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.