unusual story, God does enter into the lives of humans. I do not think I am unique in my experiences of the Divine. Truthfully, I believe God knocks on the door of all of our hearts on a daily basis. Do we pay attention to how God enters into our lives?

Mary was paying attention. When Gabriel came to her saying, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” She was perplexed and pondered what was happening, but she at least saw God’s messenger in her midst. How often do I miss God’s messengers now?

As the conversation continued, we as listeners get an inner glimpse into the heart of Mary. While she was favored, her heart was afraid. God’s messenger tried to calm Mary. Gabriel told her who this child would be—the Son of the Most High God whose kingdom will have no end. Mary’s response reveals her lovely human concern.

Mary did not get glimpses of grandeur as Gabriel spoke. Instead she had a practical concern. She wondered, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” Mary here modeled for us being open to God, but also remaining who we are. She did not think too highly of herself. Instead she aimed to humbly serve God, even if things did not make sense.

Gabriel responded by expressing how God would make unbelievable thing a reality. The messenger told how the Holy Spirit would be with her, how her barren cousin Elizabeth was with child, and how nothing is impossible with God. God provided a means, proof of God’s power, and why that was the case through Gabriel’s words. Even then though, I imagine that Mary had a million questions. Instead of getting stuck on them though, she responded by saying, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

Mary’s example for us stands out as magnificent. She showed us that when God breaks into our lives we may not fully comprehend it. However, we can say yes to it. Still, Mary’s model gives us something more.

Sometimes I find a certain aspect about the life of Christ Jesus difficult to comprehend. The Church teaches that Christ Jesus was completely divine and completely human. Like other mysteries of our Faith this makes my head hurt. Mary’s life though helps me to form a sort of bridge that begins to give me deeper understanding.

Mary was a mere mortal. She was fully human, we might say. And yet, she had encounters with angels. She bore the completely human, completely divine Christ Jesus within her. She was the God-bearer, or as the Orthodox say, “the Theotokos.” Even though she was a lowly human, the God of the whole universe came to dwell within her. If this is possible—for nothing is impossible with God—then of course a fully human, fully divine Christ Jesus seems possible.

While this still may be hard for us to get our minds around, Mary helps us to know that God yearns to be in our lives. The fully human, fully divine Jesus was born through the fully human Mary. What might God bear through us regular, old humans? Nothing is impossible with God, so what will be possible for God through us?

Record Scratch

Why yes, I was a DJ in seminary... 

In seminary one of my greatest joys was being a disk jockey. That’s right, I was a DJ. Along with my friend CJ Meaders, I spun digital records at visitors’ weekends, seminary prom (yes, that is a thing), and even casual dinner parties with friends. My greatest aim was not unlike what the clergy, organist, choirmaster, and choir try to do on Sunday mornings. Namely, picking the right song for the right moment. To do this though is often more difficult than one might think.

Finding the right music for the right moment in a party, in a church service, or anywhere else for that matter takes some skill. CJ (aka DJ Perichoresis) and I (aka DJ Ex Nihilo) prided ourselves on getting people out on the dance floor and then keeping them there. Occasionally though, we would miss the mark. Sometimes we would choose the wrong song for the moment. Perhaps it was a slow song when everyone wanted to jump around. Maybe it was too many high-paced dance songs when the audience wanted a breather. In those moments when we made a bad musical decision, it was as if someone pulled the needle off the record making that stop everything scratching noise. In much the same way, when I first read this coming Sunday's Gospel lesson it felt like the framers of our Lectionary had made a record scratching choice.

On the Second Sunday of Easter (this past Sunday) we always hear the story of Thomas. Really, it is a story of Jesus visiting the ten other disciples and Thomas not being there. But, we most often associate the story with Thomas and his desire to see the Risen Christ. This coming Sunday (the Third Sunday of Easter) we hear a very similar story from Luke’s Gospel account. It almost feels like playing the same song by two different artists right in a row at a party—not necessarily a crowd pleasing move. So, this week I am left wondering, “Why did the people putting together the Lectionary choose this story?” Let us take a moment to compare and contrast the two tales.

The Lukan passage begins in much the same way as John’s story from this past Sunday. Jesus comes and stands among the disciples saying, “Peace be with you.” Also similarly to John’s story, the theme of doubt exists in this bit from Luke, even if Thomas is not singled out for his curiosity. The disciples are also charged to go out into the world in both stories. There are some differences between the stories as well.

Unlike in John’s story in Luke’s account Jesus dispelled that he is a ghost, opened up scripture to the disciples, and sent them out without the Holy Spirit (for the moment). Jesus does not make a peaceful refrain throughout this narrative. And, these disciples seem to need it more than the ones shown in John’s story. Why? Because they think Jesus is a ghost.

The disciples here in Luke believed Jesus was a ghost. We may find this odd, but they knew that Jesus had died, for him to be walking among them now was preposterous! So, the Risen Christ had to dispel this belief by doing something ghosts cannot do—eat something.

Next, Jesus opened up the Hebrew Scripture to his followers pointing to his identity as the suffering Messiah. This Messiah had come to enhance a movement of repentance and forgiveness of sins, which does connect to John’s story. But in John's account the coming of the Holy Spirit happened in that Easter evening moment. Also peculiar to Luke was the origin of Jerusalem as the genesis of the Jesus movement. But, it was some time before the Holy Spirit came in Luke’s story, thus the disciples had to sit around in Jerusalem for some time waiting. Luke’s community also authored the Acts of the Apostles, and so this anticipatory moment of this disciples pausing in Jerusalem for God’s Holy Spirit almost seems like a promo for the sequel book. So, there are similarities and differences in these two stories, but again I wonder why choose this story this week? Why did the Lectionary framers do this?

For most of Holy Week we find ourselves in John’s Gospel account. For most of Year B (the Lectionary year we are currently in) we find ourselves in Mark’s Gospel account. How about another story from one of those? It feels like a stop the record moment for us to all of a sudden jump to Luke. Why would the framers of the Lectionary do this? Well, Mark's authentic story does not have any post-Resurrection stories. And, we will be back in John's Gospel account for the rest of the Easter season and the Day of Pentecost. So, while I cannot be positive, I tend to think that those who created the Lectionary wanted another voice telling a Resurrection story to be heard. Even if the stories are similar we are called to hear what the disciples experienced in those moments, days, and weeks right after Jesus was raised from the dead.

We might find it odd that three weeks after Easter we are still hanging out on that most holy day, but actually it makes sense. Something so profound as Resurrection destroying death requires some time to digest. Two thousand years later we still cannot understand it. Instead, we are called to dwell in the beautiful glow of the Risen Christ hearing these stories over and over and over again.

Sure, for those faithful ones who were at church on low Sunday (yesterday) this might feel like a repeat story; however, it is not like playing the same song two times in a row. In fact, it appears like something else, another analogy. 

When my favorite teams pull off amazing touchdowns or goals I tend to watch the highlights of those plays many times over. I want to see greatness from as many different angles as I can. As we witness these post-resurrection stories, I think it is the same way. We as the Church want to view Resurrection from as many different vantage points as possible. This week may we see the Risen Lord again and may we be challenged once more to take God’s Good News of forgiveness and repentance of sins out into the world!

Peace Be With You

The story of Thomas is not about doubt, but peace.

You probably already know this, but there is typically no tranquility in the household of an infant. Peace, as in peace and quiet, is a rare commodity to be sure. Morning, noon, and night Teddy likes to make noise.

Whether it is an early morning monologue when he practices talking. Play time when he turns his toy container into a drum. Or, in the middle of the night when he has recently been having nightmares. Teddy likes to make noise. In speaking with Emily and Sally, I think Gunnar who will be baptized today is the same way.

Certainly children make a lot of noise. However, they do not extinguish the peace that fills today’s Gospel lesson. No, what disturbs that peace is something much more devious.

Fear disturbs peace. Those disciples on Easter evening were afraid. They were fearful of the Roman Empire. They dreaded powerful and corrupt religious leaders. They were scared that they would suffer the same death that Jesus did. So, they barred the doors. They buried themselves behind locks. They hid in secrecy. They worried behind walls.

Jesus, though came and stood among them, like there were no doors, no locks, and no walls. His first words to the disciples post-resurrection were, “Peace be with you.” Not only that but that phrase became the refrain throughout these Sunday evening encounters. Did you hear Jesus repeat it throughout this story?

Peace emanated from the post-resurrection Jesus. He greeted the disciples with peace. He charged them to go out with peace. He even spoke to Thomas from a place of peace. Peace was all over the place!

This type of peace was not like quiet that we all may crave from time to time when things are busy or loud. No, this peace is that peace we yearn for deep within our souls. This peace, we say, passes all understanding.

On this day when we welcome a new member into the Body of Christ through Baptism, we would do well to hear Jesus’ peaceful bidding. For living in peace, spreading peace, and being peaceful are all parts of the work we are given to do as Christ’s Body in this world. These are all parts of life in Christ. We are called to bear that peace, which passes all understanding into a world that is so often afraid, reactive, and violent. If we take a closer look at these encounters between Jesus and his disciples—and if we look at them as a model for post-resurrection discipleship, I believe we will have a good vision of how we too might follow Jesus in the Easter light.

There is a lot in our world to be scared of today. We hear of school shootings, we read of plane crashes, and we know of terrible storms rolling through our own neighborhoods. So much on the news elicits fear from us. We may now live in crippling dread of the next violent act, the next accident, or the next natural disaster. Fear is all around us. We can believe the best course of action is to lock ourselves away. Just like the disciples did, we can close ourselves off from the rest of the world because it might hurt us. To be honest, this is a very prudent and responsible path, but even there Christ will come find us.

When we close ourselves off, Christ will break through our walls and speak to us saying, “Peace be with you.” Long ago, Jesus did not simply let the disciples sit back behind closed doors. No, he sent them, just as the father had sent him. He sent them with peace. He sent them with the Holy Spirit. He knew that staying behind closed doors may have been easier, but it was not what Jesus wanted from them. He wanted them to go in peace to spread his Good News. Good news that Resurrection overcomes death, peace overcomes fear, and love overcomes all. We too are called to go in peace.

Many weeks our clergy call us to go in peace to love and serve the Lord who is out in the world. We are called to go out not to be reckless, but courageous. The only way to be courageous is to do something that is scary at first. This is how fear is defeated. Christ always goes with us, like he went with the disciples.

But first, the Risen Christ showed the disciples his wounds. Before he sent them he showed them, but why? He was not trying to be gory. Instead, he was aiming to help them see that God guides us even through the tough times.

Even though his body had been broken, God guided him onward. Jesus knew that peace which passes all understanding even during the darkest moments of his life—those moments, which created those scars. God calls us to trust in that everlasting peace even when we confront our darkest times.

All of us in baptism are called to be part of the priesthood of all believers. We are all called to follow Jesus. We may not be called to die for Jesus, but we are all certainly called to live for him.

We will inevitably face difficult times though, when peace seems far away. Not only outside of ourselves, but within ourselves too. As believers it is natural to be curious, it is natural even to doubt. Thomas is our patron saint of questioning. And, we again heard a bit of his story this morning.

Like Thomas, we are all called to refine our faith through wondering. Often we have used Thomas as a punching bag to push aside or a straw man to knock over, but he wanted what all the others had received. He yearned to see the Risen Christ, to put his hands in the marks of the nails, to see those wounds, to be in the presence of Jesus once again. How did Christ Jesus respond?

Jesus again stood among the disciples and said, “Peace be with you.” Again Jesus brought peace. Even when Thomas had doubts, Jesus greeted him with peace. When we have doubts or questions, Jesus will walk among us with peace. He will come show us the wounds if we need to see them. Not to be gross—but so that we can see that wounds do not define us. They may affect us, but they are not all of who we are. Instead, it is the peace of God, which passes understanding that characterizes us as Jesus’ followers.

Soon we will welcome a new member into the Body of Christ. As we do, we hear Jesus calling us all into the life of peace, which passes all understanding. Christ greets us with peace. Christ finds us with peace even when we are afraid. Christ reassures us with peace as we have questions. Christ calls to live through peace even as we experience deep wounds. Peace—this is the way of Christ.

As Gunnar becomes a member in the Body of Christ, we are called to surround him with God’s peace. He may one day be scared. He may have questions that are too tough for us to answer. He may be hurt one day in ways that are too challenging for us to heal. In those times, may we have the grace to share the peace of Christ with him.

May we bear peace just as Jesus brought peace. Even when we are afraid. Even when we do not understand. Even when we are hurt. May we bring peace just as Jesus brought peace. May the peace of Christ, which passes all understanding be with us and guide us all forever more. Amen.

Who’s The Other Disciple?

Where do we fit at the table?

This sermon was preached at St. John's Episcopal Church, Decatur, AL on the Wednesday in Easter Week. The text that inspired this sermon was Luke 24:13-35. 

It was moving day today at the office—a rather disorienting day. We moved part of our offices across the street to the Albany Office Building. The staff won’t officially be there full time until Monday, April 9th. However, some of our stuff is already there. And, some of our stuff will be housed in the big storage bin in the church parking lot. To say I feel all over the place is an understatement. Still I am pretty sure my feeling of bewilderment pales in comparison to that of Cleopas and his friend on their walk to Emmaus.

On Easter afternoon Cleopas and the other disciple headed out of Jerusalem on the seven mile trip to Emmaus. They had heard from the women of their group that Jesus’ tomb was empty. But, they didn’t stick around. Why? The story doesn’t say.

If one’s recently dead teacher, leader, and Lord was no longer in his tomb, why might one leave town? One might have been scared—not of a ghost, but of crucifixion. One might have needed to run away because a dead man walking just doesn’t happen. One might have been so confused that getting away was the only option. Whatever the reason Cleopas and the other disciple left Jerusalem on Sunday afternoon. The women shared the most preposterously good news, and these two could not stick around to comprehend it. So, for whatever reason they fled.

On the way they were joined by a stranger. Someone they did not recognize. Someone who had not heard anything of the last few days. Cleopas and the other disciple did not identify the stranger at first. The three of them walked together nonetheless. The stranger after hearing a bit about the events of the last three days began to interpret Scripture. He opened up for Cleopas and the other what the events might mean, but the disciples could not grasp the deeper message. They kept walking together though.

As evening drew closer, Cleopas and the other drew nearer to their destination. The stranger though looked as though he would keep going. Something in the disciples urged them to invite the stranger to eat and to stay. So, they asked. The stranger accepted. Then, the three were at table with each other.

At table, the stranger’s identity came crashing into focus. For he took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to the disciples. Their eyes were opened and they saw that this was the Risen Lord right in their midst. Whatever had taken these disciples from Jerusalem all of a sudden became insignificant, for they ran back to the other disciples. At that late hour, surely after dark, they ran seven miles back to Jerusalem!When they arrived back in town, Cleopas and the other disciple shared in the good news, “The Lord has risen indeed!”

This whole story stands out as uncanny, but a couple of things in particular strike me today. The first one is rather obvious. Cleopas and the other disciple could not see the truth of the Risen Lord in what the women had said or even what Jesus said on the road. They had to see that remarkable, unbelievable truth in the breaking of the bread. It was communion that shook off the scales on their eyes. What implication might this have on us? How might Communion be seen differently in the light of Easter?

Second, and this seems less obvious, there is some mystery surrounding the second disciple’s identity. Certainly those in the early church would have had to know who Cleopas’ friend was. Surely, everyone knew who it was. So, why leave the identity obscure? Maybe it was so that we could see ourselves in that person. Sort of like how an icon leaves a blank space to envision ourselves in the life of God, this story too invites us inside of it.

You and I are invited to imagine ourselves as a companion on the way to Emmaus. What happened there can happen to us too! We may not be able to hear the Good News of Christ Jesus in what a friend shares with us. We may not even be able to receive that Good News in the word of Holy Scripture. Certainly though gathered lovingly around a table together we will see Christ in our midst. We are invited into this story and we are invited to go tell others, "The Lord has risen indeed!"

We are to share our good news of the Risen Lord, like the women did and like these disciples did. We are to help reveal the story of Christ Jesus in the Holy Scripture. And, we are called to invite others to share in communion together as we dwell around the Table with our Risen Lord. So come share your good news, share in the Good News, and share in the Lord's Supper.

Who’s Going To Roll The Stone Away?

An Orthodox Icon of the Resurrection

This sermon was preached at St. John's Church, Decatur, AL at the Easter Vigil after the lessons below, but before the lights had been turned on signifying God's triumphant moment of Resurrection. 

Genesis 1:1-2:4a,  The Story of Creation

Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18, 8:6-18,  The Flood

Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21 9:8-13, Israel's Deliverance at the Red Sea

Isaiah 55:1-11 Salvation Freely Offered to All

It’s dark in here isn’t it? So dark. Recently a parishioner (Jesse Sawyer) and I were talking about this service, and he told me about being at Easter Vigils in the past. “Slowly,” he said, “we can see the stained glass windows coming to life.” We are not quite to morning yet—to daybreak. That will happen soon enough. For now though, we are in the dark. It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

“When God began to create the heavens and the earth—the earth was without shape or form, it was dark…” If I stop and think about what that moment of creation—the Big Bang—God speaking existence into being—if I stop and think about that moment, my head hurts. No one was there, save for God, to see what un-created Creation looked like. So, when I tell my brain to come back with an image of how dark it was I get an error message. “That file cannot be found,” it says. Before God said anything though, I think it was pretty dark.

If we were to blow out all our candles, then it might be as dark, as the nights when Noah and his lot endured the flood. As the windows of the skies opened and that slightly newer sun set, it had to get pretty dark. Of course, not as dark as it must have been when the Lord closed the door behind them—a strange detail from that bit in Genesis. The Lord was the one shutting Noah and his family inside. And, it must have been dark inside all those days and nights.

Slightly brighter must have been the night voyage across the bottom of the Red Sea. The cloud by day was dark coverage—enough even to enshroud the People of Israel as they escaped Pharaoh. And, at night that cloud—God’s cloud—lit up a path on dry ground. Still, it had to be dark walking between the walls of waves on either side.

Darkness got no mention in what we heard from Isaiah, but it certainly lurked in the background. Not darkness, like poor vision from lack of light, but something much more disturbing. The prophet extends God’s invitation—a good thing. However, the prophet extends that invitation because God’s People had been without. They had been hungry. They had been thirsty. They had been yearning for God. They had been held captive by enemies, by themselves, and by brokenness. They too were in the dark, like the rest of these stories. And, like us.

It really is so dark in here. And, outside before the service too. It was so dark outside this service a couple years ago that Foster even missed the steps—right out there. He was trying to walk into the chapel, instead he nearly walked into the columbarium. Actually, somehow I think Foster had it right.

When Evan and I were getting ready for this vigil, he said that walking into our dark church this morning is so startling. With only the light of the Paschal Candle it is like walking into a tomb. I agree. And, I think that is what this is all about—us walking into the grave as we are buried with Christ Jesus. Of course, the thought of being stuck in a tomb makes my skin crawl.

The closest experience I have had to being buried alive is going caving. Those trips beneath the earth have been riveting. Especially, when everyone in the group turns out their headlamps and stops speaking for a moment or two. It’s disorienting down there—like in here.

A worry can get ahold of me. And, I think, “What if I get trapped here? What if some rocks decide to fall at this precise moment? What if the Lord closes the door like he did with Noah?” Worse still is the thought of getting trapped not in a cave, but in a place of deeper darkness. A place without the light. Like where God’s people were when Isaiah called to them. A place with hunger, thirst, and yearning, but seemingly without God.

It is in that place—not a cave—but a tomb—that we wait.

We await a moment that is so passionately longed for by all of us. A time when the darkness not outside of us, but inside of us will be no more. A moment when all traces of sadness evaporate. An era when evil ceases to exist. A day when death is vanquished. An age when we are bathed in radiant light. That is what we await, sitting here in the fast fading shadows.

But, for a moment more it is dark—in this church—in this tomb. And, with the women who are approaching in the distance we wonder, “Who’s going to roll the stone away?”  

When the Sermon concluded (still in the dark) the congregation renewed their baptismal vows, proclaimed Christ's Resurrection, and eventually heard the following Gospel lesson:

Mark 16:1-8