God All-Vulnerable

 

So often we describe God as Almighty, but today we see God All-Vulnerable.

Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14 

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

This sermon was preached on Good Friday at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of it may be found here. 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

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We call this day Good, but truthfully… it feels anything but good.

 

On this day, we read the Passion of Our Lord. We hear the betrayal, the violence, the abandonment, and the silence. We stare into the mystery of a God who chose not to escape suffering, but to enter it. Not to crush evil with a sword, but to expose it on a cross.

 

Even though I have heard this story so many times, still I feel the tension. I know the story, and yet… my heart protests. At the first church I served, a group of children heard the Passion story on Palm Sunday. One of them replied, “Wait, what? Jesus died?!” Like that little one, I too am in disbelief. Couldn’t it have gone another way?

 

Why this way? Why the flogging, the nails and the borrowed tomb?

 

Why this kind of love?

 

The short answer? Because this is the world we live in.

 

We live in a world where the innocent suffer—not only back then, but also now. We live on a planet where people are mocked, manipulated, and murdered. Where powerful systems silence truth. Where even the faithful are tempted to look away when things get too painful. 

 

Jesus didn’t die in spite of our world. He died in it. Because of it. He died for it and for us, but he died because all too often that’s what we do to truth tellers.

Good Friday is not the story of God demanding suffering—it is the story of God choosing solidarity with the suffering of this world.

 

The crucifixion shows us something no throne ever could: the full extent of God’s love. Not a sanitized, distant, picture-perfect kind of love. But a love that bleeds. A love that absorbs rejection. A love that stays—even beyond the barriers and breaking points.

 

Some in our society scoff at this love—calling it weak, sentimental, idealistic. In response, I find myself wrestling with the following question: What does this life-giving love—this love that may lead to my death—what does this love have to do with me, with us?

 

To answer I could theologize—atonement theories, historical layers, and political intrigue. I could stay up in my head trying to explain it away, but the truth is simpler, and harder: Jesus died because this is what love looks like when it refuses to give up. When it costs something. When it stays beyond the bitter end. When love bears the weight of the entire cosmos within a mortal body nailed to a tree. 

 

This truth of the Cross can’t make sense up here (in the brain), certainly not in the survival mind, which remains hell-bent on supremacy, control, esteem, and a host of other markers deemed virtuous by the world’s systems. Instead, the truth of the Cross is venerated, is made real so to speak, when we align ourselves not with the power-tripping principalities of this fallen world, but when we seek solidarity with the least, the lost, and the unloved—when we align ourselves with Christ Jesus who hides in plain sight, in family, neighbor, and yes, even enemy. 

 

Through the Cross we experience a holy camaraderie not just with those we like or think of fondly, but with every human being. In a few minutes, we will experience this kinship by praying for the needs of the entire world. And, specifically you will notice a new section has been added to our solemn collects in which we lift up our Jewish siblings. We specifically will pray for them because all too often during this holy week Christians have harmed Jewish neighbors. For Jesus, a faithful Jewish man, was not ascending the Cross to start an exclusive religion—Jesus endured the Cross to draw the whole cosmos near to express there is no separation from the Divine—pain, power, or persecution won’t stop God from inviting us close, to embrace us—all of us. 

 

And, before Jesus was crucified, before the Cross was even erected, soldiers forced Our Lord to carry his own torture device. I bet somewhere in your life you too are carrying a cross.

 

It might be grief. Or shame. Or exhaustion. Or loneliness so deep it aches.

 

This day says: God knows that burden.
This day says: Jesus has walked your road.
This day says: You are not alone. You’ll never walk alone!

 

We so often speak of God as Almighty. But today, we also see God as All-Vulnerable. God does not dominate from on high. God hangs low from a tree. And yet—this is not the end. 

Because the Cross is not God's final word. It was not the proverbial period that the authorities thought they were placing at the end of the sentence that was Jesus’ life. For where the world tried to place an exclamation point of death, God instead placed an ellipses, a "to be continued," a mysterious pause that stretches onward. Because Jesus’ outstretched arms nailed to a tree are still reaching toward you and me and this whole broken world… and the entirety of the cosmos… offering not answers, but embrace. As a beloved prayer from our Tradition puts it: “Jesus stretched out his arms of love on the hard wood of the cross, that everyone might come within the reach of his saving embrace" (The Book of Common Prayer, 101).

 

So come close, beloved apostles. Not to understand, but to behold. Not to explain, but to weep. Not to solve, but to be held.

 

This is the day when the whole world falls apart. And somehow, in the shadow of the Cross, we find not despair… but truth. We find not condemnation… but compassion. We find not the absence of God… but the fullness of love.

 

That’s what makes this Friday Good.

Because even here—especially here—nothing can separate us from the love of God…

Not sin…
Not death…
Not even a cross!

Softhearted Discipleship

Click the link above to view the video of this sermon.

 

This sermon was preached on the 20^th Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 22B) at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the sermon may be found here. The readings for this Sunday were the following: 

Job 1:1; 2:1-10

Psalm 26 

Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12

Mark 10:2-16

 

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

One of the things that the Search Committee shared with me this time a year ago was the desire for this community of Holy Apostles to experience dedicated formation, so that we collectively may learn the way of Christ. For the past several weeks, we’ve spent time with our Teacher Jesus learning to be students or what we often call disciples. Today’s Gospel gives us a challenging lesson about that call to learn from Christ, as we see Jesus engage in a difficult conversation with the Pharisees about divorce.

At first glance it appears that Jesus is instructing in no uncertain terms that marriage is good, and divorce is bad. However, this passage is not simply about divorce law, nor is it simply about marriage in Jesus’ time. It’s about what we value and, more importantly, whom we value.

In this Gospel lesson, the Pharisees approached Jesus with a question meant to test him. They focused on the letter of the law, particularly the mandate giving men control over women’s lives. I wish that this story was just something confined to long ago, but the obsession of some men controlling other people, especially women, has echoed hauntingly throughout the centuries. Back in Jesus’ day, a woman’s worth was limited—defined by her ability to bear children and run a household. Divorce was simple for men, who could dismiss their wives with a certificate. What mattered was the man’s authority, not the woman’s well-being.

But Jesus saw things differently. He turned the teaching on its head and pointed to a deeper set of questions: What do you truly value? Is it power? Is it self-interest? Or is it the well-being of those who have no voice—those whom society deems less than? Less than important, less than worthy, less than others.

In our time, we may look back and feel we’ve come a long way. And in some ways, we have. But still, the vulnerable among us often go unseen or unheard. Women, children, people of color, the poor, the persecuted, the immigrant, the member of the LGBTQIA+ community, the imprisoned—whom do we value? We still hear stories of injustice and hardship. In many cases, women remain undervalued in the workplace, survivors of abuse are often blamed, and vulnerable groups continue to be marginalized.

Jesus’ instruction still resonates clearly: We must value those whom society overlooks.

I see that spirit alive at Holy Apostles. Even as we gather here, I am reminded of last week’s Church in the Park service. We gathered in Shades Cliff Park not just for worship, but for connection, for fellowship, and for the sheer joy of being together in God’s creation. In more casual settings like this we have the opportunity to see each other’s true selves—the divine image-bearing part of us that we were each made to be. Together we glimpse the Kingdom of God when we extend open arms to one another, sharing our lives and our love freely. And in this Kingdom, in this Reign of Christ, we strive to emulate Christ Jesus’ own example. 

Long ago he did not say, “Don’t get divorced ever, even if you are being hurt or abused.” No, Jesus warned that divorce should not be used by men to easily dismiss their wives—leaving the more vulnerable half of the species at that time in an even more precarious situation. We are to follow the Way of Christ, not the way of the world. We must value those whom society overlooks. 

This work of reaching out to those in need is a big piece of who we are at Holy Apostles. And, it is one of the reasons why in this season of financial stewardship, I’m reminded that stewardship is more than a conversation about money. It’s a reflection on what we give worth to. You may know that worth and worship share the same root word. So, what we give worth to in our lives is what we worship—remember that the next time you review your bank statements. Sometimes I start to wonder am I worshipping God or am I worshipping Target?

The more lasting question here is where do we invest our time, our talent, and our treasure? In this season, we are being invited to ask ourselves hard questions about how we value the vulnerable, not just through our words but through our actions. Do we live out the values that Jesus embodied?

One recent example that exemplifies this kind of softheartedness is the story of Mark Elwood, a parishioner at my former church of All Saints. When Hurricane Helene hit Mark felt a tug on his heart to care for those who are vulnerable and without necessities they need. Mark worked with the people of All Saints on collecting supplies. Then, Mark flew his plane full of food, water, and essentials to give to the Rev. David Henson and the good people of St. James, Hendersonville, North Carolina. When Mark heard of the suffering of others, he let his heart be softened. 

All of us have hearts made of flesh. Even if the world tries to solidify your heart into something made of concrete, rebar, and reinforced steel, God is actively working in your life to soften that heart, so that you might reach out in love to those who are hurting. And, if you are one of the ones who is hurting, reach out and ask for help!

So, this is the question worth us pondering here at Holy Apostles: How do we keep our hearts from hardening? In a world where it’s so easy to become overwhelmed or discouraged, let’s choose a different path—the Way of Love.

Let’s ask ourselves and each other questions like: How do you stay open? How do you remain softhearted and compassionate, even in the face of adversity? These aren’t exactly new questions—they are ones that people of faith have wondered for centuries—but it feels particularly pressing in our current moment. When the world around us grows tough, when we’re tempted to shut down or turn away, how do we keep that childlike openness Jesus speaks about in today’s Gospel?

It may seem disconnected, but in the Gospel according to Mark everything is connected. So, when Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me” it’s no coincidence. The children, in their innocence and vulnerability, are central to this passage. In a culture that often overlooked them, Jesus welcomed them. He knew that to embrace God’s Kingdom, we need a childlike heart—one that is tender, open, and receptive.

This is what I long for from us as a community at Holy Apostles—to talk regularly about how we might actively seek out ways to give our hearts to God. I’ve often heard people share how our music, prayers, relationships, and liturgy all play a role in softening their hearts. These practices help us remain open to God’s presence and to the needs of others. In all these ways we are invited to give our lives over to God who takes, blesses, breaks, and gives our hearts and lives back to us transformed. This might sound a bit scary frankly because it is. Giving over our hearts to be broken sounds scary, and I have apprehension about this. 

And yet, a few years ago, I came across a profound insight from Brother Curtis Almquist of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, which helped me to step into this endeavor of softening my heart with newfound refreshment. Brother Almquist told the story of a young monk who came to his superior for wisdom.

The novice said he found it strange that in the Old Testament there were many references to the Word of God being written on our hearts. The young man added that it made no sense for God’s word to be etched on the outside of our hearts. The old monk sat and thought for a moment, then asked, “I wonder if the Word of God is written on our hearts, so that when our hearts inevitably break, God’s Word will fill our hearts and make them whole once more.” Sometimes it is only through our brokenness that we truly embody God’s compassion and love.

So, what do we do when we feel our hearts hardening? When it’s easier to protect ourselves than to remain vulnerable? Jesus offers us the way forward in this Gospel: we are called to soften our hearts by receiving the Kingdom like a child. That means living with compassion, humility, and openness—even when it’s difficult.

As we continue through this season of stewardship, I encourage each of you to ask: What do I value? Whom do I value? How does my life reflect these truths? And, where is God calling me to soften my heart? 

Whether it’s through our ministries, our personal relationships, or in the way we engage with the world, may we be people whose hearts are tender, ready to welcome the vulnerable, and eager to reflect the love of Christ.

May God grant us the grace to keep our hearts soft, and when they break, may they break open to receive God’s living Word. Amen.

Bonus Good News

Today's Gospel lesson is like a hidden scene at the end of an Avengers movie, but even better!

© Seth Olson 2019

May 5, 2019—3rd Sunday of Easter

Acts 9:1-6, (7-20)
Psalm 30
Revelation 5:11-14
John 21:1-19

At the end of last week’s Gospel lesson—which just so happens to be the text that immediately precedes today’s story—we heard the following words: “But these [things] are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” Boom! End of story! Roll the credits…

But, wait! There’s more! Today we heard another story—an additional bit of the Good News of Christ. Some scholars really think this story was an addition to the Gospel according to John. This makes me think of a hidden scene that happens after the credits in a movie, like the ones snuck into the end of The Avengers franchise. No Endgame spoilers, I promise. I haven’t even seen it. So, what we have today is bonus good news! But, what do we learn from this surprise passage?

This story is rich! It overflows with meaning—that and confusion! It’s a weird passage, and we’ll get to that in a minute. But, if you remember no other detail from today’s story, take this bit home with you: If we are going to fulfill our calling to go out sharing the love and ministry of Christ, we need the risen Christ guiding and sustaining us. Whether we are talking about casting nets for fish in the Sea of Tiberias in 1st Century Galilee or we are describing the modern day mission of All Saints’ Church in 21st Century Birmingham, we must have the risen Christ leading us and feeding us! Now, let’s see how Christ led and fed in this very strange story and how this bonus good news can guide the work we do as we follow Christ.

At the end of John’s Gospel account, after Jesus had risen, breathed the Holy Spirit on his disciples, allayed Thomas’ doubts, and shared peace and bread with his followers, a certain group of disciples went back to their old way of living—hold on, what? This doesn’t make sense! They didn’t immediately go off to share the overwhelming power of the Resurrection? No, not according to John. Isn’t this like winning the lottery and going back to work in a cubical? Maybe, but maybe they just needed something familiar for a few days. Regardless, they went fishing, and honestly they stunk at it!

Simon Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, James, John, and two other disciples spent an entire night trying to pull in fish. A preacher I once heard, attested that night fishing is the best time to catch fish in the Sea of Tiberias. Somehow though these disciples had come up empty-netted. Maybe they were distracted by the risen Christ sending them out into the world or perhaps this story is not really about catching fish at all, whatever the case these previously professional fishermen went zero for an entire night. And so with nothing to show for their efforts, they made way for the beach.

Just after daybreak—that is to say right after the sun (Son) had risen (see what I did there? Ugh, terrible Resurrection humor...)—just after daybreak they came to shore, and who did they see? Well, they didn’t know who it was at that moment. So, a stranger yelled out to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” Hanging their heads, they said, “No.” The stranger recommended they toss the net on the right side of the boat. If it had been me, I might have said something snide under my breath, like, “You don’t think we tried the right side of the boat.” But, fortunately for this story, I wasn’t there because when the disciples followed this stranger’s command immediately their nets were filled with so many fish that they had a hard time controlling their nets. John, a.k.a. the disciple that Jesus loved told Peter that this guy on the beach must be the Lord and not a stranger. In this overflowing catch we see that the risen Christ was leading his followers onward, but what happened next is so strange that it deserves some unpacking.

As John told Peter that the person on the shore was the risen Lord, Peter realized he was naked. He didn’t know this before? This seems like a strange enough detail—and we’ll come back to it in a second, but then, Peter put on some clothes and only after this did he dive into the water. There weren’t bathing suits back then, so we’re talking about swimming in some sort of linen garment to the shore. WEIRD, right?! So, let’s jump back now. Why did Peter freak out about being naked in front of the Lord? He was obviously okay with naked fishing with his fellow disciples, but when Christ Jesus is spotted Peter puts on clothes. Why? He was embarrassed, he was scared, he was ashamed…

Peter recognizing his nakedness and reaching for something to cover himself  hearkens back to the story of Adam and Eve hiding themselves from God in the Garden of Eden. In both stories the humans struggled with being vulnerable in front of God. Adam and Eve were ashamed because they had disobeyed. Peter was ashamed because he had denied. Even if Christ Jesus had risen from the dead overcoming sin and death, Peter was still carrying around his guilt from denying his relationship with Jesus three times on Good Friday morning. Peter was still stuck in that moment. He had not yet moved on from it. And so, he hid that most vulnerable part of himself—at least for a moment.

Now while Peter may have clothed himself, he did immediately swim to shore so that he could see the risen Christ. After the breakfast in which they had some fish—a few of the 153 that they had caught, which by the way Charles tells me is the number of different kinds of fish in the Sea of Tiberias, which is to say that God wants all of us together in one net—after this fish breakfast of champions the risen Christ went about untying and untangling the knot of denial that Peter had been ensnared in for days. Through a series of questions and callings we see not just Peter’s way forward but our own way. Jesus had fed his followers and now he was leading them into new life by leading Peter into forgiveness and beyond.

The risen Christ’s questions and Peter’s answers appear simple, still there’s more here than just a question and a response. Jesus asked Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” Notice Jesus did not call him by his nickname “Peter,” which means Rock, as in the rock on which I will build this movement. Was this rock sturdy enough? The risen Christ was cutting through to who Simon-Peter truly was. Also, the risen Christ wondered if Simon loved him more than these? These what? These other ones on the beach seems the most obvious answer. And, perhaps through this the risen Christ was pointing out that Simon-Peter felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable and even naked around them, but not around him. Do you really love me more than these if you cannot bear your soul to me?

Peter replied to Jesus’ question by saying, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” To this, the risen Christ replied, “Feed my lambs.” In the subsequent questions Jesus’ calling is to tend and feed his sheep. In all three cases we find that connected to Peter’s love of Christ is a call to care. The same is true for us. Jesus led Simon-Peter out of his shame into a place of vulnerability where he was called to fed, tend, and love his fellow sheep. This trajectory, this calling is our own as well.

The risen Christ knows us even in our most vulnerable, naked state. Through Christ all of us were made. God has known us for forever. And in the moments when we like Peter deny Christ, God still sees us and still loves us. It seems no mistake that Peter on that boat had to go through the water and had to be nourished with a meal before he was fully restored with Christ. Doesn’t that sound a lot like Holy Baptism and Holy Eucharist?

On this day when we welcome Magnolia Jane as a new member of Christ’s Body through the waters of Baptism, on this day when we are spiritually fed at Christ’s Table, we see that God is ever feeding us and leading us. And, like Peter we are asked, “Do you love me more than these?” If we respond, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” We will also hear the risen Christ calling us to fed, tend, and love our fellow sheep. The risen Christ is ever feeding us and leading us into feeding, tending, and loving one another. When Christ asks, “Do you love me more than these?” Our response then is “No, I love you through loving these!” Amen.

Florence Li Tim-Oi: An Icon of Vulnerability

Pep-talks and halftime speeches stand out as a fascinating and sometimes unpredictable variable in the sporting world. Science cannot measure the impact that words have upon the emotions, outlook, and performance of athletes. When I was growing up playing sports and running I found that the most powerful words of-ten calmed me down and focused me rather than exciting me or getting me pumped up to perform. How about the words that Jesus spoke in today’s Gospel lesson? What kind of pep-talk was he giving to his disciples?

When Jesus sent out the seventy he said to them, “See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves” (Luke 10:3). WOW! Even when teams know that they are going to get destroyed on the playing field the coach will find some words to try and motivate her squad. Instead of sugar-coating the impending reality Jesus points to the truth of their forthcoming ministry: you do not have a chance on your own! Remarkably this is fantastically good news! Bear with me for a moment.

In the words Jesus spoke to the pairs of missionaries sent out into the world Jesus bid them to take no provisions, no food, no extra clothes, no smart phone, no maps, no safety net, NOTHING! In this way the Divine coach, so to speak, was preparing his team to practice the sacred sport of vulnerability. Jesus was not only challenging those seventy a couple thousand years ago. No, he speaks through time also to us. We too are called to lay down that which provides us safety and security, so that we may rely instead on the provision of God! What does this look like in modern times? I am so happy you asked!

Today we celebrate the ordination of Florence Li Tim-Oi, the first female priest within the Anglican Communion. She modeled reliance upon God in her persever-ance, her faithfulness, and her humility. If there was ever someone who was sent out like a sheep amidst wolves it was her, but throughout her life Florence found ways to continually bring peace to those whom she met, just like those disciples did long ago.

Li Tim-Oi, which means “beloved daughter” grew up in Hong Kong in the early 20th Century. When she received the Sacrament of Baptism at school she chose another name to be called. As she loved the life and work of Florence Nightingale she decided upon that name. Florence went to Union Theological College in Can-ton, and was later made a deaconess in 1941. 

World events got in the way of her ministry as Japanese invaders occupied Hong Kong. Priests were unable to travel to where she lived as a result of the occupation, but the Bishop of Hong Kong the Rt. Rev. Ronald Hall decided that “God’s work would reap better results if [Florence] had the proper title” of being priest (Holy Women, Holy Men, 186). On January 25, 1944 in the midst of World War II as dan-ger lurked around Florence, she was made the first female priest in the Anglican Communion. 

After war ceased her ordination drew much criticism. As she discerned what to do Florence humbly suppressed her own calling by not acting as a priest until the whole Anglican Communion recognized her order. She continued ministering in that time nonetheless. When communists came to power in 1949 Florence went to Beijing to further her own education and moved afterward to the Cathedral of Our Savior in Guangzhou. For sixteen years starting in the late 1950s all churches were closed as a Cultural Revolution swept through China. Florence had to work on farms and in factories during that time, but she never ceased her discipleship as she continued to minister to all whom she met through peace-bearing action.

In 1979 the churches reopened and Florence began again her public ministry. Then, two years later she traveled to Canada to visit her family. Then and there the Church finally fully licensed her as a priest in the Anglican Communion. After be-ing suppressed from practicing her rightful ministry for nearly forty years she was finally able to fully express her call! After craftily navigating many wolves this sheep of God finally was able to be who she was made to be!

Florence Li Tim-Oi exemplified for us how to live vulnerably in this world; howev-er, we may look at her life as something too monumental for us to emulate. God calls each of us through the words of Jesus to be sheep among wolves—meaning we must lay down our sense of comfort, convenience, and even security so that we may rely fully on God. This rarely happens all at once, but instead we would do well to practice a spiritual experiment. Take a look at your life, see if there is some-thing that you feel takes you away from loving God and loving your neighbor. Try cutting it out for a day, a week, or a month. Lent is right around the corner, which is the perfect time for becoming more sheep-like. 

God calls us to be sheep in the midst of wolves. How will you be like Florence Li Tim-Oi? What will you jettison that keeps you from relying upon God? Where in your life can you become more vulnerable?