Branching out

In the recent past, I've used this blog as a place to post sermons.  For a while I pulled them all off, and stopped posting, because of unwanted attention from an acquaintance that resulted in a permanent stalking order. While I'm unlikely to rejoin the social media world in sharing (or oversharing) personal information, I do think it's important to share good news, whether that's perspective, sermons, pictures. So I think I'm back.

So this morning's feel-good story..

This past week, I had the great joy of hearing Sister Simone Campbell talk about mercy and justice. She's got experience with both, as a Catholic nun and social justice lobbyist who was criticized (censured maybe) by the Vatican as focusing too much on poverty and income equality.  Huh?  I was pumped up and inspired by the good in the world. 

I returned to my day-job, where this week's challenges include convening a group to discuss how the police should respond to lone barricaded mentally ill subjects, to keep everyone safe and alive - the public, the officers, and the suspect.  Hard stuff.

The other big issue is what to do with a faith-based organization that provides food several times a week to our community's homeless.  The problem is that after the organizers leave, people remain and some misbehave in a serious way. There are drugs, pooping on neighbors' porches, and lots of litter.  I was dreading a meeting of city staff where we were going to talk about what to do about this genuine dilemma.  I do not want to excuse bad or illegal behavior.  But I also don't want to be in any way involved in discouraging this kindness.  What to do? 

Discussions will begin in earnest about how to do this in a way that has less negative impact on the neighbors. 

So the good  news.  This morning, I was at the grocery store, and there was a man in front of me, with hundreds of items - soap, shampoo, detergent. And lots of coupons.  It was going to take the checker a while, and I was heading to work.  I went and did a little more shopping so I wouldn't be too impatient with this man. 

I returned, and bought my two items.  Behind me, the same man was unloading his cart with a second payload of soap, shampoo, detergent, and lots of coupons.  I asked what this was about.  It turns out that he is a Dominican Priest, in town for a few days because he used to work in town.  Whenever he travels, he uses coupons to purchase a lot of dry goods to donate to good causes in town.  He averages $100 per day when travelling.  It's part of his continued ministry. 

He was musing about where he was going to bring his donation today. I asked if he was aware of the organization that provides the food.  He was not.  I gave him the contact info, and he was extremely grateful for the information and was going to head over to help them out.

God is good. 

Good Friday April 14, 2017

Good Friday

April 14, 2017 - Good Friday

Today, more than any other day in our church year, we understand the cross.  Today, more than any other, we are steeped in the horrors of the cross. We are taken through all of the perspectives from all of the people involved. All of these people, all of the things they do and say and see – they’re not foreign. All of these, we’ve done. We’ve said.  We’ve seen.  That’s part of what makes today so incredibly hard. It hits so close to home.  We really can walk through this passion reading in any of the parts.

All of humanity – all of our ugly, sad, fearful, bullying, and cruel humanity is wrapped up in this scene.  We watch this scene unfold, and we’ve seen these responses in our own lives.  We’ve experienced them.  We’ve done them.

I want this story to end differently.  I want today’s reading to end in rainbow and sunshine. I want humanity to respond differently. But we don’t. 

We watch as Judas betrays him, bringing a detachment of soldiers to the peaceful garden Jesus frequently went to pray. We’ve known betrayal.  We’ve felt the sting of betrayal.  And even knowing that, we’ve betrayed.

We see Peter in anger and frustration lash out with his sword at one of the guards, as if that would help. We’ve seen that, done that.

We see Pilate fearful one moment, and boldly, perhaps too boldly, exerting his power over Jesus. How many times have we lashed out, when we’re secretly afraid.

Jesus is led away to face his trial, and we watch as Peter slips out, distancing himself from Jesus.  Was he afraid for Jesus?  Afraid for himself? Was it too painful?

We see the guards beat and mock Jesus.  We’ve seen bullying. We’ve been bullied.  We’ve watched as others are bullied. 

We watch with the women in horror as Jesus is crucified on the cross, lifted high as a warning to other insurrectionists, their son, friend, leader. 

After all of this cruel treatment, Jesus claims “it is finished” and dies. What’s finished?  It doesn’t feel finished.  It feels very unfinished. There’s no resolution. No light.  Our liturgy tonight mirrors that. We start in silence, without a proper beginning, and we’ll slip out in silence and darkness to hide our faces.  Quite like Peter, slipping out, to deny the night’s terror.  

Ant yet, in the midst of this ugly sin, evil and death, there are signs that this really isn’t the end. That sin evil and death will not win or have the last word. They’re small signs, but they’re there. 

The first is Jesus’ indomitable command of love.  As Jesus is dying on the cross, he continues his ministry of love, service and community.  Man, this is your mother, and this is your son. He’s commanding his disciples to continue in love and community even as he dies. How easy it would have been for him to become bitter, cruel or self-absorbed.

But his imminent death and the evil he’s seen and experienced do not move him from building a community of faith, hope and love.

Even at our worst, even in the midst of the most dreadful fear and pain, we are called in to community. Into love.  Into service.  Sometimes, it is precisely this call to service and to community where we can find the strength to get through the difficult times.

And at the moment Jesus gives up his spirit, he says “It is finished”. He’s not talking about his earthly life, his mortal breath. He didn’t say, “I am finished”.  No, he’s talking about his part in making redemption real in our lives. That with  his death, our freedom was purchased for ever.

God incarnate knew that with Jesus’ death and with the rest of the story that unfolds over the next few days, God would show us that God would do anything – anything for us.  God would allow us to be cruel, bullying, fearful, deserting, murderous – all of that. And God would still love. With Jesus’ death, there is no further testing that we humans could conceive or carry out. Our time of testing God, of pushing the outer limits of God’s love, was finished.  With Jesus’ death at our hands, God’s love wins above all.  All of our sin, evil and finally death.

Today is a dark day. We see what humanity can do, what we can do to each other. Today is a day to sit with that ugly reality. This darkness is horrible.  How much easier and less disruptive to skip today and jump right to Easter Sunday.  But it’s from that ugly cross where we see God’s ultimate sacrifice and unceasing love. It’s from this very dark place where the small glimmer of light is brightest. Jesus’ command to love and his promise that “it is finished” are those glimmers.

And because we go through those dark places ourselves, we need to recognize those glimmers in tonight’s reading, so we see them in our lives.  So when all the lights go out and we’re plunged into darkness, we can see the glimmers of God’s love. 

The rest of the story will unfold this weekend. But tonight, sit with Good Friday.  Tonight we are reminded that we’re not alone in experiencing suffering, in seeing suffering, in causing suffering. 

And despite that, precisely at those darkest moments, God loves, and calls us to love. That is good news.

Amen.

Yes, Lord. I believe. Lent 5A

April 2, 2017

The first time I recall thinking about death, about real death, about my death, I was in high school. There was a Chicago news anchor, Fahey Flynn who’d been a news anchor for 30 years – my entire life. When I was in high school, he died. I remember going to bed that night thinking about Fahey Flynn, and wondering what had happened to him. I knew he was dead, but what happened to him? To his soul? To his spirit?  Was he just gone?  

I don’t regularly think about death. We started Lent on Ash Wednesday, with the words, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”, as ashes are imposed on our foreheads in the sign of the cross. While I am intrigued by the liturgy, somehow I don’t think about death. I escape that. I don’t think about mortality in general, or my mortality in particular. About being dead and buried. But if there was any chance that I’d get through Lent without spending some time thinking about death, this morning’s readings ended that. Today we get a series of readings that help assure we see the death part of the miracle we profess weekly, of Jesus’ death, resurrection and ascension.

Today also serves as a preview of Holy Week and Easter, with a series of dramatic and memorable readings. In the Old Testament, we hear about the dry bones coming alive. This is one of the more vivid readings with details that almost place you there. You can hear the rattling of the dry, dead bones, as they are re-formed into the “vast multitude”. In the Gospel reading from John, we hear of Jesus’ friend Lazarus who has died. He’s dead in the tomb. After some interactions with his sisters, Jesus  brings Lazarus back to life.

We hear about these readings as a primer for the whirlwind walk of life, death, and resurrection we’ll start next Sunday as Holy Week begins. With its numerous services, emotions, actions, dramatic readings and late nights, Holy Week can become a blur. Today, we get a preview without quite as much going on. If we pay attention and think about today’s lessons, we can start our Holy Week journey much better equipped.

We hear that Jesus has been told that his dear friend, the friend whom he loved, Lazarus, has taken ill. He cryptically announces that the illness doesn’t lead to death, but rather it is for God’s glory. So, taking his time Jesus heads towards Judea to the home of Lazarus, and his sisters Martha and Mary. He continues that Lazarus hasn’t died, he has simply fallen asleep. He will be all right, Jesus assures. The disciples are confused at his choice of words along with his seemingly illogical choice to return to Judea. They remind him that Judea is a dangerous place for Jesus, that the Jewish leaders were most recently trying to stone him. If, as Jesus says, Lazarus is just sleeping, he’ll be fine. Don’t go there. But Jesus clarifies. Yes, Lazarus is dead.

Upon arriving, Mary and Martha run out to meet him, and blame him, stating that if he had only come quicker, their brother wouldn’t have died. This time, Jesus says that Lazarus will rise again. Believing in resurrection life, they agree that yes, he will rise on the last day. But Jesus dispels the notion of a resurrection be reserved for the last day. Jesus explains that he, Jesus is the resurrection life. “Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.”  I can only imagine the perplexed look on the faces of the disciples, and of Mary and Martha. Jesus asks if Martha believes him.

Echoing the words of the formerly blind man in last week’s lesson, Martha asserts simply, and profoundly, “Yes Lord. I believe”. This sounds like such an easy response. But is it?  Martha has seen no proof yet. And yet, by his word alone, she believes him. No bartering, or requests for signs, or demonstrable proof. Her response is powerful. Definitive. And frequently, out of reach for me. I hope to someday have the faith to simply and profoundly respond when tested, “Yes Lord, I believe.” 

Of course, Jesus does raise Lazarus, and Lazarus comes out of the tomb still bound in his burial cloth. But not until after he’d died. Dead and buried. We see some of Jesus’ humanity in this story, because after seeing the sadness of the sisters and their friends, Jesus cries. Even Jesus, who knows how this story was going to come out, cried. Death and the grief it causes those left on this earth is sad.

So why did Jesus need to go through this?  Why didn’t he, as Mary and Martha suggest, come earlier so Lazarus didn’t have to die?  Was it simply for the “wow” factor?  Unlikely, as Jesus wasn’t much into showmanship – ever 

Rather, Jesus’ delay in attending to his friends illustrated the glory of the son of God. Ok, but what does that mean?  What this display shows me is that with God, there are no limits. – no outer reaches beyond which God’s glory cannot reach. Not sin. And from today, not death.

In our world view and in our understanding, death feels like a pretty bright line. You’re alive and here. Or you’re dead and not. But not in God’s kingdom. And not with the grace and love Jesus shows. Death is not the end. In God’s kingdom, death is not a dividing line. As a matter of fact, it’s a pretty arbitrary line in the sand. In the lesson, Jesus interchanges the words death and sleeping, awake and alive. Of course death matters. And of course it’s sad. Jesus himself cried at Lazarus’ death. But in the Kingdom of God, death is not the end. God’s love and grace reach all. Death does not have the last word. We see that with Lazarus, and we see that in Jesus’ resurrection.

Do not misunderstand. I’m not suggesting that death is good, or easy, or painless. We all know differently. But it is not the end. God’s power transcends death. And here’s some really good news. I’m not just talking about the end of our mortal life, when our hearts stop beating and as we say on Ash Wednesday, “to dust we shall return.”  Being dead and buried certainly applies to the end of our mortal life, when our hearts stop beating. But it means so much more too.

The first reading today is that dramatic reading of the dry bones. God breathes life into the vast array of dry, dead bones. God raises the bones to new life. This sounds simply like another resurrection dead-and-now-not-dead story. But I think it’s much more.

A quick survey of how we use the words bury and dead give us insight into all of the ways to drop into this story. We can be buried in work. Buried in debt. We can bury our feelings. We can be deadened to pain, to suffering. A fire or a relationship can be dead.

So what if the dead and buried that’s described today in Ezekiel or John goes beyond the grave?  Imagine for a minute that it’s referring to our true selves. Who God designed us to be. How many of us have ever felt like our true genuine self has been buried by debt, by doubt and fear? I can get myself worked into a real snit, resulting in a me I don’t recognize. The real me is buried in worry. When who we are supposed to be gets buried by our actions or thoughts, God raises that to new life. God can raise me up to who I am supposed to be. God can resurrect our lives and souls, by breathing life into us.

And what if the dead and buried that’s described today is talking about our hearts, our relationships, our fire?  What if our love of others has grown cold? What if we’ve grown disinterested in their pain and suffering?  What if we’re apathetic to the needs of others?  With a simple word or breath, God can enliven our hearts which have grown cold and dead.

All of this talk about dead and buried is certainly addressing the end of our mortal life. And it’s also about our selves, our souls, our bodies. God can resurrect it all and bring us to new life.

One last note about this resurrection and redemption work of God. In the Ezekiel story, it is God who breathes life into the dry bones. But it is God working through Ezekiel. “Ezekiel, say to these dry bones…”   To me, that changes a lot in these lessons. God uses Ezekiel to resurrect the dead dry bones. What if we are Ezekiel?  What if we are the ones that God is working through to breathe life into the lives and hearts of others around us?  

Have you ever felt you were called to help, to love, to give?  It’s not unreasonable to assume that God is working through you, as God works through Ezekiel. Maybe  you didn’t hear “Mortal, prophesy to these bones”. Maybe you didn’t hear anything at all. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t God calling you.

As we finish our Lenten Journey and head into Holy Week, think about death. About being buried. About new life. About resurrection. And if you doubt whether God’s power can do these things in your life, think of Martha. Aim for Martha’s profound and simple response:  “Yes, Lord. I believe.”

Amen