Sunday, May 9, 2021

Give Me Your Unconditional Love

 

What does unconditional love really mean?


 

May 9, 2021—Easter 6B 

Acts 10:44-48  Psalm 98 1 John 5:1-6 John 15:9-17


The title track off of Donna Summer’s 1983 album She Works Hard For The Money was a huge hit. It topped the Billboard R&B chart for three weeks and reached #3 on the Billboard Hot 100. It remains one of Summer’s most well-known tracks, played around the world and streamed tens of millions of times.

The second single off that same album was a commercial disappointment, only reaching #43 on Billboard’s pop list. I am sure Summers and Mercury Records were upset by the lukewarm reception of this track. However, the late Donna Summers would be happy to know that the youth of our diocese love this song, which is entitled, “Unconditional Love.” If you were in church last week, you heard it:

Don't take too long to find/True love transcends all time/That non-reacting, everlasting love

Give me, your unconditional love./The kind of love I deserve/The kind I want to return.

Until Youth Sunday, seven days ago, when Charles Youngson, on his way out the door for his sabbatical, said something about this song, I had no idea of the genesis of this classic camp hit. When Charles revealed the original singer of this song, and I was so confused. “’Unconditional Love’ was sung by Donna Summers? Like, ‘Bad Girls’ Donna Summers? ‘Last Dance’ Donna Summers?” After googling and going on Spotify to make sure Charles had not prematurely left on his sabbatical with that statement, I explored a little more. 

Discovering that this song had a less than stellar reception amongst critics and radio listeners alike actually did not surprise me. We prefer to put our energies into working hard (for the money) instead of receiving and giving unconditional love. This is true not just about Donna Summers’ songs, it is true throughout life. Of course, we in the Church love love.

We love talking about love. We love putting love in our mission statements—"revealing God’s transforming love in the world”—but what do we really mean by unconditional love, transforming love, or in the Greek agape? Jesus in today’s Gospel lesson gives us some clues as to the immensity and the difficulty of participating in God’s love.

“As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love,” Jesus told this to his disciples on the night before he died. Sometimes we believe that God loves us because God is Our Heavenly Father (or Mother or Parent depending on your piety). However, that is getting things backwards. As a fellow priest and friend once preached, “God doesn’t love us because God is our heavenly parent. [God] loves us because that’s who God is, and it is the love that God has for us that makes us God’s children—not the other way around.”[1]

Think about it this way, most of us probably believe deeply that we love our grandparents and parents, our children and grandchildren no matter what. We may even strive to practice unconditional love with them, so that when they hurt us profoundly, we still come back with the same unabashed affection. This is wonderful, but it is actually another form of love, sometimes referred to as storgē, which is the Greek word for familial love. Jesus was calling his disciples (and us) to abide in this other form of love, agape. This sounds great, but what does this love look like?

Agape is revealed in keeping Jesus’ commandment. What was Jesus’ commandment? To love one another as he loves us. [puzzled look] Okay, I know. This is as though we are walking through an M.C. Escher painting in which we reach the top of the stairs only to realize we are back at the bottom. Jesus’ words are a bit circuital. He essentially says: “Love one another as I have loved you. Do this by abiding in my love. You will know that you are dwelling in my love if you follow my commandments. What are my commandments? Oh wait, there’s just one and it is to love one another.” Oh, Jesus!

This snake eating its tail sort of logic is frustrating; however, digging deeper into what Jesus meant by this love may leave us even more frustrated, or at least more challenged! After Jesus told his disciples that his commandment was to love one another he gave them a real-world example of this: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” We sometimes bypass these words too quickly, so let me read them again, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” Jesus not twenty-four hours later lived these words out—or perhaps better said, he laid his life down to prove these words perfectly true.

How do we even attempt to live into this sort of love? That same priest I mentioned earlier also pointed out that there are two surprises within these challenging words.[2] The first is right in front of us: Laying down one’s life for another is not simply an act of ending one’s mortal life.
 

Another sort of “martyrdom” exists. We celebrate this example in the Church Calendar when we put up white liturgical hangings for Saints’ feast days. These Saints did not die because of their faith, instead they lived for it. In the musical Hamilton the character of George Washington put it more simply, “Dying is easy, living is harder.” John in a passage from his First Letter that we read a few weeks ago expanded this concept even further. When we sacrifice resources, we would otherwise use and give to God’s work in this world here too we are laying down our lives. So, this is the first surprise—the agape love of giving up ourselves is not just about death, it happens any time we sacrifice for God’s work in this world.

The second surprise is undetectable in our English translation. The sentence “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” is much more interesting in the original language. The word for friends is philos and there is a specific type of friendly or brotherly love in the Greek, it’s philia (see: Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love). So, is that what Jesus said? NOPE! Jesus used another word for love, and it is—you guessed it—agape!

Why is this important? It would have put those listening to this Gospel on notice. To truly follow Jesus’ commandment, to abide in him, to be his friend is not about brotherly love—love that is complementary or a mirror response to how someone else treats us. Instead, it is about agape—that non-reacting, everlasting love. Alright, again this all sounds nice, but what’s this look like, laying down our life for someone else?

In the middle of last week at the Men’s Bible Study (on Wednesday mornings at 7:00 AM both in person and on Zoom… contact me if you are interested!), and someone asked a wonderful question along these same lines. We were talking about love in action, where the rubber meets the road, and wondered, “How do we live in love when we have conflict with someone else?” I have been pondering this question off and on since I heard it.

Agape is a gift of God—we never have to work hard for it—but when we do not have it, how do we cultivate it? Do we become doormats or pushovers for others? Do we give of ourselves completely such that we become empty vessels—dry and parched? Do we follow the example of Saints who lived for Christ by giving away everything and surviving on the charity of others? Maybe. However, Jesus’ example paints a different picture of agape.

Jesus was not a doormat. He was not a pushover. He pushed over tables in the Temple. He told people no. He even said to his own family, you are not my family—those who do my Father’s will are my brothers and sisters and mother. He stopped healing people in one town, so that he could share his message elsewhere. He paused for prayer. He loved his enemies, but by challenging them. And in these and many other ways, he showed us an example of being “boundaried” in our approach to dwelling in God’s love and sharing it with others. The fully divine and fully human Jesus had good boundaries—he set limits even as he expressed God’s limitless love.

So, maybe living in agape is not so much about being pushovers, running ourselves ragged, and giving everything away, but instead it is about finding times and places to fill our cup with God’s love, like Jesus did in prayer. So that then, that love overflows from us to others, like Jesus did in truly seeing and healing others. And yes, God calls us to give sacrificially of ourselves, but in ways that enrich our lives and others—not just for the sake of suffering. Jesus did not just die to die, he died so that we may live in love.

Remember you are a beloved creature of this love, and not a robot that can work without rest and restoration. God’s love is not an invitation for others to take advantage of us or hurt themselves. God’s love is not a mythical “perfect love” that does not exist in real life. Agape does exist in reality.

God is always more ready to give us this gift than we are to receive it. Some moments we will dwell in this love and it will emanate from us to others. Other times we will be broken vessels that leak the little bit of agape we feel like we have inside. In all these moments may we not shame ourselves or tear each other down for that only prevents us from seeing God’s way of love.

In the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the Christ, we see this way: the transfiguration of human weakness by God’s strength, non-reacting, everlasting love as a response to violence, the trappings of death gone and the tomb empty.

In this way, may we sing with Donna Summers and the youth of our diocese:

Give me, your unconditional love./The kind of love I deserve/The kind I want to return.

And when it feels hard to return that love to those with whom we disagree or have conflict, may we rely upon God to sustain us, as we set good boundaries, trusting that in the end God’s resurrecting love always wins! Amen.


[1] Evan D. Garner, “To Love As We Are Loved,” [http://evandgarner.blogspot.com/2018/05/to-love-as-we-are-loved.html, posted: May 6, 2018, accessed: May 5, 2021].

[2] Garner, “To Love As We Are Loved,” [http://evandgarner.blogspot.com/2018/05/to-love-as-we-are-loved.html, posted: May 6, 2018, accessed: May 5, 2021].

Saturday, April 3, 2021

Bad News and Good News

 

The Gospel reveals a pattern in life: bad news, then good news.

April 3, 2021—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]
Ezekiel 37:1-14 [The valley of dry bones]

Romans 6:3-11
Mark 16:1-8

© 2021 Seth Olson 

I have good news and I have bad news. You may already know this, but with the lights coming on, the Gloria being sung, and the water being flung it’s officially Easter!

Alleluia, Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

This is good news, right? HEAVEN’S YES, IT IS! Easter emanates good news. I imagine that’s part of why you are here—to see the most dramatic moment in all the whole Church year when darkness is vanquished by Christ’s eternal light! This is good news.

However, someone wiser than me once wrote, “The Gospel is bad news before it is good news.”[1] So, a minute ago maybe I should have said, “I have bad news, then I have good news.” Don’t believe me—that the Gospel is bad news first? Think back to yesterday (Good Friday) and the night before (Maundy Thursday) when Jesus was betrayed by his friends, denied by his followers, and executed by the powerful. You do not even have to go back that far. Earlier in this service, we heard this pattern repeatedly in our readings. Thank you to our youth for reading tonight!

Throughout those passages we heard bad news, then good news. In Exodus, God’s people wished they were still enslaved in Egypt (bad news) before God delivered them through the Red Sea on dry ground (good news). In Isaiah, God’s people were hungering and thirsting in exile (bad news) before God announced through the prophet a feast of free food and drink (good news). In the first Ezekiel passage, God’s people were disconnected throughout the nations (bad news) before God gathered them and sprinkled them (good news). Y’all know all about sprinkling with water! In the second Ezekiel passage, God’s people were like dry bones (bad news) before God breathed new life into them (good news)! And in Mark’s words tonight, the followers of Jesus believed that the Son of God was dead (bad news) before well, we will get to this good news in a bit. Now, I want to jump ahead to today.

Frederich Buechner is that wise one I was quoting earlier—his belief is that this bad news into good news is still a pattern now. All of us distort our relationships with God and with others made in God’s image, and we all experience this bad news happening to us.

News corporations—maybe they should be called “bad news corporations” love this. If you turn on 24/7/365 news networks, visit their websites, or stay informed via algorithms on your social media account, you will discover, if you haven’t already, that the news is mostly just a constant stream of bad things happening. We appear to be addicted to bad news. If you lean left, your news tells of the evils that the right is doing. If you lean right, your news tells of all the evils that the left is doing. If you are in the middle, the news says it is all evil!

We so clearly see the speck in our neighbors’ eyes. All the while, we neglect to examine the pressure treated 2”x4” piece of lumber in own eyes. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus used sawdust and wood to describe our collectively obscured vision because usually when we see it in another, we have it in ourselves. My wife calls this tendency, “You spot it, you got it.” So, when we distort how we see our neighbors, haplessly addicted to all the bad news, hyping up the sawdust in everyone else’s eyes, it is not just bad news—it is tragedy.

A lot of this last year has been this tragedy—seeing the faults and flaws and foibles in our world and in ourselves. Pandemics of illness, hatred, and exhaustion have made it easier to be consumed by this catastrophe. Plus, endless transitions, painful isolation, job loss, burnout, and continuously feeling like we are working twice as hard to accomplish half as much has left us in sad state of heartbreak. If this were not enough the cherry on top has been that the well-worn rituals that accompany both grief and gratitude have not been fully available like in the past. We have been in an endless loop of bad news. We’ve been stuck on the hamster wheel of tragedy.

If this was all there was, if life was merely the first half of the movement that Buechner described (just the bad news), if tonight’s stories stopped before making a turn, then what would our lives be like? We would be like God’s People stranded on the Egyptian side of the Red Sea, or like ones starving for God’s rich food, or like a family disconnected throughout the whole world, or even like those dry bones laying lifelessly in the valley. If bad news were all there was, we would have just stopped the service in the dark.

In that bleak obscurity we might get by for a time—working hard to promise “I will,” but without help. However, the glorious truth is that the bad news is not the end—it is just the beginning, or maybe the middle! God reveals this truth to us tonight in this powerful liturgy: in prayer, song, and story. This is the night not about the failings of us or our forebears. No, this is the night, which exemplifies God’s pattern throughout all time and forever. And, Christ Jesus most clearly embodied this truth that God will transform even the worst news into the best news.  

Our Gospel story for tonight—see I told you I would come back to it—focuses upon God transfiguring bad news into good news. Some women went after the Sabbath at sun rise to tend to Jesus’ dead body. They went even though they were consumed with the worst news—their Lord was dead. They worried about the heavy rock and the stench of death, but what they found at the grave was wholly unexpected. These women who on Good Friday saw Jesus’ lifeless body laid in the ground now returned, but he was not there! The rock was out of the way. The fragrance was their own spices. And inside they saw no body, but instead a white robed messenger. The women’s response?

They were terrified. It was how we might respond. Even the ultimate good news comes as a shock on the heels of utter tragedy. The last words of Mark’s story tell us that they went away not skipping in glee but seized in terrifying amazement.

So, the women left in fearful astonishment; however, their mere presence portrays the great gift of showing up—they were the first heralds of this best news. They also outshone the other disciples who hid, denied, or ran in Jesus’ hour of need. And yet, when we gaze upon this constellation of believers what we see will surely give us pause, as it is another example of the bad news coming first.

All the wrong turns, stumbles, and falls that Jesus’ disciples took—even the faithfulness of these women—help us to arrive at a most important truth: we cannot turn bad news into good—not alone. We cannot save ourselves. We cannot make all things right. God is the one who loves us, heals us, and makes us whole, which is the ultimate good news enveloping the bad news. It is the “Yea!” that comes after the “Opps!” It is the balm that attends the wounding. And, we see this chiefly in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus!

Oddly enough though, Jesus never appears in tonight’s Gospel lesson. Strange, right? We spent so much of this Easter Vigil hearing all these readings without Jesus being in any of them. Why is that?

As the young messenger put it, “He has been raised; he is not here… He is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.” Now Galilee is 6,531.2 miles from here. Geographically Galilee stands far away, but in another way, it is intimately close. Galilee is not only a physical place—it is also a spiritual one. Galilee long ago was a place of suffering, strife, and pain, so Christ Jesus went there. Now, Galilee is any place where bad news persists, and I believe that Christ goes there! 

This last difficult year has already taught us: Jesus is not just here in church. Christ Jesus goes ahead of us. Christ is everywhere, especially where there is bad news, and he tells us to meet him there in the proverbial Galilee, so that we might bring good news of salvation: feeding, uniting, even resurrecting alongside Jesus. This Easter we will find Christ where healing is mending woundedness, love is transforming sinfulness, and resurrection is swallowing death.

Through the love of God and the power of the Spirit, Christ transforms bad news into good news—this is what we celebrate on this holy night. And, to all who still dwell in dominions of bad news know that Christ Jesus is there and the best is yet to come: Alleluia, Christ risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.

 



[1] Frederick Buechner, Telling the Truth: the Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale (San Francisco: Harper, 1977).

The Waiting Room

Today the whole world is a waiting room.

 

April 3, 2021—Holy Saturday


 
© 2021 Seth Olson

Video of this sermon may be found here (at the 7:00 mark).


My soul waits for the Lord
    more than watchmen for the morning,
    more than watchmen for the morning.
(Psalm 130:6)


I do not like to sit in waiting rooms,
At doctors’ offices,
Or the dentist’s.
There I fidget, barely sitting still,
Worrying about my blood pressure,
Or a cavity.
Out the window, I spot a tree—barren or not yet in bloom.
I fight the urge to pull out my phone.
This last year, the entire world became a waiting room—and today is its epitome.

As I wait,
I wonder not about my body’s health,
But my soul’s.
If I could see my soul’s true state
With an X-Ray of sorts,
Or, if I could take it in to see a specialist,
What would I discover?
Mortality?
My soul makes not a peep.
Silently it sits.

“All are from women,
Have few days and are full of turmoil,”
Job says.
Like a flower, we wither.
In the impurity of this life,
Death slowly soils our existence.
Then, we fade
Like the afternoon sun.

“I wish you would hide me in the underworld,”
I plead alongside Job.
If people die, will they live again?
That’s what I think of in the waiting room
Sitting with my soul.
Silently, we wait for God’s reply,
More than watchmen for the morning,
More than watchmen for the morning.

Others point to mercy here—
Love covering a multitude of sins—
But in the obscurity of death,
Fear approaches.
It shrivels me up.
I feel like a parched riverbed.
The weatherman says,
“No rain today.”
Still I wait and I watch,
Together with my soul.
If people die will they live again?

How did Joseph and Nicodemus respond?
They did not wait.
They acted!
With care and without hope.
Certainly sorrowful.
No mirth.
Dutifully though with oils and linen.
Like, washing someone’s feet,
Lovingly, extravagantly, but lacking expectation.


Some women though,
They waited.
Following Jesus,
They waited.
Almost silently,
They waited.
Quietly crying,
They waited.
Like watchmen,
They waited.
Like Job,
They waited.
Like my soul,
They waited.
They waited
Wondering…

If people die will they live again?
Will he live again?
A human dies, the body remains.
A person expires but,
Where is the soul?
One is chopped down,
And hauled away.
Why then, are we waiting?
 

Something remains.
Not much, really…
Save for a delicately wrapped body.

As Joseph and his companion leave,
I tarry…
With the women and my soul.


“Jesus died, will he live again?”
I sit in the waiting room pondering.

And, at that moment,
Of all times,
My soul dares say something.
What?
I lean in to listen.

“’All the days of my service,
I would wait
Until my release should come.’

Wait
With me
For him.”