Jesus' Prayer for Us

After Jesus shares one final meal with his followers in the Upper Room on Maundy Thursday, he tells them he will be leaving them soon.    Then he looks up to heaven and prays for his followers.  Known as “The High Priestly Prayer”, the Lectionary divides it into three readings, one for each year of the cycle.  Today’s gospel reading is the middle section of that prayer.

You are forgiven if, in listening, you found it difficult to absorb.  I have been sitting with it all week and still find it dense and repetitive.  There are 338 words in these four verses.  ‘World’ is used 13 times, the verb ‘to give’ appears in one form or another nine times, ‘protect’ or ‘guard’ four, ‘truth’ four, and ‘name’ and ‘word’ three.  No wonder something gets lost in translation.

The idea of being given intrigues me.  Jesus states that the Father has given his followers to him and in his prayer he gives them back to the Father.  We don’t think often about giving a person to someone.  It happens at a wedding: “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”  For centuries daughters were thought to be the possession of the father and his answer of “I do” sealed a transfer of ownership to the husband.  Whatever the giving of a bride means today it certainly is not that.  When I was a kid we played a lot of pick-up games at a small park at the end of our street.  If one team dominated the other it was common for someone to say, “This isn’t fair.  You’ve got to give us Joey to it make it even.”  I’m not sure either of these examples gives us much insight into what it means that followers of Jesus are given to him and then given back to the Father.

Here is one that might.  When parents send a child to school, especially if it is a boarding school, there is a sense that they are giving their child to that school.  They are entrusting him or her to the faculty and staff with the expectation they will shape and form the child.  And, at least at the college I attended, my parents expected the school would keep me safe.  The Father gives Jesus’ followers to him in much the same way.  Jesus forms them through his words and examples.  And he protects them, both from the Evil One and from the world.

At every baptism we are reminded that in order to follow Christ we must renounce three things:

· Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God.

· The evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God.

· All sinful desires that draw us from the love of God.

Generally speaking, we Episcopalians do not talk much about Satan and spiritual forces.  I can recall only one time in my 28 years of ordained ministry I heard a parishioner say (in all sincerity) “the devil made me do it.”  Do you remember Jesus’ parable about the seeds that fall on different kinds of soil?  Do you recall what happens to the seeds that fall on hard, packed ground?  The birds eat them.  And when Jesus explains the parable, what does he say the birds represent?  The Evil One who snatches people after they hear his word.  Some in the Christian tradition believe that Satan is always on the prowl.  Some feel personally attacked by the devil.  My experience is more in line with Jesus’ prayer – whatever is out there and whatever it is capable of doing, I trust that I am protected, that I am guarded.

The world is a different story.  While there is much in God’s creation that is good and glorious, there is also much that can corrupt and destroy.  One of the things that first drew me to the Episcopal Church is the way we engage the world.  We are much more open to it than the tradition in which I was raised.  That tradition emphasized the fall and totally depravity.  Everything about society and the culture was riddled with sin.  The congregation was “walled off” from the world and the building was something like a bunker meant to keep out every bad influence.  Think about a church that has its own day school, athletic fields, and recreation center.  It is trying to protect its members from the world and its influences by giving them fewer and fewer reasons to be in it.

We in the Episcopal Church believe that the world is fallen, but not totally evil.  Our members live in the parish but also in the community.  We see the church as a place to receive spiritual guidance that we use as we reenter daily life and work.  We believe that our world is good and hopefully getting better.  Rather than pulling people out of the world into the protective confines of a church, we believe our mission is to go out into the world in order to be ambassadors of God’s kingdom.  By looking for the good in the world, from time to time we get soiled by the bad.  But I would rather run the risk of this than take the stance of completely removing myself from the world in order to sit in judgment of it.

Without a doubt, renouncing all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God is the most challenging of the three renunciations.  Jesus pointed to this when he taught that it is not what goes into a person that makes him unclean, but what comes out.  The words and the actions that come out of a person emanate from the heart, the home of our desires.

And while Jesus’ Priestly Prayer does not contain the word ‘heart’, there are two times he refers to it.  He says he gave to his followers the words the Father gave to him in order that they might be sanctified.  To be sanctified is to be made pure and set apart for a holy purpose.  Do you ever think of yourself in this way?  Some areas of my life and personality feel holy and pure, but other areas… not so much.  I see myself as a work in progress to be sure.  Perhaps you feel the same way about yourself. 

The other heart reference is to joy.  “I speak these things…,” Jesus says, “so that my followers may have my joy made complete in themselves.”  In his book Wishful Thinking, Frederick Buenchner writes:

“Happiness turns up more or less where you’d expect it to – a good marriage, a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation.  Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the one who bequeaths it.”

I like that.  Happiness comes and goes based on the moment and the circumstances, but a person either has joy or does not.  Tough times and difficult experiences will not take the joy out of a joyful person.  And moments of blessing and goodness may produce in a joyless person the brief emotion of happiness, but it will never lead to an enduring joy.  A sure and certain sign that a person has received what Jesus has given is the presence of joy in his or her heart.

The good news in today’s Gospel is that, while living in this world and following our Lord can be very challenging, Jesus is praying for us.  Jesus has entrusted us into God’s care and keep.  We are loved deeply, purely, truly, just as we are.  Knowing this produces a joy which endures and abides.

 

Seeping into the Cracks and Crevices of Society

The four verses we heard in our first reading draw to a conclusion one of the most significant events in the history of the Christian Church.  The 10^th chapter of the Book of Acts begins by introducing us to Cornelius, an officer in the Roman army.  We are told he is a devout man who, along with his household, fears God.  He gives alms generously and prays to God constantly.  One day an angel appears to him and commands him to send for Peter, who is staying in a nearby town.

Meanwhile, the next day Peter is praying on the rooftop of a house and he is hungry.  He has a vision of the heavens opening and a large sheet being lowered toward him.  On it are all kinds of creatures considered by Jews to be ‘unclean’, which means the Purity Laws forbad Jews to eat them.  A voice tells Peter to kill and eat, but he refuses.  The voice instructs Peter saying, “What God has made clean you must not call profane.”  This is repeated three times before the vision ends.  Peter has no idea what to make of it. 

At this exact moment Cornelius’ messengers arrive.  The Spirit instructs Peter to go with them without ‘hesitation’ (the Greek word used here means without ‘making distinctions’).  It is a startling word because, like the animals in the vision, Gentiles were also considered to be unclean.  Going to Cornelius’ house is not lawful for an observant Jew, but Peter heeds the instructions he has been given.

Peter and Cornelius meet and share their mysterious visions with one another.  Peter then preaches one of the most powerful sermons ever preached.  He begins by saying this:

“I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.”

From here, in concise fashion, he tells the story of Jesus.

“I truly understand that God shows no partiality.”  This was a revolutionary statement at the time.  It is a revolutionary statement even today.  In his book on ethnic relationships in the Book of Acts, Eric Barreto writes, “As a constructed social reality, ethnicity is a projection of our own anxieties and hopes, an inclusive impulse to identify who we are but also an exclusive effort to distinguish between ‘us’ and ‘them.’”  In other words, distinctions based on race, economic and social status, age, and nationality help us to understand who we are and who we are not.  We see them.  We make them.  And to some degree, we need them.  But God does not see them, does not make them, and does not need them. 

In his sermon Peter identifies new distinctions God invites us to make because of our faith in Jesus Christ: “In every nation anyone who fears God and does what is right is acceptable to God.”  Fears God.  This does not mean cowering in terror.  It means respect and appreciation.  It means honoring God as God should be honored.  Doing what is right.  God welcomes every decent human being.  From this flows a new distinction for God’s people.  Like the hymn says,

Who serves my Father as a son
is surely kin to me.

So now we pick up the story with today’s reading.  While Peter is preaching the Holy Spirit falls upon everyone in the room, including Cornelius and his household.  Now the Day of Pentecost, which we will celebrate in two weeks, took place in Acts well before this episode.  It marks the day the Holy Spirit fell on the followers of Jesus, all of whom were Jews.  This is the first time the Spirit falls on Gentiles.

Notice that the text says Peter’s Jewish companions were “astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles.”  These two words hint at the depth of the divide between these two groups.  But based on what he has seen, Peter proclaims the Gentiles should be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ and given full inclusion in the Christian community.  He stays with Cornelius for several days and the two become close friends. 

The story begins with Peter being perplexed and it ends with the Christian Church in an entirely new, different, and unexpected place; a place created in and through the working of God’s Spirit.  Peter does two things to make this happen.  First, he listens to God’s voice.  And second, he leaves the sheltered confines of how he has practiced his faith in order to preach and live the Gospel in an entirely new environment and context. 

In their book The Shaping of Things to Come, authors Michael Frost and Alan Hirsh describe what they call the attractional church.  Its approach to mission is to develop programs, events, and ministries that appeal to non-members, attracting them to the church.  They estimate that 95% of America congregations operate with a “come and listen” mentality. 

I give St. Paul’s high marks as an attractional church.  We have a beautiful building, quality worship, wonderful events for children and families, meaningful formation programs, and targeted outreach ministries that make a real difference in peoples’ lives.  Best of all, we are warm and welcoming to everyone.  There may have been a time when St. Paul’s was a stereotypical ‘country-club’ parish, but those days are past.  We are diverse and getting more diverse.  We are growing in our reflection of God who shows no partiality.  I don’t see this as a creation of our own doing, but rather evidence that God’s Spirit is working in and through us.  We are a place were God can bring any and every lost sheep, hurting soul, and searching pilgrim in order to find Christ’s love made manifest.

If it feels like there is a “but” to all of this, there is.  Frost and Hirsh point to a major problem with the attractional approach in today’s world.  It requires non-members and unbelievers to enter our sanctified spaces to hear the Gospel.  Simply put, this is not happening.  More and more it is like hoping the public will abandon their smart phone and revert back to the payphone. 

The unchurched are not here because they choose not to be here.  They may have no experience of being in a church and can’t even comprehend its value.  They may have grown up in a church and been bored by the experience.  That judgment still stands for them.  Or something very painful may have happened to them at a church and they are determined not to let it happen again.  The attractional church is not going to reach these people any more than Peter was going to reach Cornelius by saying on his rooftop praying.

At Clergy Day this week we heard the story of an Episcopal priest who decided to spend every morning over the course of a week in a Duncan Donuts store striking up conversations with people and asking them what they knew of the church where he was the rector.  After dozens upon dozens of conversations, he discovered that not one person had even heard of the parish, which was startling because it was located right across the street from the Duncan Donuts store.  Being warm and welcoming and offering great programs will not be an effective way to proclaim the Gospel in a culture that isn’t interested in coming onto our property in the first place.

Frost and Hirsh offer an alternative missional approach, which they call “incarnational” – the word we use to describe what God the Son did when he took on human flesh, left the heavenly places, and came to live among us.  They write that the incarnational church “disassembles itself and seeps into the cracks and crevices of society in order to represent Christ to the world.”  Like Peter, we have to go to Cornelius.

What this looks like I am not exactly sure.  One place to begin might be to form listening teams that go out into our community and strike up conversations with people.  Perhaps we need to listen and to learn.  Perhaps we can figure out what people are passionate about.  Our Clergy Day speaker reminded us that today, more than ever, people are looking for a place to belong.  They want to meet a variety of people and they want to explore questions about life, not simply be told to memorize a catechism.  They want to build something.  They want to make a difference.  They want to matter.

On Thursday, I chaired a meeting of the Commission on Ministry, which oversees folks in the ordination process.  We interviewed two people who have finished seminary and recommended to the bishop that they be ordained next month. 

One of the candidates told us about his experience working as a chaplain on a pediatrics floor of a large New England hospital.  He described a conversation he had with a teenager who had attempted suicide.  He asked the young girl to look him in the eyes and listen because he wanted to tell her the core of what his faith tells him.  He said to her, “One, you are loved.  Two, your life matters.  Three, whatever mistakes you have made, you are forgiven.  You don’t have to believe it, but you need to know that I do.”  He suspects he may be the first person ever to say these things to that young girl. 

It is a story that highlights the challenge attractional churches are facing.  We cannot proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ to a hurting and needy world unless we open the doors of our building and walk out into the neighborhood.  People around us are in great pain.  They are searching for something they cannot name.  They crave something that will help them have a purpose in life.  We have been entrusted with the Good News of God in Jesus Christ.  Doesn’t its echo sound nice within these walls?  Is there anything within you that burns to take what we know of God’s love to the cracks and crevices of our community in order to represent Christ to Suffolk?

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.

---

[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?