Of Palms and Passion; Who has forsaken whom?

Managua, Nicaragua (AP Photo/Esteban Felix)

(originally delivered at St. Bartholomew's Episcopal Church - Wichita, KS)

We’re gathered this morning in a place named for St. Bartholomew.  Not much is known about Bartholomew from our canonical scriptures.  Tradition suggests that he was man of few words, but also a pious and plain spoken apostle.  It’s been suggested that he might be the same person called Nathanael bar (son of) Tolmai, who wondered out loud rather candidly in John 1:43-51, (paraphrasing) “You’re kidding right? Our messiah is from ‘that’ neighborhood over on that side of town?”  

Jesus doesn’t rebuke him for expressing his doubts so honestly; rather, he greets him as familiar and says of Nathanael/Bartholomew, (paraphrase) “Here’s a guy in whom we can trust – in him is not dishonesty.” Jesus surprises Nathanael by suggesting that he was knew him even before Philip had called him.  Nathanael’s/Bartholomew’s heart is opened and he called Jesus the Son of God / King of Israel.  Jesus replies, (paraphrasing)  “You think you’re moved now?  Just wait; you’re going to see greater things than this.”  

Indeed, this apostle would see greater things.  We can easily assume that he was there to see the procession of the palms as well as the trials of the Passion and, if we prudently assume that he was still hanging out with Peter and the others later, then he was with them when the risen Christ came back to greet them.  Tradition further tells us that Bartholomew would travel to the East proclaiming the good news of Christ consistently without fear or deceit – which eventually got him killed. 

So if Bartholomew were here with us this morning – what would he, in his plain speaking way, ask of us?  What would be, with the Spirit, help us hear?

After such powerful lessons today, it’s hard to know what to say.  Witnessing our adulation of our Lord and king with palms as he rides into Jerusalem in one moment, and only shortly thereafter hearing ourselves deny, condemn, mock, and shout to crucify him in the next… and then to imagine the suffering Jesus endured and to hear him cry out with a last breath to God, “Why have you forsaken (abandoned) me?” – the turn of events… the turn of heart… it turns my stomach, to say the least.   

We might find ourselves asking Bartholomew, “Doesn’t this trouble you too? What have we done?  What are we to do?”

Bartholomew, filled the Spirit, without missing a beat, might ask us, “Who has abandoned whom?”

Indeed, this is a humbling question to ask ourselves as we consider our lessons today and head into this holy week of remembrance.  Is it God who has left us, or is it us who often have turned away from God to take easier paths than what Christ calls us to?

Bartholomew might point out rather plainly that we had it right when we shouted Hosannah, which means “save us / help us.”  And, that God does just that, in fact, amid the pain and tragedy, even amid the horrible messes of our own making.

But are we ready to embrace that truth?  How often have do we deny or abandon this?

We might imagine that not long after the fervor of procession of the palms, some of us might have let a cynicism creep in.  Even today we might begin to suggest that Jesus’s entry on a donkey into Jerusalem at this volatile time of year was just a bit too contrived and provocative.  He’s just asking for the trouble he gets.


As Marcus Borg and Dominic Crossan suggest in their book The Last Week: What the 

Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’s Final Days in Jerusalem, we can easily believe that Jesus staged his provocative procession rather intentionally, invoking the prophetic words of the prophet Zechariah (9:9-10) which say that the new king will come in humbly on a donkey; intentionally in contrast, in way that might even seem mocking toward the entry though another city gate of Pilate, who was also processing into the city with all the glitter and glamor and intimidation of a Roman governor in service to Caeser, who was at the time called lord and savior, and considered by some to be a son of God via birth from Apollo. 

As a colleague recently put in his own contemporary words, it’s as if at one end of town we see a royal or governmental motorcade coming in with all the military and police escorts, while other the other end of town we see a crazy guy riding in on an ass surrounded by rag tag groupies.  Which procession are we likely to take more seriously? 

But Bartholomew might say to us that is too benign a comparison.  Like Borg and Crossan, he might emphasize that Jesus’s humble procession was a powerful proclamation of about the kingdom of God based on charitable love, mercy, and peace, while Pilate’s procession proclaimed the power of an earthly empire, based on domination and exploitation.  And, let’s not forget, that this little guy on the donkey had already challenged the establishment by cleansing the temple, and had already stoked the hopes of the oppressed by raising someone from the dead proclaiming freedom to those previously held down by lack of sight or dignity.  Although humble in appearance, this little rabbi the donkey was stoking a potential uprising.

How often do we, in the face of dominant power and might, abandon our Christian convictions – e.g., that we don’t have to participate in a spiral of violence or exploitation in order to achieve peace or material security?  Bartholomew might ask us rather bluntly, “As much as we might have enjoyed participating in the procession of palms this morning, in our day-to-day lives, aren’t we more often joining in the other procession, marching under a banner and standard of gold rather than following a suffering servant on a donkey?”

It’s Passover, for God’s sake, a time the people are to remember liberation from oppressive empire… and, yet, the promise of liberation being proclaimed by the action of this charismatic rabbi on the donkey is just a little too hard to fully accept and put into action.  Some of us are stirred up, for sure – and it looks like there might be a little uprising in the streets.  But, all too quickly, rank and file begin to turn to squash the potential for real freedom and shared peace… out of fear of change… out of fear of retaliation from the oppressor… out of fear of the truth.

Bartholomew, ever honest, might point out that even the best of us, like him and the other apostles who knew Jesus personally and witnessed his miracles first-hand, suffer from failures of faith at times… and at times might even outright abandon our believes under pressure.

In the Passion readings, we all too clearly how we can turn away from the very face of God:

• We sleep rather than stay awake with Christ, choosing our needs rather than his.
• We are willing to betray our friends for the sake of short-term profit.
• We are quick to violence, even after Jesus has made it clear we are to ‘turn the other cheek’ and forgive.
• We are quick to condemn someone who speaks truth to power, for fear that we might be also seen as sympathetic to a counter cultural new vision of common good.
• When pressed by accusers in the popular crowd, we sometimes shy away from, or outright deny our true Christian identity and convictions.
• Sometimes we choose to kill ourselves, rather than humbly repentant and believe that new life if possible through forgiveness and grace.
• When caught up with the crowd, we’ll even choose known evils, things that we know are bad of us, rather than stick up for the innocent underdog, the marginalized, the outcast.
• While one of us might occasionally step forward to carry the load, how much more often to the rest of us stand on the sidelines quietly thanking God that we don’t have to carry the burdens of others… maybe even believing that their misery is their own fault.
• And, how quick we are sometimes to test God, boldly demanding that God demonstrate proof for our faith – losing faith because God doesn’t perform just as we want God to when we want God to, as if God is under our command.

Who should be on trial here?  Here, again, those words: “Why hast thou forsaken me?”  Who is forsaking whom? 

Indeed, I imagine that Bartholomew would invite us to consider some hard questions in/among ourselves this Holy Week.  Through the lessons we’ve heard to today, the Spirit might be asking us to wake up and realize the unflattering roles we sometimes play in the Passion.

As we continue to consider which procession we’re more often marching in, Bartholomew might remind us of what Jesus once told his disciples:

‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?’ (Matt 16:24-26)

And, even while beholding the agonizing words said about abandonment and forsakenness, the Spirit might call us to realize that God has not forsaken or abandoned us. 

In preparation for the reality of Easter, and the promise of redemption and resurrection every day of our moral lives, Bartholomew and the Spirit might recite together the promises of the concluding words of the Psalm that our Lord began to recite with his last breaths on the cross: 

I will tell of your name to my brothers and sisters; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you: You who fear the Lord, praise him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him; stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel! For he did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him. From you comes my praise in the great congregation; my vows I will pay before those who fear him. The poor shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek him shall praise the Lord. May your hearts live forever! All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord; and all the families of the nations shall worship before him. For dominion belongs to the Lord, and he rules over the nations. To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, and I shall live for him. Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord, and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn, saying that he has done it. (Psalm 22: 22-31)

Christ our King did proclaim a kingdom of peace in the face of an empire of domination when he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey amid waving palms.  He stirred something up for sure.  And he was crucified for our sake. 

At the foot of his cross this week, let us bring AND LEAVE all of our guilt, shame, grief, and fear… anticipating the rest of our story of faith.

No matter how many times we’ve fallen short, there is good news worth living for:

There is redemption, hope, and new life through our risen Lord.  

God has not forsaken us.  Christ does not abandon us. 

AMEN. 

Amazing Grace finds us even before we realize we’re found

(originally delivered October 31, 2010 at St. John's Episcopal Church in Wichita, KS)

Holy Spirit...  Take my lips and speak through them.  Take our minds and think with them.  Take our hearts and set them on fire with love for you.  As Zacchaeus was blessed to receive Jesus into his home and responded with generosity to this gift, so may we blessed and inspired.* In Christ’s name, I pray.  Amen.

(*from Intercessions for the Christian People by Gail Ramshaw, p. 200)

Where are we on our journey with Jesus?  What does the Spirit want us to hear today?  Come with me in your imagination.  Imagine that we’re on this long walk with Jesus.  We’re part of the rag tag group of groupies who have left behind our jobs and homes to caravan with this charismatic preacher.  We’re not really sure where he’s leading us – we’re caught up in the movement and feeling a part of something bigger and better than the life we’ve left behind.  For some of us it’s the summer of love and we’re on our way to San Francisco with flowers in our hair.  For others, we’re marching to D.C. where we’re going to be a part of huge rally on the Mall.  Some of us are probably secretly hoping that our charismatic leader is going to lead a political revolt that will restore us to health and prosperity.  Regardless of what might be motivating us to be part of this caravan, we know we’re moving with a new crowd that has got us interested in and excited about the future.  And, each time we watch this wily rabbi from Nazareth interact with crowds, we’re stunned by what he says and does and what this stirs in our hearts.

As we’ve been traveling along with Luke lately, we’ve watched Jesus really irritate “the establishment” with his sharp wit and prophetic criticisms.  He has really put it to the people who think they’re smarter than us, who have more money than us, and who we’ve watched take advantage of the corrupt systems around us for their own advantage and to our disadvantage – he’s called them shallow, hypocritical, confused, and lost.  And just when we’re starting to think Jesus is only challenging ‘them’, he shocks us, too, by paying attention to and even seeming to favor some rather unsavory and unclean people that we’d rather avoid.  It’s shocking to see who Jesus considers ‘a neighbor’ and to hear him call us to reconsider who is part of our family.  Jesus tells stories in which the heroes are often misfits and people who have really screwed up their lives.  This radical rabbi even reveres non-Jews/Gentiles and half-breeds!  He makes a hero out of Samaritan, for heaven’s sake. He makes a point of touching and healing lepers and cripples, women with chronic bleeding, the lame, the poor, and the blind.  Just yesterday, he made us all stop and pay attention while he walked over and healed this irritating blind beggar at the gate who was hollering at the top of his lungs for our Lord.   And our Jesus even invites some of these people into our communal life together while calling all of us to have a bigger mind about our responsibility to each other.  But there’s something about all this that keeps us traveling with Jesus... and with each other.  Our Lord has a way of making us all feel welcome at his table, even if we’re not all comfortable with each other yet.

Last week, you might recall, Luke (18:9-12) was telling us how Jesus provoked some critical thinking about justice, justification, and humility by contrasting the standing of a Pharisee and a tax collector before God.  This particular Pharisee, a complacent, self-righteous law abider, believed that he was in good standing with God as he smugly prayed that he, thankfully, wasn’t as bad a sinner as those ‘other’ people, particularly that tax collector over there.  Indeed, those tax collectors are a crooked bunch.  They mingle and deal with non-Jews all the time, they suck up to the occupying Roman rulers to do their bidding, and we’re all pretty convinced that they demand more payment than is required so that they can line their own pockets – in essence, they’re despicable bottom-feeding thieves.   Much to our surprise, however, in his story Jesus praises the humble confessions of the repentant tax collector huddled in the shadow of the temple, saying that he went home justified before God, rather than giving any credit to the seemingly upright moral Pharisee praying aloud in the well lit sanctuary.

Well, here we are today on this road watching our Lord embrace yet another of those tax collectors. We’re making our way through Jericho, surrounded by crowds of people pressing in on us.  We’d kinda like to just keep moving so that we can get wherever we’re going.  But, again, Jesus stops us all in the middle of this crowded street so that he can zero in on one among us.  Our Lord has taken notice a short, little man who is watching us from up in a tree over there.  Hey, we recognize the man up in that tree; he’s one of those tax collectors who is said to have holed away a lot of our hard-earned tax dollars for himself.  That sinister sinner would probably do better to turn away in shame rather than look our Lord in the eye.  But, Jesus doesn’t just acknowledge this sinner, he calls out to him by name in front of the entire crowd and says, “Hey, Zacchaeus, come get down from there and show me some hospitality – I’m coming to stay in your home today and share a meal with you.”  What?!   Really, Jesus?   Like Habakkuk’s oracle in today’s earlier lesson, we’re beginning to ask where is the justice here.  Why would you seek to share a table with that wrong-doing wretch?   Like today’s psalmist, we’re feeling a little indignant because this creep you’re getting cozy with doesn’t seem to honor the commandment not to steal.  Why is Jesus doing this?  We’ve seen our Lord stop to pick up the downtrodden, disregarded, and the poor.  But what’s with his embrace of tax collectors – it’s not the first time he’s done this while we’ve been traveling with him – he’s essentially reaching out to the despised and treacherous among us?  What’s the Spirit trying to get us to hear?  What does God want us to see?

Just then, seeing our frustration with this whole scene, someone beside us in the crowd nudges us and says, ‘yeah, man, I get it.  That’s not just any tax collector, that’s the chief – he has sold out to the Romans and is in charge of all the other tax collectors in this area; he directs the extortionist practices of the whole brood in these parts.  He’s the worst sort of traitor to our people - I get it.  And our beloved Jesus is about to share a meal with this vicious crook.”  Yeah, and I dropped everything I was doing to follow this Jesus of Nazareth… but sometimes I question what’s he really up to and why I’m here.  “I understand” says our neighbor in the crowd.  “See, I had a thriving tax collection business of my own… and when Jesus called out to me, I left my booth behind and eventually found myself spending my money on a big dinner party for Jesus and all these crazy cats who are following his call.”  As we spin around to get a look at this former tax collector standing right beside us, he reaches out his hand and says, “Hi, my name is Levi.”  And then he breaks into song, “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.  I was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see.”  

What’s the Spirit saying to God’s people?  Was Zacchaeus the tax collector who was lurking in the shadows of the temple in the story we heard last week?  Like that repentant tax collector, Zacchaeus, we’re told, is also repentant.  He is aware that people are grumbling about his interaction with Jesus, so he takes the opportunity to publicly confess his sinfulness before our Lord and the community and offers penance well-beyond the restitution percentages that the law requires of him.  He generously offers to restore 400% of what he has defrauded people of and to give away 50% of his wealth to those in need.  Jesus is also aware that people are grumbling about his interaction with Zacchaeus, so he proclaims loudly so we can all hear him, “Here he is Zacchaeus, son of Abraham!  Today is salvation day in this home!  For the Son of Man has come to find and restore the lost.”  And then he and Zacchaeus go off together for a meal in the tax collector’s home. What’s the good news here?

If we imagine that the followers of Jesus in Jericho were shocked by Jesus’s merciful and loving embrace of this notorious sinner, and surprised even more by the repentant tax collector’s enormous generosity when he came to know Jesus, how much more amazed should we be by God’s enormously generous loving embrace of each and every one of us, sinners that we all are in this broken world. 

Now I don’t know if there are any tax collectors among us this morning.  But I do imagine that some of you in here have felt the isolation or scorn of being cast as a sinner.  I imagine that someone in here might still be keeping a safe distance from Jesus, curious about and interested in what he has to say, but content to stay in up in the tree with all your material riches not wanting to come down into the crowd and risk getting too involved.  I imagine that at least one of us has been so consumed by passion for justice for one cause that we’ve neglected exhibiting compassionate love for those in our midst, perhaps in our immediate family or neighborhood. Surely, no one in here has ever stood proudly in a well-lit sanctuary praying righteously in contrast to someone in the shadows who we consider a ‘worse’ sinner.  At least we’ve all figured out how to get right with God – we come in here, we generally confess our sins, we receive absolution, and then we’re ‘clean enough’ to receive food from our master’s table. 

But what if the good news is that we sometimes get it a little backwards, believing that our actions toward Jesus redeem us?  What if, like the crowd on that day in Jericho, we’re failing to see some of the best news of all in God’s actions toward us?  What if the best news is that even before we seek it, even before we confess, even before we appear worthy of it, even before we think we’re clean enough to approach the table, God’s love has already found us, God’s amazing grace has already forgiven us; our Savior’s blood has already washed us clean.  No matter how lost we might seem, Jesus Christ can sense our curiosity and hear the voice of our heart, however faint, amid the crowded noise and haste, and he locates us.  He pays no attention to the hecklers and the naysayers who think he’s being foolish or wasting his time.  He sees us huddled in the shadows, or up in that distant tree, or otherwise outside the boundaries and he calls to each of us by name - he asked to be let into our home - because desires communion with us.   This is good news.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God.  We can always be found and restored through amazing grace.  Thanks be to God!

And just as Jesus leads with love, loving the seemingly least loveable of among us, so are we called to love our neighbors, and particularly those who are harder for us to love.  Just as His grace and forgiveness is extended to us even before we confess or repent, so are we called to offer love to our neighbors, even before they seem worthy of it.  Those who are ‘wrong;’ those who abuse and exploit; those who have belittled or been indifferent to our suffering; those who we might otherwise judge to be so sinful as to be untouchable – even to those neighbors – just like Jesus to the despised tax collectors - we are to extend our charitable love and forgiveness.  God loves even the apparently ungodly – that’s good news.  Our own pride, arrogance, and self-righteousness can get in the way of our receiving the benefits of that profound love.  It’s when our hearts open, and we walk humbly before our God, that God’s love is able to break through and change our lives.  

Soon we’ll all be coming to his table again right here, in remembrance of our Lord who showed us how to live the greatest commandments, to love God and to love our neighbors.  Even before we confess and pray together, Christ is already reaching out to us from his table.  No matter where we are on our spiritual journey, Christ is always gracefully inviting us to share in this communion.  Who, outside of these doors, is on the outskirts?  Who might among our neighbors out there is searching?  Which so-called wretches are merely blind, awaiting someone to help them see?  What will we do after having been fed at Christ’s table this morning?  When we go forth from this church this morning, how will we participate with Christ in seeking, finding, and redeeming the lost, just as God sought, found, and redeemed us?

Let us pray. 

Lord of the lost ones, you come to our broken homes and call us your own:  may our tables be graced by your presence as guest and our possessions freed to serve the poor; through Jesus Christ, the Seeker.  (from Prayers for an Inclusive Church by Steven Shakespeare, p. 109)

Christ, you are no discriminator of persons.  Look then with love on all those who in this world are disregarded or despised.  May all who seek salvation find a home in your heart and in the house of your church. 

O God, lover of all who wander and who seek, you have taken up your dwelling among those who desire life and those who need compassion and understanding.  Open our eyes to your presence and call, as Jesus opened the eyes of Zacchaeus by eating as his table.

Jesus, you have given your command that the riches of this world be turned to the service of the needy and the poor.  Grant that those who control wealth and its distribution may be inspired by a strong sense of compassion and a desire for justice.

O God, you are the God of the sinner and not of the just.  Grant that we may despise none of those to whom you please to give your love.

May the desire to follow Christ consume our whole being, and make our hearts and homes receptive to your call, with the same zeal with which Zacchaeus sought Jesus and responded to his presence. 

(adapted from Intercessions for the Christian People by Gail Ramshaw, p. 200)

AMEN.

Lenten breathing exercises

Here we are in the home stretch of Lent.  This time next week, we’ll be blessing palms and preparing to remember Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem during that fateful week.  We’re preparing to re-member.  Literally, to put back together.  Like the miraculous gathering of the dry bones in Ezekiel’s vision, we’re preparing to bring back together memories and pieces of ourselves into our collective body… a body that is meant to join with Christ in the final walk to the cross… in his death…. and in his resurrection. 

And, key to our hearing what the Spirit is saying to us today is breath… the very breath of God: רוּחַ ruach (or ‘pneuma’) -  spirit, wind, breath.

The breath of God moved over the primordial waters to beget creation.  God breathed his breath – life giving Spirit – into the nostrils of the first humans.  God’s breath, the Spirit, is blown into us as divine wind, capable of bringing back to life what is otherwise thought to be dead.

The Spirit moves in and through us every moment of every day. Our very breath is of God. 

FIRST BREATHING EXERCISE: (inhale) “In the beginning” (exhale) “God breathed”

Before we can embrace the resurrection at Easter, we’re called to be in touch with death.  We began Lent with the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  This week, we’re revisiting this notion of dead dust.  We’re with Ezekiel in a valley of dry bones.  We’re with Mary, Martha, and others who are grieving the death of a loved one, viscerally aware of a tomb that looms in front of us. We hold this sense of things that die alongside the promise of the power of God’s breath to enliven.  I’m going to talk a little about death – literal and metaphysical – and invite you into breathing exercises and a short mediation.

I offer some personal testimony that is relevant to today’s reading from Ezekiel and the Gospel story about Lazarus.  Ten years ago, while living and working in New York City, where I also volunteered with a hospice program, I experienced two significant events that have continued to shape my understanding of death and life with Christ.  In 2001, I experienced the impact of 9/11 in NYC and unexpected unemployment – thrown into a valley of the shadow of death literally and metaphorically.  “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust” was very vivid toward the end of 2001… as was the promise of rejuvenation and resuscitation in/with the body of Christ.

Over the next decade, my encounter with physical deaths continued as my work with hospice continued, and fittingly, some of my own friends and family would die in hospice care:  (samples from personal necrology... including deaths of family in Wichita, KS)

I’ve dealt physically with dead bodies, removing/replacing soiled clothes, wrapping corpses in sheets, witnessing the cremation of bodies, handling bone fragments and ashen remains, and I’ve assisting with burial services.

I share these personal experiences to say that when we hear about the desolation of loss in the valley of dry bones, and about the grieving at a tomb in which a loved one has been recently placed, I’m ‘there’.  And, perhaps like some of you, I’ve wondered at times where God is/was in such experiences.  If only these people could have lived a little longer.  If only they hadn’t had to suffer like that.  If only Jesus could have come sooner. 

Listening to today’s readings, I’m reminded that our Lord – our God incarnate among us – has shared in our grief physically – he knows intimately how we feel in those moments.  One of the shortest sentences in the Bible tells us how God reacted when faced with the death of a loved one and the grief all around that moment – “Jesus wept.”  And, at the moment of his own death, Jesus uses is own last human breath to call out to God.

And, we believe that death is not the end of the story in our faith.  It might not happen in the time frame that we want it to, but we’re assured that we’ll enjoy life together beyond physical death.

Through God’s own breath, there is resuscitation and resurrection for the faithful. 

SECOND BREATHING EXERCISE: Remembering your loved ones who have died… (inhale) “As we walk through the valley” (exhale) “Our Lord is with us”

This brings us to metaphor. 

Early in 2001, I was baptized – that moment marked a death of part of my life and the emergence of new life in Christ… that has culminated a decade later in the move from a career that was sucking life from me into a vocation that has me feeling more alive than ever. 

Ezekiel shared his vision during a time when the people he was speaking to were very much in a valley of death.  They were captives in exile in a strange land. Everything they had known and loved lay in ruins back in Jerusalem.  Blame, judgment, and guilt mixed with their chronic grief. Ezekiel’s vivid vision of God reassembling a scattered people thought to be very dead inspired new hope. 


As the vision of Ezekiel tell us, and as some interpret the sign of Lazarus’ resurrection to suggest, we don’t have to wait until ‘some day’ to experience new life together as a body with Christ.   Each day, there’s the potential that we can be brought back to new life here and now.

Nothing is too far gone that it can’t be saved by God. No matter how dry and scattered the remains, no matter how deep the hole, no matter how dark the tomb, God can and will revive what has been dead, even if from only the very smallest fragments of our faith.

So that we might all see and believe the power of God’s promise of life to us through Christ, through his breath he calls out with holy confidence to Lazarus and to us: 

Arise.  Come out.  Unbind each other.  Be free.  Live and love again.

Consider what feels dead in your life – what scattered bones lay around you; what has been shut up in a tomb that needs to be brought back into the light of life?

Reflect on what has been lost in your life… and hear what the Spirit is saying to God’s people.

THIRD/FINAL BREATHING EXERCISE: (inhale) “We believe” (exhale) “In new life through the breath of God”

Things thought to be dead can be raised up.  We will be reunited with loved ones who have died… and we can be reunited with those who have been thought of as too far gone.  As a faithful people who sometimes get scattered in the valley, we can be brought back together. 

As we prepare for Holy Week consider the hope and promise in these words: resuscitation, restoration, rest, renewal, rebirth, rejuvenation, and resurrection.

Get in touch with how hungry you are for this… how you yearn, like Ezekiel and those who loved Lazarus, to have God breathe new life into us.

"Mortal, can these bones live?... Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord GOD to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.” 

AMEN

In the eye of the beholder

Some words… and then a little Lenten exercise.

“See, this is how it is.”  “The way I see it.” “See, this is what I mean.” “I see what you mean.” “Seeing is believing.”

In this age of 3-D perception, big screen high-definition pictures, and Lasik to correct our vision, sight – our ability to see things clearly -- is as important as ever.  But, are we focusing our sights on the right things? Do we see and perceive things as Jesus wants us to?

How often do we blindly trust what we see at first glance? Are our eyes deceived by technological clarity and human-made visions? When we focus on laws and rules more than on love and grace, what is it that we miss seeing?  

How does God behold us? How might we perceive things differently if we see as Jesus intends us to?

Is not the good news that 1. God seeks us out and that 2. Christ helps us see anew?

1.    Thankfully, God seeks us out – chases after us – even when we’re not looking. Why?  Because God sees in us what is blessed already and yearns for us to see it too… and to act on this blessedness.

Take, for instance, what we’ve heard in both the older and newer testaments this morning. 

In the case of the calling of David, we have a story about God seeking out a faithfulness and righteousness that others have failed to see while they’ve been distracted by outward appearances.  Rather than pick the ‘obvious’ winners, those who are of greater physical stature, God seeks out not what can be seen by the eyes, but what is seen through the heart.  A good shepherd shall become an earthly king.

In the case of the blind man, we have a story about Jesus twice reaching out, challenging our perceptions of what is right in front of us and redirecting our vision.  Christ, our heavenly king, leads us as a good shepherd.

First, when the disciples note from a distance a blind man and immediately begin seeking to rationalize his condition and attribute blame from sin, Jesus rebukes their faulty casual reasoning, closes the distance, and gets his hands dirty to help the man. He seeks out this opportunity to demonstrate healing mercy… before he’s asked and even before the recipient of that mercy fully understands what has happened.

Second, when authorities, including the man’s own parents, focus on judgment, fear, and anxiety about interpretations and adherence to ‘the law’ as they’ve understood it, that only leads to divisions among them and they drive out the very evidence of grace in their midst.  Jesus avoids this spiral of sinful obsession, points out that their presumptions will continue to obscure their vision of the kingdom, and, instead, seeks out the formerly blind man to restore his vision even more fully.

In the case of Psalm 23 (a Psalm of David, a shepherd himself, calling God a shepherd) we have the familiar song of God’s comfort and companionship during life’s trials… but we also should note the Hebrew word for ‘follow’ ( רָדַף  radaph) in the phrase “surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” (Psalm 23:6).  ‘Follow’ is a rather passive way of seeing what might be meant here.  As seen in other translations, that word can also be translated as ‘pursue’ or ‘chase.’   And the words translated as “goodness” (טוֹב tob) and “mercy” (חֶסֶד chesed) can also be rendered as ‘beauty’ or ‘cheerfulness’ and ‘devotional and unchanging love’.

So, what are we able to see about the vision of God’s relationship with us if we read this as, “surely God’s goodness, beauty, cheerfulness, devotional mercy and unchanging love chases after us, pursues us, all the days of our lives”?

Even when we’re not looking; even when we fail to see what’s really happening because we’re obsessed with our preconceptions; even before we’ve confessed, repented or sought forgiveness, God seeks us out – chases after opportunities to demonstrate mercy and love.  This good news!

Christ Heals the Blind Man (El Greco)

2. When our eyes are opened through acts of mercy and love, what is it that we can see anew? And, how does this clarity of vision change how we treat ourselves and our neighbors?

In the case of the calling of David, perhaps we’re to see that our initial judgments about who is worthy of our consideration and who is called to leadership might be in haste and based on outward appearances more than inward potential as seen through God’s eyes.

In the case of the blind man, perhaps we’re to see that when we notice people who are disadvantaged or pushed aside, rather than focus on blame for their condition or debate the rationale for why or why not they deserve it, we’re called to serve as Christ – to reach out, getting our hands dirty, and pursue healing through mercy and love.

In the case of Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, it’s pretty clear that he’s writing to help them see how God, through Christ, is constantly seeking to repair what has been broken – how God perceives the walls that separate us needing to be torn down and bridges built that will reestablish connection between us. Paul implores the Ephesians (and us) to not dwell in darkness, but to “live as children of light”, shining the God-given grace within us towards all dark places; and to “find out what is pleasing to the Lord”; continually challenging our preconceptions by striving to see ourselves and others through God’s illuminating eyes.

In the Gospel story of the blind man, notice that the blind man hears Jesus before he can clearly see him.  If we listen to it carefully, what can our heart, in which we’re told is the Word of God, help us perceive even before our eyes are fully opened?

I invite you now to indulge with me in a little Lenten exercise to close the this morning’s homily.

Close your eyes and sit in silence for a moment.

Without being distracted by the outward appearances any more, what images emerge first in your mind’s eye when asked these questions – let them come into view and don’t judge them:

1. When have you felt overlooked, misunderstood, or blamed for your own condition?

2. What darkness in your life, or the life of someone you love, yearns for light?

3. Is there a situation you know of today in which people seem to be blind to the goodness or beauty right in front of them?

Now, imagine and see our good shepherd walking along with you. 

1. What does he notice first before anyone else?

2. What does it look like when he reaches out to touch the people in the situation? 

3. What is it in yourself that he is helping you see right now?

4. What are you called to do with God’s mercy and love?

The good news this morning is that God’s goodness, beauty, cheerfulness, devotional mercy and unchanging love chases after us – Christ pursues us, all the days of our lives. In like manner, we are to “live as children of light” and to pursue “what is pleasing to the Lord”

AMEN.

Born Again… Formation through Fidelity and Faith

Seems to me that in today’s lessons we’re continuing a theme from the past several weeks – transformation, temptation, and trust.  Or, formation, fidelity, and faith.

We’re hearing of how faithful people face the challenge of God’s call to step out of comfort zones and lead with a wider mind about the expansiveness of God’s grace and plan for redemption and deliverance of us all.

In the case of Abraham…

As Paul is suggesting in the excerpt from his letter to the Romans that we’ve heard this morning, faith and trust are fundamental to our covenant with God well before the establishment of particular laws and traditions meant to support and encourage our faith. 

Before the call of Moses and his delivering of commandments, we have this story of the call of Abraham and God’s promise to redeem us all through his legacy.  We’re told that before Abraham, God tried many things to get us to turn from our selfish ways and return to divine righteousness as a family.  God even attempted a re-boot through the great flood and the call of Noah to restore better order.  Alas, even Noah falls off the wagon.

Along comes Abraham.  We’re not really clear why Abraham, a decedent of Noah, is chosen, but perhaps there’s a lesson in that.  God seems to be less interested in his past story and more concerned about the strength of Abraham’s faith and what that can mean for the future the people he will lead.

God calls Abraham to leave behind the life that he knows – to uproot his current identity; to surrender his sense of safety, security, protection, and prosperity - and to venture forth into something new – a new place that will be blessed and greater than where he’s been. 

"Abraham Sarah and Yitzhak" by Yorah Raanan

Abraham, following God’s call, arrives the city of Haran (charan; Strongs 2771:  חָרָן ), which can mean ‘crossroads’ (it’s a city is located a crossroads of some main highways/routes).  Indeed, in following God’s call, Abraham will face choices that impact his future, the future of his family, and a nation.  It’s his fidelity of faith and trust in God’s gracious intentions and promises that will drive his choices.

Do you find yourself at any crossroads this Lenten season?  Are there choices that you’re facing that have significant implications for you, your family, and your community?  Does it feel like you’re being asked to leave what is familiar and venture into unknown territory with God?  Do you ultimately trust God’s intentions?

In the case of Nicodemus…

If you’re like me, you might be hesitant to let go of what is known in order to follow where God is leading you.  And, frankly, what’s being asked of you might seem unrealistic. 

We might imagine that Nicodemus struggled with this as well.  Here we have a respected Pharisee who is part of an esteemed group of community leaders who is not quite ready to trust in what God is revealing to him.  Quietly, under the cover/protection of darkness, he comes to Jesus acknowledging that he believes God must be up to something, but clearly he’s not quite ready to publicly acknowledge this.  Because of later references to his challenging his peers about their hasty condemnations of Jesus (John 7:50), and his bringing of valuable spices for Jesus’ burial (John 19:39), we know that Nicodemus, while conflicted, is sincerely struggling to trust in Christ.  It’s just that in this moment of very personal questioning, he’s not quite ready to go public with his faith in God’s intentions through this messiah.

Jesus essentially tells Nicodemus that you can’t see what’s God’s up to if you stay put in your current state of mind and heart.  He says that you have to be born anew – through baptism with the Spirit – in order to see clearly. 

Nicodemus is obviously troubled by this; perhaps he’s contemplating the profound implications of being born into a new way of understanding God’s kingdom and all that might mean for the changes that need to take place in his life and in the world around him.  As with any transformation, this means that some things will need to cease to be in order for new things to be.  

Jesus addresses the potential fear about such changes – he says that those who believe in him don’t need to fear death, for they will actually find eternal life in this faith.  He makes this even more explicit in his reference to being lifted up (possible allusion to his own death on the cross) like the snake on a pole that Moses lifted up during the plague of the poisonous serpents (Num 21:6-9)… all who look up to this sign might have life rather than death. He proclaims that God’s call to us and covenant intention for us through Christ is not condemnation, but salvation.  We simply must have faith and believe in this intention as we follow Christ out of our status quo into a new way living.

Can’t we relate?  How often do we, in the privacy of our hearts, know that God is calling us to step out in trust toward something transformative in our lives?  And, how often do we choose to talk to God about these things in private, so as not to reveal to others our own potentially naïve beliefs about God or our fears about what must die in our lives in order for us to fully live?  This sort of private faith can be good inasmuch as it moves us toward righteous action eventually… but God through Christ is calling us to live our faith more out loud and in public.  If we keep reading the next verses after today’s Gospel lesson, we hear Jesus go on to say, “those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.” (John 3:21).

We’re being called to leave the presumed safety of the shadows – to put our fears to rest - and to live fully in the light of Christ, trusting that God is leading us toward deliverance from all that tries to kill us.

ANECDOTE: Each year, thousands of visitors make their way to a little town in northwest Kansas named Nicodemus.  There they find a national historical site in honor of the black ‘Exodusters’ from Kentucky / freed slaves who settled in this town during the Reconstruction Period following the Civil War.  We’re told the town is named for the legendary first slave to purchase his own freedom in the U.S. – essentially being ‘born anew.’  Today, the Kansas Black Farmers Association still promotes “promised land flour” from the Nicodemus co-op and you can buy their pancake mix at nicodemuswheat.com.  In this local Nicodemus story, we find another example of people called to something beyond what they had known who courageously followed-through toward freedom and new life in faith.

In conclusion…

This week, following our themes of formation, fidelity, and faith, in our church calendar, we’re called to remember a number of saintly people who we honor for their steadfast trust and faith in God’s call, even when such fidelity cost some of them their lives: Bishop Thomas Ken (willingness to speak truth to power/the king), Archbishop of Canterbury [and martyr] Thomas Cranmer (early architect of our Book of Common Prayer), The Rev. James De Koven (advocate for ritualism as adoration of Christ), and Archbishop [and contemporary martyr] Oscar Romero (for his consistent protesting of corruption and injustices).

And, on Friday, many Episcopalians will commemorate the blessed Mary with the Feast of the Annunciation.  As it states in Holy Women, Holy Men, “Mary’s self-offering in response to God’s call has been compared to that of Abraham, the father of believers.  Just as Abraham was called to be the father of the chosen people, and accepted this call, so Mary was called to be the mother of the faithful, the new Israel…. Her response to the angel, ‘Let it be to me according to your word,’ is identical with the faith expressed in the prayer that Jesus taught, ‘Your will be done on earth as in heaven.’” (Holy Women, Holy Men: Celebrating the Saints. NY: Church Publishing, 2010)

I close with a call to reconsider what it means to be born again / anew / from above.  Rather than this being a single event that proceeds from an intellectual understanding or verbal utterance of certain words about beliefs, I propose that this is an emotional and spiritual birthing process that comes only after a period of spiritual gestation and through physical labor/actions.  It’s less about what you do with your mind or mouth one time, and more about what you choose to do each and every day fueled by trust and faith in your heart.

I invite you to consider the remainder of Lent as a period of gestation for your own formation of greater fidelity and deeper faith that moves you to take action.  You don’t have nine months… or even 40 days left at this point.  You have about a month left to seek counsel with Jesus before he his handed over to be crucified. 

What do you most need to talk to Jesus about? 

What might Jesus tell you to let go of in your life in order that you might better see the kingdom?

Will you dare to leave your current circumstances this Lent to follow Jesus into a resurrected reality?

What might be born anew/again at Easter if you do?

Lenten Christian “40” - resisting the temptation of misplaced trust

This morning I’m not going to trace the early church origins of our contemporary Lenten practice – there are articles and websites you can explore for that (and I encourage you to do so).  Nor am I going to spend much time examining the tradition of fasting.  Regarding fasting, I simply invite you to consider that this practice is not simply about self-disciple or seemingly arbitrary self-denial.  This ancient practice is about leading your body, mind, and heart into a new state of awareness.  It’s about a sustained period of intentional self-denial, inducing chronic hunger or want, in order to come to become more aware of our shared state of dependence and primordial needs.  From this place of depravity, you can develop more compassionate cravings and begin to see the promise of abundance in God’s kingdom anew.  And, in contrast to fasting, there’s a more contemporary practice of taking on a new discipline during Lent rather than giving up something.  But, these are not what I’m preaching about this morning.

When I was younger, I was at best a Christmas Christian.  Later in life, after my baptism as an adult, I was more of an Easter Christian.  In both cases, the locus of identification for my beliefs and faith was with one of these high holidays – these peak moments in which the birth and resurrection of our Lord and Savior are remembered.  These holidays were like mountain tops that I suddenly inhabited every year to remind me of my identity.  However, as I’ve matured in my Christian journey, I’ve recognized that most of my life is spent in the wilderness valley between these peak experiences.  It’s in this wilderness valley – sometimes amid the shadow of death, and certainly contending with temptations – that my convictions are tested and I learn about living as a faithful Christian.  Because in Lent we’re more focused on and explicit about the truths to be discovered and learned from in this sometimes dark night of the soul in the valley, beginning with a jolting reminder of our mortality on Ash Wednesday, I’m come to consider myself a Lenten Christian.  Even more than during Christmas or Easter, lately I’m seeing Lent as “where it’s at”… where the rubber hits to road, so to speak, in our development as faithful disciples.  Might you be a Lenten Christian, too?

Two of the aspects of being Lenten Christian that I want to say more about this morning are embracing “40” and resisting the temptation of misplaced trust.

Embracing “40”

No, I’m not talking about chronological age (although I am learning to embrace this as well now that I’ve recently entered my 40’s).  I’m referring to a qualitative, kairos (καιρός), sense of the number 40 which signals something about our journey in relationship to God.  In today’s Gospel, we’re told that following Jesus’ baptism, the Holy Spirit led (“drove” in Mark) him into the wilderness for forty days, where he fasted and was tempted by Satan. So, why 40 days?  That number sounds familiar to us, doesn’t it?  Often we’ve heard the number forty used in scriptures to signify a special time.  For instance:

1. 40 days and nights of the great flood (Gen 7:4)
2. 40 days Noah waits before exiting the Ark (Gen 8:3-8)
3. 40 days, twice, of Moses fasting on Mt. Sinai while re-affirming covenant with God (Exod 24:18,28)
4. 40 years in the desert wilderness as the followers of Moses leave captivity and traveled to a promised land (Num 14: 33; Deut 29: 4)
5. 40 days that David was taunted by Goliath (1 Sam 17:16)
6. 40 days that Elijah fasted in the wilderness when all seemed against him (1 Kings 19:8)
7. 40 days that the resurrected Jesus helped prepare his followers from the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost (Acts 1:3)

…and so on.

What do all of these 40’s have in common?  The characters in these stories weren’t choosing to enter these 40’s for their health or vanities about self-discipline (I believe I’ll give up chocolate or do more exercise for forty days).  No, they were generally led into 40’s by God for a higher purpose.  Whether forty is numbering days or years, whether the journeys are literal or metaphorical, they’re all periods marked by: being in between; waiting; trials of trust; tests of will and spiritual mettle; and precursors foreshadowing some form of liberating deliverance or salvation.  Forty represents periods when the faithful are pushed, often the brink… by God… to further develop and demonstrate the depths of their faith, hope, and love. 

And so here we are in our 40 – forty days of Lent (not counting the Sundays) – in which we’re invited to learn more about our mettle, our deepest hungers and temptations, and our ultimate reliance on God.   Sisters and brothers, how will you embrace “40” this year as Lenten Christians?

Resisting the temptation of misplaced trust

Today’s readings from Genesis and Matthew, along with Paul’s exposition on sin, reinforces the point of view that Christ’s obedient life reversed the effects of the ‘original sin’ of our disobedient ancestors Eve and Adam.  “…just as one man's trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man's act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all.”  The good news is that our ‘fall’ has been reversed by his ‘rising’, right?  Well, there’s more to consider in these lessons as we live most our lives between the peak experiences of Eden and Easter.

The Temptation and Fall of Eve by William Blake, 1808

Do you hear in the story of the Garden of Eden that our fall was the result of the sin of disobedience?  What if the trespass that resulted in us living more in the wilderness of the world rather than the perfection of God’s garden was the temptation of mis-placed trust?  ….trust in the reasoning of a crafty serpent who tempted us to trust in our own intentions more than God’s. …trust in what is a delight to the eyes more than what is written on our hearts.  …more trust in the fruitfulness of our own curiosity and will to power than in God’s promises and provisions for us.  If you were to ride tandem with me for a week, admittedly you’d probably observe evidence that I seem to trust myself more than I do God, getting off course and tempted by the belief that I’m in control of more than I really am or mistaking knowledge for wisdom.  Surely some of you have had the experience of mucking up a good thing by following your own misguided sense that you “knew better” than anybody else… only to look back later and ask, “now why did I go and do that?”  As my grandfather used to say, “if it ain’t broke, don’t try to fix it.”  And, yet, we almost can’t help ourselves.  We are often tempted to trust our own desires and abilities before we trust God’s.

What does Jesus show us about temptation and trust? In today’s Gospel, the author tells us that Jesus, after his baptism, was led by the Spirit into a wilderness of temptations.  In the Bible, reference to “time in the wilderness,” not unlike the use of “40,” brings up images of trial and testing.  It’s an in between space - between being released from one thing and before the opportunity to embrace something new. Emphasizing this idea, we’re told that Jesus fasted for 40 days, cultivating his sense of dependence and communion with God before continuing his mission call.  Assuming that Jesus is fatigued from fasting, but underestimating the trust and faith that has been cultivated over these 40 days, the Devil tempts Jesus to shortcut his self-depravation by appealing to parts of the Torah that might be read to suggest that Jesus is not meant to deny himself at all… and that, in fact, maybe Jesus is entitled to grander wants than just his needs.  Like the crafty serpent, the demon is tempting Jesus to believe in his own power to test God’s trustworthiness.  Can you hear the devil whispering, “God trusts you to provide for yourself. If you’re tempted to do something stupid and self-destructive, go ahead; hasn’t God promised to save you?  It’s really easier than you think to have all that you desire in this world – simply trust in ambition, prestige, and power.” 

Christ in the Wilderness by Ivan Kramskoy,1872

Jesus deflects these temptations by appealing to other wisdom in the Torah (Deut 6:13-16; 8:3) clarifying that faithfulness is not all about our temporal needs and immediate desires.  We should keep our mind and heart on God for the long term; trusting, not testing God on a whim.  We are to remain steadfast in our trust that God will provide us with spiritual food that is more nourishing that any material goods we might seek as hasty substitutes for true satisfaction.  And, importantly, unlike the anonymous serpent in Genesis, Jesus is able to name the source of his temptations (Satan) thereby empowering his command for it to flee from him.

Conclusion

Although we pray each week, “Lead us not into temptation… save us from the time of trial,” we are, as humans, often tempted and tried.  In the wilderness of your life, what hunger of yours is most easily exploited?  What desires do you have right now that have the most potential to lead you away from God?  If we were to examine your behaviors closely, what would be revealed about who/what you trust in the most? 

Sisters and brothers, how might we grow as Christians this Lenten season by learning to name the sources of our most troubling temptations and then turning to God for help with them; trusting in God’s power, more than our own?

Let’s embrace the wilderness journey of these 40 days, taking a deeper, more honest look at where we place our trust, and recalibrating our convictions toward reliance on and hope in a risen Lord who we will meet anew at Easter.

St. Patrick, who we remember this week, returned to Ireland (where he had been enslaved as a shepherd in his youth) at about age 40 to proclaim the Good News and lead people to Christ.  In his Confessions, he writes, “…I give thanks to my God unceasingly who has kept me faithful in times of trial, so that today I offer sacrifice to him confidently, the living sacrifice of my life to Christ my Lord, who has sustained me in all my difficulties…. Whether I receive good or ill I always render thanks to God who taught me to trust him unreservedly.” (as quoted on page 95 of Celebrating the Saints: Devotional Readings for Saints’ Days, © 2001 by Robert Atwell and Christopher L. Webber / Morehouse Publishing)

Let us pray…

Come Holy Spirit, lead us deeper into the wilderness this Lent.  We trust you are with us, as you’ve been with our ancestors in their times of trial.  Yet, your promises of resurrection can seem so far away and out of our reach as we surrender to fasting hunger and vulnerability, encountering some of our deepest fears, openly wrestling with the anxieties of our circumstances, and facing the implications of our mortality during this Lenten season.  Have mercy on us as we wander in this wilderness.  Nurture the hope that you’ve instilled in each of us and as a community, cultivate the faith you’ve placed in our hearts and the generosity of this family, and nourish our spirits through you Word.  Help us fully experience this time of penitent preparation so that we’re led to let the untrustworthy in us truly die as we await being born anew into a promised kingdom.  All this we ask in the name of Jesus, our Christ, as we walk with him toward the cross as Lenten Christians.  AMEN

...and to dust you shall return

‎(as I feel the ashes today) “Let no one hope to find in contemplation an escape from conflict, from anguish or from doubt. On the contrary, the deep, inexpressible certitude of the contemplative experience awakens a tragic anguish and opens many questions in the depths of the heart like wounds that cannot stop bleeding. For every gain in deep certitude there is a corresponding growth of superficial ‘doubt.’ This doubt is by no means opposed to genuine faith, but it mercilessly examines and questions the spurious ‘faith’ of everyday life, the human faith which is nothing but the passive acceptance of conventional opinion.“ 
- From Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation