Identity Crisis

Jesus' coming as the Messiah was even more disruptive than moving from a rotary phone to a smart phone.

 

© Seth Olson 2020
August 23, 2020—Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost  

Isaiah 51:1-6
Psalm 138
Romans 12:1-8
Matthew 16:13-20

Video of today's sermon may be found here: https://vimeo.com/450836046

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

This week school started for many in our community. We prayed for our students, their parents, as well as teachers, administrators, and staff beginning this academic year both last week and earlier this morning. The usual emotions of excitement, anticipation, and curiosity are tinged with anxiety, trepidation, and fear—it is as challenging a start to a new school year as has ever been.

This is not to say that school wasn’t hard enough already. It was! While our children and adolescents are learning science, math, language, history, social studies, the arts, and sports, they are also discovering who they are. They are figuring out their identity. Learning to fully accept who we are is a life-long journey, and it has always been tough. Still it feels especially tough right now. I feel for not only our children and teens, but all of us as we navigate who we are and who we are becoming in this ever-changing world. We are not alone in this self-discovery though.

In today’s Gospel lesson we observe Jesus wondering the all-important question “Who am I?” with his closest followers. He first asked them a safer version of the question, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” (It would be like me asking, “What are people saying about the 30-something-year-old Associate Rector at All Saints?”) Jesus did not refer to himself directly, but used a title—“Son of Man”—that he often applied to himself. And he did not ask the disciples point blank, but instead allowed them to crowd-source their reply.   

Jesus did not go so far as to ask the disciples for the wrong answers only, but the crowd’s understanding of Jesus was nonetheless off the mark. The masses believed Jesus to be the recently martyred John the Baptist or a longer dead prophet like Jeremiah or Elijah. We will come back to these incorrect answers in a moment, but first Peter tells us the truth of who Jesus is. In the midst of all the healings, teachings, and confrontations with the Pharisees, God had opened Simon’s eyes to the truth. When Jesus asked, “Who do you say that I am?” Simon replied, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

By merely uttering these words Simon underwent a transformation from a struggling follower to the Rock of the Church. To behold Jesus as the Messiah—the Savior—the One coming to save the world is enough to change anyone’s life. Jesus gave Simon the nickname Peter (the Rock) because he had—with God’s help—realized this truth before any of the other disciples. We would be wise to remember that Mary, the Magi, John the Baptist, the Canaanite woman, and others had discerned this earlier in Matthew’s Gospel account. Still, this acknowledgment of who Jesus truly was, and who he still is—the Messiah, the Christ—has the power to transform not just Simon, but us too. Now, what about these other answers? What about the wrong assertions of who Jesus was? Why might they be useful to us?

The crowds professed that Jesus was John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or another prophet. With 2,000 years of hindsight we can clearly tell these answers are wrong, but they help us nonetheless. The crowd’s responses all had in common that they were prophetic voices from the Jewish Tradition. In other words, they were known commodities. The crowds would have heard Jesus and recognized echoes from their people’s past. Sometimes, as human beings, we have a hard time understanding something or someone as wholly new, and we try to put them into an already existing category or box. It’s challenging for us to face a completely novel and disrupting force—even if it is good for us. Let me give you a modern analogy.

Do you remember rotary phones? If you are younger than me you may not even know what a rotary phone is, but it was the way that people used to have to make phone calls (mimic dialing with rotary). It was a slow process. But, then came along the touch-tone or keypad phone. It was a big advancement, but still an “incremental improvement.” It would be like going from one prophet to another. More recently though there has been much more disruptive advancement … “combining a phone, a camera, a computer, a music library and player, a GPS device, and a mobile Internet portal,”[1] as phones evolve into smart phones. Jesus’ coming was not a rotary phone evolving into a keypad phone, but rather it was much more unsettling—like going from no phone to a smart phone overnight.

This analogy though can be harnessed to talk not only about Jesus’ coming and his disrupting of the systems of the day, but also to the current moment. We are in a disruptive era. Even before the pandemics we now face, we were looking at times of change, especially in the Church. Long held institutions (including religious ones) coming under greater scrutiny, seven-day work week schedules, and the appeal of other interests have made it less likely for some to find merit in traditional, Sunday morning church. Unlike in previous decades it has not been enough to hang a church sign and open the doors, and that is even more true since March.

If we were already experiencing such a time of upheaval, and now we are facing these pandemics, we cannot simply try to go back to the way things were. The bell cannot be unrung—the toothpaste cannot go back in the tube—the smart phone is not exchanged for the rotary phone. I had a New Testament professor who warned against jumping from one Gospel account to another—what she calls “making Gospel soup,”[2] but disruptive times call for disruptive measures. This moment calls for jumping from Matthew’s account to John’s telling of the Good News where we hear Jesus say one must be born again. This does not mean, as Nicodemus thought, we go through the womb a second time. Rather, in such a challenging age, we are being called to be spiritually reborn. Honestly, we have always been called to this divine rebirthing, but it just has not been so dramatic in any of our lifetimes.  

We are in an unprecedented time. We are facing seemingly endless challenges on manifold fronts. This is not a rotary phone evolving into a keypad one. This feels like going from the stone ages to the internet age overnight. In the middle of these challenging times we might be wondering who are we as a Church and who am I as an individual? Whether we are heading back to school, trying to navigate new work realities, struggling with unemployment, facing isolation, or worrying about our own health or that of our family, we are all trying to figure out who we are in this new day. Who am I now? Who are we going to be as the Church now?

These questions are so crucial that they—on top of everything else—may make us feel like we are collapsing under the weight of it all. Ugh! These questions are important—don’t get me wrong. I love wondering about them and about who we are, but there is still an even more important question.

Like Simon we are called to wonder about Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?” How will we answer? If we take hold of Jesus not just as a teacher, healer, and disruptive force, but also as a Savior, something changes. So often I find myself trying to save myself instead of resting in the truth that Christ has come to make me—and all of us—whole. We cannot save ourselves and as I let this sink in the words from a Gospel lesson several weeks back flood into my heart: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”[3]

Yes, we will not come out on the other side of these pandemics the same way we came into them. Yes, it is crucial to wonder who we are and who we are becoming. Yes, this has been and is a disruptive age. But the biggest yes is that in God we can rest, in God we can trust and not be afraid, in God is our hope, and whatever it is we are going through we can know fully that God is with us.

As you answer who you are remember also whose you are. For we all belong to God. May we rest in this truth, especially as face such disrupting times.

---

[1] Brian McLaren, “A Disruption of the Spirit” from Center for Contemplation and Action Daily Mediations, Wednesday, August 19, 2020: https://cac.org/a-disruption-of-the-spirit-2020-08-19/.

[2] The Rev. Dr. Cynthia Kittredge was fond of saying this to my seminary New Testament class.

[3] Matthew 11:28-30 https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew+11%3A28-30&version=NRSV.

 

Treasure New and Old

What treasure new and old is God calling forth in you?

© Seth Olson 2020
July 26, 2020—Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

1 Kings 3:5-12
Psalm 119:129-136
Romans 8:26-39
Matthew 13:31-33,44-52

You may find a video of this sermon by clicking here (sermon begins at 14:40).

Jesus asked, “Have you understood all this?” The disciples answered, “Yes.” And Jesus replied, “You liars!”

Okay, that’s not how the story went, but come on, the followers of Jesus understood all these parables. They had wise and discerning minds like God granted King Solomon? Are we joking here? The disciples who would soon after Jesus’ crucifixion be hiding in some apartment over a garage in the outskirts of Jerusalem comprehended the magnificent profundity of their rabbi Jesus and his stories… This seems hard to believe, right?

I still don’t think we get what Jesus was saying in most of his parables and we’ve had 2,000 years of practice. However, this lack of full understanding is okay. As Saint Paul put it in our epistle, the Spirit helps in our weakness and intercedes with sighs too deep for words. As we breath in these parables, we gain new insights each time we hear them. Our understanding of the parables moves because parables themselves move. They curve, like parabolas. And, why wouldn’t they?

We are not talking about something static, but the dynamic, ever-expanding, enriching enigma that is the Kingdom of God, the Reign of Christ. Like grasping for an eel, holding onto exactly what the Kingdom of Heaven is remains a slippery endeavor. But, as we struggle God is with us and if God is with us and for us, who can be against us?

Still, we wonder, what’s the Reign of Christ like? Jesus told us and still tells us over and over again. He said, it’s like…

It’s like a mustard seed. That one seems easy enough. It starts small, but given time and light and water it grows. Soon it’s not only good for itself, it’s good for others. Some might rest in its shade. Whew, that sounds nice! Don’t we all want that right now—to rest in God and the shade of what God provides? What else?

The Reign of Christ is like yeast. Oh, we get that one! Maybe those disciples weren’t lying. We put yeast in with flour, water, salt, maybe honey, give it a mix, and put it somewhere warm—what happens? It expands. It grows. Okay, so the Kingdom of God is growing. What else is it?

The Kingdom of heaven, that is where God reigns, is like a treasure. Yes, it is! We can get behind that. Who doesn’t like the idea of finding buried treasure?[1] We yearn for discovering such a gift in our lives. But… if I’m being honest. That parable sounds confusing. The standard interpretation is that one person found, then buried treasure, while another sold everything to go buy the field. This seems to make sense. But, it almost sounds like one person found, then buried treasure, then that same one went and sold everything to reclaim the buried loot. That makes no logical sense, but even that sounds like life in Christ. Listen: sometimes we have to gain it all, then lose it all, just to gain it all again… If you disagree, may I suggest the Book of Job!

Regardless when we compare God’s Kingdom to treasure what we know is that all of us are in search of something that is so captivating that we will give up everything else to take hold of it. That’s definitely what life in Christ is like. We must become less—selling what we have—Christ must become more—taking hold of the treasure.

This happens in a spiritual, but very real way to each of us in Baptism. There we die, so that we might be reborn through Christ and in Christ. RAD! That’s radical, but that’s the Reign of Christ! What else is it like?

The Reign of Christ is like an episode of Antique Roadshow. Wait, that’s not right. That’s not what Jesus said. Still a collector appraised a pearl of great value and upon realizing its value she had to have it. Is this not what the Kingdom of heaven is like? Life with Jesus is so compelling that we want to stop everything else we are doing so that we might live in this new way. That sounds so good right now!

At this very moment don’t we want nothing more than to give away all the craziness of the last five months, so that we might live an abundant life? Except maybe that doesn’t mean we actually give away the last five months or that we have to wait to go somewhere else. Rather, maybe we live this life in a new way right here, right now. In this Gospel lesson, Jesus repeatedly said these things are like the Kingdom of heaven, and now seems like the right time to tell you that heaven is not something that only happens after we die or some other place where we will go.

The Kingdom of heaven started even before the foundation of the universe and it has never stopped. This abundant life permeated the ages of Creation, it lingered in our first parents, and our faith parents (Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Rachel, Moses, Elijah, and Elisha), the prophets, teachers of wisdom, and martyrs. This life became most clear ironically enough in the death and then resurrection of Christ Jesus. So, when the theologian Belinda Carlisle sang, “Oh baby do you know what that’s worth, Oh heaven is a place on earth,” she was not just making a sensational earworm of the 80’s, she was also telling us the truth of the matter. The Kingdom of Heaven is a kingdom here on earth.

What else is it like? Well the Kingdom of heaven is like a net that is cast into the sea and it collects all kinds of fish. As it is brought to the boat, there’s a discerning moment that makes little sense if any at all. The good fish are put in baskets. The bad fish are thrown out. Jesus unpacks this story by saying the angels will collect the righteous ones, while the evil ones are thrown into the fire. However, if we play this story out, aren’t the good fish that are put into baskets actually the ones who are thrown into the fire when they are cooked? And, aren’t the bad fish actually thrown back into their natural habitat where they can live? What does this mean, Jesus?

Maybe it means the last will be first and the first will be last. Maybe it means that the analogy was lost in translation. Or maybe it truly is an invitation into introspection as we discern what parts of our lives are in right relationship with God and neighbor, and what parts need to be thrown out?

Now, all of these interpretations regarding Jesus’ parables may be edifying, beautiful, and helpful. And yet, there exist many other explanations about any one of these descriptions of the Reign of Christ. Truth be told you may interpret any one of these stories in a completely contradictory way than I just did. And, that’s okay!

Instead of arguing about it what might be more useful is looking to where these stories point us. They are intended to inspire us to see God’s Reign here among us. To understand that God is, as our collect put it, our ruler—that is the standard of measuring abundant life. And, God is our guide who helps us pass from temporal to eternal and to see that heaven and earth truly comingle in every moment.

So, maybe we can spend some time thinking what are the modern parables that will help us to know God? The Kingdom of heaven is like a facemask that shields us from harm. God’s Kingdom is like heroic healthcare workers that tirelessly give and give and give again to save others’ lives. It’s like a police officer and a protestor hugging in the street. It’s a pandemic—not of sickness but of compassion. The Kingdom of Heaven is like a UPS driver bringing treasures of all kinds, which reminds me.

There’s one more parable left. After Jesus asked the disciples if they understood all this, which sure (shakes head) we get all this stuff, right? (NO!) Well, then, the Kingdom of Heaven, Jesus tells us is like… but that’s not what he said? Jesus said, the scribes who have been trained for the Kingdom of Heaven are like a master of a household who brings out treasure new and old.

This parable is the most important parable we heard today. Mostly because I believe we are in a moment within the history of our world, the history of the Church (Capital C), and the history of our church (All Saints) in which we need to hear this message. We need to embody this story. We must live in this very parable. We are scribes—I know usually they are the foils in stories about Jesus, but not here. We must become these ones who look for and study our world, as we search for insights into what the Reign of Christ looks like. Some of it will look like the treasure we had before this pandemic—hold fast to that which is good! And, some of it will be novel—sing to the Lord a new song! We need it all!

Sometimes we think that because God is eternal and Christ’s love is changeless and the Spirit is always near that we must not change; however, that’s not true. The Church has always been changing and evolving since it began. It didn’t just stay in people’s homes around the Mediterranean. No, it spread and grew and evolved. Some of those changes haven’t been good and some of them have made all the difference. Likewise, some of those things onto which we have held haven’t benefited us, and that is like carrying around a suitcase full of things you don’t need. So, now on this blursday in this season of coronatide, I invite us all to become scribes who are in search of the Reign of Christ all around us.

What forgotten spiritual treasure do you want to bring out that will help you to see heaven on earth? What new gift do you have to share in this moment that helps you to see Christ’s Reign alive and well? We need to find treasure new and old here in the middle of the COVID pandemic, here during this pandemic of racism, here in this transitional time in our parish! Search for the treasure both new and old, and when you find it, share it! For as our Bishop Kee has repeatedly reminded us, we must hold fast to that which is good and sing to the Lord a new song. Amen.

[1] Thousands went in search of Forest Fenn’s buried treasure over the last decade: https://denver.cbslocal.com/2020/07/05/forrest-fenn-treasure-colorado-national-monument-dinosaur/

The Impossible Journey

Jesus sent his disciples out like sheep among wolves

© Seth Olson 2020
June 15, 2020—Second Sunday after Pentecost
Exodus 19:2-8a 

Psalm 100 

Romans 5:1-8 

Matthew 9:35-10:8(9-23)

View today’s sermon by clicking here (sermon begins at 16:05).

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


I love going on trips. I imagine I am not alone in loving to travel—you too may love leaving home for a few days. These months of the Coronavirus Pandemic have meant less travel throughout the world. It’s been awhile since I packed up a suitcase and prepared to go somewhere. But, whenever I have taken a journey in the past I have relished the opportunity not only to take a trip but also to get ready for that trip. Regardless of whether the journey is business or pleasure, I tend to live by the Scouts’ motto: “Be prepared”—I am an over-packer. In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus was sending out his disciples on a business trip, but unlike a good scout the disciples were told to take nothing with them. Why?

Now sometimes in Gospel stories we find that Jesus does not provide us with particularly practical advice. Letting weeds grow up next to wheat, not building bigger facilities to house excess grain, or leaving 99 sheep to find a lost one—none of these morals are real-world instructions. For Jesus was not focused on what seemed wise according to the world, but instead he offered heaven-wise suggestions that would reveal God’s reign here on earth. So, what can we learn about God’s reign from the following packing list?

Take:
-No money
-No bag
-No extra clothes
-No backup shoes
-No staff for support or security

What does this tell us? If Jesus was not living by the Scouts’ motto and was not focused on doling out practical advice, what did these instructions have to do with God’s reign? As we ponder what Jesus was asking his disciples to do, it might be helpful to take a look at who he was sending out in the first place.

In today’s Gospel lesson we hear the word apostles, for the only time throughout Matthew’s Gospel account. Apostles means ones who are sent. The list of ones being sent out to proclaim the good news starts with Peter, the de facto leader, who would deny Jesus thrice, and it ends with Judas whose very name is synonymous with betrayal—I mean how many people named Judas do you know? These bookends tell us something. Plus, there is a set of brothers who bicker over who is better, Thomas whose very name is connected to doubting, Matthew, who was a symbol of oppression by the Roman occupiers, as he was a tax collector, and Simon the Canananean who was a radical anti-Roman zealot. This was not prudent, Jesus.

Jesus called weak leaders, traitorous weaklings, squabbling siblings, doubters, and clashing hotheads into his inner circle. Why not hire away the best marketer from the Roman Empire? Weren’t there some excellent preachers Jesus could have recruited from Jerusalem? This group of apostles was not the All-Star squad God incarnate should have put together to change the world. And on top of this, Jesus did not even give these ones he was sending the proper tools to succeed. How were they to complete their mission without the winning wardrobe or cash to buy a decent meal? Which gets us back to our earlier question: what did Jesus’ instructions to this rag-tag crew have to do with God’s reign?

Jesus called together a lackluster group of flawed human beings, then gave them a seemingly faulty set of instructions for entering their first mission as his disciples, and yet, as a result of them trusting Jesus, they helped spark a worldwide movement that is still going to this day. The disciples witness to us that when we have faith in God what is possible expands. God is calling us to readjust our perspective, our goals, and our view of what leads to success. We are to see on earth as it is in heaven.

If God can transform this motley group of disciples into the foundation of the Church, then what does this say to us as we face myriad obstacles? What does this story tell us as we confront the challenges of a global pandemic, a long overdue reckoning around racial injustice, a continuing environmental crisis, a financial recession, and the difficulty of saying goodbye to our beloved long-time rector who will soon be the 12th Bishop of Alabama? Can we overcome all of these challenges? Later in Matthew’s Gospel account Jesus will give us an answer, “For mortals it is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”[1]

With God all things are possible, but to realize this the disciples had to stop relying upon their own gifts and merits. The mission of those twelve was to proclaim good news, that the kingdom of heaven—God’s reign had come near. They were to be an extension of Jesus’ own ministry by curing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, and casting out demons. As if this does not sound difficult enough, Jesus used a metaphor to describe their mission: “I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves.” There were beatings, court proceedings, and households divided. In the midst of this, the apostles were not to have prepared stump speeches, rather they were to rely upon God’s Spirit speaking through them. They were to trust that with God all things are possible.

I have a lot of J tendencies on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, which means I like to plan things out. I have to put “be spontaneous” onto my calendar for it to happen. Relying on the Spirit, especially relinquishing control in the moment sounds foolish at best—until I start to look back at heroes in our Faith. Moses relied on God to speak through him when facing Pharaoh and freeing God’s people from slavery.[2] The Apostles trusted God, as filled with the Holy Spirit after Pentecost they took Christ’s message to all parts of the known world.[3] During the Reformation leaders across Europe led by the Spirit decentralized the power of the Church, so that all could experience the grace of God.[4] Women like Hildegard, Theresa of Avila, and Julian of Norwich, were so far ahead of their time that we are still unpacking their Spirit-drenched, mystical works. The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. trusted the Spirit too. He was going to end his speech during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom without telling the world about his dream until the Spirit spoke through Mahalia Jackson who pleaded, “Tell ‘em about the dream, Martin.”[5] We have to trust God, but that’s not easy.

It’s easy to look at the challenges we face today and to envision them as waves as tall as the Empire State Building ready to crash over us—on our own these are impossible to confront, but we are not alone. In all the challenges and changes we are facing today God is with us, but God calls us to trust. This means that we have to let go of the manifold items that might make us feel safe. We are not going to make it if we keep gripping ever-more-tightly to that which makes us feel secure and comfortable. How can we take hold of God’s hand if we are clinging to something else? Like those disciples who went out without anything, so they could trust God in everything, we must relinquish our own baggage too. And much of what we must put down is not items that will fit in a suitcase.

We must put down our institutional sexism, our systemic racism, our transphobia, and homophobia; our cynicism and self-righteousness; our overindulgent love of material goods; our lust for people, things, and experiences; our judgment of people because of their height, weight, age, income, or intellectual ability; our disregard for God’s Creation and those who come after us; our intractable political differences and perceived superiority because of our affiliations; our distrust of people who pray, vote, think, act, or live differently than we do. These items do not belong in our suitcases.

When we no longer rely on these proverbial security blankets, when diminish our reliance upon feeding our own egos, when we do not bring all the stuff that falsely causes us to believe we are superior to our neighbors, then we start to see our neighbor not as someone disconnected from us, but as one who is made in the image of God, just like us. And the only way we are going to confront the challenges of our day is united together with our neighbors. To love our neighbor as ourselves we first must put down all the luggage that causes us to think that we are somehow better than them. But, how?

We must start in prayer, as we move from the center of our own lives—that is we must contemplate the ultimate truth that God is God and we are not. We are made in God’s image, but are not God. Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory—not mine.

Next, we must consciously take stock in our lives recognizing the excess baggage that we carry around with us. This takes introspection. It requires us to not only get out of our echo chambers, but to read, watch, and listen to authors, filmmakers, musicians, and thinkers that may make us uncomfortable with the way we have individually and collectively lived our lives.[6]

Then, we must repent or turn back to God and away from the thoughts, actions, and behaviors that have intentionally or unintentionally put us into positions of power or superiority over our neighbors. If we truly want to fulfill the mission of the Church—to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ[7]—then we must first unpack this baggage before we can proceed farther on this journey.

We are all called to come on a journey with Jesus. Alone it is an impossible trip, but we are not alone. On this way God calls us to let go of the baggage, which makes us believe we are better, superior, or independent from one another. On this impossible journey we are called to rely not on ourselves but on God who is three-in-one—perpetual, united diversity. We are going on an impossible journey, but with God all things are possible.


[1] See Matthew 19:26.
[2] See Exodus 4.
[3] See Acts starting in Chapter 2.
[4] Martin Luther, Thomas Cranmer, John Calvin, and others brought Scripture, Liturgy, and Theology to people in their own language.
[5] Gary Younge. “Martin Luther King: the story behind his 'I have a dream' speech.” The Guardian. [Written Aug. 09, 2013; Accessed June 14, 2020: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/aug/09/martin-luther-king-dream-speech-history].
[6] There are so many people and works from whom we as white people must learn, so that we may become allies to our fellow children of God who are people of color, but as pertains to learning about systemic racism I recommend starting here: https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2020/06/06/871023438/this-list-of-books-films-and-podcasts-about-racism-is-a-start-not-a-panacea.
[7] An Outline of the Faith: Commonly called the Catechsim. Book of Common Prayer, 855.

The Masked Christ

A screen-grab from All Saints' Livestream from April 26, 2020

© Seth Olson 2020
April 26, 2020—Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:14a,36-41

Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17

1 Peter 1:17-23

Luke 24:13-35

View video of today’s sermon by following this link: https://vimeo.com/412085929 (sermon begins at 16:22).

Today’s Gospel lesson features the familiar story of the walk to Emmaus. In it, two disciples head out of Jerusalem on Easter night seemingly unaware of or unable to comprehend the magnitude of the empty tomb. While Mark’s Gospel account gives a brief outline of this story, the full depiction is unique to Luke. What is not unique within Luke is the setting of a journey.

Journeys are everywhere in the Third Gospel. Mary and Joseph had to take a trip to get to Bethlehem. The Parable of the Good Samaritan occurred on a road. Where did the father embrace the prodigal son in that famous parable? Out on a road! For a huge chunk of this gospel account Jesus was on the road to Jerusalem—and that was where so many of his greatest teachings happened. Even in the “sequel” to Luke, the Book of Acts, the apostle formerly known as Saul was blinded on the road to Damascus, before God changed his life for good and his name to Paul.[1] Embarking on a journey was not only important in Luke though, journeys are vital to us too.

How often do we describe our lives as a journey? We tell each other to take the high road when someone is dragging us down. Some people advise taking the road less traveled. And, what graduate has not received the journey-focused children’s classic Oh The Places You’ll Go, which compares life to one big, challenging adventure. And, our life in Christ is no different. Do we not often ask one another, “How is your faith journey going?”

And, all of our journeys (faith and otherwise) took a weird turn a few weeks back. Maybe some people projected the challenges of this virus, but I do not think anyone could see the full extent of how the COVID-19 pandemic would upend or turn around our traveling down our paths. As we all still struggle with what to do and what the next steps of our journeys will be, we would be wise to consult today’s story of the walk to Emmaus for guidance. What does this Easter evening trek teach us about our individual and collective journeys? Let’s look at three lessons because y’all know how much preachers like to talk about examples in groups of three.

First, it’s good to travel together. The Bible does not tell us why these two disciples decided to leave Jerusalem just hours after their fellow female disciples had seen the empty tomb, but they did. While this might seem crazy, what was not crazy was going together. There’s a wonderful African proverb, which reads: “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” Cleopas and the other disciple may have only been traveling to Emmaus, seven miles down the road, but they still understood the importance of traveling together. Likewise, on our journeys we yearn to travel together.

It’s in our very nature to walk the road together. I think one of the most challenging aspects of our current situation comes in that we are not able to have the normal interactions with those in our support networks. A basic belief we have as Christians is that we believe in a Triune God, as in God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—three-in-one. To me this means that God’s most elemental nature is communal. We come from God, so we come from community. Thus, we want to have fellow pilgrims on the way. This is challenging to do in this moment, so we have to use creativity—phone calls, Facetime, Zoom calls, letters, emails, Facebook messages, and countless other ways can connect us. And, there’s another way that involves the third traveler who came alongside the disciples, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

Our life journeys right now are challenging enough and even with a fellow pilgrim on the way, we may not know exactly where we are going, and this gets us to a second lesson we can learn from today’s Gospel story.

Sometimes on our journey, it is appropriate to wander. Now, maybe this is a stretch because the way Luke tells this story Cleopas and the other disciple knew where they were going. They were traveling to Emmaus, which according to the text was seven miles outside of Jerusalem. However, if you look on almost any historical map and consult most any Biblical scholar they will tell you there is some confusion as to where Emmaus is. Now, just last year archaeologists uncovered a massive Hellenistic wall that some believe identifies the location of the ancient city of Emmaus.[2]

Still, I wonder if the disciples’ journey that Easter night was more of a wandering walk into the grief of losing their Lord than a Point A to Point B excursion. When the disguised Jesus asked the disciples what they were talking about on their way, they stood still looking sad. They were heartbroken.

Right now, we can see stress, loss, grief, depression, anxiety, illness, and death are all looming large during this part of our collective journey, as we experience the ramifications of this pandemic. And up until a few weeks ago, we may have thought we knew where we were going until the world turned upside-down and caused us to stand still and feeling sadness, like those disciples on the road to Emmaus.

Sometimes we are told not to experience, express, or process our emotions—we should just keep going on our journey—but Christ Jesus and these disciples model something different. In them, we see that it is appropriate to stop, feel our emotions, and even get lost in them. For Christ found these disciples when they were lost in their own sadness.

This brings us to the last lesson I want to bring up from this Gospel text: Christ always walks with us, but we don’t always know it. The disciples walked with Jesus for long enough to have a killer Bible study in which the Risen Lord revealed throughout all of Scripture all that pertained to his being the Messiah. In that moment, the disciples did not see the true identity of their fellow pilgrim. What dropped the scales that had obscured their vision? Breaking bread together with Christ Jesus!

During this pandemic when we are not able to have communion together, when we cannot break bread at God’s table or even in each other’s homes, this detail makes me stand still in sadness. Even here though on this daunting leg of the journey, Christ is with us. We may just have overlooked Christ in his many disguises. It’s almost as though Christ sometimes wears a mask.

Speaking of masks, a few weeks ago there was a National Public Radio story about how to politely greet one another while wearing a facemask. The reporter suggested using a friendly wave, giving a thumbs up, or smiling with your eyes, Tyra Banks calls that “smize.”[3] Me personally, I like the peace sign, touching my heart, or saying “Love” in sign language. However, this whole report got things backwards. People are looking for ways to portray themselves as friendly, which is good. But, I think it’s more important for us to truly see the one beneath the mask.

During this difficult time it has been amazing seeing all the doctors, nurses, chaplains, and medical technicians; the bus drivers, train engineers, pilots, ship captains, and flight attendants; the delivery drivers, food delivery drivers, and mail delivery drivers; the grocery baggers, clerks, and managers; the police officers, firefighters, and EMTs, and the many, many, many other people who are risking their safety and their lives to keep essential services going. And, most of them we don’t actually get to see and even when we do see them we often don’t get to see their faces because their faces are covered by masks.

Underneath those masks though, we might just see the face of Christ. Many of the people wearing those masks are loving each other, sacrificing for each other, healing one another, just like Jesus did. And, we, just like Cleopas and the other disciple, might not have been able to see that Christ Jesus has been walking beside us on this road the whole time. Those disciples could not see Christ Jesus because of their grief, and we might have missed seeing God’s face because of all our emotions and of course the masks. So I urge you to look again and see who is walking next to you.

We are definitely traveling on a strange leg of the journey. But, we do not walk alone. You’ll never walk alone. Even if we are socially distant, we are spiritually united. And, it is okay to wander or even get lost. Because it is when we feel most lost that Our Risen Lord shows up in the most profound and unexpected ways. This week, as you continue on this path that is life, I pray that you see Christ’s face, even if it is hidden by a mask. Amen.

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[1] Eric Barreto, “Commentary on Luke 24:13-35” WorkingPreacher.org [published April 23, 2017, accessed April 26, 2020]  

https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4442

[2] Ariel David, “Israeli Archaeologists May Have Found Emmaus, Where Jesus Appeared After Crucifixion” [written September 03, 2019, accessed April 26, 2020] https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/.premium.MAGAZINE-israeli-archaeologists-may-have-found-emmaus-where-jesus-appeared-after-crucifixion-1.7774167.

[3] Sharon McNary, “In L.A., It's Now Mandatory For Everyone To Wear Face Coverings” NPR.org [published April 10, 2020; accessed April 26, 2020]. https://www.npr.org/2020/04/10/831480486/in-l-a-its-now-mandatory-for-everyone-to-wear-face-coverings

Shelter in God

On this holy night we are all called to shelter in God.

 © Seth Olson 2020
April 11, 2020—Easter Vigil

Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21 [Israel's deliverance at the Red Sea]
Isaiah 55:1-11 [Salvation offered freely to all]
Ezekiel 36:24-28 [A new heart and a new spirit]
Romans 6:3-11
Psalm 114
Matthew 28:1-10

Back on Tuesday, March 24th the City Council of Birmingham passed Mayor Randall Woodfin’s order for citizens of Alabama’s largest city to shelter-in-place. On Saturday, April 3rd Governor Kay Ivey issued a statewide stay-at-home order that went into effect a week ago and has kept non-essential workers in Alabama from leaving their homes, except for necessities. These actions by elected officials have been required here, as well as around the United States and throughout the world to prevent the spread of COVID-19. Even with these measures, this week in the United States, looks like it will be the deadliest yet in this fight against the novel coronavirus.

As someone in the Faith and the Modern Family class put it during our Zoom session last week, “It’s strange that this week, Holy Week is the most deadly week we’ve seen.” Someone else from the Men’s Bible Study pointed out that this month is not only when Holy Week happens, but it is also when the Jewish high holy days of Passover occur and the Muslim holy month of Ramadan begins. It is not just strange, but tragic that our major World Religions are having to cope with the reality of celebrating their holiest of days when so many are dying and we are all separated. We are sheltering in place, staying at home, and these are acts of compassion and love for our families, friends, and neighbors across the street and around the globe. Still, I cannot help but wonder if tonight of all nights we might shelter somewhere else.

Tonight is the night when the Church and the whole world rejoice, joining with heavenly hosts and choirs of angels, as Susie Youngson beautifully sang just a little while ago. The Exsultet, that ancient hymn, expresses in just a few holy moments of chanting the importance of this night. It was the night when God’s people were freed from bondage in Egypt, it was the night when Christ restored us to grace, broke the bonds of hell, and rose victorious from the grave. How wonderful is this night when wickedness is put to flight, sin is washed away, innocence is restored to the fallen, joy is given to those who mourn, pride is cast out, and peace and concord reign. Tonight is the night when earth and heaven are one. So, while I understand when our health experts tell us we are to shelter individually in our homes—because I want the coronavirus to pass over us as quickly as possible—while I get this logically, tonight I would love for us all to be sheltering together here, praising God who has done the most amazing thing—putting death to death.

And yet, sheltering where you are whether in your home or perhaps at your essential place of business, sheltering where you are does not mean that we are not together. In truth, I believe this night reveals that it is not only about gathering together in our holy places. It is not only about coming to church or another thin space where God’s presence palpably persists, but rather on this night, for us as followers of Jesus it is about eternally sheltering in God. We are called to shelter in God! This imagery of sheltering in God pervades our Scripture, songs, and prayers tonight and throughout our lives in Christ.

In our reading from Exodus the people of Israel sheltered in God as they walked across the Red Sea on dry ground. The lesson from Isaiah told of people dwelling in the security of God as those with no money received food, milk, wine, and toilet paper at no cost—wait, it doesn’t say toilet paper. In the First Song of Isaiah we know that surely it is God who saves us—God is our stronghold and our sure defense. In our prayers we know that God created and yet more wonderfully restored all of Creation—protecting it. Through these words we can understand that God sheltered us not only in ages past (like the powerful hymn, “Oh God Our Help In Ages Past” tells us), but also here and now!

God has been the God who sheltered and guided, blessed and restored throughout our entire history. It does not mean that there have not been tragic, painful losses. It does not mean that brave ones did not have to give their lives to further God’s reign of love here on earth, but God has been with our mothers and fathers, our Christian forebearers who persisted through persecution in the Early Church, the plague of the Middle Ages, the turmoil of the Reformation, the founding of the Protestant Episcopal Church in America, the end of slavery, the reconstruction of a nation, the Great World Wars, the Influenza Pandemic of 1918, the Civil Rights Movement, the September 11th Terrorist Attacks, and countless other earth-altering events. In each and every age God has been the shelter of faithful ones like you and me. And, why is that?

Well, that is because in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus we know that we have a shelter that is going to withstand whatever comes our way. Christ Jesus on this night defeated sin and death. Christ Jesus on this night overcome the gravity of the grave to triumph over all that pulls us away from the life abundant. Christ Jesus on this night united eternally heaven and earth.

In our passage from Romans we hear anew that we are united with Jesus. And if we are united in a death like his death we are surely united in a resurrected life like his. Because of this, we know that not even death has the last word—not just 2,000 years ago and halfway around the world, but right now, right here as we stare COVID-19 right in the face. No evil, no malice, not even the devil himself can overcome us when we are united with Jesus. When the devil tempts us to fold, we can, as someone recently put it, tell the devil to stand 6 feet back with the help of Jesus.

We can trust in God who has been, “our help in ages past,” who will be “our hope for years to come,” who is “Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home.” We can know for sure that God is a “Mighty Fortress” just as Martin Luther sang. We can trust in Jesus as our crag and stronghold as Psalm 31 puts it. When we shelter with God though, it is not always about hiding away in a grand turret of a magnificent castle. Sometimes sheltering in God requires us to shed our armor.

This pandemic while causing me to shield myself with antibacterial wipes, hand sanitizer, and staying at home has at the same time completely crumbled my heart. But, at least according to the prophet Ezekiel this is a good thing. Through Ezekiel, God said, “A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” This ironically is how we are sheltered in God. Not by hiding out in fear, but staying home because our hearts are breaking seeing the sacrifices that others, and we ourselves, are making to care for one another.

We are called to shelter in God as we shelter in place, not as a frightened posture of cowering, but as a determined action of self-giving love. This love empowered Jesus to give his life on Good Friday. This love is what God the Father utilized to resurrect Christ Jesus this night. This love emboldened Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to go see the tomb that God made empty and to share this good news with others.

Still, we may feel like we are sitting in the darkened tomb, as our hearts of stone break for those whom we lose. Even here though, maybe especially here, we are united with Christ and soon we will feel the bright glow of the resurrection light breaking upon us. So tonight may shelter in place as an act of love for one another, but always may shelter in God through Christ’s unconditional, eternal, and limitless love. Amen.

God's Friday

The empty nave of All Saints, Birmingham, AL

 © Seth Olson 2020

April 10, 2020—Good Friday

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

Psalm 22

Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9
John 18:1-19:42

Lord, let my words be your words, and when my words are not your words, let your people be cunning enough to know the same. Amen.

Today is Good Friday. It is a day when the Church typically huddles close together, hears the story of Our Savior’s death, and prays for the salvation of the world. Of all the services of the entire Church Year, it may be the most stark, bare, and bleak. Today is Good Friday, but in the midst of a Global Pandemic, yesterday felt like Good Friday, and the day before, and the day before that too. And, even though tomorrow night at the Easter Vigil we will unleash our prayers and praises of God who triumphs over death, tomorrow may very well feel like Good Friday, and I suspect even Easter morning too.

The fact that the Church is not physically gathered together on this day shatters my heart into a million pieces. It breaks my heart—it stops me up short. So, I know not what brought you here, what caused you to tune into this service, if you always come, if you were curious about this service, or if you are heartbroken like me, but whatever brought you, please know that this is a safe place for you. And if you are falling apart know that I am right there with you. This is a safe haven in which we can see the crumbling reality of our world and feel the brokenness of where we are.

Even though it is probably not the healthiest thing given the state of my heart, soul, and mind, I keep reading firsthand accounts from doctors and nurses and health experts. I keep listening to stories of what is happening to people of all ages, nations, races, and creeds—there aren’t enough masks, gowns, gloves, and shields to protect our front-line healthcare workers. There are not enough tests to determine where and to whom COVID-19 is spreading. Many families with school-aged children are now forced to balance teaching and working at the same time. Students are distance learning and grieving the loss of so many things to which they were looking forward. Others who live alone may be feeling more isolated than they previously did.

And, some people have lost their livelihoods, their loved ones, and maybe even their own lives sometimes in the same week. These stories describe the awful time through which we are living, a dismal reality that many of us were not acquainted with just a few weeks ago.

Pain, illness, suffering, sorrow, anguish, loss, grief, dying, and death are nothing new. We just have not all experienced these challenging life circumstances simultaneously as an entire planet, at least not in quite some time. Maybe we have never gone through this, on this scale, to this extent. But, God has.

God’s Son, Christ Jesus suffered. He experienced pain, sorrow, and anguish; he dealt with loss and grief, dying, and even death. In the Passion Narrative we just heard a follower betrayed Jesus into the hands of the powerful who wished to stop Jesus’ movement of love. Jesus’ chief disciple denied him three times before the sun rose on this day long ago. Most of the rest of his followers deserted him, while those in power tossed Jesus back and forth until he was beaten, mocked, and hung from a painful torture device, which was meant not only to kill but to humiliate in the process.

Audaciously, we still call this day Good Friday. And, maybe it is good, though not simply because of what lies ahead—not only because of what we hope will happen next in the story, nor what we trust God will do in the end. This day is good because on it, Jesus showed us the ultimate response to all that is broken in this world, in our communities, and in ourselves.

We so often refer to God as almighty, but today we see in Jesus that God is not only almighty, but also all-vulnerable. Jesus the Christ through whom all things were made was not celebrated, revered, or even recognized by his own creation. He came into the world and the world comprehended him not. If God were only almighty, we may expect vengeance from the cross, but that was not the way Jesus expressed strength. Instead, he drew all things to himself through complete self-emptying. Thus, our Savior was installed not at a capitol adorned with marble stone, or on a throne forged of gold, but on a cross hewn of wood. But this was not the only time Jesus displayed this self-giving love.

When throughout Jesus’ life he cared for those who were forgotten, isolated, or outcast he showed this love. When he healed the disabled, fed the hungry, and hung out with the wrong crowd, he modeled this love. When at the Last Supper Jesus knelt to wash the filth from his disciples’ feet, he revealed this love. When he commanded his friends to love one another just as he loved them, this love, my friends, is what Jesus meant. This love, this self-emptying love makes Good Friday good. We hear of this love in words that we have frequently been praying in Morning Prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace.”[1]

Today as we stare up at Jesus hanging on the cross, we observe the love that God has for each one of us. We see it as Jesus’ arms extend towards all of humanity. Even as our vision gets obscured during this time of brokenness, isolation, and anxiety always God’s love shines upon us.

This love beams down not only as a way for God to right some eternal wrong committed by us human beings, but also as a different way for us to walk into the future. As one wise teacher put it, God’s love from the cross is not merely atonement, righting a wrong, but also at-one-ment. That is Jesus bringing all things together as one—drawing the whole world into his loving embrace.[2] Through Jesus we see the size, scope, and magnitude of God’s love, which does not magically end the pain of this world, the coronavirus pandemic, or the inevitable truth of death. Rather, in Jesus’ Passion we ultimately see that God the Almighty willingly gets down on our level, suffers with us, and even dies, as the most vulnerable one.

God unites with us. And, in God’s unity with our own brokenness we see something clearly. We observe strangely that this day is good. However, it may not have always been called Good Friday.

This day was once called God’s Friday. It was God’s day to express the primacy of love, to show us what ultimate love looks like. Somewhere along the way, like so many phrases within the English language, the phrase was mispronounced, and God became good.[3] While this day is good, right now it feels more helpful for us to call it God’s Day. And, on God’s day we are invited to embrace our vulnerability and to live in radical, unconditional love. But, this isn’t always easy.

This last month has essentially felt like one long Good Friday. It is as if we have been stuck not on Groundhog’s Day, but on this day. What if though we shift from nonstop Good Friday to everyday being God’s day? Wouldn’t that transform something within us? Every day is truly God’s Day. I know Church scholars out there will argue that the Lord’s Day is Sunday, but right now all these days are running together anyway. So, why not think of everyday as God’s Day? Because every day God is here with us.

Every day is God’s Day because there is not a moment we experience in life in which Christ is not living with us. Christ Jesus experiences our pain, illness, suffering, sorrow, anguish, loss, grieving, dying, and death with us because he was well acquainted with these in his own life. This day, this Good Friday, which is truly God’s Day, was the day when God forever united Godself and us. God through Jesus destroyed all separation that exists between earth and heaven, us and God, divinity and humanity.

Today is Good Friday, but if tomorrow or the next day feels like Good Friday remember that every day is God’s day. Remember that every day God overcomes anything and everything between God and us. Remember that every day Our Almighty God freely becomes the All-Vulnerable One living with us, suffering with us, and even dying with us. And for that, thanks be to God.

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[1]The Episcopal Church. The Book of Common Prayer. New York: Church Publishing, 1979, 101.

[2] Rohr, Richard. Center for Action and Contemplation. October 12, 2016. https://cac.org/nonviolent-atonement-one-ment-2016-10-12/ (accessed April 5, 2020).

[3] “Who, What, Why: Why is Good Friday called Good Friday?” BBC Magazine Monitor. April 18, 2014. https://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-magazine-monitor-27067136 (accessed April 10, 2020).