Abide in Me

Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.”

Throughout the winter, as I turned left out of Saratoga St. and began to drive west on Finney Ave., I noticed a tree in the median strip that had a broken branch.  It was twisted and snapped, but not completely separated from the tree itself.  I don’t know what happened to it.  Perhaps a vehicle passed too close and snagged it.  Maybe a person broke it with his or her bare hands.  One thing I did know is that come spring that branch would not sprout leaves.  It needed to be clipped off and thrown away.

In last week’s gospel reading, we heard Jesus say, “I am the Good Shepherd.”  Today we hear him say, “I am the Vine and you are the branches.”  Both images, while very different, describe the relationship Jesus has with us and we with him.  The shepherd image says something about how the relationship functions.  Jesus watches over us, guides us, protects us, heals us, cares for us.  We follow his voice and trust him to lead us.  The vine image says something about how we experience the relationship.  We are closely connected, inseparable.  Angelus Silesius, a seventeenth-century Polish mystic, put it this way:

God is the fire in me and I in Him the shine;

Are we not with each other most inwardly entwined?

It is truly a mystery and a wonder that the God who is immortal, invisible, and incomprehensible somehow is present in our hearts and in our minds. Even more remarkable is that we experience God’s presence as intimate, warm, and comforting.  God invites us into that love shared by the three Persons of the Holy Trinity in a relationship that is similar to that of a branch and a vine.  

The word that Jesus chooses to describe this relationship is “abide.”  To abide is to remain.  “Remain in me as I remain in you.”  One commentator points out that the Greek word for “abide” implies persistence, a “tenacious perseverance in one’s place and character.”   He writes, “Abiding in Jesus means a relationship of endless intimacy with him, a persistent orientation toward him, a remaining resolutely engaged with his presence.” 

Jesus’ image of the branch suggests that not abiding in him is a distinct possibility.  We all know what it is like to become too passionate about an interest that leads us away from God.  We all know what it is like to be overtaken by the cares and occupations of this life.  We all know what it is like to lose our way.  Some of us, at one point in life or another, have had to undergo a radical pruning and have come through that ordeal better for it. 

The direct result of abiding in Jesus is fruitfulness.  He makes it very clear that you cannot bear fruit unless you abide in him.  I took a class in Symbolic Logic my freshman year in college.  We learned such wonderful principles as Modus ponens and Modus tollens.  In Symbolic Logic you might set up an argument to say you cannot have B without A.  If you have B, therefore you can assume the existence of A.  This is exactly the proposition Jesus puts forward.  You cannot be fruitful (B) unless you abide in me (A).  Therefore, if we are fruitful (B), we can infer that we are abiding in Jesus (A). 

I have been thinking a lot about St. Paul’s over the past few months as I have facilitated other Vestry retreats and talked with colleagues and lay leaders from other congregations.  These conversations convince me that St. Paul’s is a parish of great abundance, of fruit.  I think about the joy we experience in our common life.  I think about the generous and kind way we treat one another.  I think of gifts and talents people offer in leadership.  I think about our staff.  I think about beautiful building and grounds and the Endowment Fund that helps us to tackle major repairs.  I think about the way we rally to support different causes and undertakings.  Yes, we struggle to fund our yearly operating budget, but this is hardly a place of scarcity.  I see abundance and blessing at every turn and it tells me we are abiding in Jesus.  As a community we are allowing ourselves to be drawn into deeper and deeper relationship with God.

There are other godly fruits in our midst that we will need in the coming months: courage and faith.  I hope you had a chance to read the e-news on Friday.  If you did then you know we are going to introduce some changes to our music this summer.  I am aware how the phrase “change the music” seems to trigger every person’s worst fear about what might happen: rock bands, swaying upraised arms, sappy praise songs, and (God forbid) projection screens.

In my experience, English hymnody, with its beautiful four-part harmonies and soaring organ accompaniment, is one of the most inspiring things I have ever encountered.  When done well, there is no more powerful and moving way to worship.  Here is the problem though: most Episcopal Churches do not have the resources needed to pull it off.  Our choirs, which typically consist of 6-10 volunteers led by a part-time professional, do their best to support our congregations in what feels like a sequence of hits and misses.  For every Amazing Grace we nail there seems to be a hymnal full of selections we stumble and mumble through.

What can we do?

One place to start is with the style of music.  To the best of my knowledge, there is no radio station playing 400-year-old tunes sung by a group accompanied by an organ.  Today’s radio plays a variety of styles that most often feature a lead singer supported by a group of backing vocalists.  Those who sing along in the car or shower may not know the verses, but certainly join in the chorus. 

What would it look like to incorporate this style of music into our Sunday morning worship? 

We have already dabbled in this approach.  For the past few Advent seasons, Al and the choir have led the congregation through a series of beautiful musical wreath-lighting liturgies.  We in the congregation picked up quickly on our parts and feedback has been very positive.  We want to see if we can tap into this kind of experience on a consistent basis. 

The Worship Committee, the Vestry, and I propose an experiment this summer at St. Paul’s.  From Pentecost Sunday (May 24th) through August, we want to explore our traditional hymnody in a new way.  This way will feature our Music Director – Al Reese – leading hymns using a keyboard and leading congregational singing using a microphone.   Choir members will function as backing vocalists.  Even on Sundays when attendance is down, one lead singer will be able to carry the music for us.  From time to time Al will add in some supporting instruments to give us an even richer musical sound.

We are not trying to convert St. Paul’s to “Praise Music”, although some new hymns will be tried.  We are trying to shift the style and presentation of our music to something that resonates with a contemporary preference.  Our hope is that our singing will have more energy and touch us at a deeper emotional and spiritual level. 

We ask for your participation, input, and feedback.  At the end of the summer we will engage the congregation in a thorough evaluation of the project.  I for one have no preconceived expectations for what might come of this other than we were willing to try something new.  I have encountered far too many Episcopal Churches that are in the twilight of their years not because they did not abide in Jesus.  They are wonderful people and faithful parishioners.  The common thread that links together these small, aging congregations is that not much has changed in their churches for several decades. 

I invite you to join me for Breakfast next Sunday at 9:00 in the morning.  At 9:30 we will have a forum about this proposal and engage in a question and answer session.  I pray you will have the courage to lay aside understandable fears to see where this might take us.  I pray you will have faith to believe that wherever it takes us, even if it is right back to where we started, Jesus will abide in us as he promises.

About that tree on Finney Ave.  I drove past it on Friday and noticed that its green leaves are out, but the broken branch is gone.  It looks like someone snapped it off completely, either a city worker or someone in the neighborhood.  All that is left of the relationship it once had to the trunk is a short, twisted nub.  Later today I will take my pruning shears and cut that off.  In time, new growth will sprout from the place where the branch once met the tree.

Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.”

 

 

Thniking about Pastoral Care on Good Shepherd Sunday

Today, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, is known as “Good Shepherd Sunday.”  Our Collect of the Day began, “O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people...” and the Lectionary assigns readings from Scripture that hone in on this theme.  So what better way to start our celebration than with a couple of jokes! 

Q:   What do you get when you cross an angry sheep and a moody cow?

A:   A creature that is in a baaaad mooood.

Q:   What do you call a sheep with no legs?

A:   A cloud.

Q:   What happened to the sheep that went to church?

A:   It became a baaaaptist.

A few years ago, Charles Jaeckle and William Clebsch (two researchers) set out to write a book about the history of pastoral care.  They concluded that pastoral care, which at its heart is a shepherding ministry, has four basic functions: healing, sustaining, guiding, and reconciling.  The authors noted that while these four elements of pastoral care are always present throughout the history of the Church, at different times, when facing different needs, one form of care has been emphasized over the other three. 

For example, during the first two centuries of the Church’s existence, when it proclaimed the Gospel to a hostile culture and endured numerous forms of persecution, the sustaining focus of pastoral care was especially important.  Once Christianity became the sanctioned religion of the Roman Empire, reconciliation of lapsed souls seemed to be the greatest pastoral need.  During the medieval period the focus shifted to healing and it was around this time the priest’s appointment to a parish first began to be referred to as a “cure.” 

Throughout these periods the priest expressed pastoral care largely by administering sacramental rites.  The Eucharist sustained.  Holy Oil and prayers healed.  Confession and penance brought reconciliation.  As the medical profession developed and advanced it became the place people went for healing.  The priest’s pastoral work shifted from administering the sacraments to the preaching of the Word.  It moved toward guidance grounded in the moral and ethical authority of the Bible.  This was a huge change, but one thing remained constant; both practices of care were done in a communal setting.  The priest carried out his shepherding work largely in the context of public worship. 

For some time now western culture has emphasized the importance of the individual’s religious experience over and against what happens in a community.  This new focus on personal experience (where one’s thoughts and feelings about God and religion are more important than belonging to a community of faith) has had a profound affect on the nature of pastoral care.  The pastoral functions of sustaining, guiding, reconciling, and healing have shifted from being acts and signs done by the priest for and with the community to thoughts, words, and feelings conveyed by the priest to individuals.

In our time the pastoral work of the priest is not so much to connect us to the Good Shepherd through the sacraments and holy mysteries as it is to embody caring.  When the faithful look at their priest they want to know if he or she is a shepherd or a hireling.  They know that God cares about them, but what about the priest?  In Jesus Christ we have a Good Shepherd who heals us, sustains us, guides us, and forgives us.  But in our time the focus has shifted from the care that God extends to the whole Church to how the priest makes us feel.

Several years ago when I was serving at another parish, a woman happened to pull in the church’s parking lot just as I was walking to my car to head home.  She was interested in the church.  I talked with her, showed her around, and told her a little bit about the church’s life.  She told me that her health had not been good, that her parish priest had not shown interest in her, and that she was looking for a new parish.  The pastoral care I was able to extend to her that afternoon convinced her to attend to the church I was serving.

For several weeks the parish fit her fine.  Then we received a call from a relative.  The woman had been in the hospital for a few days.  Could I go by to visit?  I managed to squeeze a short visit into what at the time was a very hectic schedule.  She told me she would be going home in a few days.  We prayed.  I left and she did in fact go home.  Within a week another call came to the office.  The woman was back in the hospital.  I visited.  We talked.  She thought she would be going home in a few days.  I prayed and left.  It was Holy Week and after Easter I took a vacation.  By the time I got back I lost track of the woman. 

A few weeks later I received a letter from her.  She reminded me that she had spent a total of 22 days in the hospital and received just two short visits from me.  Because her illness was life threatening, and because she received so little care from me, she wrote to tell me she would no longer be attending our church.

Now, over the years I have received stacks of cards and letters from people who have been gracious enough to thank me for a visit and who wanted to express how much my care and concern meant to them.  I have even had my pastoral kindness mentioned in a book written by a parishioner whose husband suffered a traumatic brain injury.  But I also have a handful of letters like the one from this lady where a person did not receive the kind of care or the level of care he or she needed.

My observation about pastoral care at St. Paul’s is that it is a ministry you and I share together.  Our healing ministers who stand at the prayer station during communion are signs that God’s care comes to us not just through the priest, but also through one another.  Our Lay Eucharistic Ministers, serving both here at the Altar Rail, but also in taking communion to people at home or in the hospital also drive home this point.  God’s shepherd-like care of healing and sustaining in administered by all of us.

St. Paul’s is blessed to be able to offer several bible studies and gatherings that feature small group discussion.  My sense is that God’s shepherding guidance is present in these conversations.  Yes, people make appointments to talk with my in my office in order to think though a difficult situation, but the majority of these conversations happen in small groups or one-on-one encounters one parishioner seeking the input of others.

In pre-colonial times parish priests in Virginia were charged with settling arguments in the community.  One priest went to visit to two neighbors who were embattled in a nasty property dispute.  After much work, the priest went home and recorded in his journal that he was not able to affect much change.  There have been occasions here where one parishioner says or does something that upsets or offends another.  I have been impressed with the careful, loving way both parties have sought forgiveness and worked toward reconciliation.  It is another sign of God’s shepherding care in our midst. 

When I think back to that woman who was dissatisfied with the level of care she received from me I recognize that I can only do what I can do.  For some that is more than enough, while for others it will never be good enough.  In retrospect what I recognize now is how that parish, like this one, was a community that manifested God’s pastoral care to one another.  Perhaps she was too new to the church to experience it in its fullness.  Perhaps she was interested only in how the priest made her feel. 

The Good News on this Good Shepherd Sunday is that God loves us and cares for us.  Historically this care has been expressed as healing, sustaining, guiding, and reconciling.  It has come to God’s people both through the administration of the sacraments and the proclamation of the Word in settings both public and private.  God’s care has been incarnated through the diligent, faithful work of priests and lay people.  Today we celebrate the way we have brought God’s care to one another in our parish family.  My challenge is not somehow to rise above my limitations, but to encourage, equip, and mobilize each one of you so that you can do what God calls you to do… what in fact you want to do… to care for one another as Christ Jesus cares for you.

Easter Repentance

Three ministers get together for lunch.  “What do want to talk about today?” one asks.  “I know,” says another, “Why don’t we each confess a secret sin!”  So the first minister says, “My secret sin is my church members think I pray for them all the time, but I don’t.”  The second minister says, “My secret sin is that I haven’t written a sermon in years.  I download them off the internet.”  The third minister, the one who suggested the conversation topic in the first place, says, “My secret sin is I love to gossip and I can’t wait until this lunch is over!”

Don’t get me wrong.  I enjoy Lent, but it is always wonderful to be on this side of Easter.  There is so much going on in Lent.  One week I was not home for dinner a single night.  I can’t describe for you the pleasure it has been this past week to make a meal for myself every evening.

Well, in addition to the schedule letting up, Easter season also brings the welcome relief of new and more joyful themes.  One can only take so much penitence.  I enjoyed the midweek Lenten community services and hearing other ministers preach, but there was so much focus on sin.  One pastor said the word sin so much that halfway through his fifteen-minute sermon I decided to start counting.  In the final seven minutes he said sin eighteen times.  That is two and half times a minute.  Good riddance to that and Welcome Happy Morning, right?

So what is up with these readings today? 

· “If we say that we have fellowship with God while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not know what is true.”

· “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.”

· “If we say that we have not sinned, we make Jesus a liar, and his word is not in us.”

· Jesus said to the disciples, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

[heavy sigh]  Well, I guess it is back to Lent – part 2.

A few years ago, Gary Anderson, an Old Testament scholar, wrote a book on the history of sin, examining how metaphors about it change in the bible.  He notes that early on sin is thought of as being a weight or a burden.

In the Book of Genesis, after Cain kills his brother, he says, “the weight of my sin is too great for me to bear” (4:13)[1].  When Cain first protests that he is not is brother’s keeper, he has yet to feel the weight of his crime.  But once God imposes the severe penalty he is overcome by a tremendous burden and begins to grapple with the terrible nature of his offense.

The Day of Atonement is first described in the 16^th chapter of Leviticus.  Here, God instructs the people of Israel to load their sins on the back of a pack animal – a scapegoat – and to drive it into the wilderness.  If you experience your sins as a weight, what better way is there to deal with it than finding an animal to carry them away!

According to Anderson, almost 90% of the Old Testament describes sin as being a weight or burden up until the end of the Exile in the 5^th century BC when the metaphor shifts to the notion of debt.  It becomes the dominant motif by Jesus’ day and this sheds light on why he speaks about debtors and creditors.  Think of the parable where a servant begs forgiveness for an exorbitant debt and receives remission only to turn around and refuse to forgiven the much smaller debt another owes to him. 

Along with this idea of sin as debt, there emerges the thought that good deeds create a credit.   If sin is a debt, that means you owe money.  And if virtuous activity is going to be a credit, the most obvious way to accumulate it is by giving away money through almsgiving.  Jesus himself implores his followers to build up treasures in heaven.  The Church continued to develop this notion and it became a seminal issue during the Reformation – Roman Catholics holding that indulgences relieve debts as opposed to Protestants who believe that the debt for sin is so great it cannot be repaid except by Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross.

The bible uses other metaphors to describe sin. 

· It is described as being a stain.  The prophet Isaiah says to the people of Israel, “Your sins are like scarlet”.  Redemption, using this metaphor, is a cleansing or a washing.

· Sin is described as the posture of crouching, like a lion waiting to pounce and devour.

· It is compared to leprosy because it makes a person unclean before God.

· Paul writes about being a slave to sin.  It becomes one’s master in a way similar to how addiction controls of a person.

· Sin is thought of as a blemish, a mark or imperfection of the image of God in which we are created.

· It is described as missing the mark like when you shoot an arrow and fail to hit the target.  It describes the common experience of having good intentions, but failing to meet them.

· Sin is compared to crookedness.  Words like perversion and depravity describe how sin twists and distorts a person’s life. 

· Sin is thought of as rebellion, a violent resistance to God’s authority.

· Lawlessness is another metaphor sin.  Paul wrote that God’s laws are written on the human heart, but that we willfully disregard them.

· Sin is described as trespassing, as in offending another, overstepping, neglecting, or violating a boundary.

· And finally, sin is compared to brokenness.  You cannot sit on a broken chair because it can no longer perform its proper function.  Sinners are broken people, unable to live in communion with God.

Well, so far, by my count, I have said the word sin, sins, and sinner thirty-five times.  That is an impressive number for an Episcopal priest.  But, still, people… it is the Easter season.  Why in the world of the Resurrection are we talking about sin?

Well, I think the answer to this question involves the Resurrection.  You see, in Lent, we attack our sinfulness as an obligation or a duty.  I will give up something that is dragging me down because I am supposed to do so.  But the Resurrection discussion of sin is framed in an entirely different context.  Rather than being about should and must, Easter repentance is about desire; about the desire for a new life. 

You see, once we look in the Resurrected eyes of our Lord we have a new vision for life, for our life.  If Lent is like looking at your sinful life and taking one step back from it and then another and another, Easter is like turning from sin (what John describes as darkness) and looking at Jesus (what he refers to as light).  The Easter presence of our Lord has an amazing power to draw us toward a new and glorious life.  Whereas a Lenten discipline calls upon us to forsake our sins, Easter life invites us to move toward the true life we see lived by Jesus. 

Allow me, humbly, to use myself as a shining example. 

In Lent, I gave up sweets, among other things.  Like many Lenten disciplines it was an attempted to reign in an aspect of my life that was out of control.  I still see it.  I realize it is there.  I work hard to keep a distance from it.  But now, in Easter, I have a vision of new life; of what life can be like for me.  I have put on a lot of weight over the past few years and it takes a toll on me.  My bones ache and I lack energy.  I have decided to make some serious adjustments to my diet – not out of a Lenten sense of should, but out of an Easter sense of can. 

Why are we talking about sin in Easter?  I am convinced the reason is because the motivation has changed.  We have moved from should to can, from demand to invitation, from law to grace, from darkness to light, from duty to desire.   We are invited to take into ourselves not the power of the law, which condemns, but the Spirit of grace and power that raised Jesus from the dead. 

Today, this morning, in the name of the Risen Christ, I invite you to turn from the dark places in your life and walk toward the Light into new life.

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[1] Some translations use the word punishment rather than weight, but Anderson, who is fluent in Hebrew, says this is not correct and that the mistranslation changes the focus from the act to the punishment. 

 

Not with an Answer, but with a Question…

We called an emergency meeting of the Vestry earlier this week fearful that so many people might attend today’s service that not everyone could find a place to sit.  We landed on a bold idea.  We are going to offer four distinctive Easter worship services from today forward.  The first service will be for those who are new to the faith.  The second will be for regular members who prefer a more traditional service.  Next, there will be a service specifically geared toward those who have lost their faith.  And finally, we will have a service for those who a bad experience with a church in the past.  In order to market each service, the Vestry has decided to name them Finders, Keepers, Losers, and Weepers.

Imagine you are sitting in a theatre looking at the screen as the movie comes to an end.  Queue the music and the final credits.  First to appear is the name of the star, then other lead actors and actresses.  The director, cinematographer, and producer follow.  After that comes a list of names that demonstrates it take a lot of people to make a movie: best boy, key grip, drivers, hair stylists, second set coordinator, etc.  I like to focus on what are known as the bit parts.   In the credits these roles appear as the ‘third police officer’, ‘child with a popsicle’, and ‘old woman with a baby carriage.’ 

Mark’s gospel has a bit role that is both curious and significant.  It involves an anonymous young man who makes only two brief appearances in the narrative. 

In Mark 14, after Jesus is arrested and all the disciples flee, we read this:

A certain young man was following Jesus, wearing nothing but a linen cloth.  The arresting party caught hold of him, but he left the linen cloth and ran off naked.                                    (14:51-52)

Have you ever noticed this character before?  Who is he?  What is he doing following Jesus?  And what is the significance of wearing only a linen cloth?

The only real clue we have comes from the Greek word used to describe the wrap.  The word is sindona, which is used only to describe a type of linen used to bury the dead.  Symbolically, this young man is clothed with the shroud of death.  That he casts it off, leaves it with authorities, and runs off naked suggests that Jesus is going to take upon himself the death intended for the young man.  This anonymous young “follower” of Jesus appears to understand something the disciples never seem to get.  On several occasions Jesus tells them that he must die, but each time either they reprimand him, change the subject, or remain silent.  This young man – who some say may be Mark himself – becomes the first person saved by Jesus.  But who he actually is, why he follows Jesus, and to where he flees are subjects not addressed by Mark’ gospel. 

We might be inclined to forget about him altogether if it were not for the fact that he makes another appearance in the narrative four days later. 

When the woman go to the tomb to finish the burial work so hastily begun on the Friday before the Passover, they encounter the same young man sitting in the open tomb where Jesus had been buried.  He is now dressed in a “white” robe (a word used in only one other place – in the story of the Transfiguration where Jesus’ clothes become radiant white).   The person who once wore the shroud of death is now clothed with a royal garment that symbolizes the new life of the Resurrection. 

This bit player in the grand narrative of Mark’s gospel is given the role to make the greatest announcement in human history:

“Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has been raised.  He is not here.  Look, there is the place they laid him.”

The young man directs the women to go and tell the disciples that Jesus will meet them in Galilee.  They flee the tomb in terror and amazement (literally in trauma and ecstasy), but say nothing to anyone about what they have seen because they are afraid.

In Mark’s gospel, in its most ancient form, this young man is the only person who testifies to the Resurrection.  Most scholars believe that the original gospel did not end here, but describes what happens when the disciples go to Galilee.  But, like a book where the last page has been torn out, Mark’s story ends at this odd place.  Most bibles include two possible alternative endings, but note that both were added some time later by well-meaning editors who wanted to give the story a proper ending.  Still, each is so different stylistically from the rest of Mark that they could not possibly be authentic.

So we are left with what many consider to be the most unsatisfying conclusion of the four gospels because it does not describe an encounter with the Risen Christ.  But perhaps, just perhaps, it is the best gospel for our modern age.  You see, many today easily dismiss accounts of a person rising from the dead.  Zombie Jesus, they wag.  But Mark’s lean story forces us to ask what happened.  How can we understand the end of the Jesus movement on the cross in a way that makes sense of how the Christian faith has come down through history to us?  How did one person’s death give rise to the world’s greatest religion?

Did the women go to the wrong tomb?  Well, if they did, why didn’t someone go to the actual tomb and produce Jesus’ lifeless body?  Did someone steal the corpse – maybe this anonymous young man – and move it to a different location?  If that happened, why did no one ever find the body?  And more critical, how did a missing body manage to invigorate Jesus’ dispirited disciples?  Each gospel account reports that the empty tomb leaves Jesus’ followers feeling bewildered and afraid.  Perhaps, some say, after some time passed, those dispirited disciples decided to commit their lives to perpetuating Jesus’ message and teaching.  Well, frankly, that doesn’t seem likely.  They themselves might have embraced the deeper meaning of what Jesus taught and did, but it is difficult to comprehend how this became a worldwide movement and has fueled the human spirit and imagination for two centuries.

If those explanations do not seem credible, what is left?  What could possibly explain how Christianity grew from an anonymous young man’s testimony that left a small group of women both ecstatic and traumatized (as if they had just departed from the latest high-tech roller coaster)?  How did it grow if these women depart this tomb and, at least at the outset, say nothing to anyone?  Let me finish this sermon consist with Mark’s gospel – not with an answer, but with a question… How do you make sense of why we are here today?

Taking What is Broken / Offering What is Blessed

Not too many years ago a bishop told the story of taking a break in the middle of the day to go to a department store to buy his wife a Christmas present.  A nicely dressed young woman waited on him at the perfume counter.  Because he was working, the bishop was wearing his purple shirt with collar and a blue blazer.  Around his neck was a chain from which hung a large, gold pectoral cross.  The young woman commented on how pretty it looked.  She then asked him if it had any special meaning. 

Lest we be too judgmental of the sales clerk, we might want to remind ourselves that there are people from different eras who would frown upon the cavalier way we use the cross today.  For us, it functions theologically as a symbol of redemption.  It functions devotionally as a sign of God’s great love for us.  It functions spiritually to remind us to pick up our cross daily and follow Jesus.  But for the Jewish people of Jesus’ time, it functioned one and only one way.  It was a political symbol of Roman power and domination.  It was an instrument Rome used to intimidate and humiliate any person or group or movement that threatened the ‘peace’ they brought to the regions they occupied.  This horrific method of execution made a very, very public statement to occupied people, “You really don’t want to ruffle our feathers.” 

Thousands upon thousands of people were crucified by Rome every year.  Typically it would take several agonizing days for a person to die.  It was not unusual for corpses to remain on a cross for days and weeks.  For occupied people living under Roman rule, the way we wear and display crosses today would be for them the equivalent in our day of wearing a symbol of an electric chair.  It was as repulsive to them as Jihadist videos of beheadings are to us.

That the Cross has been transformed in our eyes is a testimony to God’s ability to redeem the absolute worst in life.  We risk losing an appreciation for the magnitude of this great act if we lose sight of how terribly awful the cross really was.

John’s account of the trial and crucifixion leaves no doubt that Jesus is put to death for claiming to be the King of Jews.  More than in the other gospels, in John’s telling it is Jewish leaders who force the issue with Rome’s authority.  Pilate, for his part, is portrayed as a reluctant participant who eventually hands over Jesus to an ugly and murderous mob.    While other gospels place more weight and responsibility on Pilate, all four agree that Jesus is crucified for claiming to be a king. 

There is a second thing to which all four gospels testify.  The kingship of Jesus begins as he reigns on the cross. 

His kingdom begins with an exchange.  On the cross God says to humankind, “I take upon myself all the hurt and all the pain and all the brokenness and all the evil and all the sin of the world.  I forsake none of it.  I turn my back on no one for any reason.  I take it all into myself as the ultimate demonstration of my deep desire to be in a covenant relationship with all that I have created.”  And then God says, “I take into myself all that is bad so that I can pour into you all that is good.  I fill you with my love so that you may love as I love you.  I extend to you forgiveness and grace so that you may offer forgiveness and grace to one another.  I give of myself to you so that you may give of yourselves to one another.”

Years ago I knew a brilliant neurosurgeon who was an incredibly down to earth person.  He talked with me about my work and my interests and the conversation always flowed so naturally.  One day he had to take a phone call from a colleague and immediately launched into conversation of medical terminology that might as well have been a foreign language.  The issues they discussed were completely beyond my comprehension.  It was then that I realized how much my friend took upon himself to be in relationship with me.  I could never ever have picked up on all his medical training so that I could relate to him.

Good Friday proclaims that God does what is necessary to be in relationship with us, what we ourselves can never do.  God in the person of Christ bears all that is broken so that we might live into all that is blessed.  This is the kingdom of God. 

There has been a good deal of conversation this week about Indiana’s religious freedom law.  I can’t speak to other religions, but I believe we followers of Christ are never called to discriminate against a person or group based on our religious belief.  We believe that on the Cross God takes into God’s self all of the evil and the sin in the world and pours into us all that is good.  Our call is not to judge, not to accuse, not exclude, but to welcome, to affirm, and to embrace. 

Look at Jesus’ life.  Look at those with whom he associates.  They are tax-collectors and prostitutes and lepers and people possession by demons and Roman military officials.  He sits at table with these folks and invites them to be his disciples.  He extends God’s love in his day to the very people who would have been the targets of a ‘religious freedom’ bill had there been one.

We are about to engage the Solemn Collects, which are my favorite part of the Good Friday liturgy.  They remind us that as Jesus’ work in this world comes to a close, our work in Jesus’ Name begins.   Like the Cross, the Collects remind us that Christ bears all that is broken so that we might live into all that is blessed. 

 

Making Sense of the Senceless

This week I was reading a scholarly journal that examined Jesus’ curious command to enter the village and find a colt.  Just as Jesus said, the beast’s owner asked the disciples what they were doing.  “The Lord needs it.”  Their response seems to satisfy him.  The journal presented two possible explanations.  Either Jesus was able to see into the future (what is known as precognition) or he had made previous arrangements with the colt’s owner. 

I think there is a third possibility. 

Jesus is going to Jerusalem to observe the Passover – the festival that celebrates the Hebrew’s exodus from bondage in Egypt.  The city’s population of 40,000 people swelled to nearly half a million for the event.  The festival is conducted against the backdrop of Roman occupation.  Pilate made quite a spectacle of marching columns of extra troops into the city to fortify the garrison at the Temple.  By its very nature, the Passover fuels hatred for the occupation and heightens the hope that a messiah will rise up to lead a revolt.

Messianic fever is especially high at this particular celebration.  People are aware of Jesus and what he has been doing.  Stories of his teaching and his miracles have spread throughout the land.  Whenever someone wanted to proclaim Jesus as the messiah, he ordered that person to be quiet.  For whatever reason, he was not willing to pick up that mantle.  But before entering Jerusalem, something changes for Jesus and the donkey is a clear signal of this. 

Throughout the Scriptures there are many references to the Messiah.  They are familiar not only to Jesus, but to everyone.  Especially well known is Zechariah’s centuries old statement that the king of Israel will ride into Jerusalem on a lowly donkey (9:9).  When the disciples tell the owner that the Lord has need of the donkey, he understands this to mean that Jesus is taking a dramatic, symbolic step to change the fortunes of the Jewish people.

When the crowds see what Jesus is doing they too understand the symbolism.  They begin to shout out messianic verses from the psalms.  They fuel what is happening by waving palm branches as he passes.

Jesus could not have sent a clearer signal that he intends to challenge the powers that be – the Roman rulers who occupy the country and the Jewish leaders who capitulate with them and benefit financially from this arrangement.  That Jesus embraces this role is indisputable.  What he thinks will come of it is not at all apparent. 

On Monday Jesus enters the Temple, overturns tables, and pronounces God’s judgment on the whole corrupt system.  On Tuesday he returns to the Temple and challenges the teaching and authority of its leaders.  Did Jesus think others would rise up and follow him?  He never signals for violence.

On Wednesday a woman anoints Jesus with an absurdly expensive perfume.  His followers are critical for allowing such an extravagant waste.  By then Jesus realizes he will not survive his actions.  He says she is preparing him for his burial.

On Thursday evening Jesus gathers his followers for what he believes will be their final meal together.  After supper they go to a remote location where Jesus becomes unhinged.  He is breaking down in the face of what is obvious to him.  He prays for God to intervene but comes to understand that no such act is going to happen.  Jesus is arrested, put on trial, and crucified before nightfall on Friday.

It is a story that seems to make no sense.  For all intents and purposes Jesus either wanted to die or made a serious miscalculation regarding the consequences of his actions.  Many in the Christian tradition gloss over this reality by saying it was all part of God’s bigger plan and that Jesus, knowing this, lived into it.  More and more I am skeptical of such thinking. 

What I do believe is that God found a way to redeem this awful event, just as God works to bring about redemption and new life in our broken and hurting world.  Without the Resurrection, Jesus’ death, if remembered at all, would have been little more than a tragic blunder by a naïve Middle-eastern teacher from a peasant class.  For the Romans, it would have been just one of many, many torturous executions meant to intimidate an oppressed people into compliance and passivity.  For Jewish leaders it would have been a necessary trade-off; better that one person die alone than 10,000 devotees rise up and die with him.

Jesus, for his part, feels forsaken as he hangs on the Cross and at the end says it is finished as he commends his spirit to God.  For the disciples, this is the end of the road.  They hide in fear behind locked doors and wonder if they can melt into the throngs of pilgrims who are about to make their way home after the Passover.  They wonder if they will be able to return to a normal life in Galilee or if the authorities will come looking for them to punish them for their association with Jesus.

Many, if not most, in the Christian tradition associate the Cross with atonement theology – the belief that Jesus had to die on the Cross to take upon himself the punishment for human sin; the notion that we are washed clean by the blood of Jesus.  Obviously, this is an enormously popular perspective reinforced by our liturgy and hymnody.  And while I accept it, it also puzzles me that we as society not currently steeped in animal sacrifice for the atonement of sin turn to this ancient metaphor as our singular and strongest interpretation of Jesus’ death. 

Earlier this week I read something by Anthony Bloom, from his book Beginning to Pray.  It helps me to make sense of the Passion reading in our modern context:

In a world of competition, in a world of predatory animals, in a world of cruelty and heartlessness, the only hope one can have is an act of mercy, and act of compassion, a completely unexpected act which is rooted neither in duty nor in natural relationships, which will suspend the action of the cruel, violent, heartless world in which we live.

What I like about Bloom’s perspective is that it challenges us to move past a child-like understanding of religion focusing on how I am a bad boy whose father is displeased with me to a more adult question of what is required of me and what difference will my actions make.

Jesus’ self-offering inaugurates the Kingdom of God.  From this moment forward there is no turning back.  God’s reign in this world is established, but it is not complete.  You and I build on God’s reign every time we conduct an act of mercy, an act of compassion, a completely unexpected act which is rooted in something beyond our own self-interest.

We would not be here this morning if Jesus had not offered himself in this way and we would not be here this morning if generation after generation of his followers had not offered themselves selflessly as he did. 

We, in our time, are called upon to do our part to continue the reign of God’s kingdom in this world.  Give yourself selflessly to life.  Give and ask nothing in return and you will find two things: first, your life will matter, and second, you will be blessed beyond all measure.