Pentecost

           Interactive sermon  

            In today’s readings, the Holy Spirit comes to Jesus’ followers.  First they heard the sound like a wind storm.  What would that sound like?  Can you make the sound of a wind storm?  I think it was louder than that!  Then each of them had something rest on them like a tongue of fire.  Who here is a Jesus-follower? You and you and you!  You each get a flame, one for each of you.  Each person here has one, too, because each person has the Holy Spirit. 

                Why do you think the Holy Spirit was like a flame?  What is a flame like?  Hot, powerful, changing, emitting light.  Have you ever heard someone say, “He was so excited he was on fire.”  That means that person was energetic and lively about something.  What are you excited for?  What are you on fire about?  Jesus was on fire for justice and love.  He was excited about making sure that people had enough food and were healed and were part of community in relationship with others.  He gave us the Holy Spirit so we would be on fire for some of the same things he is excited and on fire about.

                Can you find some flames and pictures of flames around the church this morning?

                When the people received the Holy Spirit, they had abilities and powers from God to help them share the good news of God’s love.  They started to be able to speak in different languages and understand people who spoke in different languages.  They started to see things the way God sees things.  Started to dream the same kinds of dreams that God has.  Some of you might remember dreams

                you have at night while you are sleeping.  There is another kind of dream that people have when they have hopes for the future.  Maybe you’ve heard Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech.  He wasn’t speaking of a dream he had while he was sleeping, but a hope he had in his heart that someday his kids who had dark brown skin could walk with someone who had light skin and they could be friends, and how people would work for peace together, and how people wouldn’t judge each other but love each other.  This is the kind of dream that God dreams and that people begin to dream, too, when they have the Holy Spirit.  God wrote some of God’s dreams in the Bible, but also gives them to people like you and me and all these people.

                I’d like to invite each person to write on their flame their hope and dream for this world or this neighborhood.  When someone has one, hold it up and one of the kids will come get it and we’ll tape it to these balloons to remind us of the Holy Spirit with us in community all around us and within us.

                Dreams are powerful.  They can motivate us, or cause us to take action, to work toward that dream.  There is another phrase, “To light a fire under someone.”  That means to get them moving.  God wants to light a fire under us, to get us moving toward justice and love, and one of the ways God does that is by sharing God’s exciting dreams for all creation.

May 28, 2017

Gospel: John 17:1-11                      

1^st Reading: Acts 1:6-14                 

2^nd Reading: 1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11

                Some people are fond of saying, “Whenever God closes a door, he opens a window.”  It isn’t my favorite saying.  I don’t think of God as closing doors or manipulating human lives like that.  I know sometimes we wonder why certain paths are closed to us or why people cut us out of their lives or why people die.  Maybe it gives us some comfort to attribute it to God.  And maybe it is good that we look from that closed door to see what might be opening up in our lives in another area, knowing the path isn’t closed completely, but there are other ways to get where we are going, even though crawling through a window is kind of a weird way of getting someplace.  Maybe it is just about getting some fresh air when the door gets closed! 

                Sometimes when a door closes, before the window opens, we stand in a kind of liminal space of disorientation and transition, a time of wondering what is coming next.

According to Wickipedia, “In anthropology, liminality (from the Latin word līmen, meaning "a threshold"^[1]) is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of rituals, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the ritual is complete. During a ritual's liminal stage, participants "stand at the threshold"^[2] between their previous way of structuring their identity, time, or community, and a new way, which the ritual establishes.”

                The Disciples are at a threshold or liminal point, an indefinite time of transition, in the first reading for this morning.  Jesus ascends, and they stand there looking up with gaping mouths wondering what just happened to them, disoriented, and unclear about what might be next. 

                In the reading from 1 Peter, the author is writing to the Christian community which is in this liminal space of disorientation and transition.  The author is telling them not to be surprised or lose hope, and the author knows something about being in a position like that, so has some authority to tell them that this disorientation and even suffering can coexist with gladness and even joy.

                In the Gospel reading Jesus is praying for the disciples who will be in this liminal space, to strengthen them and give them everything they need to make the transition, the leap, the reformation to the Kingdom of God.  We are actually overhearing Jesus praying for us, disciples still in that liminal space of disorientation, still waiting for the promised Kingdom of God.

                We all deal with transitions, liminal space differently.  Some of us go with the flow more easily than others.  Some of us like to have all the answers.  Some of us get anxious and protective.  Others of us thrive.  I tend to like to know where we are going, partly because people expect me to, and partly because I feel more secure knowing the answers.  But lately I am more comfortable in the not knowing, and simply holding space for the transition to unfold.

                One example of those in liminal space is The Church of God of Prophecy.  They know that enforcement of immigration laws in our country are changing.  They are wondering when they or their loved ones might be picked up or deported.  They are wondering when paperwork might be completed that would grant Mexican citizenship for their children.  When that paperwork comes, they pack up and move to a land their children have never known and have a different life than they have had.  Many of you have asked me, where they are in their process.  They may have received certain letters and completed paperwork, however there are some parts that are simply unknown, disorienting liminal time and space, threshold work that doesn’t reveal what is on the other side of the door or how long it will take to walk through it.

                Another example of liminal space is grief.  I have never been so deep in it as I am now.  The world has changed.  Something has been left behind.  But what will be has not yet revealed itself.  I have not idea how long it will take to cross this lake, this liminal space, but I can tell you I am disoriented.  Thankfully, I find many of you in this space with me.  I would never wish that anyone have to be here, but I can’t imagine us any other place, and here we are together, disoriented together, grieving our various losses and not having any answers.

                The Christian church as a whole is in a kind of liminal space, too.  While Christianity still holds a central place in our culture and values, many people are rejecting church as the way to express and live the Christian life.  Maybe it is that Christianity is becoming more cultural than religious.  It is hard to express, because we’re in this disorienting space which can be hard to define.  We’ve left something behind, and we don’t know exactly what we’re doing or where we’re headed.

                Here are some things we can learn from the disciples’ experience of liminality. 

1.        When we get in one of these kinds of situations, a good thing to do is to pray.  Jesus prayed to help ground and orient and focus himself and his followers.  He prayed for God’s presence.  He prayed for awareness of unity and the knowledge that none of them would be alone.  He prayed that we would remember who we belong to—God.  He prayed to encourage and equip his disciples for living in this liminal time.  Even his disciples devote themselves to prayer by the end of the reading from Acts.

2.       Liminal time is a good time to be open.  The apostles ask Jesus in the first reading, in their confusion, to get them out of it by explaining to them what would be next.  They ask, “Is this the time when you will restore the Kingdom to Israel?”  Basically, they are asking, “Jesus, is this the time you’re going to do what we expect you to do?”  But Jesus asks them to let go of their expectations.  They are focused too narrow.  Instead of handing them what they think they want and need, God is trying to hand them and everyone something greater, New Life.  Then as Jesus is ascending, their focus is upward, longing for Jesus, wanting him back.  I picture them all gawking upward and these angels, just like at the tomb, come and ask them, “What are you looking at?”  By looking up, they are missing the angels all around them.  If they want to see Jesus in their neighbor, they are going to have to let go of their expectations of where he is and look around a little bit.  They are going to need to be open.

3.       Even during times of disorientation, some things are assured.  God is God, powerful and loving.  And God equips us, through the Holy Spirit, to meet the unknown with confidence and hope.  Partly what gives us confidence is that part of the unknown is known, and that is the destination, the Kingdom of God.  We don’t know what it is or where it is, or even when it is, except it is now, and it is among us, and it is about relationship and connection, and there will be no more crying and the wolf will lie down with the lamb.  It is good and when it is fully realized it will be good beyond our imagination.  We don’t know when it will be fully realized, but we know who leads us there, and we trust the good shepherd to get us there.

May 21, 2017

Gospel: John 14:15-21                   

1^st Reading: Acts 17:22-31

2^nd Reading: 1 Peter 3:13-22

                An empty sanctuary is filled with people, an empty cup is filled with grape juice, an empty font is filled with water, an empty hand is met with another in a greeting.  An empty room is filled with a guest.  An empty stomach is filled with food.  An empty life is filled with love.  Arms are raised like an empty vessel, ready to receive abundant generosity, God pouring life out for each of us.  Our empty lungs fill with breath, the room is empty of sound until we begin to pray and sing.  We search for meaning and purpose and fulfillment.  We long for life and love and for what is lasting and good.  Longing is our emptiness crying out to be filled.

                Today’s readings point to a longing within each person.  In the reading from Acts, Paul is preaching about a shrine to an unknown god.  For all the gods there are in Athens, still the Athenians are seeking something more.  Their gods of stone and bronze and gold are not meeting all their needs.  Paul speaks to this unmet need by introducing them to the God who created them and all things.  Paul points to Jesus, who he doesn’t name, but whose death and resurrection bring power and love and life and meaning to all.

                In the reading from 1 Peter, Christians are suffering.  They are asking whether God is with them or not.  They are longing to know what their suffering means.  They are longing to know and see God’s power.  The writer of 1 Peter is telling them that though the world will try to tell them that suffering means you have done wrong and deserve it or that suffering means your God isn’t powerful, that isn’t true.  The writer is saying that the people who are causing this suffering for Christians, probably in the form of harassment, have limited power.  Suffering is a temporary situation. The writer of this letter is assuring them that suffering doesn’t have the last word, that no one is outside God’s reach, and he is encouraging them to use suffering as an opportunity to share the good news gently and reverently, to tell their story about a God who isn’t afraid to suffer, and who gave his life that we might have life.

                The Disciples in the Gospel today are longing for Jesus to stay right there with them.  They are actually expressing the grief of later Christians that John is writing to, because Jesus is no longer physically present.  John writes of these events 40 plus years later to a group that feels abandoned and alone.  John is reassuring them that their greatest fear isn’t true.  They have not been abandoned.  They are not orphaned.  In fact, we are just as connected as we ever were when Jesus walked the earth because of the Holy Spirit, the Advocate.  One way we know we are connected is by love.  We can’t see love or measure love.  However, God shows such love for us by Jesus’ death on the cross and adopting us into God’s family.  And God’s love goes on in the loving acts of the community, through us, the church, the body of Christ, present with all who are suffering.  God’s love goes on through loving acts like not returning evil for evil, by feeding the hungry and visiting the sick, by caring for one another and those abandoned by society. 

                We all have longings.  We’re all seeking and searching for what will fill that need in us.  Society tells us it will be things we can see and own, beauty and grooming products, electronics, fancy food.  We all know the temporary nature of things like this.  It’s not going to last, even if we are satisfied for a while.  We don’t worship a whole bunch of gods like the Athenians, but we have idols just the same.  They don’t call it American Idol for nothing.  We worship musicians, actors, those who play sports, and the very rich.  We throw loads of money at them and gawk at their lives.  We live vicariously through them, cry at their breakups, and fly drones over their weddings.  We seem surprised when they turn out to be regular people with flaws.  Their power is fleeting.

                And we worship money.  How can we get more of it for ourselves and our church?  How can we get the kind of power that will keep our doors open and pay our bills?  How can we get enough to make us happy?  How can we get enough so we won’t have to suffer?

                When we focus our attention on our things, on people in power, on money, and use them to try to fulfill our longings, we are worshipping them.  “While God has overlooked times of human ignorance, now he commands all people everywhere to repent.”  This isn’t about how we’ve all done wrong and now we are punished.  The word “repent” means turn.  This is about God being very near to us and turning from what we have valued and tried to use for our fulfillment to what and who really gives us life.  God is fulfilling that longing within us with what really is good and lasting and life-giving.  We can turn and be filled, that’s how close God is.

                Turn to Love that created the universe in all its complexity.

                Turn to Love that is reliable because this kind of love doesn’t rely on unreliable human beings for anything.

                Turn to Love that gives us breath and keeps us going and is personally involved in our lives.

                Turn to Love which can’t be depicted in stone and bronze because it is so far beyond what any of us can conceive.

                Turn to Love that is closer to us than we are to ourselves.

                Turn to Love who is our mother and father.

                Turn to Love which fulfills our deepest need.

                Turn to Love which inspires us, incites us, motivates us to love, to perpetuate God’s love.

This is not something we can see or prove to someone.  This love will not keep us free from suffering.  But this love is eternal and powerful beyond measure.

                This love keeps us hopeful in the community of faith.  The one we follow exhibited this love in a most unusual way, by the unselfish life he lived, loving those who everyone else abandoned until it so infuriated us that we tried to destroy that loving power by destroying him.  In his resurrection, God’s absolute power was revealed, that we cannot undo the love God has for us.  We can’t kill it.  We can’t make ourselves unlovable.  Wherever the powers of hate and perpetuating suffering go on, the resurrection shows they won’t be victorious.  Only the power of God’s presence and love will last into eternity.  That’s what matters.  That’s what prevails.

                This love is for all who are outside the Christian Community, too.  Love is what we have to offer a destructive world, a world that offers fleeting pleasures, a world of emptiness and strong feelings of being disconnected, alienated, orphaned.  If we place our faith in material goods and in our own pleasures, we’re going to be let down.  Anything humans build will break, eventually.  It isn’t about if, it is about when.  Remember the quote, “Not a stone will be left on stone.  All will be thrown down.”  We can’t put our faith in things we make.  They don’t last.

If we put our faith in our own comfort, we will be let down.  To live is to suffer, among other things.  We have a choice about how we see our suffering, though.  We can let it make us bitter and take away our hope.  We can repay others for the suffering they cause us, but then we don’t offer anything different than what the world offers.  We can look at the suffering of Jesus, who obviously didn’t get what he deserved, or pay back what others deserved.  Instead, he continued to do what he does, to share love, which is the only thing that lasts, the main thing that connects us, the only thing that matters, the only thing with ultimate power of healing and transformation.  God is love.  To love is the way we have to connect with God who we can’t see.

You are loved.  You are powerful.  You have love within you.  God is in you.  You are in Christ.  We are all one.  Go out empowered, seeking the one who is seeking you, and find new life, share new life, live new life.  Forevermore.

Gospel: Luke 24:13-35

Gospel: Luke 24:13-35

1st Reading: Acts 2:14a, 36-41   

2nd Reading: 1 Peter 1:17-23

        There's been so much rain this spring, I have almost forgot how much I enjoy a good walk.  My mom stayed the night at my house two days last week with her greyhound, Gracie, while grandma has been in the hospital, and it was kind of nice to have an excuse to get out, since the dog needs walked.  Whatever the weather the dog needs to go out and after being cooped up in the hospital so long, I was glad to get out a few times.  Especially in a week like this one, it is good to get out and get some fresh air.

       The disciples, I'm sure, felt the same way.  Here are these lesser Disciples, not one of the 11 remaining, but maybe some of the 70 that were trained and sent out by Jesus to heal the sick and preach the good news.  Here they are on the road to Emmaus, exiting Jerusalem.  I always pictured them alone on the road.  Maybe emotionally, they felt alone.  But likely that day, there would have been many pilgrims exiting Jerusalem, having come there to celebrate the Passover.  The road was probably quite crowded, making it a little easier for Jesus to be there among the crowd, making it easy for him to settle in walking next to these disciples and listening to their dramatic story.

        We walk so many different roads, never knowing what others near to us are going through.  Sometimes we walk in anticipation, sometimes in disappointment, sometimes in joy, sometimes in grief.  Some steps are heavy and others are dancing.  I walked hospital corridors a lot this week.  The emergency room, and hallways, waiting rooms and cafeteria.  I wondered a lot what others are going through.  I heard parts of conversations whispered through tears.  At one point, grandma was going into surgery and we were all in the cafeteria.  We heard a code blue called.  It is heavy to know that someone is in crisis in that moment, that their heart has stopped.  We were on pins and needles.  The anestesiologist had basically told my mom and her siblings that grandma's situation was quite tenuous.  We knew that.  It has been touch and go all week with her.  About 5 minutes after the code blue was called, my aunt got a call.  It was the nurse in the operating room.  We all tensed up.  My cousin started crying and her sister comforted her.  I went over to sit next to my mom.  We all had our attention on Aunt Jeannine.  She finally breathed as she was listening and said something to let us know it was just that grandma had finally gone into surgery.  It wasn’t her they called the code about.  We all breathed a sigh of relief.  A few moments later one of the cafeteria workers brought us two chocolate bars.  He said he looked like we could use them.  It was very sweet of them to notice and care for us.  It made me wonder how many times a week this happens.  It made me wonder who was watching us.  It comforted me that we aren't alone.  Everyone is looking out to be of help.  Many people are on this road.

      So we all walk these roads.  And Jesus, himself, comes near and goes with us.  We don't usually recognize him.  I don't know if our eyes are kept from recognizing him or if we have some kind of blindness.  That these disciples are second tier means they may have not spent much time with him, maybe even one of the 12 disciples had trained them.  They may not have seen Jesus up close.  We, too, can be considered disciples, which means "learners."  We are trainees of Jesus, but since we haven't seen him in the flesh, we might wonder if that might be him or not when we think we might have encountered the risen Christ.

    We are on the road and the risen Christ comes near and goes with us and converses with us.  I love how he listens for a long time and then asks this kind of open-ended question that draws the disciples out and makes them delve deeper  into their experiences and emotions.  "What things?" he asks.  Jesus has this innocent curiosity that gently encourages them to open up and tell their story.  It is a question that isn't prying, but invites more, should the disciples care to share.  So the disciples do share.  They share their fears, their hopes, their confusion.  They even share the good news before they even know if it is good news, yet.  Their story is still in process, still fresh and as they tell it, some parts are becoming clearer and other parts muddier.

     Jesus listens.  Then he responds.  He sounds a little harsh in the Gospel story, calling them foolish.  But in their own language it is a much more gentle and joking, affectionate term, like silly goose, or something like that.  Then Jesus links the story they just told to the greater story of God walking with people on roads just like this one over thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of years.  It all fits together.  The disciples are beginning to see what their story has to do with all the other parts of the story of God and God's Creation coming near, walking together.

    The disciples start to show signs of seeing more clearly, when they invite Jesus, a stranger in that moment to stay with them.  Hasn't the whole story of God's love been about strangers bridging the gap, and inviting others to be in relationship with them, about hospitality?  Jesus would never impose on them, but goes on ahead, giving them the chance to decide whether to invite him or not.  How long did they stand their looking at each other before they called out to him to stay?  Whether it was immediate or whether they had to go running after him, the disciples then extend the kind of hospitality to Jesus that God has extended to them, and he accepts.

    I am starting to think that Jesus was always hungry.  He never refuses a dinner invitation.  So they eat together.  Somehow this act of eating reveals the truth to them, that they knew all along.  Their eyes are opened to see what their hearts already knew.  This is a good reminder to us to pay attention to the burning of your hearts.  We're not just looking for signs of a heart attack, although that is a good thing to do too, to listen to your body and call the paramedics if necessary.  But so many times our bodies are having an emotional reaction or trying to tell us something and we ignore it.  Our hearts may very well know when Jesus is near.  Our hearts may tell us to open our eyes and confirm what the heart knows.  Our hearts tell us to open our eyes to see friends where we once only saw strangers.  Our hearts are telling us to invite, be open and curious, to seek.  It is telling us to look beyond the surface, beyond what we think is possible to see deeply, to truly experience the good news. 

    Eating together opens their eyes.  Jesus is made known to them in the breaking of the bread.  There are some things our minds can't take in by thinking, but we can experience in other ways.  Our other senses can help us access what the heart or the emotions already know.  Eating can break down our barriers and bring us together and open up pathways to understanding that the brain can't access.  Our sense of taste tells us what is good for us, what is life-giving.  Our sense of taste links us to other experiences we've had, can bring up strong memories.  A meal is nourishing for both the body and the spirit, because it brings us together in community for conversation, reflection, and community.

    When the bread is broken and shared, when Jesus shares himself with us, we can begin to see.  When we share our bread with others, we can begin to find wholeness in community, communion with Christ and each other. 

    I was reminded this week of the story of Jesus, early in his ministry, tempted in the wilderness for 40 days, famished.  He was tempted to turn stones into bread and feed himself.  Of course, he refuses.  He says, "One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the  mouth of God."  Here Jesus is, his body broken on the cross, his body broken and shared around the table, his body, the body of Christ broken and gathered again around the table, Jesus, both bread and word made flesh, God's promise come to us, staying with us.  Jesus, both bread and God and love, a kind of eye-opening, inviting love, honest, and forgiving.

    So our story is also unfolding, like that of the disciples, linked to the story of God's creation, leading the people to the promised land, guiding them, coming to walk among them, and revealing love to us in the breaking of the bread.  That's us that Jesus is walking with along the road.  That is us whose eyes are being opened.  That is us who are learning to invite and welcome.  That is us who are sharing bread and making strangers into friends.  That is us, seeing Jesus, and experiencing love.

April 23, 2017

Gospel:  John 20:19-31                  

Acts 2:14a, 22-32             

2^nd Reading: 1 Peter 1:3-9

                I have a nephew named Thomas.  I remember when my sister told me what his name would be.  My mom and I turned and looked at each other.  We were both thinking the same thing, “Doubting Thomas.”  If I remember correctly, we didn’t vocalize that thought at that moment, but discussed it, as any family should, behind my sister’s back.  Now I’ve come to see that Thomas gets a bad rap.  He does so much more than doubt, but even his doubt cannot separate him from the love of God.  In the end he believes and confesses.

                First let us establish that Thomas is left out.  Left Out Thomas is what I will call him.  He is the only one not there when Jesus makes his peaceful appearance.  The Disciples were locked in their room for fear of the religious authorities who might like to crucify one of them next.  But Thomas is not there.  Where is he?  Some say he was out getting groceries.  Some say he believed what the women told him, that Jesus is risen and was out looking for him.  In that case, he wanted to see Jesus’ hands and side because he wanted to make sure it was really him. 

                The fact that Thomas was not locked up in fear in the room with the other Disciples makes him Brave Thomas.  He said before they went to raise Lazarus, “Let us also go to Jerusalem that we might die with him.”  He’s out there.  He’s taking a risk out there.  He isn’t afraid, or if he is, he isn’t letting his fear stop him.

                The next name I have given to Thomas is Honest Thomas.  Doubting Thomas is a judgment meant to shame Thomas and all who doubt.  Yet we all doubt.  We are all Doubting Thomases.  However much faith we have, still we wonder, if we are honest.  We might as well be honest about it and ask questions and look for the risen Christ and seek to touch him and wrap our brains around how he could be resurrected and why he’d want to do that for us.  Faith and doubt are not opposites.  Faith and certainty are opposites.  Faith and doubt are two sides of a coin.  They go together.

                Thomas is also Curious Thomas.  He asks questions.  He wants to see and touch.  Sometimes the church has failed people with inquisitive minds.  We have asked people to just accept what we tell them.  However, that is asking people to become mindless sheep—my friend calls them “sheeple.”  A combination of sheep and people.  God can take our questions.  God likes our questions.  We ought to use the minds gave us to inquire and try to understand and to verify for ourselves, because we can’t always trust those in human authority.

                Thomas is also Believing Thomas.  He spends at least as much time in the Gospels believing as he does doubting.  This is a story of a person’s unfolding belief.

                And finally he becomes Proclaiming Thomas.  He proclaims, “My Lord and my God!”  He gets it and he shouts it.

                I don’t know why people focus so much on negative characteristics, but we often do.   Probably to protect ourselves.  However, it is not so with God.  God sees the whole picture.  God sees us at our worst and our best and is leading us toward wholeness.  That is part of what the word peace means.  In Hebrew Jesus would be saying, “Shalom.”  Shalom means wholeness.  Three times, Jesus greets the frightened Disciples with the greeting of peace and wholeness, and it is God’s intention for us too, God’s promise.  Shalom is something we build between us, but it is also a gift of God.

The way God sees us, we are not defined by our mistakes, our sins, or our doubt, our brokenness.  We are defined by our friendship with God, our adoption into God’s family, and the fact that God made us very good.  My grandma used to have a plate up on her wall with a little boy on it and it said, “God don’t make no junk!”  That’s right.  We have value in God’s eyes.  We have relationship with God.  Nothing can get in the way of that.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God. 

Of course the Gospel writer John was writing to his audience who were becoming anxious for Jesus’ return.  Some of them had seen Jesus and believed, and others had missed out on it.  He was saying that those who hadn’t been there were also blessed and showed an amazing faith.  Of course now we’re all in the same boat.  None of us were there to see Jesus walk the earth or to touch his hands and side.  However we do see him and touch him.  We see him whenever we see someone in need, someone wounded, someone hurting.  We see him when we see anyone who is marginalized, an immigrant, someone whose car is broken down by the side of the road, those who gather cans and bottles as their income.  And we do touch him.  We touch him when we hold the hand of a homebound person, when we embrace a convict, when we put first-aid-cream and a band-aid on a boo-boo.  And we touch him when we take him into our own bodies in Holy Communion.  We eat his wounded flesh for the healing of our world, for the strengthening of our belief.  We drink his blood poured out for us, touch his life and his power, so that we can pass that on to people who live in fear and isolation.

May we find in Doubting Thomas a role model.  May we embrace our doubts and voice them rather than pretend that we know.  May we be Left Out of the “faith” everyone else pretends to have in order to come to a faith that is our own.  May we be brave, willing to exit the room where others lock themselves in fear.  May we have courage to look for the risen Christ.  May we be honest and straightforward with God, knowing we have nothing to be ashamed of or to hide.  May we allow ourselves to have an honest relationship with God.  May we be curious and questioning and thing for ourselves, rather than led astray by believing everything our religious leaders tell us.  May we find in our doubts an element of belief, a kind of “yes,” an affirmation of ultimate truth that brings us abundant life that we, then, share.  May we find our lives proclaiming the resurrection, naming God, naming what has power and who gives life.  May we find resurrection all around us, among the Easter doubts, fears, and hopes.

Easter 2017

Gospel: Matthew 28:1-10             

1^st Reading: Acts 10:34-43            

2^nd Reading: Colossians 3:1-4

                When I was a teenager, I felt the call to be a pastor.  My parents drove me up to Pacific Lutheran University, in Tacoma to attend a little workshop on becoming a pastor.  On the way there, that night it snowed and snowed.  The big rigs were fishtailing on the freeway.  We got to Tacoma and it seemed all the hotels were full.  We passed countless “no vacancy” signs.  Finally, in the distance I saw a vacancy sign and we found a place to stay in a little hole in the wall place.  The room was probably 10 by 10.  My parents slept in a double bed and they set up a cot for me.  And the next morning the sun was shining so brightly off the snow.  We made our way to PLU where I learned that this Gospel reading for this very morning is the proof in the Bible that women can be pastors.  Here these women come to the tomb to do women’s work, preparing Jesus’ body for burial, and they find a new reality, new life.  They find that Jesus is risen.  The angel tells the two Marys to go quickly and tell the Disciples that Jesus has been raised from the dead.  Even Jesus himself tells the women to go and tell the good news.  The first women preachers, a couple of thousand years ago!

                They never in their wildest dreams expected it that morning.  They walked with more than heavy hearts.  The events of the past few days weighed heavy on them.  Their grief was fresh. 

Last week I walked through Doernbecher hospital to visit my niece.  It was like the hallway was miles long and the lights beating down.  I caught sight of a little kid in a tiny hospital gown and was completely overwhelmed by the thought of 10 floors of suffering little kids, thinking of all their frantic parents, wondering what was next for my niece, if we would be saying goodbye to her sometime soon, what life would be like without her, how heavy this would weigh on our family.  I guess I had that kind of anticipatory grief.  I just felt like I was swimming—sound was distorted and the lights were weird and everything just felt heavy.  That’s the way I picture the two Marys that morning, their eyes still red from crying, the spring gone from their step.  Their friend, their Savior, the supposed Messiah, arrested, tortured, and killed in the prime of his life, at the height of his powers.  All the good he had done had been undone.  All his vibrancy, gone from this earth.  And his disciples hiding in fear, wondering if one of them would be next for execution.

                We live in a world where death is a supreme power.  We know we each will face it for our loved ones and for ourselves.  We try not to dwell on it, but we also can’t pretend it isn’t there.  The power of death is strong even as we live our lives.  We hurt each other.  We get sick.  We divide ourselves based on gender, age, class, race, citizenship status, and any other way we can think of to make ourselves better than another person.  For the Colossians, they were giving better communion to people of higher class.  The rich were fed first, with better food, on better dishes.  The poor were kept in their place.  The church in Colossae was using this meal of unity to make some people better than others.  Most of the time, we aren’t so different from them. Our world is full of hunger and disease and pain and divisions and death.  That is apparent to us.  And it was apparent to the two women named Mary and they were afraid. 

                As they walk, there is an earthquake, just then, when they enter the garden where the tomb is.  Something earth-shattering is about to happen.  Have you ever been so shaken up by something unexpected, you lost your balance?  This is both an inner earthquake, in which the two women named Mary are shaken to the core, and an actual earthquake in which the earth itself is responding to the presence and grace of God.  Something has truly changed.  A stronger power is replacing the power of death, because Jesus is risen—he has been raised, he continues to rise.

                Into this frightening world, Jesus speaks the words, “Do not be afraid.”  When I was a little kid I had night terrors about Jaws, the deadly shark.   I’ve been pleased so far that Jaws dreams are not genetic.  Sterling has fears and bad dreams once or twice a month, but for the most part he doesn’t seem to have as much fear as I had at his age.  These days, he has started to be afraid to enter a room at night when the light isn’t on.  Telling him not to be afraid, isn’t going to make any difference. I go in there ahead of him, turn on the light.  Jesus doesn’t just speak the words, either.  He goes before us and shows us that we’re not alone—we have each other, we have Jesus leading the way, and he doesn’t deny that the power of death is still frightening, there is a greater power and that is love. 

Easter is about love.  It was love that compelled the two women named Mary to get up and go out to the tomb, even though they were sad and afraid.  Jesus showed love to absolutely everyone.  Sometimes it was in the form of bread and fish.  Sometimes it was in the form of a truth that someone needed to face.  Sometimes it was simply in the form of his presence—we call that “showing up.”  Sometimes it was in the form of healing from disease.  Jesus showed them love and he showed love to people of all times and places, in fact he loved all Creation, and it was too much for our little minds to comprehend and that is why we crucified him.  We were so used our death-worshipping world, our divisive favoritism, our idols, that we couldn’t stand it and we tried to kill love.

   

                If Jesus had been like us, he would have come back and struck each one of us down.  Instead, he continued to be who he is, Love in the flesh.  Instead, Jesus brought us forgiveness and new life. 

                In the waiting room at Doernbecher, there is also a feeling of love that sustains many family members.  There is the hard work that the physicians and surgeons and nurses and cooks and housekeeping and anestesiologists and x-ray technicians and chaplains and everyone contributes.  There is the hope of healing.  It is not only a place of suffering, but a place of love.

The stone that was rolled away that day was not just the stone on Jesus’ tomb, but it was the stones on all our tombs.  The resurrection was first for Jesus, but it is also for us, each day.  We continually lock ourselves into these tombs of division and anger.  We still live in ways that hurt people, that hurt ourselves.  But there is a greater power that Jesus showed us in the way he lived, in the fact that he was willing to die rather than live in a death-dealing way, and in the way he rose from the grave, forgave all who denied and betrayed him, and gave new life to us all.  Whenever we close the tomb on ourselves, Jesus opens them again and invites us out into the hopeful garden of life.

                When the doors of our tombs have been opened, I have no doubt we will all be afraid.  The question is whether we will let it cause us to be like dead men, if we will be immobilized by our fear, or whether, like Pastor Mary and the other Pastor Mary this morning, we will continue to live the good news despite our fear knowing that with God there is grace and ultimately no need to be afraid, because death doesn’t win, love wins. 

                This morning and throughout the Easter season we proclaim, ”Christ is Risen!”  Some have asked, wouldn’t it be proper English to say, “Christ was raised”?  Yet that would put it in the past tense, something that happened long ago that has no bearing on Christ’s state today.  To proclaim, “Christ is risen!” has an ongoing feeling to it, that Christ is continually in a state of being risen.  The resurrection happened that Easter Day for Jesus, but it continues to happen each day.  When our loved ones die, we trust God who keeps God’s promises to raise them to eternal life, but each day, Jesus is calling us forward from our tombs to follow him.  This is our chance to proclaim with Mary and Mary, “He is risen!” Not that we would only proclaim with our voices, but also with our actions. Jesus is bringing an earthquake, an earth shattering reality to what we thought we knew, calls us from our mistakes and brokenness, he calls us from our grief and pain, he calls us from our divisions, he calls us from warfare, he calls us from blindness, and he breaks open that tomb.  It is earth shattering, as that light comes in.   We have free will to ignore it and stay where it is safe.  But Pastor Mary is calling us to something more, the something more that our heart has been longing for.  We’ll have to be courageous.  We’ll have to move forward despite our fear.  We’ll have to take risks.  But at the end of it all is a Savior calling us to eternal life, abundant life right now, and a most amazing peace and unity and love that is the whole point of living.